I just watched tennis on television and saw a familiar sight at the end of the match. The winner hopped around the court, throwing kisses into the air and swatting tennis balls into the stands. The loser sat in her chair, a towel draped over her head, trying to control her sobs.
That scene, or something akin to it, is repeated in sports events around the country. One player celebrates; the other weeps. One team gets the trophy; the other gets bashed by the press as losers. One player goes home feeling the thrill of victory; the other goes home feeling the agony of defeat.
It seems that in our society, being anything less than the very best is considered failure. The second-best tennis player in the world gets bad reviews and is dubbed an underachiever who never has lived up to her potential. LeBron James and the Miami Heat are labeled as underachievers, too, because they only finished second in the NBA finals.
That mentality is not just reserved for the sports world, either. In nearly every area of life, if you're not the very best, you're considered a loser. If you're not the best preacher, barber, parent, singer, painter, cook or whatever, then you're not worth much and need to try something else.
Follow that thinking out to its logical conclusion, though, and you wind up with something awful—a society of dissatisfied, disappointed people who feel like losers. And frankly, isn't that exactly where we are right now? The majority of people in our society see themselves as losers because they're just average.
Let's face it: The chances of ever being the very best in the world at anything are slim to none. If only the very best get to declare themselves successful human beings, most of us are doomed to a life of failure.
So, I'd like to launch a campaign extolling the merits of "average." I'd like people to get it in their heads that "average" is fine, and if they get to that level, they can be quite proud of themselves.
If we could lower the expectation bar from "best in the world" to "average," maybe the contentment level in our country would rise considerably. We all would learn to be content with who we are, glad we can be an average preacher, teacher, barber, parent, singer, painter, cook or whatever, and declare ourselves to be successful human beings.
I'm sure this notion of celebrating "average" is connected to the fact I'm getting older. When I was young, I wanted to be the best at everything and assumed I would make it someday. Now that I'm on the far side of middle-age, I'm facing reality. I won't win Wimbledon. I won't pitch in the big leagues. I won't be the best preacher in the world. And I won't make millions of dollars writing books. But that's OK. If I can just be average, I'll be happy.
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The other fine thing about lowering the expectation bar to "average" is that it improves our relationships. Once we decide that "average" is fine, we quit expecting the significant people in our lives to be the best in the world, too. Our child doesn't have to be the best player on the team. Our pastor doesn't have to be the best pulpiteer on the planet. Our wife doesn't have to be the best-looking woman God ever created. We can set them free of our lofty expectations and begin to love them just as they are. And if they ever make it to "average," we get to celebrate with them.
When I read about the life and ministry of Jesus, one of the things that impresses me most is his love for ordinary people. Jesus went around to outcasts and sinners and people who didn't even make it to "average," and called them, affirmed them and loved them. There was not one world champion in Jesus' stable of disciples, and yet those common people were the very ones Jesus chose. In Jesus' eyes, average people were marvelous and miraculous and perfectly capable of doing God's work on earth.
We might want to remember that the next time we get down on ourselves and feel like failures, or the next time we want to lash out at our family and friends for being so ordinary.
Ordinary is not so bad. "Average" is plenty good. And second place is always cause for celebration.
Judson Edwards is a retired pastor in San Antonio. His newest book is Blissful Affliction: The Ministry and Misery of Writing.
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