I jumped the other day. This was not a test of agility, mind you, but an effort to reach something high on a dew-covered pole. It took me four or five tries, but I retrieved the piece of paper taped to the pole, set as a prop for students to examine.
Now, to some, this might be a nonevent; but to me, it was a moment of enlightenment. I realized at that moment that my twenty-five year-old self could school me in basketball if ever I had the chance to face him in some alternate reality. While the saying "White men can't jump" is not without merit, there was something more in this lack of athletic prowess. There came with it the understanding that so often creeps up on men, only to stun them with vivid perspicuity of their life position: I am getting old.
It must be said from the start that I am not yet old. No, this would be a miscalculation, given man's current longevity. Still, my age and body both tell me that I have clearly moved from the apartment of young adulthood into the house of the adult. Indeed, I must now watch things that I have not had to mind before. I must watch my diet. I must watch my choice of activity and use of time. I must watch the amount of sleep and exercise I get. Strangely enough, my passing into this full-fledged adulthood has meant that I must also watch my mouth. On this latter point, I do not simply mean that I must not cuss, although that is true, also.* More than this, it means--especially with students--that I must fulfill the role expected of adults my age: one of calm dependability, one in which one's response to conflict or challenge is levelheadedness and reason, rather than anger. Indeed, it means I must watch my whole lifestyle more closely than before as I have grown familiar with my failings.
This is not a bad thing at all. While I know that I fail as an example in many ways, it also gives me a sense of satisfaction to know that I have the potential to be someone important to those around me, to believe the age-old adage from Spiderman: "With great power comes great responsibility." Of course, failing that responsibility means failing not just myself, but others; and for that reason, makes this failure all the more disappointing. On the other hand, it also means that succeeding in it invites a sense of fulfillment.**
The truth is that all of us live in this world of high purpose. We may just be too busy--or too young--to notice how important we are to those around us, just as we may be too distracted to notice that our legs are not what they once were.
It is easy to fall into such distraction, I suppose, to lose sight of one's lodestar. The apostle Peter certainly knew this to be true. In 1 Peter 3:15, Peter tells his readers to "set apart Christ as Lord." This sounds, at first, to be an ordinary command to prioritize Christ in our hearts. When you think about the author of this statement, however, you find something more compelling. There are few people in history who knew what it meant--and did not mean--to set apart Christ as Lord than Peter. This was the same man who asked Jesus to tell him to come out of the boat onto the water and, walking toward Jesus, began to sink because he became distracted by the surrounding wind; the same man who denied knowing his Lord in the midst of a potentially hostile crowd during Jesus' trial, likely fearful for his freedom or safety; and who began to draw away from fellow Christians because he feared the judgment of other Jews. By these and other failures, Peter understood what life could mean when a man chooses not to set apart Christ as Lord.
Yet, he also knew what takes place when he does. Peter would become a leader in God's church; a worker of miracles; and came to know and love his Lord to such an extent that, according to tradition, opted in his execution to be crucified upside down.
It puts our faith--in Peter's words, "of greater worth than gold"--in a perspective that compels us to take Jesus more seriously than we sometimes do. When Peter added in another letter that we should make our election as Christians sure by adding love and other virtues to our faith, he knew from his many failures that doing so would mean we would "never fall." Indeed, it was perhaps because of these failures that he knew firsthand why it was so important to "set apart Christ as Lord."
*Actually, I add this only for effect. You may not believe this, but I try not to cuss. That doesn't mean, of course, that I don't substitute words, as happened recently near the shower when I tried to catch a falling towel with my foot and accidentally kicked the wall.
**I say this, knowing that I have often failed to fulfill these expectations. Thankfully, I have family and friends who are gracious, patient, and forgiving.
***The mosquito test is a test of hearing. More important, it is supposed to be a test of age. Apparently, the older a person becomes, the less likely he or she is able to hear high frequencies (if you've never heard of the mosquito hearing test, please go here). Something apparently bad, however, can conversely show that one is gaining something good, if that person allows it. In this case, the good is a sense of maturity.
Now, to some, this might be a nonevent; but to me, it was a moment of enlightenment. I realized at that moment that my twenty-five year-old self could school me in basketball if ever I had the chance to face him in some alternate reality. While the saying "White men can't jump" is not without merit, there was something more in this lack of athletic prowess. There came with it the understanding that so often creeps up on men, only to stun them with vivid perspicuity of their life position: I am getting old.
It must be said from the start that I am not yet old. No, this would be a miscalculation, given man's current longevity. Still, my age and body both tell me that I have clearly moved from the apartment of young adulthood into the house of the adult. Indeed, I must now watch things that I have not had to mind before. I must watch my diet. I must watch my choice of activity and use of time. I must watch the amount of sleep and exercise I get. Strangely enough, my passing into this full-fledged adulthood has meant that I must also watch my mouth. On this latter point, I do not simply mean that I must not cuss, although that is true, also.* More than this, it means--especially with students--that I must fulfill the role expected of adults my age: one of calm dependability, one in which one's response to conflict or challenge is levelheadedness and reason, rather than anger. Indeed, it means I must watch my whole lifestyle more closely than before as I have grown familiar with my failings.
This is not a bad thing at all. While I know that I fail as an example in many ways, it also gives me a sense of satisfaction to know that I have the potential to be someone important to those around me, to believe the age-old adage from Spiderman: "With great power comes great responsibility." Of course, failing that responsibility means failing not just myself, but others; and for that reason, makes this failure all the more disappointing. On the other hand, it also means that succeeding in it invites a sense of fulfillment.**
The truth is that all of us live in this world of high purpose. We may just be too busy--or too young--to notice how important we are to those around us, just as we may be too distracted to notice that our legs are not what they once were.
It is easy to fall into such distraction, I suppose, to lose sight of one's lodestar. The apostle Peter certainly knew this to be true. In 1 Peter 3:15, Peter tells his readers to "set apart Christ as Lord." This sounds, at first, to be an ordinary command to prioritize Christ in our hearts. When you think about the author of this statement, however, you find something more compelling. There are few people in history who knew what it meant--and did not mean--to set apart Christ as Lord than Peter. This was the same man who asked Jesus to tell him to come out of the boat onto the water and, walking toward Jesus, began to sink because he became distracted by the surrounding wind; the same man who denied knowing his Lord in the midst of a potentially hostile crowd during Jesus' trial, likely fearful for his freedom or safety; and who began to draw away from fellow Christians because he feared the judgment of other Jews. By these and other failures, Peter understood what life could mean when a man chooses not to set apart Christ as Lord.
Yet, he also knew what takes place when he does. Peter would become a leader in God's church; a worker of miracles; and came to know and love his Lord to such an extent that, according to tradition, opted in his execution to be crucified upside down.
It puts our faith--in Peter's words, "of greater worth than gold"--in a perspective that compels us to take Jesus more seriously than we sometimes do. When Peter added in another letter that we should make our election as Christians sure by adding love and other virtues to our faith, he knew from his many failures that doing so would mean we would "never fall." Indeed, it was perhaps because of these failures that he knew firsthand why it was so important to "set apart Christ as Lord."
*Actually, I add this only for effect. You may not believe this, but I try not to cuss. That doesn't mean, of course, that I don't substitute words, as happened recently near the shower when I tried to catch a falling towel with my foot and accidentally kicked the wall.
**I say this, knowing that I have often failed to fulfill these expectations. Thankfully, I have family and friends who are gracious, patient, and forgiving.
***The mosquito test is a test of hearing. More important, it is supposed to be a test of age. Apparently, the older a person becomes, the less likely he or she is able to hear high frequencies (if you've never heard of the mosquito hearing test, please go here). Something apparently bad, however, can conversely show that one is gaining something good, if that person allows it. In this case, the good is a sense of maturity.
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