Julius Caesar was the most powerful man on the planet…he was in charge. Legend was that he was even a god; a myth perpetuated to help him govern without counter and to prop up his authority. Where he wanted to go; he went. What Caesar wanted to do; he did. New chariot on his shopping list? He got it. And then some.
Until he didn't. Until Brutus, his closest confidant and friend, betrayed him. Caesar was killed by his best friend. His killer was the one who had insulated him and worked on behalf of his authority, whom he trusted most…his strength.
Does this sound familiar? Who and what we trust the most turns on us and our strength is not enough to shield and protect…we flail and fail and fall flat on our faces. We lift our face from the muck and look through the straw and mud and think, "That did not go as planned."
Even those of us who typically do not rely and depend on others, find ourselves face-planted in the pig pen we construct by our best efforts. Our strength fails. Motivation wanes. Self-reliance scoots out the door. And we're left looking side-to-side and skyward wondering what the heck just happened?
And what will we do next?
This is the place I keep returning to – this place where, it seems, Jesus has allowed me to run and skip ahead full of my own importance and myth only to fall face down into the muck of my own strength. The curiosity is that-with this relational Jesus- our death is temporary-failure fleeting and comes with a hope; a hope for something more than ourselves. Something that would care for a little kid across the map who lives -while dying of AIDS – in a refugee camp in Kenya.
Hope that our impressive meager offerings are not all the resources available to us – that we can plug into a strength and clarity that can move mountains, heal the sick, and set the Cambodian, Dutch, and U.S. trafficked captives free. It is a hope that may stretch, but ultimately, does not disappoint.
So when we feel smacked by the Almighty, perhaps he is calling us to a higher purpose – one that only he can fill through us – you – if you are willing.
That's my hope…as I, once again, pick straw and sludge from my glasses and from between my teeth. That this temporary death is the gateway to life…one that is bigger than the small life found in my own little world.
Blog Bonus: Matthew West's My Own Little World
