Fifty-five thousand fans screamed all around me at Jones AT&T Stadium in Lubbock, Texas at the Texas Tech/Missouri game this week. For the first time in, well, a long time, Texas Tech actually played good football! We aren't known for our pristine record mind you, so an opportunity to scream and yell and actually see results down on the field, well that's just rewarding. However, during the lulling moments of the game where nothing spectacular was going on or our quarterback dropped yet another pass too far to the left, I sat there thinking, particularly about light bulbs. Those really massive, gigantic lightbulbs that power stadium lights and signal airplanes to stay away from the tops of towers or tall buildings. Those kind of lightbulbs.
Who changes those?
It's the age old joke, "How many ____ does it take to change lightbulb?" Like, "How many joke writers does it take to change a lightbulb? Answer: Two hundred but don't ask why, we haven't figured it out." Or, "How many Church of Christ elders does it take to change a lightbulb? Answer: 'Change? Who wants to change?'" (compliments of my Bible professor). I'll spare you any more lame jokes. But in all truth, how many men does it take to change that lightbulb way up at the top of, say, the Empire State Building? Answer: just one.
Last guy I found who did it was a guy by the name of Deke Johnson. He was paid (substantially I hope) to climb over 1,300 feet (that's over a quarter of a mile) up in the air to the very top of the Empire State Building and change the lightbulb that signals planes and helicopters to stay away from hitting the building. The bulb he used was over 600 watts, the size of a grapefruit. The fun part is, of course, the last 80 foot climb where all he had to climb on were pencil-sized bolts. This is a job that I'm sure requires life insurance as a prerequisite.
One must get to thinking a quarter of a mile up there, above literally everything else. The view is phenomenal, the job is exhilarating, the story is one of a kind. This man, whom you've probably never heard of before, has seen the world from an angle that you and I will probably never get to see, at lengths you and I will most likely never go to see it. And even though you've never heard of Deke Johnson until now, his job has probably saved countless lives, ensuring aircraft don't accidentally hit the building. Likewise, we as Christians play an interesting role in this life, one that is unique to us in our respective perspectives and lengths. We each have been given a light, the light of Salvation, and are given the job to use that light to save and help others. We may not gain great recognition, we may not gain great acclaim, we may not even get great benefits from it ourselves. However, what we do with that life might save others and help us see the world from a greater perspective than we've ever seen it before.
So, this week, may you go great lengths and travel the heights in order to share your light. Salvation is a gift that we've been given with the intention that we share it with the rest of the world. Sharing it will be the most fulfilling thing you've ever done, I assure you. The journey you embark on to do so will be unique and special to you - it will be a journey built for you, with specific challenges and triumph that you can testify to. Furthermore, it will allow you to see the world like you've never seen it before. May you enjoy sharing the light of Salvation with the world, and enjoy the view from up top!
KB
"You are the light on a hill. A city that cannot be hidden." Matthew 5:14
I was told about your blog recently and decided to stop paying attention in class today and meander over here. Good stuff, man. Great on-point writing. I really like this story and I may use it for a sermon illustration at some point.
ReplyDeleteI think something else to think about this is that letting 'our light shine' isn't always as passive a thing as we'd like to think. It's not just something that happens. It's a task that requires a daring and courageous heart, climbing to where we are vulnerable to the world and, even more frightening, to ourselves.