Young 'Jimmie' was proudly walking along the sidewalk with his hand on the frame of his brand new bicycle and his other hand on the foam cushion on the handlebar. The deep wire basket nestled between the handlebar was filled with a sack full of groceries, as were the baskets on each side of the rear wheel. Jimmie walked quickly, guiding the bicycle through the maze of people and street vendors lining the sidewalk. Occasionally someone would give him an odd stare and Jimmie wondered what was wrong. Having the bicycle made it much easier to carry his groceries from the corner grocery to his apartment about eight blocks away. He was even able to carry twice as many groceries than he could in his arms alone. He blessed God for the man who gave him the bike. His spirit of thanksgiving was interrupted by someone tapping on his shoulder.
“Nice bike!” the stranger said. “I've been following you for about two blocks, why don't you get on it and ride?”
Jimmie narrowed his eyes and cocked his head slightly. “Ride?” he asked.
The stranger's face betrayed his surprise and Jimmie wondered what he'd said.
A half smile soon followed the look of surprise. “Yeah, ride. You get on the seat and ride the bike. You've never rode a bicycle before?”
Jimmie hadn't. He didn't even know what it was for. When the strange man gave it to him, he simply told him that the bike would make it easier for him to get his groceries.
The stranger laughed and patted Jimmie on the shoulder. “I can't believe you've never ridden a bike. Look over there.” the man said, pointing across the corner and down the side street. There was a man riding a bicycle similar to his, wearing a helmet and weaving through the creeping traffic. “That's what you do with a bicycle.”
Jimmie turned around to ask the man if he could show him how, but the man was gone. Jimmie pushed the bike the rest of the way to his apartment and leaned it against the wall of his small living room. His joy at owning the bicycle was diminished now. It had greater potential than just being a means of hauling groceries, it could help him get to other places quicker and with greater ease than walking. He would have to learn how to ride a bike.
The next morning, he knocked on the door of his elderly friend Daryl. He explained to Daryl about the bicycle, and his encounter with the stranger on the sidewalk. Daryl seemed to hold a chuckle in and followed Jimmie to his apartment.
“How do I ride this?” Jimmie asked.
Daryl explained what the handlebars were for, where you sat, and what the pedals were for. “You get on the bike, push off on one foot, and then push down on the pedal with your opposite foot.” Daryl explained. “You lift your other foot and put it on the other pedal and push it down, you keep pushing the pedals down as they come up and you'll start moving forward.”
“Sounds easy.” Jimmie declared. “Thanks, Daryl.”
The next day Jimmie walked his bicycle to a large open parking lot and sat down on the seat and gripped the handlebars just as Daryl showed him. He pushed off and then pushed the pedal down as he was told. The bicycle immediately nose dived toward the pavement, sending Jimmie tumbling over the handlebars.
SOMETHING WAS WRONG!
Jimmie had done just as Daryl had said. He tried it about seven or eight times, with the same result. Finally, in disgust, he picked himself up and pushed the bicycle toward his apartment. His thankfulness was gone, and he wondered why the man gave him a broken bicycle. Besides being scraped and scratched, Jimmie felt disgust at the new bike. It obviously didn't work. He'd done everything Daryl had said to do. The bike was defective.
As Jimmie lifted the bike along the steps leading to his apartment, he felt like throwing it down and leaving it for the beggars.
“What's wrong, Jimmie?”
Jimmie looked up to see Bobby, a little twelve year old boy from the apartment on the floor above his.
“It's this stupid bike.” Jimmie blurted out. “It doesn't work.”
Bobby walked down the steps and helped Jimmie lift it over the railing. “Looks fine to me.” Bobby said. “That's a Jet Xpress, one of the finest bikes made.”
“It don't work. I get on it, and it just falls over. It won't go anywhere.” Jimmie said.
“Nobody ever taught you how to ride a bike?” Bobby asked.
“I didn't even know what a bike was until some guy told me.”
Bobby laughed and patted Jimmie on his back. “Come on, lets go teach you how to ride.”
Jimmie and Bobby went back to the huge parking lot and Bobby held the bike while Jimmie got on it. Bobby put his hand on the back of the seat and pushed Jimmie forward while helping him keep the bike upright. He ran alongside the bike and explained to Jimmie how to work the pedals and how to steer. He pushed Jimmie in a wide slow circle and let Jimmie feel the bike get balance. Soon without Jimmie even knowing, Bobby had let go and Jimmie was pedaling the bike in a circle all by himself.
Needless to say, Jimmie proudly rode the bicycle home, having mastered how to ride it.
There is a spiritual truth here if you'll see it. I can remember teaching my grandson Elijah how to ride his bike, and how proud I was of him, when he mastered it. I couldn't point to people and say; “Wow, look how well I taught that boy to ride. See how great I am.” No, I joyfully exclaim; “Look at that boy ride.” A true teacher is overjoyed when those they instruct grasp what is being taught and run with it. Teachers are even more fulfilled when the student surpasses them in ability and skill. As parents, aren't we elated when each lesson is mastered? We remember our children's first steps, first words, first time they tied their shoes, latched their buckles, or used the toilet. For the teacher, the joy is in watching those you've taught grasp it, and make their life better.
Over the last five years that I've taught our men's group, I've had the joy of watching the teenagers who came in bleary eyed and grumpy, grow into men of character beyond anything I ever possessed at their age. I know why, and would like to reveal a special truth that will hopefully clear up the reason for my tirade Sunday. In my little parable above, I'm not the one who bought the bike. I'm the tired old man who could only explain how to do it. It's the fathers of each of the boys, who put their hands to the seat of their son's spiritual training and ran alongside them, helping them get their balance. It is they who took what I've said over these last few years and made it real in their lives. I love these men! But, it's more than love, it's a humble recognition that I stand amongst real men, seeking to lead lives of real service to a loving and real God. That is why, in deference to what is said, I will say this. I know a group of men who are not rebellious, who don't have enlarged and fragile egos, whose hearts are sensitive to the needs of their wives and children. I know a group of men who are able to express their emotions without flaring up into angry outbursts, who use more than 'one syllable words' to express their emotions. I know a group of men who listen to their wives and balance their decisions on the discernment and wisdom their wives give them. I know a group of men who have made a covenant with their eyes not to look upon another woman to lust after her. They would open their computers and cell phones to you any day and say; “Look into my life, there is no one for me, but my wife.” They are men of accountability who lead courageous lives of self sacrifice. I know a group of men who take responsibility for maintaining the romance and love relationship with their wives. They take their wives out on dates, weekend anniversary trips, and woo them as they did when they were courting. This group of men are just as romantic and adoring as any woman can claim to be. They give flowers, cards, and special mementos to their wives as reminders of the passion they have for them. They work hard, but not too much. Their jobs aren't shields for insecurity, because they have nothing to feel insecure about. Their children and the children of the other men are a sacred trust they carry with them all the time. They go to one another's functions and celebrate one another's achievements as if they were their own. I know a group of men who encourage their wives to be themselves and to express their essence. There is no fear of one up-man-ship or being eclipsed by the woman, or the children in their life.
I stand in awe of these men and feel great pleasure to be counted among them, even though I myself am not in their league.
That is why Chapter Six angers me. I know men who are following Christ and live lives worthy of the calling to which they've been called. If you ask them if they are all that and a bag of chips, they'd tell you “No, but we're trying to be.”
AND, that is why I love them and will defend them. Can we be better? Yes. Do we fail? Yes. They are followers of Christ. They are following the Way. They are REAL.
No comments:
Post a Comment