The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men, and they bore children to them. Those were the mighty men who were of old, men of renown. (Genesis 6:4)
Now Cush became the father of Nimrod; he became a mighty one on the earth. He was a mighty hunter before the Lord; therefore it is said, “Like Nimrod a mighty hunter before the Lord.” The beginning of his kingdom was Babel and Erech and Accad and Calneh, in the land of Shinar. (Genesis 10:8-10)
The women sang as they played, and said, “Saul has slain his thousands, And David his ten thousands.” (I Samuel 18:7)
Not so long ago, a friend posted something on social media about how “we” (she and those who filled social media with comments about Amaud Arbery, had gotten justice. More recently, someone posted a long list of all of the things the protests and riots over the murder of George Floyd had accomplished. I didn’t see much in the list to crow about, but those who posted and shared the post seemed quite impressed. In both these instances, I see a longing for heroism. These people are patting themselves on the back for their accomplishments – whether they actually accomplish anything or not. And they want people to know how heroic they are – they want to be appreciated for their heroism.
It’s the same longing for heroism I recall hearing from a pastor. He would gladly go out and slay a dragon for his lady-love but taking out the garbage was another question.
I’m no better. One of my struggles with COVID-19 is my feeling that I can’t do anything to help. “Stay home, sit down, shut up” doesn’t constitute doing something. If only someone I knew (or knew of) had the disease, I could go help. It’s sort of like the meme with an cop injured, and the question of whether or not you would go help said cop. “Yes!” my heart cries. “Yes, I’d help!”
But then my brain kicks into gear. “Yeah, sure, you’d go help. Even assuming you didn’t do something to make the cop’s health worse, the cop would then feel obligated to protect you – you’d just make the situation worse.” If I went to help a COVID-19 victim, I’d probably help spread the disease. I console myself with the fact that I am working at a food pantry. I’m doing something – and truth told, it’s the sort of doing I prefer.
I’d rather be in the background. I don’t so much care if you notice me. I want to be the hero whose words are quoted, whose ideas make a difference. But I still want to be a hero.
Not only do we seem to want to be heroes, we want to be heroes on our terms. But you know what? The only times the word hero shows up in the New Testament is as part of the word “Herod.” I’m sure he wanted to be treated as a hero, but he wasn’t one. No. In the New Testament, the term that gets praise is “servant.” And to that, I suspect we all say, “Ouch.”
But then my brain kicks into gear. “Yeah, sure, you’d go help. Even assuming you didn’t do something to make the cop’s health worse, the cop would then feel obligated to protect you – you’d just make the situation worse.” If I went to help a COVID-19 victim, I’d probably help spread the disease. I console myself with the fact that I am working at a food pantry. I’m doing something – and truth told, it’s the sort of doing I prefer.
I’d rather be in the background. I don’t so much care if you notice me. I want to be the hero whose words are quoted, whose ideas make a difference. But I still want to be a hero.
Not only do we seem to want to be heroes, we want to be heroes on our terms. But you know what? The only times the word hero shows up in the New Testament is as part of the word “Herod.” I’m sure he wanted to be treated as a hero, but he wasn’t one. No. In the New Testament, the term that gets praise is “servant.” And to that, I suspect we all say, “Ouch.”
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