Several weeks ago, I served as an adjudicator at the
PanHellenic Forensic Association Tournament here in Athens (don’t be too
impressed; all forensics coaches are required to be judges. And if you are
thinking that we were spending our time judging decomposing bodies and cheek
swabs, look up the difference between forensics
and forensic science). What struck me
as I watched each student come in front of the judges’ panel, mount the stool,
and begin performing was that each of these kids was taking quite a risk. They
were, in essence, saying, “Here I am. Watch what I can do. Judge me.” Only a
few people won the competition, so each contestant knew that he was opening himself
up to loss and disappointment. But they each took that risk, and despite the
outcome of the competition, they are all better for embarking on the venture.
As I sat and listened to some of these adventurous young
people read their oral interpretation pieces, it also struck me how profoundly
healthy such risks are. Even if he didn’t win, each student worked on becoming a
more skilled reader, and he strengthened his emotional muscles, so to speak, in
terms of coping with disappointment.
In contrast, most of modern society (or perhaps we could
narrow that down to American society) has taken a rather backward and unhealthy
view of risk. We don’t want kids to be hurt, so we give everyone a medal for
participation. Sometimes, we don’t keep score during games. We’ve removed the
chance of losing, of hurt feelings, of failure, or of disappointment. But we’ve
also removed the chance of winning, the exhilaration of accomplishment, and the
excitement of success. The sad reality is that we haven’t really given our kids
safety; we’ve given them a dully neutral world.
And what happens when
we do this? There are no universals we can peg on every child, but we can say
that some kids, instead of taking healthy risks (because we deny them this),
begin taking unhealthy risks (drugs, binge drinking, etc.). Or, some kids
become so intimidated by risks that they struggle to function or form healthy
relationships. After all, love is risky business.
Indeed, love without risk is impossible. One of the
characteristics that I admire most in my boyfriend is his healthy embrace of
risk. Before I left for Greece, he rather persistently pursued me, despite the
fact that I had a number of misgivings and was also about to leave the country
for two years. He still asked if we could consider a relationship and still
flew down to Tennessee to see me before I left. And then he asked me again to
be his girlfriend once I had settled into life in Greece. And then he submitted
a paper to a conference in Athens (after I said yes to the relationship). And
then he flew out to Athens to present said paper and to see me after a
six-month long-distance relationship. Along the way, there were plenty of
opportunities for him to be turned down or rejected. There was a great chance
of loss. But he did those things anyways because, as he told me, “You’re worth
it.”
Benjamin currently has another venture he has undertaken.
This time, he isn’t wooing a woman. He’s endeavoring to provide an opportunity
to students (college, seminary, or seniors in high school) to take intensive
classes in languages at a lower price than colleges offer so that students can
prepare to test out of language requirements while saving money. This summer,
he’s offering a six-week class in Attic Greek (you can check it out here: www.thephilologyinstitute.com).
I’ve been very impressed with the way he’s gone about asking for advice from
others and seeking ways of promoting his idea. In short, he’s taking risks.
Good, healthy risks.
But beyond wooing a woman or offering language classes,
there is a side to risk that all Christians are especially called to embrace.
There’s a certain idiotic risk to life with Christ. Michael
Card puts it so perfectly in his song, “God’s Own Fool,” with the line, “So
come lose your life for a carpenter’s son, for a madman who died for a dream.”
That is, after all, what we celebrate on Good Friday. Jesus,
the madman, who took a risk and died. To the world, he lost. Were the internet
around in 33 A.D., it would have been plastered with pictures of Christ, hung
on a cross, surrounded by a black frame with the words EPIC FAIL written on it.
There really is a kind of nonsense in Christianity. If you
venture to the monasteries at Meteora, you will find the walls filled with
images of martyrs being horrifically killed—some skinned, some beheaded, some
mutilated. We celebrate these saints, but they were fools, all of them. Silly,
risk-taking fools.
But what was this risk? The risk of believing a paradox—the
paradox that I give up my life to find it, that living follows dying. The sense
that there is truth to what Jim Elliot once said: “He is no fool to lose what
he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”
And this is the answer. This risk, this loss, is actually
wisdom. A divine wisdom—a “deeper magic”—beyond our understanding. Kids should
be taught to take risks—not just because it’s healthy to do so—but because faith
is also a risk. It is the essential risk of our existence.
For without such a risk, we will not find Easter. Easter is
the fulfillment of the madman’s venture. It is the victory after the gamble. It
is the discovery that choosing loss for the love of another is not so foolish. Christ
took the wisest risk of all when he looked at us and said, “You’re worth it.”
And on Easter, we are called to become partakers with Christ.
We are invited to join the wise madman. We must no longer be spectators in the
crowd. Easter is an offer from heaven, bidding us to “come be a fool as well”
and find that we have really chosen wisdom.
For Easter is the grand victory after the greatest risk of
all.
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