Batman and Purpose
- Matt Graham
- May 22, 2022
- 6 min read
Matthew 19: 16-22:
16 Just then a man came up to Jesus and asked, “Teacher, what good thing must I do to get eternal life?”
17 “Why do you ask me about what is good?” Jesus replied. “There is only One who is good. If you want to enter life, keep the commandments.”
18 “Which ones?” he inquired.
Jesus replied, “‘You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, 19 honor your father and mother,’and ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’”
20 “All these I have kept,” the young man said. “What do I still lack?”
21 Jesus answered, “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”
22 When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth.
I'm not sure about you, but I've always felt like I could relate to the young man in this story. Though he thought he knew what he wanted, he didn't realize what he'd have to give up in order to get it. I can imagine confusion swirling through his head, unsure of the consequences of leaving behind all that he knew to step into a new phase of his life. Would this phase be full of joy or pain? What if a famine came, or a worldwide pandemic? What would be his safety net? Jesus' directions were simple: "follow me." He does not promise wealth or riches, but rather Himself. He is the reward. But compared to everything that the young man thinks he wants, is Jesus enough?
Perhaps this is a stretch, but that story of a young man searching for meaning reminds me of a scene in The Dark Knight Rises where Bruce Wayne finds himself in prison. Here, the only means of escape is a treacherous rock climb followed by a nearly impossible-looking leap. As he’s training for the climb, another prisoner tells him “fear is why you fail.” Without missing a beat, Bruce says "No, I'm not afraid. I'm angry." He then gets up, attempts to climb the wall, and takes a nasty fall.
Later on, we hear again from this prisoner. He says, “You do not fear death. You think this makes you strong, but it makes you weak.” It is not until this point that we begin to understand the earlier conversation; he was not telling Bruce that his fear was holding him back, but rather that his lack of fear was. He tells Bruce to climb without the safety rope so that fear will find him again.
Bruce listens, beginning the climb with no rope. When he gets to the jump, he hesitates. Down below, he hears people chanting “Rise!” He’s made much more progress than they have, and many are probably impressed with his ability to get to where he is. Ahead lays a frightening gap, and the only way to get out of the prison is to make that jump. In true Batman fashion, he makes the leap and climbs to his freedom. Bruce knew that either freedom or death would follow the jump, yet he went for it.
I think that you and I sometimes find ourselves standing on the same ledge that Bruce did, staring down the leap that lies ahead. We look down and can see how far we’ve climbed. That knowledge brings both pride and fear: we are proud of the progress that we’ve made, but we’re afraid of falling. We know that with a simple slip, we might find ourselves back at the beginning. That’d be hard enough on it’s own, but then you add in all of the peering eyes, and you start to realize that a mistake might carry a lot more weight than you initially thought.
In the story found in Matthew, we saw a similar choice. There, he had climbed up so far already, cleaning up his life in so many ways. What lie ahead was a final leap. "Follow me." It seemed like a chasm stood between him and his goal, and it was not a chasm that he was willing to cross. Instead, he turned back, saddened. He never made the leap.
Where is your ledge?
Seven years ago I took a class at Mizzou that opened my eyes to some of the less fun parts of public education in the United States. I remember reading about school funding, teacher shortages, and kids in need and wondering what I would ever be able to do about it. Those problems seemed so big, and I seemed so small.
The next semester I set my sights on becoming a teacher. Still unsure of how to solve problems on a huge scale, I was hopeful and optimistic that I could make a substantial impact on those who entered my classroom. I always knew that eventually I might try to transition into a different role but I didn’t know exactly when that’d be or what that would look like. I figured I’d teach for 20 years, and then would go back to school, get a new degree, and revamp the education system all across the U.S. Maybe Justin Bieber would be president by then, and he’d appoint me as the Secretary of Education. I’d make some changes and would retire a happy man. Maybe my elementary school would build a statute of me and I could go there to sign autographs.
It wasn’t until last year that I realized the timing of my initial plan may be thrown off. I had stopped teaching, and it was unclear what would come next. Fast forward a few months, and I found myself in law school. Fast forward a few more months, and I found my ledge.
After following a few fortunate leads, I was presented with an opportunity to research education policies in Missouri this summer. For the past seven years, I’ve claimed to be passionate about education and making a difference. Now, given the chance to make the jump and go for it, I hesitated.
I’d like to say that my initial reaction was to untie the safety rope and run for it, but that's not what happened. It may sound silly but I almost turned down the job to look for something less exciting. No one would bat an eye if I went to work for some random law firm, and I wouldn’t have to worry about what would come next if I hated it because no one would really expect me to love it anyway. After all, what if I was wrong about what I wanted? Where would I be if I hated this role? Would I find myself back at the beginning?
As I sifted through my options, I began to ask myself what I wanted more: did I want to be right, or did I want to be brave? Taking a leap of faith could mean that I find something I really enjoy doing, or it could mean that I fall into the depths and have to start over. But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that I'm more afraid of staying on the ledge than I am of falling. Without the jump, you don't really ever get to see what comes next.
Tomorrow I’ll start in my new role. More than any excitement or fear I feel for the job itself, I’m looking forward to getting a chance to take a leap into the unknown. Not unlike the last few years, I’m faced with ambiguity and am still trying to lean in. It's a daily challenge, but each day I learn a little more about how to trust God as he's unveiling who He's calling me to be.
Both the young man that spoke to Jesus and Batman are people who are trying to live out their ambitions without understanding what it might take to get there. At times, I think this is all of us. We are distracted by things that we think are important, and occasionally those things keep us from discovering our purpose. As I continue to take steps forward in life, I am reminded of how sometimes the simplest directions can seem like the hardest to follow. In order to discover what’s next, we may have to leave something behind. For the young man that spoke to Jesus, it was his wealth. For Batman, it was his pride and lack of fear. For me, it might be leaving behind the idea of who I want to be in order to discover who I am being called to be. Regardless, I think it's important for us to lean in, and take the leap.
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