Surpassing the Zenith

5/16/2011

Yesterday at lunch one of the boys popped off with an unexpected question—such a habit at our house that I should expect it by now.

“Is my body still in its prime,” he asked, “or is it starting to shut down?”

For protection of the innocent,
please note that the boy pictured was not the question-asker.

How do you answer a question like that? Melissa was quick on the reply, “You’re still growing . . .”

But what about those of us who aren’t?

And the real problem isn’t just bodies that are winding down, past their prime—it’s the emotional hurdle of what to do when you’ve passed the zenith of an experience or an achievement, when you’ve crossed the great divide and all the life-giving streams flow the other way.

I’ve never climbed to the top of Mt.Everest, but I wonder what mountaineers feel after conquering the highest peak on earth.

I’ve never won an Olympic gold medal, but I wonder what the gymnast feels when the games are over and he knows he’ll never be able to return to the only life he’s known, the place where he has excelled and where people have extolled his skill.

In Western culture, we save dessert for last. Little wonder—it gives something to anticipate; it reserves the meal’s zenith for its final act.

My young peach trees just passed their apex. Decked in bright flowers, they welcomed any bees that dared this years cool spring weather. And they certainly made our small orchard cheery, even in the rain.

But their flowers are faded now. Only tattered remnants of past glory remain.

In this shadow-world, no pinnacle lasts. In minutes we reduce a fine dessert to crumbs, scarcely nodding to hours of
preparation. Sunset splendor sinks into darkness without a whisper—and, if we
forget to look, it’s gone. Life’s greatest sensory pleasures are among its most ephemeral.

And its greatest achievements are not much longer lived. What’s a warrior to do when war is over, when what he does best is done and there’s no more glory? What’s a mother to do when the children she’s poured her life into are gone? How does a man keep going when he’s reached the top of his game and finds himself sliding down the other side?

I had a friend who enjoyed success and popularity—then life changed and the popularity evaporated. Others stepped into the limelight, into her place. Then there’s Winston Churchill, who served his generation amidst fierce trial. The reward for his victory? He lost the next election and moved toward an old age filled with unfulfillment. “Everyone has his day,” he once said, “and some days last longer than others.”

I would add, “However long they last, every day has its end.”

Peter knew what his end would be. When he preached to thousands on the day of Pentecost, when he healed the lame man, when he raised Dorcas from the dead, when he opened the door of the kingdom to the gentiles . . . in each of these experiences, Peter could see beyond present joy to a dark day coming. Jesus told him unequivocally, “Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress yourself and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go” (John 21:18).

After raising Dorcas, Peter could have said, “Well, that’s all the better it’s ever going to get. Can’t beat raising the dead! And a cruel, horrible death is coming for me, anyway. Why bother? Why go on? . . .”

It’s as though a doctor had diagnosed Peter, “You’re going to die. And it’s not going to be a natural death. You won’t die in your own bed. You are going to be . . . executed. Yes, killed. They are going to stretch out your hands, Peter, and take you where you don’t want to go.”

The images of crucifixion were still fresh in Peter’s mind. He knew what Jesus meant.

And he had to live every day knowing that dessert didn’t await him at the end of life. He couldn’t hope that he would be translated from life to eternity without the pains of death. Don’t you wonder what Peter thought every time he ran into a sticky situation with the authorities? “This is it. This time I’m done for.”

But that isn’t what he thought. When he was rescued from prison, the angel had to smack Peter on the side to wake him up. He was fast asleep, awaiting death.

How did Peter do it? Why didn’t he just give up?

He had his eyes fixed on a summit beyond this life. Sure, there were plenty of pinnacles, mountain-top experiences—but his hope was out of this world. He understood that it was by this kind of death that he would glorify God.

Paul, for all his successes, never counted any one of them as the zenith of his life. “I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” was his attitude (Philippians 3:14). Lesser hopes were realized, and they were satisfying in their own right, I’m sure. The hope of planting the gospel in places where Jesus was unknown—and the joy of seeing little churches spring up all across Asia minor. The hope of making it to Rome—and the satisfaction of getting there, even as a prisoner.

But Paul could not be satisfied with anything less than the Prize. If ever he felt that he’d crossed the finish line, he might have had cause to drift, to wonder what was left to live for. But to Paul’s dying hour, he ran, and ran to win. Hope pulled him on through shipwreck and beatings and hardships of all kinds.

I suppose my little peach trees could mourn the loss of their spring dress. They could lament what is over and gone. But the real point of growing peach trees isn’t blossoms, lovely as they are. The point of growing peach trees is peaches—and blooms must fall for fruit to grow.

Dissatisfaction when we reach pinnacles in life is a reminder that life is not about this life at all. It’s about life to come. We don’t go back to re-build the shattered remains of realized dreams. We press forward toward the Substance of what’s to come. We don’t bury ourselves in memory, reliving what is never to be known in that way again. We go forward, our souls waiting silently, patiently for God alone, all our expectation in Him.

Happy the soul who knows no zenith in this life—whose sun is ever rising on the coming day.

—With God the best is always yet to be.--
(paraphrased from a quotation by Oswald Chambers).

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