Distance and Delusion

During my senior year in college, I was awarded a very prestigious scholarship by a very prestigious organization. To accept the scholarship, the organization invited me to a very  prestigious event that was held in a very prestigious venue, and featured a very prestigious keynote speaker. But the entire affair was one of the worst experiences of my life. LOL. Well, sort of.

Calling that experience one of the worst experiences of my life may be a slight exaggeration. But it certainly ranks high among the least enjoyable and most disappointing. That was the case because the keynote speaker of the event tried everything in his power to make me feel small. How he treated me is why they say you should never meet your heroes. Meeting him (and he was one of my rhetorical heroes—his command of the English language was second only to his immaculate style and princely bearing) was like meeting the Devil.

During the event, I was asked to speak before he did. The purpose of my speech was to thank the sponsors of the event for providing me with the scholarship. The scholarship was a big deal. Those folks gave me $10,000 back in 1991—which is equivalent to almost $24,000 today. I don’t remember the speech that I gave. However, I do remember the closing line. I told the more than 5,000 people in attendance that they “could go home and go to sleep because their money was in good hands.” As soon as I had uttered those words, the crowd erupted in a tumultuous applause that lasted almost 15 minutes.

As a 20 year-old budding orator, all of that applause made me giddy with excitement. As I sat down next to the keynote speaker on the dais, I was fully expecting him to congratulate me on a job well done. I even planned to ask him for some pointers on how to improve as a speaker. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and said with a low menacing voice “I guess your little a** forgot who the keynote speaker was.” At first I was shocked. Then, I was angry. Then, I was disappointed. That cornucopia of emotions all stemmed from the fact that I had held this man in such high esteem for so long. I had admired him and his considerable success from a distance. But up close, he was a pygmy. Up close, he was petty. Up close, he was pathetic.

On one occasion that is recorded more than once in the scripture, Jesus was hungry and saw a fig tree in the distance. According to Mark 11:12-14, this is what happened:

The next morning as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. He noticed a fig tree in full leaf a little way off, so he went over to see if he could find any figs. But there were only leaves because it was too early in the season for fruit. Then Jesus said to the tree, “May no one ever eat your fruit again!” And the disciples heard him say it.

From a distance, the fig tree looked appetizing. From a distance, the fig tree appeared as if it could satisfy his appetite. From a distance, the fig tree looked like the antidote to his hunger. But the closer he got to the tree, his disappointment and anger only grew. His reaction is noteworthy: Jesus cursed the tree! I can’t think of another instance where Jesus’ reaction was so painfully pointed. What provoked that reaction was the sad spectacle of a fig tree with no figs—only leaves. From a distance, the tree looked productive. But up close, it was bare.

So today I have a question and a comment.

My question for you today is are you better from a distance than you are up close?

My comment is that perhaps you should be grateful that someone seems as though they are trying to keep you at a distance. They may know something about themselves that they don’t want you to know.  Keeping your distance may keep you from disappointment.