Up, Up and Away

I hate having to confess to doing stupid things. But, as I must, I will. Last Friday, as I did my chores around the house, I kept one enraptured eye on the cable news running on my TV, watching and waiting to see what would happen with the now famous runaway balloon and its six-year-old passenger. I prayed for his safety, as did probably millions of other people.

I fell for the hoax.

In my own defense, how could I have known better? Well, maybe a little actual journalism on the part of anyone who works for the people who put the pictures on my TV might have altered the story before it was too late, but who’s to say? Given that the National Guard got caught up in the hunt, I feel somewhat acquitted. But still angry.

I am amazed at the brazen nerve of this family. Not surprised, but amazed nonetheless. Amazed by what they were willing to do, to put others through, to put even their small children through. Amazed at the depth of the deceit and the hubris all for a chance to be on TV. Again. I guess once was not, in fact, enough. For this is the new addiction of our age. Our lust for publicity is as unbounded as an junkie holding up a convenience store to get cash to score a quick hit. Thousands lining up for an American Idol audition. Not because they can sing, not necessarily because they want to bring their gift to the world, but because they know that the worst, the most embarrassing will get their 15 minutes of fame. And we gotta have our 15 minutes! Or even 15 seconds.

We long to be the next William Hung. Famous. For nothing. And what will save us from this self-destructive humiliation?

But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. Matthew 6:6

Faith lives in the constant tension of public and private, of a word that must be proclaimed from rooftops and a piety that must not aggrandize. I do not believe that Jesus means that we should never pray in public or show our faith to others (though I fear that many of my more Lutheran brethren wish he did), but that we should always guard against making grace a servant of our lesser nature, grasping glory for ourselves, shining forth not God’s light but mine.

In creating us as community, God gave birth to a public world. But like all of his good gifts, it is best when it serves his purposes and spoils when we twist it to our own. The world should watch us not to see us, but to see God in us, to behold the little Christ we are called to be. To show that, to jump up and down and scream and shout and seek every moment of attention available to us so that Christ would be known is a good thing indeed. A right thing.

If we do it well.

It is also a gift of God that we are given these small learning moments, and here is one to be sure. We are in danger of raising a generation impoverished of attention, because we are teaching our children all the wrong things about it. The spotlight of self-promotion burns harshly, and the reward of fame floats away like a helium-filled balloon. But to be an instrument of grace, to speak and be Christ in the world is true and never-ending glory.

It might not get you a TV show. But then again, you might not really need one.