Our attention was riveted to the coverage of the Summer Olympics as Simone Biles raced across the mat to perform a masterful Floor Exercise routine. The speed, height and precision of her routine invoked the appropriate gasps in the room… until the words of Rowan interrupted the performance.
Rowan is my grandson; a three-year-old this week with the boundless confidence that is unhindered by reality. He’s a joy bringer. He’s a hoot. He’s an unfiltered mirror to the temptation of my own soul.
So, in the middle of Simone’s masterpiece Rowan blurts out, “I can do that!”
I can barely comprehend the tumbling prowess; I can hardly count the number of flips, but Rowan… he’s got this. Not “someday.” Not “I hope to.” But an impossible promise. “I can.”
The facts are simple and clear. Rowan can’t. I love the boy with all my heart. He’s bright and athletic and handsome… but he’s not a world class gymnast.
Through the humor of the moment came the inescapable origin of the comment. The Garden of Eden. From the tongue of Satan.
But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” (Genesis 3:4-5)
Like God. A gold medal athlete at the age of three without a lick of time in the gym. Like God.
This outrageous and humorous assertion by Rowan served to throw a powerful beam of light on my own unfettered ego. “I can do that.” It’s there. I say it without moving my lips. I live it by my own independence. Our culture promotes it, markets it, believes it.
No.
I can’t. Rowan can’t. You can’t. Nobody can.
You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. (Romans 5:6)
Powerless.
I rest of the matchless power of Jesus. Over sin. Over death. Over despair. Over my own weakness. Jesus. The Christ.
His perfect score is credited to me. His faultless routine, my gold medal.
No, I don’t have this. No, I can’t do this.
But God. Through Jesus. Pure gold.
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