What Scares Super-Man

When I was five years old, I dressed up for my very first Halloween. It's possible that my parents had dressed me up previously, but I have no memory of it. On my first remembered Halloween, however, I was dressed in the blue, red, and yellow of Super-Man.

Super-Man. Man of Steel. American icon of masculinity, power, and goodwill. Most of that was under my radar as a five year old. I just knew that Super-Man was one of the good guys. It was cool that he could fly and pick up cars. He always won the day, and he was afraid of nothing.

We visited a few houses in the neighborhood. I had a small, plastic pumpkin to hold my candy. "Treat or treat," and the booty would come. I was loving it... until we came to one particular house.

Their driveway ran up from the street, and at the top, emanating from the garage, was an eerie glow. And the sounds... I heard fierce, animal sounds... barking, howling... mewling hell cats... bats chirping out of the darkness... and worst of all, the shrill cackling of an unseen witch. I wasn't half way up the driveway before I knew that going into the garage, from which the fell glamouring grew ominously brighter, was a bad idea.

But my parents urged me forward. I could see a woman, with a frighteningly large black hat. Could this be she who laughed with such maniacal abandon? Why in the hell should I go up there? She beckoned to me, and smiled with rotting teath, as mist or smoke poured forth from the giant cauldron before her. She beckoned to me, and mighty Super-Man began to weep...

Eventually, we got candy from this lady... whose Halloween production remains unmatched by anything else I ever saw in my subsequent Halloween experiences. I left with a pumpkin full of candy, and yet I was humbled. As much as I loved being Super-Man, pretending that I was impervious to most anything, the real truth was that I had a lot of fear... I was vulnerable and soft.

Many of us secretly desire to be heroic. One reason is that we'd like to help people in meaningful, significant ways. Another reason could be that heroes represent the best among us. Whether in fact, or in legend, we see heroes as special. And many of us would like to be special. To have great strength to do great things. Could be strength... could be intellect... or speed... or wisdom... or compassion... Christians look to Jesus and see the superlative man! Our creeds and Scriptures heap lauds and powers upon him... excuse me... Him. Our films USUALLY show us a Jesus who is centered, serene, and powerful.

I would like to be centered, serene, and powerful. But the truth is, Jesus wasn't those things... at least, not exclusively. His cackling witch was found in Gesthamane... except this time the threat was real! He was terrified, and he prayed that things would go differently. And in the end, the one who outwitted every trap, except the last, was captured, tried, and killed.

I think we have to make friends with our vulnerability. We may want to wear the cape of a hero, but we all too often shy away from our fears. But it through our fear that we can often discover and accomplish great things. For Jesus, it was resurrection. For me, when I was five, it was candy. But for us, today... on the edge of the vertigo-inducing precipices of our lives.... what might a little courage win us? And what might happen if we urge each other along the way? Despite my great fears, I hope to be hero enough to find out.