Batman Has Landed

by Chris Blake

On two occasions one summer I found myself surprisingly motivated.
Scene 1. The first occasion took place at Tsali State Park in North Carolina, on one of the nation’s top mountain biking trails. I was riding with local mountain men Steve and Bill, attempting to coax my flatlander legs to keep up.
The previous day I had climbed a different trail fairly effortlessly before
careening downhill with sheer abandon. At Tsali, we climbed gradually for eight miles on rugged single-track, bumping over rocks and roots. I was doing all right, I thought. Then the real climbing began. We ascended the next three steep miles, and I discovered in a soulful, intimate way the meaning of a relatively new word.
Bonk (bongk), v.t., v.i. Slang. to become exhausted, depleted of energy: “run
out of gas,” “hit the wall,” “stick a fork in me; I’m done.”
I bonked at mile ten. No mas. I couldn’t walk my bike up the incline. My
driving pistons had morphed to Play-Doh. Bill handed me two Power Bars, and I munched them slowly, bending over, wheezing and gasping. I threw down the bike like a bad habit, staggered to an old rotting tree stump, and sat on it. No way I’d be moving anywhere for a long, long time.
In less than eight seconds I was up, kicking and yelling and jumping around
like a cross between a Turkish dervish and a teenager pogoing in a mosh pit.
Boundless energy captivated me. Exhaustion was the last thing on my mind.
What happened? No, the Power Bars didn’t kick in for another fifteen minutes. Instead, I had become energized by dozens of giant red ants that were racing up my legs like the start of the New York Marathon.
Scene 2. The first week of August, our family enjoyed family camp at Camp
MiVoden in Northern Idaho. Late one evening, I was reading on the cabin bed with my back propped against two pillows before an open window. The cool mountain air whispered about us. Yolanda sat knitting beside, and our sons rested, reading and talking. A tranquil, happy scene.
I felt something light on my hair, just the weight of a feather, and I carelessly
brushed it forward. A black bat landed on my chest, wings spread, its weaselly eyes fastened on me.
“Yoww!” Instantly I broke the world’s record for the sitting long jump. Yolanda performed even better. She spurned the law of gravity as she flew across the room and out the door. I have never seen her so inspired. The room emptied of all humans in approximately 0.3 seconds.

Motivations
What is it that energizes us? Some of us are energized to exercise by a fold of fat around our middles. Others are energized to buy eyeglasses when we can’t read a map. What we see in our dominant reality as our immediate need motivates our response.
However, most people tend to see only what they’re looking for. Hairstylists
spot uneven bangs. Dentists and dental assistants (about half our congregation, it seems) detect receding gums. Baseball scouts pick out curveball weaknesses. Police officers notice suspicious behavior. Followers of Jesus see . . . what?
Christians need to see with new eyes. To look for inner beauty, listen for
hidden cries. These motivations are literally everywhere. In addition, we need to train our noses for the scent of angel wings.
O, that we could be energized out of our comfort zones not by the ants and
bats of hell—or by COVID-19 worries and fears—but by the love of God. The apostle Paul writes, “Do you not know that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” (Romans 2:4). (Apparently, some Romans didn’t.)
What will energize us on the New Earth? No more terrors then. How about
adrenaline-addicting deadlines? Probably not. Showing up an adversary? No.
Without fear or hatred, what will be our motivation? The same motive that should drive us now: love for a kind God and for God’s creations. Love is the one and only godly motivation.
When I was much younger, cleaning slimy, disgusting dishes grossed me out.
What could be worse than sticking your hands into someone’s crusted leftovers?
Then Yolanda and I had children. Amazingly, at that point I chose to clean their soiled diapers and little bottoms. Virtually nothing grosses me out after that. I have been to the valley of the shadow of death. As John tells us in his first letter, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.” Love set me free.
At this time of “shelter in place” and washing hands fifteen times a day and
concerns about underequipped workers and overcrowded hospitals and economic meltdown, it’s still love that motivates us to take our next breath, to live with defiant optimism, to instill hope in the eyes of a child. Just one basic motivation.
Love.