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“…think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.” –– Romans 12:3b
Perhaps you are in need of a good coffee table book. In May, Sotheby’s will offer to the highest bidder the oldest recognized complete manuscript of the Hebrew Bible, known as The Codex Sassoon. (Maybe it will at least come with a basket of hair-care products, given that the expected buyer will be shelling out something north of $30 million). The Codex dates to the late ninth or early tenth century and consists of 792 parchment pages, weighing in at about 26.5 pounds. It has been described as “the most important document to come to auction ever,” a bold claim given the existence of any number of ancient documents with an older provenance. Yet, the auctioneer’s enthusiasm is understandable in this era of contention inflation. Our desire for relevance is such that we’ll make all sorts of claims to validate our place at the center of all things. My urologist is regarded as the best in the country; We have reservations at the top-ranked restaurant in the city; My child was admitted to the most selective college; Our team was the best in school history; My car always ranks in Motor Trend’s top-ten; That was the storm of the century.
We just can’t seem to help ourselves, inflating our experiences into epochal events. We even exaggerate our bad experiences, fearing someone might stake a claim to a higher-grade of misery. The surgeon said she had never seen a knee worse than mine; It was the worst traffic jam in history; the hottest summer; the coldest soccer game; the wettest vacation; the filthiest hotel room; the rudest waiter…
It seems foolish and fruitless to use words like greatest, worst, most, and least when placing our lives in the context of history. We should never need to diminish the experiences of our forebears, our peers, or our heirs in order to validate our own. Our significance is measured not by superlatives but in grace. One experience does not have to be better or worse than another to be real. How and whether our experiences are rated by others become less important as we grow to understand that all our experiences are seen and understood and valued by God. The psalmist confesses, “You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways.” Our habit of hyperbole rises out of a desire to impress, which in turn, evolves from a fear that we’re not impressive enough on our own to be valued without a little window dressing. Yet, when we understand our value in the eyes of God, our need to impress others fades as we live into the lives created for us by the One who cherishes us most.
To feed a needy ego, someone out there is going spend $30 million on a Bible they will never read. It’s a shame, because I could get them one for free that they can always flip through (and even underline), and its worth is priceless. “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
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