On a summer morning in 1974, a young Frenchman stepped out seemingly into thin air. Perched nearly a quarter mile above the earth, Philippe Petit positioned himself at the edge of the South Tower. He put one foot out and began a spellbinding journey across the 130-foot span between the Twin Towers…yes, the fated towers of the World Trade Center. For 45 minutes the daring acrobat walked a ¾-inch wide bridge of cable. He paused to perform a quick dance step and pirouette. He lay down and conversed with seagulls. By 8:00 that Wednesday morning rain forced him into the waiting arms of Port Authority Police. He had crossed the span not once, but eight times.
Have you had a “mountaintop” experience? I’m not talking about a literal climb up or across the heights. But have you ever experienced such an exhilarating event that you actually felt a change in altitude? You felt certain you were floating among the clouds? People use the term to describe the births of their children. Or playing in the championship game. Or graduation from college, making the big sale, overcoming a fear. These are the great highs in life…the heights you never want to come down from. But you do. Sooner or later, gravity pulls you back to earth.
That’s exactly what happened to Philippe Petit. Shortly after the infamous World Trade Center crossing he suffered his first fall—from a height of 45 feet. In traversing the New York skyline at 1350 feet, he had accomplished the inconceivable. It was the routine—a conventional height—that tripped him up.
This is the truth of all mountaintop experiences—especially our spiritual highs.
Jesus walked along the shores of the Sea of Galilee and came upon two muscular men in a boat. He watched as they grasped a circular net and threw it into the waters. They returned the net to the boat to empty the catch and Jesus called to them. “Come with me and you will no longer cast for fish. You will fill your nets with men.” The pair left their boat and net behind and joined Jesus.
Further down the shore He found another pair mending their nets. “Come with me,” He shouted. And these two left not only their boat and nets, but also their father and his hired fishermen (Mark 1:14 – 20 paraphrase).
These four men gave up careers and property, and in the case of James and John, a modicum of prosperity. For three years they traveled with Jesus. They were a part of many mountaintop highs, including healings and miracles. They witnessed Jesus transform from physical to spiritual being.
But then there were the lows…the times when travels were boring and food was plain. James and John—the brothers Jesus nicknamed “Sons of Thunder”—shook things up by reminding Christ of the Kingdom He was to establish. They asked for the privileged seats of power in Jesus’ administration. They suggested that Jesus fill them with power to call down fire from heaven.
And when the heat was on, all four abandoned Jesus. They were on the team, riding a spiritual high, when Jesus called them as His disciples. They each had moments of virtue and intense devotion. But when Jesus was arrested, they asked themselves Is this all there is? They left and returned to fish the sea.
Perhaps you’re wondering what became of your mountaintop experience. You wonder when the excitement and passion left your call to follow Jesus. You question why Scripture seems dry, why you can’t seem to pray anything but “Thanks, God.” When did you start simply going through the motions of worship and service?
Philippe Petit experienced his one and only high wire fall during a practice session. He knew what he was doing…as he had done so many times before. It was routine. Complacency. He temporarily lost focus and left the wire.
Dry spiritual lows offer two options: 1) the uphill climb out of the valley, or 2) the crashing fall. If you’re feeling lifeless in your spiritual journey, stay with the routine. Don’t abandon or lose focus. Call out. Cry out. But keep walking—one foot in front of the other. And maybe add a spin or pirouette.
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