Do you remember the “Adventures of Superman” TV show? I sure do. When I was in elementary school, I watched it almost every afternoon. Within 30 minutes of my burst through the back door, there I would be: a glass of milk, a couple of Pop-Tarts®, and a front row seat, all set to see a dilemma develop and Superman fly in for the rescue, just in time. It never got old.
This month happens to be my brother’s birthday month and he is on my heart. Billy is three years older than me and for much of my life, seemed like Superman to me.
At one point, I played Little League® baseball on a team in the age bracket just up from the one I was supposed to play in. I was chosen to do that because I played well enough in my own league to be part of a “call-up” to the older league. I’m glad it happened because I got to play against my big brother in the older league. And Billy was, simply put, the most dominant player in that league. He was bigger than everyone else, threw the ball harder, and hit it farther.
I was in the outfield one night playing against my brother’s team. But Billy wasn’t there. He had been on a youth group trip to Ridgecrest Baptist Assembly that week. He was due home that day, but the bus was running late and he had not made it to the game; something no one on my team was too upset about.
Our team was winning by a couple of runs and with Big Bill out of town, it looked as though victory was in hand. I was in the outfield when their lead-off man got on, followed by the second batter. As the third batter came to the plate, I saw a commotion in the parking lot. My mom had just pulled up and had my brother with her. By the time Billy finished buttoning his jersey, the third batter had reached first, and the bases were loaded.
The coach for Billy’s team immediately put him in to pinch hit. He didn’t even sit down in the dugout. He had been on a church bus for 15 hours after being at camp all week, and changed into his uniform in the car on the way to the field. (I suppose he would have changed in a phone booth if he could have found one.)
And my big brother, Superman, swung at the first pitch and hit a grand slam homerun.
We lost the game. But I have to admit, as much as I hate losing, I remember grinning from ear to ear as he trotted around the bases.
After all, I was Superman’s little brother.
And when I think about Easter, I am overcome with that same thought, only much more so. Because when I look at the Man on the cross, I see the King of kings dying for me. I see my sin and know that I am undone and hopeless. And as the crowd shouts, “Let Him save Himself!” I can only gaze at this God-man, shake my head, and whisper, “Let Him save me.”
Then on Easter Sunday morning when we celebrate Jesus coming out of the grave, I find myself rejoicing in the fact that because I belong to Him, His victory is mine.
Growing up, I never minded being Superman’s little brother. But I’ll be eternally grateful to belong to the One whose name is above every other name — the Lamb of God seated on the throne. Billy knows Him, too. And one day, we will fall down to worship Him forever, together. Hallelujah!
We have won, because He has won — and we belong to Him! Rejoice in that as you approach this Easter season.
Directory, LifeWay Worship