I was sixteen when I first heard about a swimming hole the locals called The Big Forty. It was an abandoned slate quarry that had partially filled with water. The hole got its name from a forty-foot-high cliff along the south side. The water was clear and deep, and the cliff was high and steep. It was the perfect place for a teenager to experience freefall.
Note: This article is in a series called Two Roads. Previous articles are always available at http://www.webbweekly.com.
While the cliff was steep, it wasn’t quite steep enough. You couldn’t just stand on the edge and jump; you had to back up about twenty feet and take a running head start to have enough forward momentum to clear the bottom of the cliff. The full commitment to jump had to be made before you could see the water. I confess — that little detail freaked me out.
It took quite a while for me to get up enough nerve to make the run and jump. When I finally did, I was amazed at how quickly gravity took over and how much speed I gained in such a short distance. It took my breath away. When I hit the water, I went a lot deeper than I thought I would, and I struggled to get back to the surface. I made that first jump a long, long time ago, but I can remember it like it was yesterday.
Freefall is awesome, but it doesn’t last very long. According to a freefall calculator, my jump from The Big Forty lasted just 1.577 seconds.
People who jump out of airplanes enjoy freefall for a bit longer. The average freefall portion of a skydive is between thirty and sixty seconds before the parachute is deployed. It takes just ten seconds to reach terminal velocity at about one hundred and twenty miles per hour. That’s some serious acceleration. I haven’t taken that jump yet, but someday . . . or not. I think I side with the philosophy that sees no need to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.
The point is this: freefall is exhilarating, but it’s over quick. Gravity is very strong, and the ground pulls you back fast.
Adam experienced free fall when he took a bite of the forbidden fruit. How long did it take for him to bite, enjoy the pleasurable sweet juiciness, and then swallow? My guess is about ten seconds.
How long did Moses’ angry outburst last when he struck the rock instead of speaking to it? A minute? And what about David’s escapade with Bathsheba? Several minutes at most? How long did Judas enjoy the thirty pieces of silver? Maybe an hour? The rooster crowed right after Peter’s third denial, so his moment of relief from danger was just that — a moment.
In rationalization, we convince ourselves we must have something and that we have every right to it. In blackout, we forget all about the long-lasting and far-reaching consequences of our choices. In freefall, we experience pleasure and exhilaration for a moment, lasting a few seconds to a couple of minutes. That’s it. That’s all we get out of freefall. It’s over in the blink of an eye.
Why would a good man risk so much for so little return? It is a haunting question; we wish the answer was long and complicated. It’s not. The writer of Hebrews gives it in just five words,
The fleeting pleasure of sin. Hebrews 11:25
Sin is pleasurable for a moment. It just is. There’s no getting around that basic observation. If sin wasn’t pleasurable, we wouldn’t be tempted by it.
We deal constantly with pleasurable temptations because there are always pleasurable options,
Did you get up early to exercise? Or did you sleep in?
Did you snack on carrots and celery? Or did you eat a glazed donut filled with that awesome white icing?
Did you go to work? Or did you call in sick because your buddy reported the bass were biting at the lake?
Did you study for the test? Or did you watch a movie?
These may seem like silly examples, but they illustrate the constant struggle we have with pleasure. It seems to lurk around every corner,
Sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it. Genesis 4:7
I am a forty-year veteran of church picnics and potlucks. The dessert table is the best. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard someone say as they look over the plentiful and rich sweets,
A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.
That little saying encapsulates the experience of freefall. It is a moment of pleasure in the midst of a life-long battle. More often than not, the person who says it overloads their plate with fattening desserts anyway. Why? The pull of gravity, with its promise of quick pleasure, is just too strong. No sooner have they swallowed the last bite; they are already regretting it. Freefall just doesn’t last. I confess that sometimes I’m the one wiping the evidence from my chin while regretting that third piece of Joyce’s pecan pie.
What pleasure are you considering today? Is there something or someone out there, some pleasure crouching at your door?
Before you jump, take a moment to consider the consequences that will follow the choice you make. Will it lead you forward, or will it set you back? Will it build your confidence, or will it defeat you? Will it strengthen your marriage, or will it destroy it?
You should ask yourself those questions, but you probably won’t because we already know that blackout happens just before freefall.
Do you know what happens after freefall? Of course, you do; it’s called impact. When you fall from a ladder or a tree, the fall is painless — the problem is the sudden stop at the bottom. That’s where the damage is done. The bottom is where freefall always ends. We’ll talk about the impact next week.
