Before starring in scads of Capital One commercials and critically acclaimed films like A Time to Kill and The Avengers to name a few, Samuel L. Jackson literally lived on lower stages with dimmer spotlights. As illustrious and decorated as Samuel L.’s career has been, one could easily assume that he found fame at an early age and simply surfed the tidal wave of success that shot him to the elite Hollywood heights that he now inhabits.
It wasn’t until recently, however, that I read a fascinating New York Times article outlining the long and arduous road of anonymity Jackson traversed throughout half of his adult life. It strains credulity to think that when Pulp Fiction (the Tarantino movie that catalyzed Jackson’s career) hit the silver screen in 1994, Samuel L. was forty-five years old. (Yep. You read it right). To that point, his world was relegated to low-budget theaters and forgettable flicks…at forty-five.
Think about that for a second: The age at which most are hitting their professional strides, Jackson was just starting out. If he was in journalism, though, he’d be quick to contend that the Pulp Fiction film wasn’t the point at which he took off—it was the just point at which the world took notice. There’s a lot to unpack in that line alone. I could pontificate for pages about the profundity of that line, but I won’t…at least not for now…perhaps in a later pulpit since it’ll preach. Boy, does it!
But turn the pages of scripture for a second. Put your ear to the rails of holy writ, listen to the vibrations of earlier voices and learn from them: Look at the ex-con Moses minding his father-in-law’s flock in Midian: Waking, walking, tending, sleeping and starting over until one day he was startled by the light of a burning bush flickering in the desert dust.
Look at David sitting in the shadow of his older siblings. It’s easy to feel forgotten when you’re sequestered to far away fields, shoveling sheep dung and slinging rocks to fend off the fangs of lions and bears. Searching, spinning, slinging, defending–over and over. Target practice gets old when no one notices, not to mention nobody ever made it big hitting bullseyes in Bethlehem.
Look at Peter pitching lines ad nauseam—one day to the other—casting nets and mending them. Look at the Samaritan woman at the well: ducking out, looking down, avoiding stares, dipping buckets and walking home…until one day a voice shocked her out of her shame-filled shuffle. It was the same voice that lifted Peter’s gaze away from work and onto the One standing the shoreline of Galilee.
And all of a sudden we read accounts of a washed-up murderer who led an entire nation out of Egyptian oppression. Who better to lead a people to a promise than one who knew his way through the desert? We read of a shepherd kid-turned-king killing a giant with a one square inch weakness no one else could reach. We learn of a lady who led an entire town to the One who told her he was the Messiah. Who better? She was good at garnering the attention of others.
When Peter was given his big break, he’d have no idea that the painstaking patterns of the day were merely points of preparation that would allow him to fish for people.
Innocently and ignorantly, we roll out the red carpet and shine the spotlight on these scriptural celebrities, admiring them for their arrival. But all of them, including Samuel L. would say, “The recognition is nice and everybody wants it. But the road to recognition is built by repetition that nobody ever sees except One and that One taking notice is the only one that matters.”
“Don’t despise the day of small beginnings” (Zech 4:10) It may seem mundane and mindless but enter the New Year doing the little things with great love. It could be a set-up for something more significant.
See You Sunday,
