A few years ago in a Washington, DC Metro train station a street musician performed with a violin. If you have spent much time on trains in cities anywhere on the earth you know amateur musicians often play in such venues for any little spare change they can muster from those standing nearby. So what was different about this man?
This violinist needed no money. He hardly qualified as a run-of-the-mill street musician. The man’s name was Joshua Bell, a Grammy award winning, world renowned violinist. And, his instrument did not come from a local pawn shop. He played a rare 3.5 million dollar Stradivarius as he stood at the train station in DC.
You see, the Washington Post had asked Bell to do an experiment—to pose as a street musician in very humble attire. He performed some of the most difficult pieces known for about 40 minutes. The Post wanted to know who would notice. Would people recognize the greatness in their midst?
Over 1100 people passed by. No one applauded after any song. Only seven stopped to listen at all.
They did not. One can understand to some degree as he hardly fit the Kennedy Center stage crowd there in the subway station. But the experiment demonstrated how easily people can go through life and miss greatness in front of them.
We tend to think of greatness by numbers. But not so fast. I recently stood at a place in Greece where numbers did not signify greatness, at least at first. I had the joy of reading from Acts 16 at the traditional place where Lydia, the first European convert, was baptized. Standing there and reflecting on the impact of one woman reminded me that we cannot always measure greatness by utilitarian standards. Paul understood one young lady could signify greatness in God’s eyes. This is a lesson worth pondering.
I met a young man in Greece. His name is Pantelis. I am wearing a soccer (football to him) jersey of his favorite team (Paok) while watching Greece play Argentina in the World Cup. I have met some of the most influential Christian leaders of our time. I have spoken in many of the largest churches in America. But Saturday night as I spoke with my new friend Pantelis, I thought of Lydia. Paul had time for one Greek, and the door opened for the gospel in Europe.
The Lord has been driving a simple truth into my all-too thick head recently: one person matters. Not the crowd. Not the masses. One. I cannot measure the impact of my life apart from the individuals I meet like Pantelis any more than we can understand the book of Acts apart from the lame man in chapter 3, the Ethiopian in 8, Cornelius in 10, or sweet Lydia in chapter 16.
I am grateful for times I can influence large numbers. But I am reminded that true greatness has to do with how we treat the one more than how we stand before the many. I pray I will not forget this lesson learned in Greece.
