If, as you read the Bible, your attention is solely riveted on major characters—like Abraham, David, Moses, Peter, Paul, etc.—, many fascinating people with lives full of edifying stories will elude you. You will miss, for example, the not-so-prominent but inarguably incredible sons of Jonadab (in Jeremiah 35) and that anonymous young man in 2 Samuel 18, who refused to kill Absalom (despite Joab’s alluring promises of promotion) because he had heard his king categorically say, “Spare the young man Absalom”. We will tarry, however, neither on the sons of Jonadab, nor on the young man in Joab’s army, but on that gentleman in Matthew 13:45,46, who, I believe, will not repine to be the window into the theme we’re examining today—the beau ideal of life.

To say it straight from the shoulder, seldom have I fallen in love with a Bible character as sudden as he. And not without a telling reason. Of the 23,145 verses in the Bible, only two are allocated to him, yet he does not fail to register his relevance. In speaking of this man, Jesus says, “the kingdom of God is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.” What immediately strikes us about this man is the fact that he had that enviable quality that many people—Christians even—lack: purpose, drive. His raison d’etre was clear. If you had stumbled upon him one day and asked him what he was doing with his life, he would have answered you in a heartbeat (and maybe a little angrily because he would have felt the answer apparent, what with his merchant bag and all) that he was seeking fine pearls. 

Few would disagree that men of such echelons—deeply convinced, convicted and committed to a singular aim—are exceedingly rare. You will readily find proof by asking anyone, “What are you doing with your life?” You would soon realize that not many will have an answer at their behest. In fact, many more would find it surprising that such a totally absurd question should enter your mind at all. The paucity of purpose-driven fellows, thus, makes us endeared to purpose-driven men, even if their goals are perverse.

For example, I know of people who are bent on getting rich (regardless of the means) or dying trying. A friend once confided in me that if he didn’t get extremely rich within two years after leaving the university, he would resort to ritual money. A not-so-perfect scriptural equivalent might be found in Jeremiah 18. I have read that chapter several times, stunned by the brazenness of the people of Israel to whom Jeremiah was sent to prophesy impending disaster, in the hope of provoking them to repent. “Don’t waste your breath”, they responded, “We will continue to live as we want, stubbornly following our own desires.” Such resoluteness!

I really doubt that my friend reverted to ritual money, although I cannot say for sure. What I’m sure of, though, is that it’s one thing to set a goal and quite another thing to remain uncompromisingly committed to it. Look at Peter, for example, who swore heaven and earth to stick to Jesus. You know what happened next. Between knowing the path of truth and actually treading it is a difference as vast as an ocean. Our convictions always seem impregnable until they are tested. Which is all the more reason we admire our gentleman in Matthew 13. You realize that not only was he very clear in his pursuits but also, when one day he had the opportunity to prove it, his decisiveness did not yaw. He considered the bargain—all his possessions for a single pearl—and judged it worth it. I imagine ineffable joy brimming in his insides as he mused, “This is all I have ever wanted in life! How much it costs is irrelevant. Get it I will!” 

But this lad is not without company. Consider Paul. We know that the Spirit did not drag him to Jerusalem. He went very voluntarily. Do you remember how the brethren implored him? “Don’t go to Jerusalem, brother Paul”, they begged. “Don’t you know you will suffer? You could even die! Please, for our sakes, don’t go.” And not without many tears. Yet to Jerusalem brother Paul went, anyway. Not ignorantly, but also considering the bargain carefully—comfort versus hardship for the sake of the kingdom of God—and judging the latter worth it.

You remember the savior, too? Good! Then you must remember the peak of his sufferings in Gethsemane. Only do not interpret his agony as cravenness. Without compulsion, and while still having the option of appealing to heaven’s reinforcement, he drank the cup of suffering down to the dregs. And all this a silent reminder of the truly important things of life.   

It’s interesting what people define for themselves as self-actualization. There are some who are disciples of Epicurus, set apart by their pursuit of pleasure. You know them by their motto: “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die” (1 Cor. 15:32) and their insignia: “Come, let me get wine! Let us drink our fill of beer! And tomorrow will be like today, or even far better” (Isaiah 56:12). Others are crazier about nothing than marriage, or beauty. Some do not ask for too much. They just want a comfortable life. 

I am not unaware of all the (even Biblical) arguments that can be used to justify such pursuits. But I have just one arrow in my quiver. Dare we think that God would deprive his son of these things if they were the most important things of life? You’d have to add to the Bible in order to find proof that Jesus lived a comfortable, pleasurable, grandeur life while he was on earth. But if you search the Scriptures as it is, you will promptly find a plethora of evidence of Christ’s modest and simple lifestyle. I feel it necessary to clarify at once that these things are not inherently evil, and that God could bless us with them. And we may enjoy them, as long as we don’t exaggerate their relevance.

God’s ultimate plan for our lives, however, is far beyond this horizon. In fact, God seems both to delight in and be very adept at sending us out of our comfort zones so that his eternal purposes can be fulfilled. Abraham, Moses, and Jesus left their comfort zones. And Jesus called most of his disciples out of theirs. The lives—and deaths—of Paul, Stephen, Christ, for instance, teach us that to be blessed or graced, contrary to how we usually define it, does not necessarily mean comfort, pleasure and an overabundance of wealth. Does the seeming incongruence of God being with Joseph, even when he had lost everything and was in prison not strike you? 

If neither comfort, pleasure, beauty, wealth, etc. is the beau ideal of life, then what is? Simple. The question of the highest goal of life can easily be decoded by looking at the life of God in the flesh.

I feel that Jesus’ life is God’s letter to man, with the inscription, “This is how I’ve always wanted you to live.” If it facilitates picturesqueness, the sending of Jesus by His father to live on earth is like a chief carpenter, who, upon giving work (with detailed instructions) to his apprentice, gets frustrated that the apprentice (despite countless attempts) does not do it appropriately, and thus, steps in to do the work himself. The life of Jesus—of whom God says, “This is my Son in whom I am well pleased” (Matt.3:17)—is God’s greatest sermon to us.”

The beau ideal of life is, therefore, to be like Jesus. Real success, the peak of self-actualization, and the greatest height that man can aspire to is Christlikeness. Our world today is rife with countless opportunities. There are so many career choices, an oversupply of books to read, and a surplus of options to choose from on a daily basis. With the internet at our behest, for example, the possibilities are limitless. We connect with worlds from our little corner of the world. The tendency to get overwhelmed is real. The natural effect of this is that we tend to be like Martha—distracted, desultory.  We have not found that one thing that is necessary.

But truth is one: No acmes of self-actualization, even if we manage to win the plaudits of all men, can surpass or even rival the superiority of pursuing Christlikeness. Christ, as the ideal man, is the standard in everything. The things Christ believed, lived for, and died for are, corollary, the most important things of life. All that Christ did not have—inclusive of which are a spouse, children, cars, buildings, wealth, degrees—even though the world flaunts them as life’s goals, are—while God may bless us with these—not the ultimate goals of life (Luke 12:15).

My friend, you won’t find a nobler cause, worth all your energy, passion—even your very life—than Christlikeness, which is the true beau ideal of life.