To Walk with Kings
I memorized a poem when I was twelve years old. And one line from that poem reappeared to my memory like an unexpected but welcome visitor when I reached the peak of my education. The poem was “If—” by Rudyard Kipling. The line:
—or walk with kings, nor lose the common touch.
This line by itself is not a complete thought; but within the poem, it exhibits potency. Kipling’s poem lists a series of qualities, or tests, which, if one achieves, shall allow him to inherit the earth, “and what is more”, truly be a Man.
If you can “walk with kings, nor lose the common touch,” then you shall be a man. This is the role I desire speech to play in my life: to empower me with poise and power and precision in communication with the highest minds and strongest personas, while also being capable of wielding my words with such warmth, accessibility and invitation, that I can meet any common man or woman in conversation.
While walking on an old sidewalk with an old man, I recollected this line. The sidewalk was under a thick, wet English sky, and the old man was an “Oxford man”, retired vicar, and kind host who had invited me from church to his home for a meal. While studying a term at the University of Oxford, I was simultaneously titillated by the honor and intimidated with the demands of the setting. My host laughed at the university culture as if he knew it’s faults but had never really known a different setting. He knew the kings of the academy from the inside; I was the fleeting guest. Yet a notion struck me that a position was opening to me which I wanted to chase: “—and walk with kings, nor lose the common touch.”
A meeting of minds and hearts with a regular person of the world is no an easy feat (ask any academician, psychologist or pastor), and this process must be pursued with adequate care. But, as it appeared to me, the harder task, the more privileged position, was in finding a way into the king’s halls. Hearty study, faithful labor, consistent leadership, and the grace of God may allow the opportunity for communication with the heads of society: the professor, the politician, the priest, the producer. But it is the man with the two-fold purpose who becomes the true man. He grows to his highest excellence while constantly prizing accessibility. He pursues Truth and Justice while simultaneously involving himself in humble service. He is the executive of an international social justice organization who teaches seven-year-old Sunday School, and he the quantum physicist who leads the same chatting church children out of the sanctuary because this humble task of teaching the children cannot be done alone.
And, yes, I saw these two men in Oxford the following Sunday, with Kipling’s words ringing in my ears: “–or walk with kings, nor lose the common touch!”
