It was Spirit Week at the middle school where I work. Tuesday was Breast Cancer Awareness Day, so the students wore all sorts of pink decorations to support the fight to make Breast Cancer obsolete. At my school, where peer pressure is as great as gravity, the kids compete against each other mightily to see who has the best external outfit.

As I watched my class, I moaned silently, asking myself, “Is there a society more focused on how we look externally than ours?” As I pondered that question, my mind drifted back to my younger years when I, too, was more obsessed with my outward appearance.

I peaked height-wise at 5’11 1/2” tall when I was 15. I recall feeling very disappointed. Some people think I am tall, but they do not realize that I come from a family of tall men. My father was 6 feet tall. My father’s brother was 6’ 2”. His sons were 6’2” or taller. I am pretty sure my little brother is 6 feet tall. My oldest son is 6’2”. Can anyone see why this height thing once really bothered me?

My height disappointment lingered until I came down with my second case of mononucleosis in 1979. The doctor who discovered my condition asked me to return for a checkup. Ten days later, while waiting for my appointment, I picked up a magazine. A lengthy article about the Shroud of Turin in the magazine caught my attention. I read the article with my normal skepticism.

Image using the Shroud of Turin by Andrea Widburg

The good folks in Turin claim that the shroud they possess was Jesus’s burial shroud. The article described recent scientific testing done on the Shroud of Turin to prove or disprove its claim to be a first-century relic. The keepers of the shroud allowed scientists to cut a small piece of the fabric for carbon and biological testing.

The article reported that the shroud dating was consistent with the first century. Spores and pollen found on the shroud appeared like spores and pollen indigenous to Palestine. My resistance to accepting the shroud as authentic softened as I read about the diligent efforts experts employed to analyze this famous relic.

The clincher for me came when they discussed the height of the body once wrapped in the shroud. The experts measured the body and found it to be 181.6 centimeters tall. In America, 181.6 cm is 5’11 1/2” tall! It took me a while to abandon my self-imposed label of being the runt of the family and then embrace the news that I was the same height as the Son of God.

The keepers of the Shroud of Turin claim that it was the shroud used to cover Jesus after His crucifixion on the cross. They deserve credit for allowing the shroud to be authenticated by researchers and experts. If they are right, I have no reason to reproach myself for being shorter than my male relatives. If Jesus was 5’11 1/2” tall, that height works for me. I suspect that my musing might give Jesus a smile. I also suspect He would remind me that the cleanliness of the inside of the cup is more important than the cleanliness of the outside of the cup.

People in our society go to all kinds of extremes to attain external perfection. I saw a microcosm of it in my classroom the other day. We celebrate the inner beauty of Mother Theresa, Abraham Lincoln, and Gandhi, but is that just lip service on the way to the spa? The kids are watching us and imitating us. What do they see?

Ned Cosby, a prolific contributor to American Thinker, is a former pastor, veteran Coast Guard officer, and a retired career public high school teacher. His newest novel OUTCRY is a love story exposing the refusal of Christian leaders to report and discipline clergy who sexually abuse our young people. This work of fiction addresses crimes that are all too real. Cosby has also written RECOLLECTIONS FROM MY FATHER’S HOUSE, tracing his own odyssey from 1954 to the present. For more info, visit Ned Cosby.