Thursday, August 5, 2010

Garage Sale Treasures and Redemption

There was yet another "feel good" story about a fellow who stumbled upon a fortune of a buy at a garage sale, this time when a commercial painter from Fresno, California was made aware that a box of glass photo negatives that he had bought at a garage sale for $45 was appraised $200 million. This is similar to similar variations of this story, simply switching the garage sale item to Stradivarius Violin or original Picasso painting or the pistol that killed Abraham Lincoln.

Two unfortunate angles of this story is (1) it's never happened to me - everything I've ever bought at garage sale has been worthless crap that I've paid little for which has remained worthless crap and (2) how to the sellers feel when they find out later that they've sold a million dollar antique or heirloom for the price of a McDonald's Value Meal? Doesn't that enrage or devastate them? How come we never see the article presented as such: "Man Deeply in Debt Laments Upon Realizing He Sold Priceless Paintings for $50 - also throwing in Hedge Clippers and Garden Hose"? It's possible that the human-interest in that angle doesn't tend to inspire the warm and fuzzy feelings as the author intends.

Some might say that we like these stories because we simply envy the "lottery ticket" nature of stumbling upon something that brings instant fortune. But I think the greater appeal to these "guy finds a diamond in the rough" stories appeals to our love of redemption. It's the same thing that makes movies like Rocky and The Karate Kid so enjoyable. Generally speaking, we take great joy in seeing that which seems worthless be revealed as so valuable. The Christian gospel, too, has that same beauty, that people who are fallen and broken can be redeemed and "made right" by the power of God through Christ's death and resurrection.

That's redemption at it's best, and thankfully it happens a lot more frequently that stumbling on a Renoir in a garage sale. But if I see a girl's bicycle on sale sitting in a driveway, I'll still probably stop.

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