In the mid-'50s, when I was a Boy Scout, the Scout motto was "be prepared." I never quite knew what I was to be prepared for, but recalling the hours spent discussing water rescues—Reach, Throw, Go!—and practicing artificial respiration or first aid, I suspect I was preparing to be a hero. I remember timing how quickly I could strip off my clothes in case the occasion arose to leap into a flooded river to rescue a terrified victim trapped in a sinking car. Even then, I must have known my imagined heroism was ludicrous; I could hardly swim.

Some years later, I earned Red Cross certification and worked summers as a lifeguard. In four or five years, I helped pull two people from the water. Each had suffered a cramp in shallow water. No heroism required.

Thirty years later, when my chance did come, I was about as prepared as I was at age 12. I was sitting with a friend on the side of a backyard pool watching evening descend on the neighborhood. Our wives were nearby in lawn chairs. A few other men tossed a water polo ball about in the shallows. Suddenly my friend was savagely contorted by a seizure. I grabbed at his body to keep him from injuring himself on the cement, but the seizure was too strong. He ripped from my hands and plunged backward into the water.

I jumped, followed him to the bottom, turned him around so he could not grab onto me, and swam. By the time we reached the surface, the other men were beside me and someone was ringing 911. In moments, medical technicians arrived, and I retreated into the background, a shaken, frightened friend overwhelmed by unexpected terror.

Psychologists suggest we dream of being heroes, because we need to exert control over death. They suggest because this desire is impossible, we deny our finiteness and show the tragic flaw the Greeks called hubris. The theory seems plausible, for as my friend was loaded into the ambulance, I knew that though we had pulled him out and he would recover, we could not finally pull him or ourselves through, and I wanted it otherwise. Comparing that moment to my youthful fantasies and our current national desire to rid the world of evil, I wonder if it might not be time to reconsider heroism.

During the Passover supper, Peter declared that he would lay down his life for Jesus. Jesus acknowledged that he would, but he also prophesied that Peter would deny him before morning. Hours later, in the garden when the officers came to arrest Jesus, Peter drew his sword. Ready to fight and die, he cut off the ear of the high priest's slave, but Jesus stopped him. His coming cross, though it would require unimaginable courage and sacrifice, would not require heroic action. It would require yielding, obedience, and resolute faithfulness. After the cross, Peter's life would display the same characteristics, and so would his death.