Sermon for Septuagesima, February 8, 2009
“ I therefore so run, not as uncertainly; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air: but I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection; lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway. ”
I am not a runner. People have told me that when they see me run, a pretty rare opportunity for them, that I look like a bear. Hit the ball and run to first base, like a bear lumbering through the forest. I see people running through the park or down sidewalks and I do not think: “Oh, that looks like fun.” I also don't like to get hit with somebody's fist. Maybe it's just me, but that hurts. And my own hands hurt when I hit something with them, like a guy's jaw. I don't like to fight, and it's remarkable how little fighting I had to do as a kid. I was tall, you see, and so I was always the guy standing in the back of every group or class picture. People may have thought of punching me out, but then looked up and thought better of it. Lucky for me. I wouldn't have known how to fight.
I did learn boxing fundamentals, though. Frankie Van was a friend of my father, and was a real professional boxing referee. In later life he appeared in movies about boxers as the ref in the ring, with the white shirt and bow tie. He had his own gym with exercise equipment and punching bags. I put on the gloves and punched the bag a bit. Then he showed me how to stand, put up my dukes, move and stay balanced, and jab, cross and uppercut. We went a round or two and, to his surprise, I landed one on him. That was my entire boxing career: I got one punch through on Frankie Van.
So when St. Paul talks in 1 st Corinthians about running and boxing, I know about as much as any disinterested observer. These are not my sports. But I do have the spirit for them, even if I don't have the body that excels in them. What's he talking about in this Epistle today?
The objective of running in a race is to win the prize. What's the point of running if you don't want to get there first in front of the other guys? You may know that you're outmatched before you start, but you don't run with that idea. You hear the gun, start your muscles pumping, spring forward and move as fast as you can, looking down the lane until you see the tape and stretch for it. You're going for the gold here and nothing less will do.
If you saw any of the Rocky movies, you saw a bum get heart for a fight and begin to shape himself up for it. By the title round he was still a bum, and was out-matched by whomever he faced— did you see him up against Hulk Hogan? That wasn't pretty. But in the title match, Rocky had his body under subjection, and his heart right, and though he led with his face, as they say, he never gave up. This wasn't shadow boxing, it was real, and in the end he laid the other guy out and won the prize.
Now, how is this a lesson for us? The prize is heaven, and frankly we have too low a value on that objective. Some people seem to see heaven as the consolation prize for having to live down here for a lifetime. It's just better than the other place, so we'll settle for it. With the Hollywood idea of what heaven is like, it's no wonder that people aren't excited about wearing togas, little stage wings, and Roman sandals in a phony cloud scene—like some ad for Valium. There is nothing like that in your future: I guarantee it. Going to heaven is something more like hearing 100,000 fans cheering you at the final buzzer that ends a Super Bowl that you just won with a shoestring catch at the far corner of the end zone. You're the hero. You used up everything you have to get there, and then stretched for more, touching both toes inbounds before landing on the ball. And the buzzer sounds. You did it. And everybody loves you.
Everybody loves you. Not just for a moment either, getting bored again, looking for another hero. No . Everybody goes on loving you, and cheering your victory. On this earth, there are few people that feel that kind of sustained approval. Most of them are ruined by it, too, and have to go on impressing themselves and others to keep the good will flowing toward themselves. But not in heaven. First : thank God, we're purified of our old hankering for applause. It will be more like an overwhelming relief to know that all our good works now count for something and that the real judge of our lives is happy with us. There is no higher judge, and He has ruled: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” That's the prize. Everything else you did, all your errors in judgment, shameful carnal misadventures, gifts offered to unworthy objects, lost weekends and hours of wasted time doing essentially nothing—all these things are gone, with even the memory of the guilt you felt for them, because God has taken you up and called you faithful.
Is anything else worthy striving for? Sure. There are very worthy goals we work for in the here and now. We work to bring home a check. We sing to bring others pleasure. We serve others to make their lives happy. We give of ourselves to fulfill the lives of the people we love. We also eat, sleep, wash, and tend to our own bodily needs in order to stay alive. Life is more than leisure. And when our work has a worthy object, and is done with a good heart, it's right that we feel good about it.
There is a silly religious tenet that says only our faith means anything to God: nothing we do is worthy, and our works are only the motions of our pride. That's getting the equation wrong. Yes, it is by faith we are saved. But faith, as St. James says, when it stands alone doesn't prove a thing. Peter had faith that he might walk on the water with Jesus, but it didn't mean a thing until he stepped off the boat. I spoke to a college group last week and told them: “Faith, if it doesn't essentially change your lives, is only another word for hypocrisy.”
Likewise, works without faith mean nothing either. What we are seeking is a life that brings glory to God, and shows Him we mean what we say we mean by our faith. And then, “God is not unjust to forget your work and labor of love which you have shown toward His name, in that you have ministered to the saints, and do minister.” Heb 6:10 Jesus said, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.” Matt 5:16
He told the parable about the workers in the vineyard. Here the owner rewards everyone the same, even though they all worked differing hours. The ones who worked longest complained. But that would be like cross country runners complaining that the sprinters who won the 100-meter dash shouldn't get gold medals too, having only run the length of a football field, while the cross country course goes on for miles. The workers who harvested the gentleman's grapes were asked to work until dark. Some were hired earlier in the day, others near quitting time, but they all worked until dark . It's not so much how you begin the Christian life that matters, but how you finish . Finish strong.
That's what St. Paul means when he says, “I therefore so run, not as uncertainly; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air: But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway.” 1 Cor 9:26-27 You don't just take a few swipes at your opponent and then let your guard down. You don't just run a few paces down the track and call it good. There is an objective, a final buzzer, a finish line, the pinnacle reached and the flag planted, one small step for a man but a giant leap for mankind. Our lives must be lived every day, our hearts never miss a beat, our breath maintaining its rhythmic pumping of air, in and out. We don't stop.
Last week in confirmation class, I had an epiphany. The lesson was the Exodus, with my recounting of the Passover parallels to Jesus and our salvation. He is the lamb, slain for us, and his blood upon the doorpost of the cross. We are saved from the angel of death as they were, through that blood. Then we escape the slavery of sin and death, to freedom through the baptismal waters of the Red Sea. It all works out, even to there being no bone broken in Christ's body. They are heading for the Promised Land. But then I had to stop and consider the 40 years in the desert. Is that part of the metaphor? Of course! It's this life , after we've converted, been baptized, taken Christ as Lord and Savior, but still have to live our lives in the desert of this world . And work.
The old man dies hard, sometimes, and we learn the great lessons of faith proved out over time, love given not just in the glow of first passion, but for a lifetime, patience perfected through suffering, and the sanctification of facing each of our faults and gaining mastery over them, one by one. It may take 40 years to cross this finish line, or 60, or 90 even. But when we've broken that tape, and the crowds begin to cheer: we shall feel a flood of relief and joy, and the very truest meaning of our life will eclipse the tears and pain and shadows that went before. Well done. You've won. Well done. Welcome home .
PFH+