Gonna Run This Race

The Super Bowl is upon us. Next Sunday, the Denver Broncos, led by Peyton Manning and an offense that scores points with the proficiency of a basketball team, meet the Seattle Seahawks, a team that plays football like it’s 1959—big defense and a smash-it-in-the-line offense. History gives the the ‘hawks the edge—big defense has always won big games, while offenses tend to wilt. Remarkably, even here in little ol’ Augusta, Georgia, we have folks with a deep interest in the game with roots in one or the other big cities. 

Me? No dog in this fight, but I have been to Seattle while never having visited the Mile High City, so I guess I could root for the ‘hawks, but I also think Mr. Manning is a generally decent person—a sadly increasingly rare commodity in sports—from a legendary family, so I could pull for them. Truly, I just want a good game—Super Bowls have gotten to be real snorers lately. 

So what does any of this have to do with the practice of faith?

That word “practice,” for starters.

All the athletes on the field are there because they worked at it and still work at it. They realize that their career is as limited as their skill, and to be the best, you have to work, disciplining mind and body to play the game. St. Paul continually reminded us of faith’s congruence with athletics, using images of boxing (cf. 1 Cor. 9:26), track races (cf. 2 Tim. 4:7 ), and general physical workouts (cf. 1 Cor. 9:24-27).  Paul saw the necessity of self-discipline, self-control, dedication, commitment, and daily practice as absolute essentials to walking the path of faith. If you look through the epistles, you suddenly realize where all of those ridiculous cliches trotted out by less than eloquent commentators come from—they’re biblical!

On one level, this realization should come as no surprise. Faith is a discipline. In talking with folks truly interested in pursuing a deeper spirituality, they confess the struggle to make it work. Like someone still valiantly committed to keeping their New Year’s resolution to work out more, eat less, and get back to near where they need to be, the faithful run into the daily obstacles. A new runner gets the shoes, the kit, watch, and all else, sets 630 AM as the time, and begins. Then winter slams home, greeting 630 AM with ten degrees, wind, and darkness. Then a toddler starts throwing up in the middle of the night, ruining any chance for a 630 departure. Then the schedule rises and even 630 is not early enough to escape the deadlines. No run. Then, no runs, plural. Then…Look through the list. Each of those examples also gets in the way of a commitment to pray each morning, read scripture each dawn, or to sit in contemplation. Too much to do, no time to do it. There sits the “prayer chair” we set aside just for the time to be, empty as we fly by to get to the car to get to work, the doctor, the plane,….

But then we see the neighbor—you know her…the one we pass out there running every morning at the same time every day. She must be neglecting family, job, everybody else but her, selfishly taking her time to run…

Or, is that run the key to her being able to be fully engaged with her family, her job, and everybody else?

She makes time for that which she finds absolutely necessary to handle everything else in her life. 

So, too, the man praying quietly over his morning coffee and danish; so, too, the mom who quietly sits to pray before getting ready for bed, having gotten the kids to bed. It is not that they have chosen self over all others, but rather have found God with them with all others. 

We find time for many things every day. We find time to watch TV, read, piddle about. We find the time to do many, many things. Reflect on them. Scroll through them. Could any of those be converted into time to pray, read scripture, or simply ponder God and us before God? 

The athlete finds time to practice. So, too, the person of faith finds time to be with God. It can be accomplished without guilt trips, neglect of those whom we love or responsibilities, or heavy burdens. It can simply become part of things. 

There is a glorious moment for an athlete—the moment when the game no longer becomes something they actually think a whole lot about; they take the field and everything falls into place as their bodies seem to know exactly how to move, where to be, and how to compensate for any deficiencies. Someone noted that Mr. Manning’s passes look like wounded ducks—wobbling, floating too high, slow, ought to be easily picked off—but every time (nearly), they hit only the waiting hands of the receiver. That is the moment. 

That moment comes in faith, too. It takes practice to get there, but it comes. Prayer is just what we do. God is always there, we find ourselves with God. It is glorious.

Practice.