When I was in elementary school, we had what was called Field Day. The whole school was involved, and we could sign up ahead of time for the field event for which we felt most suited. There were standing broad jump, running broad jump, the high jump, the discus throw, a relay race, and the 100 yard dash.
I wasn’t very athletic. I couldn’t even throw a softball well enough to make girl’s village summer team, so discus throwing was out of my league entirely, and only tall girls with long legs seemed to excel at the 100 yard dash. So, I always tried the running broad jump and the high jump. For the broad jump, someone stood at the side of the sawdust pit to mark and measure how far from the jumping line the contestant landed. More graceful, stronger kids always beat me in that one.
The high jump was performed by jumping over a cane pole, resting on pegs in two parallel vertical posts. The slightest touch would dislodge the pole. The object was to get a running start, then hurl one’s body over the pole. Each successful try was followed by the official moving the pole up one increment on the posts. The long, lean type was always superior to me in that event.
You can understand, then, why the metaphor of a race has not been the scriptural comparison to most inspire me. A wave of fifth-grade nausea always seemed to rise in my stomach whenever I read Hebrews 12 and felt Paul start in on me as a runner, and the spiritual journey as a Field Day.
But now that I am older and wiser, I am coming to believe that the race so often referred to in the Bible is not a 100-yard dash or a broad jump (running or standing) or a high jump or discus throw. I don’t believe that these verses are even about competing or winning. The race, I am discovering, is not a sprint. It’s a marathon, and the object of this life event is to endure and finish!
It doesn’t matter whether I run, jog, or eventually manage to drag my pulsating, throbbing body over the finish line. The point is to finish, and get there without giving up. I’m coming to see that whenever I think I can’t go another inch, there is a support team running alongside to catch me when my knees buckle. There are fans in the bleachers all along the well-planned and chosen course that have long since found this race possible by finishing it themselves. At every bend in the track, there they are, cheering and encouraging at the top of their lungs. “Yes! Yes, you can! You can make it!” In the Body of Christ, that’s what friends are for.
And I am finally coming to know that endurance is what the Coach is after. He’s not interested in spurts of flashy athletic prowess. He isn’t impressed by sleek bodies, rippling muscles, or perfect form. It’s commitment and determination He adores. It’s the earnest, passionate pursuit of the goal that makes Him proud—staying the course, keeping the faith, and enjoying the journey.
The trophy for this event is engraved not with “First Place Winner” or “Most Valuable Player,” but with “Faithful to the End.” I, even I, can sign up with confidence for that. I may not be good, but I can be stubbornly and joyfully persistent to the end.
