ENDURANCE FOR THE RIGHT RACE

“Stephanie, you’ve been doing this since you were a kid. Walking, running, jumping.” My CrossFit coach was trying to disarm my paralyzing fear of jumping on the 30cm tall wooden box.

“No, Coach. I read books when I was a kid.”

I’ve never been known for my athleticism. My only real developed physical skill is shooting hoops. Not “playing basketball,” wherein I’d have to run sprints back-and-forth across a court or deal with the physical aggression of an opponent player trying to take the ball from me. Just literally shooting hoops. By myself. My siblings and I received a basketball hoop for Christmas right as I was entering junior high, and that’s where I spent my time once I finished my after-school homework every day. It’s still one of my favorite meditative practices. But that’s it. Aside from that, I just read a lot of books. Or studied the lyrics to whatever latest album I’d acquired. I didn’t need to move my body to do either of those things. I just sat there. And read.

So I wasn’t exactly “Most Likely to Start CrossFit in Her Early 30s.”

But I’m glad I did. I’ve learned a lot about myself, and I’ve learned a lot about endurance. I’m learning that “every rep matters,” simply because diligently executing every rep every day (with the exception of weekly rest days— sabbath, anyone?) enables you to perform better and faster upon future trainings.

As we returned to regular in-person (rather than Zoom) trainings after our first pandemic lockdown, our weekly programming was modified. The title for Thursdays, which had previously been simply a “metcon” (metabolic conditioning) day, was now “Endurance Thursday.” Now, I live in Israel, but our programming is in English. My friend leaned over to me in the briefing to ask, “What is ‘endurance’?” Though English is the only language I have any real mastery of, even I was wondering the same. Thursdays were already the heavy days. Did they just get worse? How could they?

“I think it means we’re going to die,” I told her.

On one particular Endurance Thursday, while running one of multiple rounds of 600 meters (which I’ve now ran so often, I can visualize the route with my eyes closed), a penny dropped for me. The Scriptures speak so much of endurance, I thought maybe I always think of it as surviving a cataclysmic event when I don’t need to. The thing about running these 400 or 600 or 800 meter routes, that I’ve now run hundreds of times, is it never matters that I did it the last time except that the last run is helping me run better this time. But I cannot credit yesterday’s reps to today. All I have is today. Tomorrow, I’ll have tomorrow. Life is just a stack of numbered days to be diligent in. Eugene Peterson referred to this as “a long obedience in the same direction.”[1] Indeed.

Now and then, we do a big training— the kind we’d never be able to pull off without a regular training schedule preparing our bodies for it. Annually, our box hosts a Murph training:[2] 1 mile run, 100 pull-ups, 200 push ups, 300 squats, and another mile run. To do it as prescribed (which I do not), you’re wearing a weighted vest while you perform these reps.

It’s heavy.

But it’s not every day. And it’s not every Thursday. I just can’t pull it off without the other days. I can’t just rock up on Memorial Day with a year of beer and cookies under my belt and smash a high-endurance workout. Preparation for that kind of event requires training. It requires diligence. And because our coach is a good coach, he trains us accordingly.

This is the part where I pivot and tether this to a spiritual principle: The LORD is a very good coach. He knows your story, He knows where He’s leading you, and He’s really good about training you for it.[3] And, “tomorrow has trouble of its own.”[4] All you have is today to pursue obedience. It doesn’t matter if He sets you in Istanbul or Iowa— the constitution of the Kingdom of Heaven is the same for everyone everywhere, best summarized in what we call the “Sermon on the Mount”[5] and illuminated in the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth.[6] And “if we die with Him, we will reign with Him.”[7] Obedience pre-resurrection is our means of maturity. I can only guess it gets a lot easier after He “deliver[s us] from this body of death.”[8]

Obedience is the great equalizer. It isn’t easy, but it is simple. It’s not rocket science. It isn’t impossible (when you have the literal “Helper”).[9] It isn’t even “movemental.” It’s just “simple devotion to Jesus.”[10] Anybody can do this, anywhere. All you need is the Cross.

This “long obedience in the same direction” is likened to a race;[11] but we are only competing against ourselves. We are only competing against our own flesh, and for this reason, you can’t win if you cheat.[12] There’s no room for it in the race. Thus all our daily decisions have dignity— to turn the other cheek, to relinquish our affection for money and subjugate our finances to the Cross, to apprehend our errant thoughts, to manage our emotions like the grown adults we are so we don’t ruminate in a petri dish of murderous rage that can well disqualify us from the race.[13] The way of Jesus is the way of freedom, and “carrying our cross daily” to follow Him[14] is the standard training. Then when we do find ourselves exercising a proverbial Murph, we’ve cultivated the fortitude required to execute the reps demanded of us to stay on the narrow road. And there is an end in sight, a finish line for everybody. Mine is probably marked out differently than yours. Again, we’re competing only against ourselves. The common denominator is the Cross; it is also our only qualifier.

After walking through the “hall of faith” of Hebrews 11, reviewing innumerable testimonies bearing witness to the worth of the race, the author leads us— as any should— to Jesus:

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. [15]

Here’s what this tells me: It’s possible to cross the finish line with a smile on my face. It’s possible to actually run across the finish line with joy in my heart and pep in my step, despite the troubles I faced on the route now behind me. It is possible to finish, and finish well. That’s my goal: to finish well.

“Don’t be surprised at the fiery trials you are going through, as if something strange were happening to you,” the aged Peter advised.[16] It’s just training. It’s just refinement. It’s an invitation to mature, and to meet Jesus in the growing up. In fact, celebrate it. “Count it all joy,” said James.[17] Peter expounds:

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ, whom having not seen you love. Though now you do not see Him, yet believing, you rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, receiving the end of your faith—the salvation of your souls.[18]

The greatest encouragement is, Jesus already ran ahead of you.[19] He’s already cut the road. He’s already found the finish line. And He is waiting for you there with a giant keg of Gatorade to dump over your head and champagne to spray on you. Whatever it looks like until then, He is with you.[20] I’ll leave you with what one of my box buddies screams at me any time I start walking on a run: “No! You can’t stop. You can slow down, but you can’t stop. You have to keep running.”

So keep running. He sees and will reward every step, even the smallest acts of obedience.[21] And you’ll regret nothing when you see Him.

I still haven’t completely won my mental battle against box jumps. I also still haven’t given up. My knees might, though. But…imagine how good my box jumps will be in the resurrection when I finally have invincible knees.

Maranatha indeed.

Stephanie Quick is a writer/producer serving with FAI. She cohosts The Better Beautiful podcast with Jeff Henderson. Browse her free music, films, and books in the FAI App and at stephaniequick.org.

 
 

Stephanie Quick