There’s a popular trend on facebook right now: 25 Random Things About Me. You write a note about yourself, tag your friends, and they’re supposed to write about themselves. The other day, I saw this on a friend’s page: “I don't believe in participation medals, batting the whole line up in youth baseball, not keeping score, not failing students…. Not everyone can be good at everything, sometimes you are supposed to fall flat on your face and move on to something else.” I think Eddie must have read Paul.
Tertullian calls the race of faith a “noble struggle,” with the Holy Spirit as our trainer, with “the sweat of the brow on everything” (Ad Martyras, III). The language is that of competition, with winners and, presumably, losers in the game of life. Those who see sport as the driving metaphor find Paul on their side here. And it’s not just a practice session. We’re not beating only air. The prize is imperishable, with a shelf life greater even than Hostess Twinkies, the prize of everlasting right relationship with each other and with God. It is a prize to be lost or won. Paul has been speaking about his street cred in proclaiming the gospel, so he uses the language of the street. He’s got the degree, the authorization, the sponsorship. But he doesn’t choose to hold any of that over his hearers. They shouldn’t honor him for all his fancy belt buckles or trophies. They should pay attention to his message. It’s worth reflecting on winning and losing, striving, success and failure.
Here’s the rub. I’m competitive enough on the field, but like most of us, I rarely come in first. What does it do to me to think of myself as a loser? When I hear Paul talk he sounds like the winning quarterback. “We had a great opponent, came to play the game, did what we had to win.” Cliché, yes, but he’s speaking from the position of victory. It’s not an easy point of view to hear when you rarely win, might not even make the team.
How to strive and win, without taking pride in the win or lording it over the losers? This seems to be Paul’s way. And it’s possible because the race isn’t against other people. I’m not boxing my neighbor. Rather, the competition is inside each one of us, I against myself. “I punish my body and enslave it.” Strong words. And hard ones to emulate for the person whose self-esteem is shot, who, never having won anything, doesn’t see how to win at life. Precisely the audience Paul is speaking to.
So, is he saying most of us will lose while dangling hope out there for the precious few who, through practice, patience, perseverance and, yes, a little luck will win? I don’t think so. I think Paul is reshaping the idea of competition itself. I’m not competing against Steve or Jerry or Monica. I’m competing against those forces in me and in the world that would divide me from others, divide me from myself. And victory is difficult but possible. I can run the race, follow the rules, win the prize. But that doesn’t mean others can’t also win. Because other people aren’t my opponents in the match Paul describes. My opponents are perishability: sin, evil, and death when they look like individuals; injustice and unrighteousness when they play as a team.
Sometimes we are supposed to fall flat on our face. But this is a noble struggle. And failure, while possible, isn’t required. This may be a race all of us can win.
