'Running the Race of Faith'

In I Corinthians, Paul compares our lives with a race at the Isthmian competitions which were held just outside Corinth every two years. Paul made two important observations that are true for our lives today. We need self-control and self-mastery to win the race. Paul writes, “Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly” (1 Corinthians 9:26). Following Christ is not casual or accidental—it requires focus and discipline. Hebrews also says, “Let us lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race set before us” (Hebrews 12:1). Running the race of faith begins with self-control—the ability to say no to the things that slow us down so we can give our best to what matters most.

When I was training for the New York Marathon last year, self-control meant saying no to a lot of things I enjoyed. I sometimes gave up tennis, went to bed earlier instead of watching movies, and paid closer attention to what I ate. Even time with my dogs had to be limited because they couldn’t handle long runs in the Louisiana heat. There were no shortcuts—no skipping a long run just because I was tired. Even on a family trip to Chicago, I had to lace up and stick to the plan. In the same way, running the race of faith requires cutting out distractions such as games and social media, old habits and routines that work against our new training, hobbies that have become obsessions and take inordinate amounts of time, or even relationships that keep us from running freely. What is keeping you back from running well?

But self-control is only half the picture. Self-mastery is about saying yes to the right things that train you for the race. My coach taught me and trained me so I could run farther. She taught me the Galloway method: ten minutes running, one minute walking. She taught me to eat energy gels every 5 miles and force down salty electrolytes every 10 miles even though I didn’t like them. I learned how to build my miles according to a plan so that in four months I’d be able to run 26.2 miles without stopping. She taught me and trained me to endure the long, lonely slogs in sweltering heat. My coach gave me knowledge, encouragement, and accountability. However, it required something of me, self-mastery. I had to learn and apply all that she was teaching me. When I faltered, she got me back on track. 

Spiritually, we have the greatest coach of all, the Holy Spirit. The scriptures are the best game plan for how to train to run the race of faith. It looks like learning to pray, to study Scripture, to worship, to serve, and to keep pressing forward. It is up to us to listen to our Coach, to be attentive and teachable, and to do what the Coach says. And when we fall down or get off the path, our Coach will get us back on track. From first to last, it is the grace and dedication of our Coach that enables us to run the distance.

When race day finally came, I stood in Staten Island with 55,000 runners, adrenaline pulsing as we crossed the Verrazano Bridge. Four and a half hours later, exhausted and sore, I crossed the finish line in Central Park. I wasn’t fast, but I finished. And I realized something: marathons don’t hand out gold medals to only the best—they hand out medals that say “Finisher”. Because in a race that long, simply finishing is the victory. Paul put it this way: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7).

The Christian life isn’t about outrunning others. It’s about staying in the race—laying aside every weight, training our souls through prayer and Scripture, and fixing our eyes on Jesus, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross and sat down at the right hand of the Father. Jesus trained for 33 years to be able to go the distance. How about you? Some days you’ll feel strong; other days, you’ll barely manage one step at a time. But if you stay in the race, Jesus promises a crown that will never fade. And when you cross that final finish line, you will hear the words of the Father that every runner longs for: “Well done. You finished the race. You kept the faith. Welcome home.”  

Blessings,

Jonathan