Having started running for physical exercize and a greater sense of well
being at the age of 60, I now see that running is also a great way to meditate.
It has become a regular part of my spiritual practice. I’ve even been tempted
to enter a couple of races. And in these years as a runner, I have come to see
why many of those engaged in spiritual practice have drawn an analogy between
the journey of faith and long distance running.
It was no less
an authority than the apostle Paul who originally compared the Christian life
to running in a race.
This was one of his favorite metaphors. As he
said to the Corinthians, "All the runners at the stadium are trying to win, but
only one of them gets the prize. You must run in the same way, meaning to win."
Actually, Paul may be getting us off to a false start here, for as most runners
realize, it's not about winning or competing. In middle and later life, most of
us have no intention of winning a marathon, the satisfaction comes in simply being
in the race, and completing it. I'm not sure that victory was Paul's point either.
We find in the letter to the Hebrews a scene which recalls the finish of
a Greek marathon. As the leading runners enter the stadium, the crowd rises with
one voice to cheer them on. "With so many witnesses in a great cloud on every
side of us, we too should throw off everything that hinders us, and keep running
steadily in the race we have started." This is not so much a lesson in winning,
but in completing what one has started.
"That's how we all should
run," said the writer of Hebrews, "throwing off every obstacle that hinders us
... and keep running steadily in the race we have started."
a real sense, all of us are long distance runners. Whether we travel from city
to city or whether our journeys are largely those of the mind, we always seem
to be off and running. That's why the whole region of the country, centering around
New York City, where I live and run, is often referred to as the "fast track." For
many who live in this region, life seems to proceed at a faster pace than it does
elsewhere. Even if one chooses a life that is largely sedentary, still time itself
keeps on rushing by, and the years of our life pass like the wind. The question
is whether in our running we are going around and around in circles, or whether
there is a sense of direction and purpose. It's the repetition of the merely routine
that truly tires and fatigues my spirit. What about you?
apartment, for example, when you feel that next week at exactly the same time
you'll have to clean it all over again. Or paying the bills, knowing that next
month, at about the same date, you'll have to pay them again. Or going to work
on a gray Monday morning, when work has lost its meaning and you know that once
again you'll have to face the same dreary tasks, and keep on facing them until
you retire. Or filing your income taxes, and knowing, that next year, on April
15, you'll be filing them all over again, and the only difference is, you'll probably
arrive at that point in the future owing more. And you will not have arrived at
the finish, but only another marker along the road in a race that never ends.
We are all caught up in some activities that proceed without apparent
purpose or direction, so that life seems more like a treadmill than a marathon.
Like any great story, a road race has a beginning, a middle and an end. And
at the end there's the cheering crowd and the welcome and congratulations of family
and friends when you finish. So in the life of faith, the drama unfolds step·by·step. From
birth to death, one draws closer and closer to the finish, nearer and nearer to
that moment of fulfillment when one enters the very presence of God.
Moreover, in a road race, there's a sense of pace and timing, a sense of stewardship
and strategy as you allow your body to run as fast as it can, but not so fast
that you burn yourself out. It was this danger that St Paul had in mind when he
cautioned the Christians of Corinth to keep, "the body in subjection." I read
this phrase not in a narrow, moralistic sense, as though we must constantly keep
a tight reign on our passions and emotions, but rather I read those words as a
runner would. As Paul himself puts it, we're not just out there running around
like chickens with our heads cut off, or burning strength and energy aimlessly
like a boxer fanning his fists in the wind. We are "running to finish the race
we have started."
A long distance race requires careful stewardship of one's
strength. And so in this race we call our lives, there is an appropriate speed
and pace for each one of us, given our stage and status in life. In our youth
we have energy and ability seemingly to fly on wings like eagles. There's a time
in our lives when almost anything seems possible. In middle age there's a slowing
of the pace, a mellowing of the spirit, and we must slow down to a mere run. And
then in old age, when we can neither fly nor run, nevertheless, God gives us the
strength to walk.
The irony is that at each and every stage of life there
are obstacles to be encountered, roadblocks and reversals of fortune that stymie
ones plans and damped one's spirit. And one is tempted to withdraw, pull over
to the side of the road, and quit. This is just as likely to happen in youth when
one encounters a major disappointment, and bright ideals or shining hopes are
so easily tarnished. Or in middle age, when one first begins to feel that the
true obstacles come not from circumstances in the world, but from the limitations
of strength and energy, perhaps even the flaws within. And then again in the final
years of life, when one is tempted to say, "I've done all I can, I've struggled
long enough or hard enough, what difference can I possibly make this late in life?"
So a time of disillusionment can come at any point along the way, when one
is tempted to abandon hope or surrender the dream, thinking if only to ones self,
"This was never meant to be." The fact is, I don't think that any of us can sail
through life without ever coming up against what appears to be an insurmountable
problem. We feel tired and discouraged; we are tempted to quit the race.
To this, I've got just one clear and resounding word: don't give up. Struggle
through, expect inspiration, tap into the power that is greater than yourself.
So that at the close of life, you need never look back with regret, but can say
with the writer of old:
"The time of my departure has come. I have fought
the good fight, I have finished the race; I have held fast the faith."
Of course, you understand I'm not simply talking about a road race.
don't have to run in a marathon to prove your strength. For there may actually
be a time when the body is literally incapable of walking. But even then, you
can throw yourself with abandon into the race which only the soul can run.
In one sense the spiritual life is the greatest long distance marathon of
them all. For in prayer a person can reach out in every direction as far as
the mind can see. In meditation we can identify with people who live in the most
distant reaches of our world. We can walk the ruined streets of Baghdad, pleading
for peace; in prayer, if not in fact, we can travel to the Middle East, working
alongside volunteers who bring Israelis and Palestinians together. And in our
prayer, we are not limited to the boundaries of our planet, but we are quite literally
capable to traveling to the farthest reaches of the universe into the presence
of God where there is no limit at all. As people of the spirit, in whatever state
of health or stage of life we find ourselves, each and everyone of us is perfectly
capable of running like the wind.
As long as one has life enough to let
the spirit run free, it is possible to share in the sense of exhilaration captured
by the prophet, "Those who hope in the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall
mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary."
the long distance race is an apt metaphor for the Christian life because Jesus
lived it that way.
From his birth in Bethlehem, to his death in Jerusalem,
Jesus was literally on the run. In the attempt to spread the word of God as far
and wide as possible, he traveled throughout the villages of Galilee and Judea. He
stopped here and there to touch and talk and heal whenever he could, but he was
no sedentary teacher. In the short span of just three years, he crossed the length
and breadth of his native land, and he took his disciples deep into the territories
of neighboring countries. He made it clear, his gospel was not for the people
of Israel alone, but for all the world.
From the beginning he seemed
to realize his race was against time and fate itself. And as he struggled toward
the finish in the capital city, his enemies conspired against him.
took him at night in the garden of Gethsemane. They came out with swords and spikes
to crush his body in the vain hope that they could also stamp out his restless
spirit. But even when he was nailed to the cross, his spirit continued running
free. Even in the final pain of crucifixion, he could not be deflected from the
course he had chosen, and he continued, running with the wind.
As a runner
hurtles across the finish in a final burst of speed, so in the pain of crucifixion
Jesus threw himself across the line which separates life and death. In that moment
defeat was turned into victory, and the doors of the kingdom burst open. In one
stroke, the possibilities for our lives were extended far beyond the reckoning
of the mortal mind.
In the obit section of the Times not long ago there
appeared this story. "Dr. Paul E. Spangler, 95, dies, while on a seven mile run
near his home in California." Spangler, a retired Navy surgeon took up running
at the age of 67. In the 27 years that followed, he claimed 85 national records
at various distances. In his last competition, he won several gold medals at a
Senior Olympics in Palm Springs. By the time he began running in 1966, Dr Spangler
had lived what many would have considered a long and complete life. He had served
with the Navy in World War I, he was a graduate of Harvard Medical College; he
was an accomplished aviator, as a singer he had formed barbershop quartet groups
all over the world. At the age of 92 he completed the New York City marathon.
In his final decades of life he wanted to prove that one's lifespan could be increased
with what he called "proper living." It's hard to imagine a better illustration
of how one can live, fully and completely, until the very end. Dying at the age
of 95 on a seven mile run."
But the thing is, if an individual in the
ninth decade of life can run 26 miles for the mere satisfaction of completing
a road race, how much more can any one of us accomplish in the effort to make
God's justice and God's peace real in the world? If the cause is incomparably
great, so is the inspiration to complete it. "For those who hope in the Lord shall
renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall run
and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint." So let us complete the race
we have started, let us strive toward the finish, confident that as God runs with
us, we shall each and every one of us be running with the wind.
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The Rev. Charles P. Henderson is a Presbyterian minister and
Executive Director of CrossCurrents.
He is the author of God and Science (John Knox Press, 1986).
A revised and expanded version of the book is appearing here. God and Science (Hypertext Edition,
He is also editor of a new book, featuring articles by world class scientists and theologians, and illustrating the leading views on the relationship between science and religion: Faith, Science and the Future (CrossCurrents Press, 2007).
Charles also tracks the boundry between the virtual and the real at his blog: Next World Design, focusing on the mediation of art, science and spirituality in the metaverse.