What Lies Ahead
From the film The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner
Philippians 3:4b-14
If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.
Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead.
Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on towards the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.
I want to start from the end: “…but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on towards the goal for the prize…” The verb “straining forward” here is a very particular translation from the Greek— it means specifically straining forward to the tape at the finish line at the end of a race. This passage ends with a running metaphor. Now, I was a distance runner myself, back in the day, my dad is still an avid runner, so these running metaphors do really speak to me. But it’s interesting to me that this is the metaphor Paul chooses to use because running is such a psychological, individual sport. It’s all about self-discipline, pushing yourself. In his book What I Talk About when I Talk About Running, the author Haruki Murakami writes, “I…keep on running in my own cozy, homemade void, my own nostalgic silence.” At another point in his book, he even writes, “Running day after day, piling up the races, bit by bit I raise the bar, and by clearing each level, I elevate myself.” A solitary, cozy void… elevating oneself by pushing oneself… These are a perfect ways to describe that sense of aloneness and often peace, in the middle of a good, long run, as well as that kind of addictive, striving feelings that come from it— but it also seems like the complete opposite of everything Paul writes about in his letters. His focus is on a community working as one, being of one mind in Christ; a running metaphor seems antithetical to all of that.
But in this context, Paul is using his own history and experiences as a lesson for his friends— When he talks in the beginning of being a Pharisee, a scholar and zealot for the law, a persecutor of the church, he’s reminding his friends of his own shameful past—his past, not as a Jew, but specifically as someone who used his power to oppress—and he’s telling the Philippians not to despair—despite some disagreements within the group, and also despite the fact that Paul, their defacto leader is currently imprisoned—he’s reminding them that no one person is ever a lost cause, that no horrible situation is ever cause for despair. There is always hope, and that’s because of God’s grace, as we talked about last week… but as we also talked about last week, while we are all gifted grace, that doesn’t mean we don’t have to work to really experience it, to really make grace work in this world.
In verse 8, Paul writes, “For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ…”. Suffered is a deceptive word here. It’d be better translated as, “I threw everything away.” Paul gave up his riches, his power, his status, when he went to follow Christ. He did it voluntarily, willingly, enthusiastically, even, to the point that he thinks of the power and riches from his past as rubbish. Maybe he suffered in the sense that he made his life logistically harder for himself, he made a more difficult and tenuous life for himself, sure, but he’s happy about it. He rejoices in it.
And so, in thinking of these running metaphors, I got to thinking of the 1959 British short story The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner. The story is about Smith, a 17-year-old troubled, poor young man at a reform school who really never stood chance. He’s angry, he’s bitter, he’s traumatized; he’s ended up there for committing a burglary, among other petty crimes. While there, it’s discovered he has a gift for distance running, and he’s made to train to compete in an upcoming nationwide cross country race. The story is almost exclusively Smith’s inner monologues on his runs. During a particularly raw, frosty early morning of training, he thinks, “…even though some people would call this frost-pain suffering…I don’t, because I know that in half an hour I’m going to be warm, that by the time I get to the main road and am turning on to the wheat-field footpath by the bus stop I’m going to feel as hot as a potbellied stove and as happy as a dog with a tin tail.” No matter how cold and grumpy he feels initially, he knows that sooner than later, his body will be warmed up, his endorphins will be revved up, and so he would never consider his running suffering, no matter the conditions. He’s striving, straining for that goal— but what goal is he striving for? You might assume he’s striving for that first prize in the race. It’s explained in the story, that should he win the race, his last six months at this miserable reform school will be made quite nice. The head of the school makes this very clear to him. When it comes to the day of the race, he feels incredible. In the final stretch, he has a comfortable lead, and he’s about to win easily. But then he starts to think about his goal—about why he’s doing this. And he realizes he won’t be winning for himself, or for any of the other troubled boys around him. He won’t bring any glory to anyone who needs it; he realizes that he feels like nothing more than a dancing monkey for the school’s rich governor, and so he slows down. And eventually he stops running. And he lets the boy who would’ve finished second pass him to win the race for his school. He realizes if he wins, he’s going to win for the bad guys. And even if he gets a cushy final six months in reform school, and maybe even make favorable connections through the governor when he gets out, he won’t feel good about it. It’s not worth it to him to sell his soul. So he throws the race. He throws it all away. He’s essentially given hard labor for his last six months after the throws the race, but he doesn’t care. He knows he made the right choice. One could say that he probably suffered working that hard labor, but it doesn’t sound like he would consider it suffering. In fact, he says at the end of the story, “The work didn’t break me; if anything it made me stronger in many ways, and the governor knew, when I left, that his spite had got him nowhere.”
In the story, Smith runs to escape the toils of reform school life, to think, and to forget. He runs with the goal, not to win for the oppressors, but for the goal of that feeling of being free, that feeling he didn’t have in school, the feeling he never had as a poor boy. And he realizes that winning the race won’t free him, but the simple act of running will.
So when Paul uses his running metaphor, this metaphor of this race, and says, “…forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead…” he’s telling his friends, don’t get bogged down thinking and stressing about your past… learn from it, and move forward… learn from it and find a way to be at peace. And Christ will guide you on that race and gift you grace to find your way. And that ultimate prize, that goal, it won’t look like riches or status. Because we’re not running to glorify ourselves—we’re running to glorify Christ, and to do that, we must work to glorify one another, in order to work together as one. Remember from last week, “Let each of you not look to your own interests, but to the interests of others.”
We have to think long and hard about what our goal actually is. And right now, as you may know, we’re beginning stewardship season, where we often have a very tangible money goal… after I just made it clear that the goal we’re striving for shouldn’t riches or power. Sounds a little hypocritical, I’ll admit! But the ultimate goal of what we do with that money isn’t to glorify ourselves. It’s to keep this place a functioning and life-giving community in Christ— it’s to allow this place to continue to a space where people can feel loved and safe; but it’s also the push the church forward—to see what new ways we can do the work Christ calls us to do in this world.
On my bulletin board on the door to my office, there’s a sticker I inherited from Lucia— it says “Because we’ve always done it that way” with a big red slash through it. This, I believe, is what Paul is talking about when he says “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead.” Now, again, we don’t have to completely forget—we learn from things we’ve done wrong in the past, things that haven’t quite worked—and we move forward as a runner, pushing herself towards that finish line. It might be uncomfortable, it might be strenuous, it might be downright painful, but we continue anyway.
To go back to Murakami, one of his other poignant musings about running is, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. Say you’re running and you think, ‘…this hurts, I can’t take it anymore.’ The hurt part is an unavoidable reality, but whether or not you can stand anymore is up to the runner himself.” Just as Paul doesn’t see himself as someone who suffered in giving up his wealth and power, even if doing so might have been difficult and painful in some ways, the runner can’t think of this pain as suffering, because he or she will always have that ultimate goal in mind—for Smith in the Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner, it was that goal of finally feeling free, and of not bending to his overlord’s will; it was that feeling of being warm and safe and free. What is our ultimate goal? Sure, we have a financial goal we need to hit, but that’s not our ultimate goal. What do we want to see this church become? How can we continue and expand the ministries of this community? What does that heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus look like for us, in today’s broken world? And how do we press on towards that goal together, without getting bogged down by the past?
There is always pain in change and growth. There’s always pain in pushing oneself to uncomfortable limits, of pushing oneself towards new experiences outside our comfort zones. But we don’t have to suffer in order to change and grow. If we know we’re striving towards a common goal, towards one that will free all people, we can withstand whatever kind of pain comes with striving forward. And maybe we can do more than withstand the pain—maybe, like Paul, we can actually work to rejoice in it, knowing the freedom that comes in following the path of Jesus in creating an earth as it is in heaven—a place with no more prisons, no more persecution, a place where every person can be warm and safe and free.
It can feel daunting— for all of Paul’s knowledge and strength, he humbles himself by making it clear to his friends that he is on the same level as them: “Not that I have…obtained this or have…reached the goal; but I press on…”. So this year, as you’re thinking about what you can do for this community, and this church, think about what you want this church to really be. Think about what you want to see this church doing in the world and what it can offer, and make that pledge, make that promise to the church that you’ll press on.
But most importantly— let’s remember, we are not in this race alone. We have Jesus. We have each other. We’re not trying to beat or one-up each other. We’re striving together to that finish line, to that earth as it is in heaven. This world can make us feel lonely, with its sinful emphasis on and encouragement of individualism. It can make us feel like we have to do it all by ourselves. But it’s faith communities like this one, it’s people like you, who can encourage and inspire and strengthen.
In some ways, the running metaphor still seems a strange one; but it also feels right. We often feel so alone out there on this race of life. But as long as we lift up each other, as long as we keep communities like ours vibrant and strong, we are never alone. So let’s push, let’s strain, let’s strive for what lies ahead, whatever that may be. Let’s figure it out together, and no matter how painful or difficult it may be at times, we will always rejoice. Amen.
