The Race and the Prize 3/13/16
Hebrews 12:1-17, Matthew 13:52
You are startled awake,
jumping up from your pillow, with sweat on your forehead and your heart
racing. That was a scary dream. As you wipe your groggy eyes, a thick fog is
causing clear thinking to elude you.
Your head hurts. You are confused and dazed, cloudy and
discombobulated. Something isn’t right,
and you can’t quite seem to figure out what it is. You feel lost, alone, and in a dark place. The moment haunts you with how meaningless
and scared you feel. But it isn’t just a
fleeting moment. Somewhere along the way, this is how you feel all the
time. This darkness and isolation has
become your entire existence.
It is into that moment, from
out of the darkness, comes a hand, reaching out to you. “Follow me”, the voice says. “Run the race that I have for you, and walk
the path that is right, true, and good.
Don’t stray off the path, keep on following me, and I promise that
something good will be at the end of the path.”
The choice is before
you. Continue in this awful state of
stupor, or follow. As you consider this
choice, you decide to speak out to this voice that has come to you.
Is the path easy? You ask.
Not always. In fact, I know some of it is very difficult.
What if I fall down? You inquire.
You probably will get
bruised.
What if I take the wrong
path? You wonder out loud.
If you follow me and listen
to my voice, you won’t follow the wrong path.
What if I want to choose a
path different than where you lead me?
If you do, at any point, ask
for my help, I’ll lead you out of the wrong path back toward the path I chose
for you. Are you ready to make a
decision? Will you follow me?
One last thing…Do you have
one piece of advice for me?
Yes, Pay attention. Now, will you follow me?
After a simple ‘yes’, you
start to walk.
The voice then spoke to me
again: The path you will now walk will
be called the race. At the end of the
race is the prize. There will be times
you should run with reckless abandon.
There will be times to consider your steps carefully. But most of the time, a steady step forward,
one step at a time, will do. Most of the
time, we will walk together.
Your first sense as you look
at this path is wonder. You behold
majestic trees in a forest, which seem to clap their hands in praise. Their roots are built into the soil and
history. The trees are a large and stable presence along the path. There is a diversity of shrubbery and plant
life along either side of the path.
There is mostly quiet, and as you get into a rhythm of walking, the noise
producing contraptions you’ve brought with you seem less meaningful. You feel good as you experience all that is
around you. And in this place, you feel
well enough to walk at a good pace.
But not all is wonder-filled
on the race. At one point, you stoop
down to see some mushrooms. Feeling
hungry, you extend your hand to reach for them, when that hand that lifted you
out of the muck and mire stops you, and the voice warns you: Those are poisonous. Putting them in your body will cause your
body harm.
Further on down the path,
there is a cavern. Feeling curious, I
call out to the voice: What is that
cavern?
To me came this word: It is the cavern of anger. If you go in there, the darkness makes it
hard to find your way out. And the more
you give your anger a voice, the volume increases and it sends sound bouncing
from one wall to the next. Each time the
sound hits a wall, it fractures into further sounds. The angrier you get, the paralyzed you will
be by the volume of the fractured sounds.
Avoid the cavern of anger. If you
end up there, call to me, and ask for my help. I will help you. But my help will require that you leave your
anger in the cavern.
After this, the path became
quite narrow. There was a sharp, steep
decline within inches of the edge of the path.
The voice speaks out to you: This
is where trouble lives. You can sense
and experience trouble even if you are running the race. You don’t have to fall off the path in order
to know trouble. It is there. To get through, hold my hand as you keep on
stepping forward.
After walking through
trouble, we enjoyed a time where the path was level. It was kind to our feet and knees and
backs. On this respite of level walking,
we were able to regain strength for the next part of the race.
Next, we came to a fork in
the road. There was a warning sign. To the left, the arrow pointed “The race”,
and to the right, the arrow pointed “The Trail of Fears”. Having succeeded in my race so far, I
decided to leave the path, and I chose the trail of fears. A few steps onto the trail, I heard voices of
other travelers. We aren’t sure where
this leads, we were forced upon this path.
It isn’t our fault. We don’t want
to go here. We are scared. We feel all
alone here, so let’s go down the path together.
I didn’t think these
travelers were correct. I chose this
path. They could have chosen to stay on
the race. We brought ourselves
here. But perhaps there is comfort in
the company of these travelers.
It turned out that this was
not so.
The trail taught us
something. That if we speak out every
fear to every traveler, we become weaker rather than finding strength. Our feet come to a halt. Our feet become so heavy they are difficult
to lift up. Every fear that was voiced
awoke the fears that were within us. They
fed off of each other, until we were at a stand still, not knowing where to go,
with our souls almost devoured. Then I remembered: If you get lost, call out to me.
So I did.
As I called, I saw a terrible
sight. The trail was only 3 or 4 steps
long. At the end of those few steps was
a horrible cliff that would have led to our death. It turns out that our paralyzing fear caused
such a slow movement that it distorted our sense of space. But because the
trail was indeed short the return back was attainable. The voice called to us. I turned around, and went back to Race. A few others joined me. Others didn’t.
As I started back on the
race, my legs felt a little weak from my wrong choice, but I knew that I could
return to health because I was on the right path.
Continuing the race, the
path left the forest and turned into a deep valley, darkened because of the
setting sun behind us. The voice said
that this was the valley of the shadow of death. It was then I understood that the prize might
not always be won in this life, but the promise remained real. And it was in this valley that I saw more
clearly the hand that had reached out to me, and the voice which had spoken to
me. For this voice was the voice of the
Lord. And he was in charge even in this
place.
After traveling through the
valley, we found that our legs had regained their strength. To my surprise, there was a billboard along
the path. This was unusual, but the
message provided hope: Don’t grow weary
and lose heart. I chose to keep my
diligence, and found my legs grow stronger with each step. But at the same time, I noticed a sense of
hunger. It was more than a sense; I was
really hungry. And it was getting dark.
What would we do? Would we be
okay? I noticed another fork, with the
same choices as before: the race, or
the trail of fears. And this time I
chose the race.
Immediately after my choice,
I came to a lodge with tavern. I met
delightful travelers, some of whom looked familiar to me, and even an old
friend or two. But there was also many
new travelers who I would now meet.
There was light so we could see one another and enjoy fellowship. And there was food. Plenty of food. We celebrated together and then we rested for
the night. My choice reinforced a
truth: the path came equipped for
everything I needed to run the race.
Looking back, there was that
place of food and lodge every seven days throughout my entire journey on the
race.
Sometimes, I found the quiet
of the race to be lonely. I liked it
being alone better than the loud noises. Most of the time, the quiet allowed me
to think clearly. While running the
race, I would occasionally hear voices further up along the path, and they
would be beckoning me to keep going. And
so when I received encouragement, I would beckon to those behind me in the
race. I would tell them to run and not
grow weary. I always tried to remember
to call forward a thank you for the encouragement I had received. I’m not sure if they heard me or not, but it
seemed more important to say it than for the words to be heard.
All the while, through all
the different opportunities and seasons, and all the different travelers I
would get to know, and the voices from behind me or before me, there stayed
with me that voice of the one who first helped me. Sometimes the voice was a whisper, and
sometimes a loud thunder, sometimes a voice and sometimes a sign. But that voice always stayed with me, and it
always called out to me, “Pay attention” and “Follow me”.
After a long time of travel,
I came to a book that was placed upon a stump along the road. The cover of that dusty, well used book said
these words: “My responsibilities”. I opened the book and the first words I read
were “Strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. Make level paths for your feet, so that the
lame may not be disabled, but rather healed.”
That indeed was something I was able to do. Being responsible provided the discipline
needed for the journey.
Sometimes when I would rest
by the campfire, at the end of a days walk, I would think about some of the
things that I had seen along the way.
Distance and further travel had allowed me to understand more clearly
what I had seen earlier in the journey.
I thought back to the cavern of anger.
It turns out that while I was looking at the cavern, there was a sign
above me that I had not given much notice. It read “Training ground”. By staying in the race, I was receiving
training in righteousness. I would also
recall those times of food and lodge.
They were such cherished times. I
look back at those gatherings, and they were called “peace”.
At one point, I had another
dream. This time it wasn’t a nightmare,
but rather a healing rest. When I awoke
from it, rather than sweat and heart palpitations, I was complete. I was whole.
What my eyes saw was new yet strangely familiar; I was home. I cannot find the exact words to describe
what I saw, but I do have one word:
Joy. There before me was
joy. Not only for me; but for a countless
number from every race and nation and village and tribe. Abundant Joy!
In what seemed like seconds, I turned around to see my children enter
this joy.
After that, I heard that
great voice which had once saved me from hell and was with me throughout the race;
“Well done, good and faithful runner, enter into the joy of your master.” It turns out, that the voice that I had heard
was that of Jesus Christ “For the joy
set before him, Jesus endured the cross”.
Fix your eyes on Jesus.
