From my journal: It is tempting to write or preach about a number of events in these most-recent Olympic games that reflect on poor character. A certain skier, a snow-boarder, and a couple of skate-racers all provide ample evidence that winning requires more than physical ability. Winning on a world-class level is also a matter of the heart and discipline and focus. Those who think Christianly understand this.
As I prepared to pounce on some of those momentary lapses of athletic poise (not unlike some of my own lapses, of course), someone commented to me on the performance of the Swiss woman who had been in the number-two position in the snowboard race for the gold medal. I recalled that she was at least 50 meters back when the American athlete decided to “hot-dog” it (play to the crowd, as they say) and fell. The replay shows the Swiss snowboarder flying by to the finish line (and the gold) as the American frantically tries to get back on track.
Go back five seconds before the fall when the American was so far out in front. Why didn’t the Swiss boarder relax and settle for the second place silver medal? What made her keep pushing so that she was in a position to capitalize on the sudden fall of the leader and take the gold? Character, I guess.
“We live our lives under the discipline of uncertainty,” wrote Fred Mitchell, an English missionary leader of 60 years ago. “We never know what emergencies may be approaching, what (opportunities) may be ripening, what chances may be on the way, what temptations (may be lying in) ambush ready to spring unawares.”
Mitchell’s words came back to me as I reflected on the sudden reversal of fortunes that brought the gold rather than the silver to the Swiss snowboarder. By not letting down, by demanding the best of herself—even when she was in second place—she put herself in position to benefit from the surprise.
The perseverance of the athlete in second place who understood uncertainty is the better story, much better, I think, than the disappointing hubris of the one who’d been in first.
From my library shelf: Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Team of Rivals (Simon and Schuster, 2005) is a marvelous work of scholarship and good writing. How many thousands of works are there on Lincoln? Yet we keep learning new things about the life of this remarkable American president.
Then there’s John Burke’s No Perfect People Allowed (Zondervan, 2005). In his introduction, Burke writes, “We don’t need more deconstruction, more theories, and more statistics; rather, we need tangible evidence that God is still doing what God has always done in every generation, constructing his church out of the most hopeless situation. It’s not tearing-down time anymore—it’s construction time.”
The man’s right.
And so he writes of the kind of people more visible in our world than ever before. People broken, suffering, alienated, living in various forms of spiritual captivity. And Burke wonders aloud if there is a church designed to receive them. Then he writes about what such a church looks like.
I jotted this down: Someone heard the prayer of an 85-year old saint and said of the moment, “I felt as if I were intruding on an intimate conversation …” I’d like to hear a prayer like that. I might even put it on a CD.
Travels: In the past month I’ve accumulated too many frequent flyer miles, I’ve given more talks and lectures than one should safely give, and I tried to sleep in too many strange hotel beds. Shame on me for breaking my own rules. I must admit that it’s been a satisfying month in terms of meeting wonderful people and feeling like I was able—now and then, here and there—to offer a bit of encouragement. I try to talk like a father to groups who are willing to hear me out. I can do that because it is not unusual to realize that I am twice the age of most of the people in whatever venue I find myself. So I try to speak quietly, to reflect on things learned out of failure and grace, to make sure that younger men and women open themselves up to hear God’s voice in the midst of all the noise and busyness.
Some times I read to them the words of one leader: “My life is hectic! I’m running all day—meetings, phone calls, paper work, appointments. I push myself to the limit, fall into bed exhausted and get up early the next morning to do it all again. My output is tremendous; I’m getting a lot done. But I get this feeling inside sometimes, So what? What are you doing that really counts? I have to admit that I don’t know.” I read these words to my audience because all everyone keeps telling me is how busy they are. I’m of the opinion that busyness is a deeper threat to the soul than pornography ever was.
Which brings to mind the words of William Wilberforce, “In the calmness of the morning before the mind is hearted and wearied by the turmoil of the day, you have a season of unusual importance for communion with God and with yourself.”
Pastor and author Gordon MacDonald is chair of World Relief and editor at large of Leadership.
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