Run Your Race

There’s Usain Bolt and then there’s everyone else.

He claims nineteen Guinness World Records – second only to Michael Phelps in the sports arena. He holds eight Olympic Gold Medals and eleven World Championship golds.

When it comes to sprinting, Bolt is in his own class.

There was no doubt that he won the 200-meter dash in the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

But there was a lot of doubt surrounding the silver and bronze medalists.

Churandy Martina – representing the Netherlands – took second. Wallace Spearman – representing America – took third.

Spearman, though, was immediately disqualified. Apparently, he stepped outside his lane.

The United States contested the call and meticulously reviewed the race footage.

As it turns out, Spearman did step outside is lane – but so did Martina. Both were disqualified and the silver and bronze medals when to, effectively, the fourth and fifth place contestants (both from the United States, as it happens).

That didn’t sit well with Shawn Crawford – the would-be silver medalist.

He gave his silver medal to Martina.

As Crawford put it, “If a guy is 10 meters in front of me, I don’t care if he stayed in the middle of his lane. He was going to beat me anyways. He didn’t impede anybody’s race.”

How many of us would do that?

It would have been so easy for Crawford to claim his medal on a technicality. He could have touted all the years he spent training and preparing for the Olympics. He could have argued that he deserved to take home the silver.

But Crawford wasn’t content with a participation trophy.

He didn’t lose because Spearman or Martina stepped out of their lanes. He lost because they were faster than he was.

Here’s the point.

I don’t care who you are or what you do. There will always be people more gifted than you.

Don’t delight in their stumbles. Don’t use their slip-ups to claim your medal.

Run with everything you have.

But don’t try to claim anyone else’s race as your own.

Run your race.

Always Take the Cookies

I’ve had the privilege of spending a good bit of time in the Middle East.

I’ve learned a lot about the people and the culture and, let me tell you, there is no hospitality like Middle Eastern hospitality (and I’ve lived in the South).

I was in Jordan a handful of years ago under the leadership of an incredible guide named Muhanned (yes, I spelled that correctly). We stopped about midway through a long drive from the southern to the northern part of the country.

Muhanned graciously bought our entire group (about sixty people) barazek – Jordanian cookies made primarily of honey and sesame seeds.

I was a couple rows back on the bus. As Muhanned handed out the cookies, the girl in front of me, quite loudly, refused to take one. “Oh gross!” she said. “Are those sesame seeds on cookies? Ummm… no. Pass.”

I saw Muhanned deflate a little. He wanted to serve us. He wanted to give us – literally – a taste of his country.

I’ll be honest. I don’t really love barazek. I’m not a huge fan of honey or sesame seeds.

But I always take the cookies. I always accept the hospitality.

Now, before you think I’m simply being polite in conforming to the cultural norms, that’s not exactly it.

It’s that I don’t really love barazek – and I also don’t really love being served.

I’ve been independent for a long time. I’ve gotten used to doing just about everything for myself. I am terrible at letting people serve me because it challenges my prideful notion that I can do it all on my own.

Taking the cookies reminds me – in a small way – to embrace the love and service of others. It reminds me that there are people that want to serve and care for me. I don’t have to do it all. I’m not supposed to do it all.

I’m called to be hospitable. I’m also called to accept hospitality.

We, as Christians, talk a lot about the humility of serving others – as we should. Jesus came to serve – not to be served.

But we rarely talk about the humility of being served.

Being served takes humility. It means admitting that our time, our resources, our capacity is limited. It means acknowledging that we need one another.

If we can’t accept our need for others, how on earth will we ever accept our need for Jesus?

Serve.

But learn to be served.

Always take the cookies.

The Servant's Seat

In Jesus’ day, guests were seated according to status and rank. The host was responsible for choosing who sat where.

Yesterday, we saw that Jesus placed John in the seat of His right-hand man and Judas in the seat of honor.

Let’s look again at the arrangement:

One of his disciples, whom Jesus loved, was reclining at the table at Jesus' side, so Simon Peter motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. So that disciple, leaning back against Jesus, said to him, “Lord, who is it?” (John 13:23-24, ESV).

Remember, they reclined at the table on their left arm. That meant John had his back to most of the table. So, there are only a couple places Peter could have been sitting to get John’s attention. The most likely option was directly across from John.

In the servant’s seat.

Then they began to argue among themselves about who would be the greatest among them. Jesus told them, “In this world the kings and great men lord it over their people, yet they are called ‘friends of the people.’ But among you it will be different. Those who are the greatest among you should take the lowest rank, and the leader should be like a servant. Who is more important, the one who sits at the table or the one who serves? The one who sits at the table, of course. But not here! For I am among you as one who serves. (Luke 22:24-27, NLT)

Peter was probably the oldest of the disciples, certainly the brashest, and seemed to fancy himself a leader.

I can’t help but wonder if Peter instigated the dispute. I can’t help but wonder if he was irked at his lowly place at the table.

I can’t help but wonder if Jesus locked eyes with Peter when He said, “The leader should be like a servant… I am among you as one who serves.”

I can’t help but wonder if this is the moment that Jesus did the unthinkable.

He got up from the table, took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and poured water into a basin. Then he began to wash the disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel he had around him. (John 13:4-5, NLT)

This was not Jesus’ responsibility.

It was Peter’s responsibility.

Peter was so offended that Jesus would put him in the servant’s seat that he abdicated his responsibility. He refused to do what Jesus had implicitly asked him to do because he believed himself better than that.

So, Jesus does it.

The God of the universe bends down before Judas and begins to wash mud and manure off the feet that will soon go to the chief priests in betrayal. He comes to Simon and washes dirt and grime off feet that have likely run away after killing a Roman sympathizer in the Zealot cause. He comes to Matthew and gently scrubs feet that have carried exploited taxes from his own people to Rome.

He comes to Peter, who knows that this was his job.

After washing their feet, he put on his robe again and sat down and asked, “Do you understand what I was doing? You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and you are right, because that’s what I am. And since I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example to follow. Do as I have done to you. (John 13:12-15, NLT)

I have given you an example to follow. Do as I have done for you.

In the kingdom of God, the last is the first. The least is the greatest. The servant is the leader.

No one has the spiritual gift of washing feet. No one is passionate about washing feet. No one aspires to leave a legacy of washing feet.

Yet Jesus washed feet.

And this is the only time He said, “I have given you an example to follow.”

Are you following His example? Are you washing feet? Are you a servant before you are anything else?

Heroes

I was introduced to the writing of C.S. Lewis when I was a junior in college. His work has since profoundly influenced my faith in Christ, perhaps more so than anyone else.

Mere Christianity captured my mind and invited me to think reasonably about what I believe. The Chronicles of Narnia captured my heart and drew me to a deeper love for Christ. The Weight of Glory compelled me to consider the responsibility I have to others in encouraging their spiritual maturity. The Screwtape Letters unveiled the subtly and horror of spiritual warfare. A Grief Observed taught me to pray raw and honest prayers to a God who can handle my brokenness and even my anger and disappointment at a broken world.

Lewis is, undoubtedly, one of my heroes in the faith.

I never got to meet Lewis. He passed away decades before I was born.

But, I got to meet another hero of mine while I was in England last month.

You've probably never heard of him.

His name is Walter Hooper.

Hooper was Lewis’s secretary the last year of his life.

The publishing company that put out Lewis’ books was planning to pull them from print, as was, at the time, common practice when an author passed away. Hooper, a native of North Carolina, resolved to stay in England and dedicated himself to keeping the legacy of Lewis alive. He fought to keep Lewis’ writing in print and he succeeded. He also compiled and published thousands of letters written by Lewis.

It’s not a stretch to suggest that if we didn’t have Hooper, we wouldn’t have Lewis. That is, he would not be as widely known, read, or regarded as he is today.

It’s tempting to envy how God has gifted another. It’s tempting to become discontent in how God has gifted us. It’s tempting to succumb to the notion that those who receive recognition and acclamation for their influence, like Lewis, are the ones who are really making a difference in the world.

But, we need those able to stand on the stage and those able to build the stage.

For the Christian community to function as it was intended, we need everyone pursuing a unified purpose by way of their distinct giftedness. We are not to compete with one another, but complement one another.

Lewis used his gifts, and Hooper used his. God is still using Lewis to change hearts and minds. God used Hooper to make such change possible.

That’s why Walter Hooper is also, though for different reasons, my hero and why it was such an honor to meet him. I owe him a debt of gratitude for humbly using his gifts so that another could use theirs.

Lessons from Aidan (Part Three)

I’ve talked about a remarkable man I met named Aidan Mackey a couple of times now.

On my last night at Oxford, Aidan stood up after dinner and asked if he could say a couple of parting words.

The first thing he said was, “People often think that because I speak with an English accent I know more about any given subject than they do. They are wrong.”

You can read more about that here.

The second thing he said was, “People often think that younger people have nothing to offer older people. They are wrong. I get at least as much, if not more, out of conversations with those younger than myself, than they get from me.”

He joked that this was to his advantage given that, at ninety-six, almost everyone is younger than he.

To be honest, I only half-believed him. At thirty-one, I felt I had little to offer a man as wise and as godly as Aidan. That, once again, speaks to his humility.

But, I know he’s right.

The older I get, the more I realize I have to learn.

I can learn a lot from those older than me. I have learned a lot from those older than me.

But, I can also learn a lot from those younger. I have learned a lot from those younger than me.

I have – or could have – learned from almost anyone I’ve encountered, not despite our differences, but because of them.

The problem is that I don’t often stop to listen. The problem is that I can be distracted or even defensive. The problem is that I can be so arrogant that – consciously or not – I don’t believe that someone different from me has anything to teach me.

I want to slow down. I want to pay attention. I want to be open to learning.

Lessons from Aidan (Part One)

I had the distinct honor of meeting Aidan Mackey in England a few weeks ago when I was in England. I had never heard of him before, but I learned quickly that he is regarded as the foremost scholar on G.K. Chesterton.

Aidan did not claim such an honor for himself. He was adamant that he was neither a scholar nor an academic in the proper sense. But, he was, after all, president of the G.K. Chesterton Study Centre and if the British Library entrusts you with eight boxes of the renowned Chesterton’s personal belongings, you’re a scholar – proper or not.

Aidan served in the British Air Force during World War II. He said he was stationed in Africa because it was where they believed he would do the least damage. After the war he spent most of his career as a teacher and headmaster. He had seven daughters and speaks of them with warmth and pride and delightful British humor. He told us that when a young man asked his blessing for his daughter’s hand in marriage, Aidan said, “I would love to give my daughter to you in marriage, but I need to know that you can provide for a family. After all, there are nine of us.”

When we asked how he came to be the foremost scholar on G.K. Chesterton, he, again, denied it and gave the humblest answer I could have imagined.

“There have been many unfair things that have happened in my life.” he said, “Mostly to my benefit.”

Aidan takes no credit whatever.

He isn’t suffering from low self-esteem. He’s embracing self-forgetfulness.

When I think about the unfair things in my life, I focus on things that have not been to my benefit.  I’m happy to take personal credit for those things that were to my benefit.

But, the credit for success is not mine to take.

Every good thing I have has been given to me by God.

I can decide what I do with what I’ve been given, but I can’t take credit for the good things I’ve been given.

I could use a little more self-forgetfulness.

I could do to express gratitude for the graciously unfair things that God brought into my life.

I could learn and live the humility of Aidan.