By Ryne Brewer
Picture with me a 3200-meter (2-mile) race. Midway through the race, you notice a guy who started out strong being tripped up, tweaking his ankle on another runner’s cleat, leaving him hobbled. As he slips back in the pack, straining with agony, there are only a few hundred meters left before the finish line. You begin to wonder, will he finish the race? As the pack prepares to turn into the final corner before the home stretch, you notice the hobbled runner’s focus shifting from the misstep and concern for his ankle to setting his face toward the finish line. It’s a noticeable shift as he enters the home stretch; he’s clearly struggling, but something is driving him to finish.
What I feel and see as I picture this race in my imagination is what God is communicating through Paul in Philippians 3:13–14. I feel the agony of perceived missteps in life, the pain of setbacks or failure, and the anxiety of uncertainty. I see the weariness in his eyes, with brief glimpses of determination and hope. Then the question arises in my mind, what is driving him forward?
I think the short answer is the finish line. But what’s the finish line? It’s the heavenly call in Christ Jesus. Paul wasn’t unfamiliar with race analogies (1Corinthians 9:19–27). He was calling us to race hard, press in, and finish the race toward the heavenly finish line. This is a good desire, and for myself, it feels like the right one—not the easy one but the right one.
Each moment, day by day, I’m faced with failure, sin, and uncertainty about the future. A call like what Paul gave here to make it to the finish line seems really hard most days. And I’ve tried my best to train for it, but in my own strength, it feels like an impossible task. And honestly, that’s because it is—in my own strength.
It would be easy for me to read verses like Philippians 3:13–14 and think to myself, “try harder, do better, train more, push through the pain, you can make it to the finish line.” But I can’t. What drove Paul to the finish line wasn’t his willpower, mental fortitude, or hyper-spiritually disciplined life—it was Jesus. He knew he was limping, struggling, hurting—honestly, he was laying down on the track. And as I picture this reality, the race I started out thinking about turns into something more beautiful.
I can have all the determination in the world in my eyes, the pain and agony on my face, but the image isn’t me finishing the race on my own. The lead runner, Jesus, who finished the grueling race before me, has come back, put my arm over his shoulder, and is running with me toward the line.
How do we go forward to the finish line? By seeing that the One who finished first is carrying us home. Jesus has made us his own; He renews our strength, and He is conforming us into His image. And as the lyrics of “In Christ Alone” say, He is my life, my strength, my song. With Jesus, we press on.
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