Towards the horizon, the stifling blackness of night begins to give way to the smallest hints of blue, eating away at the corners of the sky. The morning lies still beneath the blanket of crisp air as thick clouds of fog smother the scattered islands of water. Amidst the facade of peace, I know it’s coming. As the sun begins its gradual ascent, another day of battle dawns. I rise with it, continuing my race, and sure enough- I feel it- a slight pull at my foot. As I continue to force one in front of the other, pounding into the hard, unforgiving trail beneath them, I look down to see vanishing tendrils of darkness receding behind me. Unnerved, I continue forward. Again it comes, the sinister grip reaching farther up my leg this time, pulling me down, holding me back. The temperature drops and the harsh, cold air burns my throat as I desperately begin to gasp for more. The strength of my weary legs begins to fail as this force continues to wrap itself around me and drag me down. Constricting my chest, creeping up my neck, pressing in on my throat and making its way down my arms, it binds them to my side. The struggle intensifies and I fall to the ground, fighting for my life against this monster- it has attached itself to me, it’s become a part of me… It is me. Bruised and bleeding, I turn myself over on the ground to look up and face it- the vile beast I call self rears its ugly head. As we engage in our daily struggle, I ask myself- will today be the day? Will this be the day, at long last? I feel hanging off of my hip the weight of a sheath, the sword resting inside. Will today be the day I find the strength to use it? All of my efforts have failed. Day after day, I find myself overwhelmed by this monster- its empty desires, its foolish plans, its worthless dreams, it forces these down my throat. With these burdens I can run neither far nor fast; more often than not, overcome by the oppressive hand of self, I cannot even move.
Against every impulse, every feeling in my body, my hand forces its way down to the hilt of this sword with all the strength my constrained arm has left. As my hand connects, I can almost feel something- a small spark, perhaps a figment of my imagination, but it’s as though the sword knows it’s being called upon. Drawing it, I sense a shift in the demeanor of my foe- a tension fills my self, and seemingly terrified of the presence of the sword, it begins retreating. Finally my arm is free, and the weapon is loose. My enemy draws back, wary of this newfound strength I’ve found. I raise the sword above my head, catching the reflections of the newly risen morning sun along the length of the blade. Towards the hilt, a word engraved into the hard steel shines into the eyes of my foe. πίστις. Pistis. Faith. Today is the day. Upon seeing this, the wretched beast knows his day has come. Overcome by a righteous, holy anger, I unleash the power of this weapon on my now helpless adversary. With all the strength I can find, I sink the blade deep into the flesh of my self, hacking at its pathetic pieces and tearing it limb from limb. How dare it. How dare it think it has the right to entertain itself. How dare it place its own interests above those of the one that made it. How dare it keep for itself what was meant to be shared, put a price on what was given freely, exalt itself above those it ought to be serving. How dare it. These thoughts race through my head as I put to death this most heinous of entities. With every stroke of the sword, I can feel it tearing away from me. It’s not comfortable. It’s not easy. But it has to go.
Swing. My selfish ambitions. Swing. My pride. Swing. My fear. Swing. My foolish plans. Swing. Every hope and dream not given me by my Creator. Swing. Fear meets its end, going out with a horrific cry of pain. Swing. The most disgusting of hideous creatures, a fierce blow from my sword sends lust straight back to the hell that it came from. Swing. You have no home in this heart. Swing. Power, love, and self-discipline claim their victory today. Swing. The flesh, my old self crucified, I am now dead to sin and alive to God in Jesus Christ. I have been united with Him in both His death and His resurrection. I have been buried with Him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so I too might walk in newness of life, for I am a new creation.
As I look down at the carnage of battle, there is one thing left to do. Gathering wood from the nearby forest, there I build an altar. And on it I lay all the remains of my broken, pathetic self- every piece of it, offering it up as a living sacrifice. The consuming fire has burned the way clear- the path ahead now free of its biggest obstacle, I can continue unhindered along the narrow road. I don’t expect it to be easy. I don’t expect it to be pretty. But I know that somewhere at the end of my narrow road is a narrow gate, and come hell or high water I will get there. As I prepare to continue fighting the good fight, I don the armor I need to continue. The breastplate of righteousness has never fit me quite right. Quite frankly, it’s always been far too heavy for my frail frame to bear it. But today I have a strength outside myself, I have been led to the rock that is higher than I. And so I strap on the breastplate, knowing that the weight has been borne for me. I put on the helmet of salvation that has been won for me, fasten the belt of truth that has been revealed to me, and take up the shield of faith that has been given to me. On my feet I fasten that which will make me ready to proclaim the gospel that has saved me- and with that, I continue to run the race marked out for me. I press on towards that gate that I know waits for me somewhere. I’ve heard the promises, and I believe them, even when I can’t see them- for it is by faith that I run this race, not by sight. And on those days that my sword is dull and my faith is weak, when those promises seem nothing more than words in a book, I press on anyway, because I know those words to be true. Time and time again He who spoke them has proven Himself faithful. So by His grace, I press on- I search for Him that I might perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, trusting that He is not far, for it is in Him that I love and move and have my very being. I press on, learning each day and each struggle that He is God, and I am not. Learning that He is God, all the time, and He is good, all the time. Learning that He is real, and here, and now, and behind me, before me, beside me, inside of me. So therefore, now that we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, keeping our eyes fixed upon Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of our faith- who, for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of God the Father Almighty. Let us consider Jesus and what He has done for us, so that we do not grow weary and lose heart.
“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 toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
everyone. read. this.
