Taken Hold Of

I was just going about my business the other day when I heard them for what felt like the very first time.

By them I mean the very familiar words of Paul from Philippians chapter 3 that I am almost certain I won an AWANA badge for memorizing: “Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”

It happened while I was in staff meeting, smack in the middle of one of my colleagues leading opening devotion while I pretended to listen thoughtfully all the while surreptitiously adding to my already too long to-do list.

Before I could ponder why I was startled by this verse, which was tucked away inside a longer passage, lively discussion about running the race and working hard for spiritual growth ensued among the staff . . . and I got left in the dust. (As they say in the locker room. I think.)

Some people, I know, experience the life of faith as they would the process of training for and running a marathon. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that I don’t as you will never, ever, catch me running anywhere by choice. (Runner’s high? Whatever.) Going to the gym makes me cry. The sight of free weights sends me off in the other direction. Comparing stories about the last 10K you ran? Count me out.

As I heard my colleagues talk about spiritual discipline and working hard to grow in faith I felt a little confused. Faith, to me, is redemptive, life-giving, hopeful . . . well, salvation!  Saved from the way I might do it if I tried to do it my way.

Yup, faith is all those things to me . . . but faith is definitely not sweaty.

I started to wonder: am I the only one who hates to think of faith in the same category as horribly painful memories of eighth grade track and field day? Am I the only one who doesn’t like to think of faith as a constant attempt to run without stopping? Am I the only one who doesn’t run but instead has to be shaken into life-changing realizations, pushed into meaningful growth experiences, and led right to the very edge of the next step?

And as I wondered about whether or not I was spiritually handicapped just because I couldn’t tie my own experience to Paul’s sports metaphor, that’s when the phrase started ringing in my ears, ” . . . for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”

I got to thinking: maybe it just isn’t the same for all of us, you know what I mean? For God’s sake, if I started “training” for my spiritual marathon, knowing me I’d be running in the exactly wrong direction, anyway.

No, I think sometimes God takes hold of us . . .

. . . like I would take hold of one of my children who really, really needs to look out the window so they won’t miss something amazing as we drive past.

. . . or like I might take hold of their little shoulders if it looked to me like they might run in front of a speeding car.

. . . or like I might gently shake one of them to wake them up in time for school.

God takes hold of me. All the time.

God bless brother Paul, but the image of running doesn’t help me understand my relationship with God. It just calls to mind the truly horrible image of me, tennis shoes slapping on hot asphalt, wiping stinging sweat out of my eyes, trying desperately to catch up to whatever’s just out of reach.

No, I think of God more as One who takes hold of me when I can’t seem to find the right way to go: who takes hold of my mind and births conviction, who takes hold of my conscience and births action, who takes hold of my heart and births new life.

Despite my protestations I confess I do get in the race from time to time. And I guess I will keep “running,” all the while trying my very best to understand and know the God of the Universe. And I’ll rest in the knowledge that, when my side hurts and my mouth is dry and I can’t take even one more step . . . I am taken hold of.

Yes, Christ Jesus takes hold of me.

And, for this I can only pant out: “Thanks be to God!”