Running for the Prize

Running for the Prize — Jay Zinn

WHEN I WAS 20, I joined the U.S. Air Force and was stationed in Florida. One annual requirement for all Air Force personnel was to run a mile and a half. I worked on base at the hospital, and the staff made a big deal about all the records, including the current unbroken one. Administrators told us the hospital’s record as the run neared and challenged the staff to defeat it. I did and set a time that stood for the next couple of years. My supervisor then encouraged me to join the Air Force track team, which held national meets. I won district and regional meets and qualified for the annual international meet held in Texas. I came in sixth place at 7 minutes and 30 seconds. I was thrilled to compete against several Olympic hopefuls, one of whom I trained with back on base, where we averaged 10 miles of running each day. He did qualify for the Olympics, running in his bare feet!

I felt good about my time at that international meet, giving it my best. It was hard work but rewarding, even though I didn’t finish first. It was never about the first place but instead about completing the race and beating my records. That was my prize, not a trophy on a shelf. But to get there, I put in a lot of time and abandoned other activities. It was worth it, though, and I still benefit from those years of training with a physically healthy heart. The same principle applies to disciples with a spiritually healthy heart. You'll qualify if you do the time, clock in the hours, and beat your body into submission.

Paul the apostle said he didn’t run like a man running aimlessly but beat his body and enslaved it to qualify for the prize (1 Corinthians 9:26-27). The prize he pressed on to lay hold of and the prize he strained to reach for was the prize of Christ himself. It was for Christ that Paul forgot his past achievements as a Pharisee. It was for Christ he preached the gospel. He abandoned everything he ever held dear to win Christ, the person.

Paul was not devoted to a religion that replaced Judaism; he was dedicated to a person. He followed a hero, a king, a savior, the Messiah, his Lord, his master, his brother, and his best friend. He believed in the cause, yes. He believed in the message, yes. But that was merely the byproduct of his devotion to Jesus. He clung to claiming Christ as the prize. He didn’t abandon Judaism for a disciplined life to make him a better person. He already had discipline. He was perfect in the eyes of Judaism—a Pharisee who kept every requirement of the law without fault. However, he abandoned all that religious discipline for a person—Jesus Christ, the Son of God. He didn’t sign up to get something for him, to make his life better or easier. He signed up to join and follow the One who met him on the road to Damascus—the One who called him to drop his agenda and follow him.

Christ called the twelve disciples to a life of abandonment—to complete, reckless trust in an unauthorized rabbi who spoke with authority. They were captivated by Jesus, the person, the Son of man, a divine king, fully God and fully human. In return, they loved him so deeply that they were willing to die for him and his kingdom—martyred, not for a religion or new movement. That’s true discipleship for those who follow Jesus, the person.