Running From Sin: 'The More I Run, the Holier I Become'
Next weekend — Lord willing — I'll run my first half marathon. I know that's not a big deal. Countless athletes run that far and much farther. But it's a bit of a big deal for me. Running has become a perfect picture for me of the process and battle to conquer sin. I know this sounds strange, but the more I run, the holier I become.
Until about 18 months ago, the farthest I had run was approximately the distance from the couch to the refrigerator. And I could crush that race with a pace that would make Carl Lewis jealous. But any farther than that and my body (including my mind) simply said, "Nope." And I listened and complied.
And up until a few years ago, that essentially described my ongoing battle with sin. I was conditioned to the fact that I was a slave to my body's wishes in just about every way. What my body wanted to eat, it ate. What my body wanted to see, I showed it. Whatever my body wanted to feel and wherever it wanted to go, I was resigned to it getting what it wanted — at least eventually.
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Of course I would resist for a time. But I always knew that, in the end, I could only hold out so long.
Honestly, the concept in Romans 6 had always seemed like a pipe dream to me:
We know that our old self was crucified with him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin. For one who has died has been set free from sin.
That was a hollow and almost laughable concept to me. No longer a slave to sin? No longer a slave to the desires and demands of this body and mind? I was absolutely convinced anyone who claimed to experience that kind of victory over sin was lying.
Based on my experience, a steadfast denial of my sin-nature's hunger for more was not something I could sustain on this side of heaven. Because the insatiable desire for whatever — pride, dishonesty, selfishness, lust — was eventually going to win every single time, it almost wasn't even worth fighting. The fight just prolonged the inevitable defeat. What was the point?
That is, until about two years ago. The Lord used a series of almost catastrophic events to radically change my heart. His significant intervention in my life forced me to confront my sin in some painful ways. Through His work in me, I caught a glimpse of what the Holy Spirit can do in a heart that's broken and humbled. And — solely through the work of the Spirit — I had the desire and, finally, the strength to actually say "no" to sin and mean it.
And then I started running. And I hated it. And I still hate it most of the time. Almost every step of every mile is miserable, at least physically. My body is constantly begging me to stop and walk a little. Begging me to turn around and head for home. "Please, at least, just stop for a minute and take a drink."
They were the same arguments I'd make in deciding to give up the battle against sin. "Just shade the truth a little. It'll make things so much easier." Or, "Just click that link. It's not so bad. It might be interesting."
But I found on the running trails that I was doing much more than exercising my body. I was exercising my will to say no to my lesser urges.
"No, I will not stop. In fact, I won't even slow down."
"I am not a slave to my body and I will no longer be guided by how I feel."
As desperately as my legs beg for a break, I can say "no" to that. In fact, I can speed up. And every time I confront that inner war, I'm reminded that it's a very good mirror of the spiritual war within me.
If I can say "no" for 13 miles to the constant desire to walk, it bolsters my confidence in the Spirit's power in me to say "no" to all those sinful desires that continue to try to lure me away from the path of holiness. As I realized that I'm empowered to say "no" to sin and "yes" to obedience, and have seen it play out over and over, I've come to understand that Romans 6 isn't a pipe dream after all.
To be clear, the battle over sin is still vicious and unrelenting, and all kinds of sins definitely continue to dot the landscape of my life. The difference now is that the shackles that ensured surrender and failure are miles behind me. And I can almost see that glorious finish line up ahead. In fact, I'm going to try to pick up the pace.
