A Coach Changes Everything

(a Steve Orr Bible reflection)

I was never an athlete.  

Team sports were just one summer in Little League baseball. That was a disaster: couldn't hit, couldn't run, couldn't pay attention. 

Starting in the 7th Grade, every other school day included 40 minutes of Phys-Ed. In the fall, we played football in PE (didn’t understand the rules, so I was always a Lineman). In the winter, we played basketball (couldn't move and dribble—terrible shooter). On rainy days, we played dodgeball (big and slow, easy target). And in the spring, we played baseball (see above) and/or track and field (not a fan).  

And when it wasn’t those things, we were subjected to something called conditioning. It was the part I hated the most: sit-ups, chin-ups, rope climbs, push-ups, running up and down the bleachers. Imitating sports wasn't so bad: You got knocked down, you got up, you got knocked down again—simple. Exercising just to exercise? That seemed like madness.

Everything changed in my thirties.

I joined a gym and hired a trainer. I actually paid someone to lead me through the very activities I hated for those six years I was forced to take PE. Why do this? Spend two, three nights per week at a gym? 

I had goals. 

There were things I wanted to do—improve my health, lose weight, shape up—and I needed a coach’s insight to ensure I reached those goals. 

In this week's Luke and Acts 1 passages, I found parallels to my gym sessions. When I’m working out, I am focused, in the moment. But my coach is thinking about all of it: what I did before, what I'm doing right now, how that activity, with others he has planned, moves me toward my objectives—and, of course, what's next. 

It's kind of like that for Jesus’ disciples. They are told to expect someone who will serve as teacher and guide, someone who will help them achieve the goals set before them. They didn't know what was coming. But they believed the one who told them a helper would come, and they acted from within that belief.

Even now, when I’m nearing the end of my treadmill time, I start thinking about stopping early. Part of me—the really tired part—suggests I don’t really need to keep at this, that it’s just too hard, that it doesn’t really benefit me. But then, I hear the calm voices of my trainers from over the years encouraging me: "Just a bit more. Almost there. You can do this." 

They knew what I was capable of, knew how much more I could bring to the task, knew how much more would be required of me before I could rest. The Spirit is like that with us. When the going gets hard, we need to listen for that voice deep inside, encouraging us to continue on:

"Just a bit more. Almost there. You can do this."