It is a despairing time. Acts of unspeakable planetary despoilment. Racial anger. Corporate greed. Unrepentant corruption in politicians and judges. What does it take to find hope?
A tennis match.
Not just any tennis match. Not a championship match, or a match of champions even, rather two barely noticeable contenders. But the game they played, O, the game they played.
Or should I say games?
For eleven amazing hours, over the course of three days, they were bound together in immortal struggle, neither relenting, neither succumbing, fighting and fighting for that last advantage and victory. It must have seemed as if it could go on forever. But yet they played on, perhaps even knowing that in doing so they were draining themselves of precious resources they might need later.
Under other circumstances, a tennis match might (at most) contain no more than 65 games. The fifth set contained twice that all on its own. How many serves, how many shots, how many near moments? And still they played on.
It was, in part, a throwback approach to tournament that has long since been abandoned in favor of shot clocks, sudden death endings and shoot outs. Our inability to withstand such exquisitely drawn-out anticipation without near satisfaction makes such a show of courage and endurance impossible in this age.
Which is our great loss.
“He who endures to the end,” Jesus said, “shall be saved.”
What if this word is not just a command, but an opportunity, a gift? What if he means us to know that the very act of enduring, of hanging in, of – to put it biblically – remaining, is the very best thing for us, the place of heroism, the fulfillment of created possibility, the awakening of baptismal promise? We seek for ourselves victory, but what if we were created for the long, hard fought, well-played game itself?
Life cannot be won by easy or quick answers, though we would surely prefer it that way. We are mostly crying whiner-babies in the face of difficult challenges, trying desperately to convince ourselves that anger is sufficient to plug the hole in the ocean floor, that merchants and bankers will not bury the world in greed if we just ask them not to, that poverty and hunger will end without sacrifice and health care comes without cost. We have defined freedom to mean that we can have everything we want for free.
Which is just not so.
But one tennis match, one long and enduring tennis match, shows us that there is in this more in this world, a divine spirit that can empower us to be more, that can move us and call us to true and great works. Works that endure. Real works born of real honor that produce real change.
Yes, the match is long and hard. But we need not be champions. We need only be competitors. We need only endure.
A tennis match.
Not just any tennis match. Not a championship match, or a match of champions even, rather two barely noticeable contenders. But the game they played, O, the game they played.
Or should I say games?
For eleven amazing hours, over the course of three days, they were bound together in immortal struggle, neither relenting, neither succumbing, fighting and fighting for that last advantage and victory. It must have seemed as if it could go on forever. But yet they played on, perhaps even knowing that in doing so they were draining themselves of precious resources they might need later.
Under other circumstances, a tennis match might (at most) contain no more than 65 games. The fifth set contained twice that all on its own. How many serves, how many shots, how many near moments? And still they played on.
It was, in part, a throwback approach to tournament that has long since been abandoned in favor of shot clocks, sudden death endings and shoot outs. Our inability to withstand such exquisitely drawn-out anticipation without near satisfaction makes such a show of courage and endurance impossible in this age.
Which is our great loss.
“He who endures to the end,” Jesus said, “shall be saved.”
What if this word is not just a command, but an opportunity, a gift? What if he means us to know that the very act of enduring, of hanging in, of – to put it biblically – remaining, is the very best thing for us, the place of heroism, the fulfillment of created possibility, the awakening of baptismal promise? We seek for ourselves victory, but what if we were created for the long, hard fought, well-played game itself?
Life cannot be won by easy or quick answers, though we would surely prefer it that way. We are mostly crying whiner-babies in the face of difficult challenges, trying desperately to convince ourselves that anger is sufficient to plug the hole in the ocean floor, that merchants and bankers will not bury the world in greed if we just ask them not to, that poverty and hunger will end without sacrifice and health care comes without cost. We have defined freedom to mean that we can have everything we want for free.
Which is just not so.
But one tennis match, one long and enduring tennis match, shows us that there is in this more in this world, a divine spirit that can empower us to be more, that can move us and call us to true and great works. Works that endure. Real works born of real honor that produce real change.
Yes, the match is long and hard. But we need not be champions. We need only be competitors. We need only endure.
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