Running and the Pastorate
The pre-dawn stillness is sacred to me. The quietness of the morning begs for an embrace.
The sun has not peeked over the horizon just yet, but miles beckon my presence. As I slip on my running shoes and loosen my legs, I try to prepare mentally. Whether my run is long or short, hard or easy, there is no need for headphones. I’ve got plenty to keep my mind occupied and plenty to learn. Running is a solemn activity for me; not because it is hallowed, but because it is instructive.
As a regular practice, I run every morning but Sunday. Running provides a daily routine in a vocation that is anything but routine. It’s not a substitute for time in the Word and prayer, but when done right, it is a spiritually beneficial practice. Walking might work just as well, but running seems to accelerate the process for me.
It usually takes me a mile or two to warm up, but it doesn’t take me long to get into the zone. Most of the time, I am scarcely focused on the distance ahead; my mind is set on the day before me. The discernment needed to carefully navigate the dangerous waters of cultivating souls is a sobering call. To paraphrase Gandalf, if one strays but a little, the consequences are severe. Each step of the run serves as a petition to the heart to stay focused. My runs are quiet. That’s the way I like it. The seclusion provides the time needed to think through ministerial issues.
There is much correlation between running and the pastorate; both require dedication, focus, solitude, and discipline. If one pays attention, running may teach the pastor a thing or two. There is a reason Paul says, “I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified” (1 Cor. 9:27). Paul shows that spiritual health is intimately tied to bodily self-control. Running is an activity that brings to bear the interconnectedness of the body and soul. One cannot segment the body and soul into separate nonoverlapping components of a human being. There is a transitive nature between the two that has an impact on one’s spiritual life.
The pastor’s job is to care for souls. Physical activities, like running, cultivate in a pastor an unmediated knowledge of the depth and beauty of the whole person. Physical exercise may not be sacred, but the body is. The discipline of the body in worship is a tool for the sanctification of the soul. In part, a pastor leads a congregation to present their bodies as “living sacrifice[s], holy and acceptable to God” (Romans 12:1). Of course, running is not required to be spiritually healthy or to have a healthy ministry, but it can be a helpful supplement—an expositional analogy for all who travel the ministerial road.
Running always involves setbacks and injuries, and plenty of frustrations and hurdles. Yet, those miles won’t run themselves. To complete the run, I must put my shoes on and put one foot in front of the other. The impact of one run may not be immediately evident, but it has an important future effect. There are days I want to quit; days I wonder if it’s even worth it; days I wonder if I’m accomplishing anything. But I keep running. Many times, the persistence comes from sheer determination to accomplish something hard. It is something like a call, though far less esoteric. Perhaps not a charming justification, but it is honest. When writing about endurance athletes, Alex Hutchinson states, “The essence of pushing to your limits in endurance sports is learning to override that instinct so that you can hold your finger a little closer to the flame…” (Endure, 68). The bifurcation between athletic improvement and bodily injury is an unseen line between pain and agony. Only a hardy fool is willing to venture far. Yet only the dogged know their limits.
The ministerial parallels are abundant. Well, at least, my pastorate has been similar. There have been setbacks, frustrations, hurdles, and obstacles. There were days I wanted to quit; days I wondered if I was having any impact. I don’t think, however, that my perseverance has anything to do with a noble tenacity. Sure, I fervently believe God has called me to the pastorate; thus, I continue out of divine obligation. In an age in which loyalty is seen as sublime obsolescence, I want to finish the race well. But there is also a part of me that pushes forward simply because it is hard.
Paul calls himself a “fool for Christ’s sake” (1 Cor. 4:10). If nothing else, running helps me see that not all foolishness is buffoonery. The ministry is an honorable, special vocation, but we are also jesters in the court of our Lord. Pastors are servants of Christ, always ready to follow where he leads—however ludicrous it may seem. The call does not become void when things are difficult; rather, it is in the hardships of ministry when the call becomes a tether. As tired as my ministry legs may be, the call presses me forward—maybe at a slower pace, but I don’t stop. This ministerial drive isn’t due to an overinflated sense of importance, but rather to a humble obeisance to the will of our Lord.
The need for faithful dedication is most abundant in a pastor’s preaching and teaching ministry. A common pastoral concern is to wonder if the lessons being preached are actually taking root within the hearts and minds of the people in the pews. Though I have only been in pastoral ministry for around twenty years, one lesson I have learned is the importance of being a faithful witness in the pulpit. God’s Word will never return void (Isa. 55:11), and a consistent witness to biblical truth year after year will never be a waste of time. The impact may not be immediately evident, but it is eternally fruitful. One message may have considerable influence upon the congregation, but souls are discipled through a faithful, continuous exposition of the Word of God.
Perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic. I’ve been known to label the ordinary as sacred. I’m not saying that running is a sacrament, but it can be a teacher for the pastor. Many have heard Olympic runner Eric Liddell's famous statement: “God made me fast. When I run, I feel His pleasure.” I can’t say I’ve ever felt the pleasure of God while running, but when the discipline and dedication required in running are juxtaposed with the life of a pastor, there are some lessons to be learned. The tutelage may not manifest itself in propositions and syllogisms, but it can help mold and shape one’s pastoral life.
The theologian, Kevin Vanhoozer, writes that the pastorate “is a vocation that helps cultivate people’s lives…” (The Pastor as Public Theologian, 104). Cultivating lives isn’t a cushy desk job. It is a calling that demands attention, persistence, sweat, and tears. The very practice of dedicated discipleship requires a willingness to kneel before people with messy lives and clean their dirty feet. That’s not to say that ministry is harder than any other job; it isn’t. Nor am I inferring that ministry doesn’t have wins or triumphs; it does. The calling, however, upon the minister requires a unique grace-filled disposition and drive. One that involves an empowerment from the Holy Spirit, no doubt, but also one that calls for earnest adherence. While the runner develops the body to achieve a goal set before him, the pastor disciplines the mind that he may achieve the task given. As the saying goes, pastors are spiritual heart surgeons. Such a practice calls for great care and focus. One blunder can have devastating results. As the runner seeks to avoid any misstep, the pastor must perpetually submit before the providence of the divine. Being attuned to one’s limits and abilities, knowing when to push harder and when to rest, is essential for a productive runner and pastor.
Presumably, many activities in life can offer the same insights and discipline. Running is one that has been helpful to me. Given that the “earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof” (Ps. 24:1), it isn’t surprising he would use everyday activities to foster holiness in one’s vocation and life. Perhaps the principal truth to glean is that one should look for the hand of God in all things. His providential guidance is as much in the mundane and ordinary as it is in the spectacular. As ironic as it may seem, running allows me a pause to ferret through the minutiae of caring for souls. It is an act that maps onto my pastorate and life in ways that are formative to both body and soul.
Running may not be for you. That’s okay. It isn’t for everyone. In fact, it may not be for most. But make no mistake, it can be a means to improving one’s ministry.