Half marathon play by play

The emails started coming a week before the race. They began with an appropriate degree of formality. “Thank you so very much for joining us this year for the ________ Half Marathon.” The devolution occurred over the next few paragraphs until registrants were formally accosted. 

“You must carry hydration.”

“Smile!”

“Thank the volunteers!”

“Carrying hydration is REQUIRED.”

“You MUST maintain a 16 minute per mile pace.”

“KNOW THE COURSE SO YOU DON’T GET LOST.”

“You MUST carry hydration.”

“HAVE FUN!”

These emails came on the daily up until the big day. As Roy and I pulled into the parking lot, (“ARRIVE NO LATER THAN 6:40AM IF YOU WISH TO PARK IN THE CLOSEST PARKING LOT! DON’T EXPECT TO PICK UP YOUR RACE PACKET THE MORNING OF!”) I commented, “I wonder if the person who sent all those cheerful, gracious emails will be here.”

We opened the doors and the bawling of a megaphone met us.

“THE RACE STARTS IN TWELVE MINUTES! IF YOU HAVE ON A BROWN BIB YOU MUST LINE UP NOW! DON’T FORGET YOUR HYDRATION!”

I tried to ignore the steady stream of “gentle directions” as I did some final stretching and applied sun spray. Megaphone continued to bark through the countdown and sent us all off with final blessings.

“GO! GO! GO! STAY HYDRATED! SMILE!”

Apparently when I was a tiny tot one of my first phrases was “allbeeself.” (“All by myself.”) In other words, don’t help me and don’t tell me how to do it. This inner resisting of specific direction has remained a constant, so I did not smile. (I did carry hydration…)

Mile 1: Starting off easy and so happy to stretch my legs after the last week of tapering. The pack slowly thins out and we happily breathe in the lake breeze…which smells like rotting fish.

Mile 2: There are a number of skirt-wearing, conservative teenage girls running this half marathon. I can’t imagine wearing a midi-skirt and running 13 miles, but more power to ya. One of them is racing at our general pace. I mentally nickname her “Duggar” and determine to keep her in my sights the entirety of the race.

Mile 3: We head out of the park and onto the two loop stretch of farmland. A young dad stands at the exit with his two little boys. They are holding an enormous sign that declares, “RUN FAST AND DON’T POOP YOUR PANTS.”

I wish THAT had been in the emails.

Mile 4: I grab a cup of water at a station, only to backtrack to throw out the cup in the trash can because it’s so close to the table. “DON’T LITTER!” I remember. The water-bearers look at me like I’m crazy. “Just drop it whenever you’re done. We’ll pick it all up.” 

Mile 5: We split a Quest cookies and cream power bar. It’s sticky and thick and the extra exertion to chew and swallow makes my heartrate spike, temporarily. Then the calories kick in and we settle back into our groove.

Mile 6: Duggar has cheering fans throughout the course. Old men periodically run with her for brief stretches and ask her how she’s doing. We pass lots of farms with signs like “Bill-ieve in Jesus!” and “Are you thirsty yet? We’ve got living water!” (I guess we didn’t need to carry hydration at all.) I try to not think the worst about the old men chatting up the cute teenager.

Mile 7: We start the second loop and Duggar’s sister joins her from the side of the road. She’s not wearing a bib, so she’s just…accompanying for a while. They run the entire second loop together. A bicyclist comes up towards us and I hear her before I see her and the megaphone. “SMILE! THIS IS A PRIVILEGE! HAVE FUN!” 

Mile 8: We pass another water stop and I notice Roy has hardly consumed any “hydration” from the bottle he’s carrying. I ask if he wants water. He declines. I grab an extra cup and baptize him. “If you’re not gonna drink it, you’re at least gonna wear it!” He looks at me, shocked, and then we both burst out laughing.

Mile 9: A flurry of texts come in (a lot of the rural course is out of phone range). Well-wishes from friends and a notice from T-Mobile: “Welcome to Canada!” How far have we run again? We pass some volunteers. I’ve started calling to all of them, “WE’RE THANKING THE VOLUNTEERS!” as we run by.

Mile 10: We split a Quest chocolate caramel pecan bar. It’s sticky and thick and tastes exactly like the cookies and cream bar 5 miles ago. Megaphone comes ambling along again on her bike. “KEEP DRINKING WATER! KEEP RUNNING!”  I've run 10 miles and I have three to go and she is on a bike. I am sorely tempted to give this woman the finger.

Mile 11: We head back into the park. (“RUN FAST AND DON’T POOP YOUR PANTS!”) We’ve got extra gas in the tank and decide we want to run the last 2 miles fast. Unfortunately, Duggar decided that a few miles prior and has escaped our sightline. 

Mile 12: Last mile! The road is pockmarked with holes and uneven patches. It wouldn’t do any good to sprain an ankle at this point. We toss our empty “HYDRATION” in the last trash can and kick it to the finish line.

Mile 13.1: We’re met with water bottles and medals. As soon as I slow down my blood pressure plummets, and the world simultaneously goes bright and dark. I bend over to regain my equilibrium.  

The lake still smells terrible.

There is a small crowd at the finish line (a lot of skirts) and the general festivities that accompany the end of a long race. We pick ourselves up and start to head for the car, triumphant, victorious, tired, and satisfied.

Megaphone sticks her weapon of mass destruction in my face and bawls, “DON’T FORGET YOUR BREAKFAST BURRITO!”

Called to Growth: Self Care

 Preached at Pearce Church, weekend of July 9 and 10, 2022

Good morning once again—what an honor and privilege to STAND here before you and do something a little out of the ordinary. You know, it was nineteen years ago this summer that I was preparing to pack my bags down in Hanover, PA, and begin my undergraduate degree at Roberts Wesleyan College. I didn’t have a car and I didn’t have any friends with cars so Pearce quickly became my default church for weekend worship. But it also quickly became home. I loved the sermons and the music and the fellowship at Pearce. The one thing that I wasn’t 100% sure about was that they let women preach…

 

…and here we are. I’ve served on staff at Pearce for ten years now, and my journey from “decent musician” to “heart for pastoral ministry through worship” has been slow, steady, and profound. Thank you, Pastor Todd, for the invitation and confidence in inviting me to share this morning. The Lord works in mysterious ways!

 

This morning I’ve been tasked with continuing our sermon series “Called to Growth”—and, more specifically by means of “Self-Care.” Last week Pastor Brian preached on Repentance, and used wonderful Biblical passages and references to unpack why we are called to repent, and what it can mean for us, both as individuals and as a church.

 

If you do a quick “search by term” look in the Bible, you’ll find the word Repent or Repentance a total of 102 times. “Self-care” occurs…a big fat zero times. So bear with me as we go on a journey together to understand more about what a Biblical approach might be to this idea of self-care. And let’s begin by defining what self-care isn’t.

 

Self-care is a relatively new addition to our vocabulary and worldview. Up until very recently no one person had the resources, manpower, or time to attend to all it would take to provide for their food and shelter. Over the course of history humans have largely relied on their tribe, village, or town to care for the collective necessities and needs of that community. It’s only been in the last century or so, with the Industrial Revolution and an explosion in technology that we’ve been granted the independence to live self-contained lives. Self-care has become an industry. It’s a product that you can buy in the form of dark chocolate, luxury vacations, champagne, or sports cars. Even business brands whose products have nothing to do with self-care appropriate the language of self-care to entice consumers 

 

Let’s play a little game. Here are a few of the most popular advertising slogans from the past few decades. See if you can come up with the product:

 

“Have it your way.” (Burger King)

 

“Because you’re worth it.” (L’Oreal)

 

“Double your pleasure, double your fun.” (Doublemint gum)

 

“I want—no, I have the right—to be unlimited.” (Sprint)

 

Go ahead and indulge—you deserve it! I think of the prodigal son from Luke 15—he got his hands on his inheritance early and “squandered his wealth in wild living,” which is an incredibly evocative phrase, don’t you think? The prodigal son is living an early form of what we now know as: 

 

“Treat Yo Self!”

 

If you aren’t familiar, this is a running bit from the sitcom Parks and Rec, in which two of the characters embark on an annual no holds barred, deep-dish, one day binge of indulgence.

 

It’s so easy to buy into the enticements and temptations to “treat yo self” to consume the luxuries and whims of the world.

 

As Christians, our call as followers of Christ is to be wise stewards of the resources entrusted to us. We heed Christ’s command to live lives of service, humility, and sacrifice. I think it’s safe to say that most Christians would scoff at the excesses many of our neighbors indulge in on a regular basis and we are on the lookout to resist the temptations of the world.

 

But I think that there is another, more subtle temptation that Christians face, one that I’ve dealt with much more directly in my own life. Let me take you way back to when I was in second grade…

 

I thought my Sunday school teacher was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was young and had dark hair and a kindness that made me just want to curl up and gaze adoringly up at her. She had fun games for us to play each week and incentives to remember our Bible stories or memorize Bible verses.

 

One Sunday my Sunday school teacher taught us about the JOY principle. Do any of you remember this?

 

Jesus first

Others second

Yourself last

 

Now, if you know anything about me and my personality—I’m the firstborn of two firstborns, a rule-follower, a “don’t rock the boat-er,” a recovering perfectionist. So, naturally, I took this principle, labeled it as gospel truth, tucked it away in my brain, and attempted to live it out to the max. 

 

In my young, developing mind, putting myself last meant always sacrificing 100% in everything: letting my brothers have the last two cookies, being the first to volunteer for a messy job, and the last to leave to make sure everything was cleaned up and put away. It meant raising my hand when a visiting missionary asked if any of us felt called to international missions. It meant frugality and self-denial. I knew, deep down, that I didn’t WANT to do a lot of that stuff, but I was supposed to be finding JOY, and that meant I came last in everything. 

 

At the end of my junior year of college this theology of self-martyrdom overtook me like an enormous wave at the beach. I couldn’t keep up with keeping everyone else happy and putting myself last. I crashed and burned at a summer camp I was serving at and was sent home to recuperate for several weeks. Unsurprisingly, I kicked and screamed against this (figuratively—I was too tired to actually yell)—I didn’t know how to accept help, I didn’t feel like I deserved help. I had swung so far away from “self-care” that I didn’t even know where to begin when caring for myself became a matter of medical necessity.

 

Think about the parable of the prodigal son again, but this time think about the OTHER brother. You know, the one who sacrificed his own wants to work on the family farm. It says in Luke 15 that he got angry when his father welcomed the destitute brother back home with open arms, saying, “Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. ³⁰ But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!”

 

The older brother was a pretty bitter guy, and so was I.

 

I’ve seen this self-denial theology rear its ugly head time and time again in my circle of friends and family. Our consumer culture simultaneously invites us to spend like the younger brother and work like the older brother. You mash those two things together and you have a recipe for exhaustion, burnout, depression, anxiety, eating disorders…the list goes on and on.

 

It turns out that the “JOY principle” isn’t gospel truth. It’s not in the gospels at all. But do you know what is? The second greatest commandment, which comes from Jesus himself, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” If we ascribe to an “I’m no better than a totally depraved worm” theology, how can we ever love our neighbors well?

 

So self-care definitely isn’t going out and buying whatever we want in the name of “I deserve it.” But it’s also definitely not “self-sacrifice to the point of burnout.” So…what is it?

 

Our sermon scripture today tells a portion of the story of the Old Testament prophet Elijah. Elijah was sent by the Lord to deal with the king of Israel at the time, King Ahab. Ahab is not a nice guy. It says that he “did more evil in the eyes of the Lord than any of those before him.” He trivialized sin, married a non-Israelite, and began to worship the false gods Baal and Asherah. It says in 1 Kings 17 that Ahab “did more to arouse the anger of the Lord, the God of Israel, than did all of the kings of Israel before him.” Yikes.

 

So Elijah is sent to Ahab to basically say, “God isn’t very happy with you, and to remind you who is really in charge around these parts, there will be no dew or rain for the foreseeable future unless the Lord says so.” A horrific drought descends upon the land, which affects everyone, including Elijah himself. Eventually Elijah and Ahab have an epic, public faceoff over who’s god is the true God, and Ahab is humiliated in front of everyone when the God of Israel shows up in a mighty way. We pick up the story of Elijah in 1 Kings 19, where he’s running for his life from an enraged King Ahab.

 

Elijah is burned out. It says in verse 4 that “He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. ‘I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.”

 

“I have had enough, Lord.” 

 

Have you ever said that? I know I have.

 

Elijah has been standing up to a dangerous, powerful king, he’s been living through a horrific drought, he’s been on his own, and now he’s on the lam. Elijah is in some serious need of some self-care. He’s earned it. He’s WORTH IT. Elijah deserves some free WiFi and a long soak in a hot tub.

 

The Lord hears Elijah’s cries, and he provides for him. But he doesn’t provide Ben and Jerrys and a spa. Hear again what happens in 1 Kings 19, beginning in verse 5:

 

“Then he lay down under the bush and fell asleep. All at once an angel touched him and said, “Get up and eat.” He looked around, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again. The angel of the Lord came back a second time and touched him and said, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” So he got up and ate and drank.”

 

After this Elijah journeys for 40 days to Horeb, which is called the mountain of God. There God speaks to him directly, and Elijah is able to hear and ascertain what he is to do next.

 

Did you catch the order of all that? Before Elijah was able to clearly hear from God he first had to tend to himself. Let me say that again. Before Elijah was able to clearly hear from God he first had to tend to himself.He needed sleep. He needed to eat and drink. 

 

Two summers ago we were all living in the thick of Covid. When the world shut down in March of 2020, we can all remember what it was like to instantly transition to Zoom meetings and having our kids at home all day every day. I kind of bypassed the initial wave of shock, because we were already homeschooling and, frankly, I love being home. The first couple of months weren’t too bad. But by July I was exhausted. I was burned out. I wasn’t thinking rationally and I was numb.

 

My husband shipped me off to Connecticut for an emergency solitary retreat. I spent 4 days living in a tiny, bright, third floor apartment. It was the first time in my whole life I had ever experienced 4 uninterrupted days to myself, and I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect.

 

The first day or two I largely slept, prepared and ate simple meals, did some journaling, and went for walks. I didn’t speak to anyone, I didn’t listen to anything. My brain ever so slowly began to settle.

 

By the third day I felt my frayed nerve endings begin to regenerate. I cried a good bit that day. I laughed a bit that day. I took deep breaths and found comfort in scripture and prayer and silence.

 

The fourth day my phone rang—a good friend of mine was calling. I had imposed a strict no-phone call policy upon myself for the entirety of the stay. But she kept calling. Eventually I decided I should probably answer, fearing the worst. Her voice was choked with emotion as she shared the tragic news of the death of a close family member.

 

In that moment I was able to cry with her, pray with her, and even call a couple of others on her behalf. I was able to serve her in that moment. Friends, believe me when I say I couldn’t have done that on day 1, 2, or 3. Just like Elijah, before I could hear from God and do what came next, I needed to sleep and eat and drink and sleep some more.

 

You, too, may need to disappear for four days and catch up on sleep, but you can’t, because you’re a single parent or you’re drowning in medical bills or you’re self-employed and can’t take any time off. I want to fully acknowledge my own privilege in being able to take care of myself when I needed to. If you are burned out and don’t have the resources to take care of yourself on your own, that is why you’re in a church community. At Pearce, as part of Jesus’ command to love one another, we take care of each other—and I hope that you will ask for the help that you need. If as a community we aren’t giving each other that help we are falling short of our call.

 

Friends, if we aren’t rested and fed and nourished, we are compromised in our ability to commune together with God. And if we are out of step with the Spirit, that in turn affects how we love our neighbors and bring the gospel to a broken world.

 

In her wonderful book, Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Harrison Warren speaks about sleeping and rest as an act of submission—a surrendering of our self-control. She writes, “Each night when we yield to sleep, we practice letting go of our reliance on self-effort and abiding in the good grace of our Creator. Thus embracing sleep is not only a confession of our limits; it is also a joyful confession of God’s limitless care for us. For Christians, the act of ceasing and relaxing into sleep is an act of reliance on God. What if Christians were known as a countercultural community of the well-rested—people who embrace our limits with zest and even joy? As believers we can relish sleep as not only necessary but as an embodied response to the truth of Scripture: we are finite weak creatures who are abundantly cared for by our strong and loving Creator.” (p. 152)

 

We heard this morning from Ephesians 2, “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”

 

We are God’s handiwork and God makes beautiful things. God didn’t make you to be a buyer of beautiful things; God made you a beautiful thing right here, right now. So, literally, REST in how God made you. Sleep. Eat the warm bread and drink the cool water the angel leaves for you. And then allow that rest and grounding to give you fresh ears and eyes to hear from the Lord in your life. To see how He wants to use you in this world to bring about his kingdom.

Soli Deo gloria.