Finishing the Race of 2020, and Finding the Strength to Keep Going

It’s been so long since I blogged that I had to change my password, but here’s my church newsletter article for Jan 1, 2021.

“‘Lord, what are you doing?’ When have you asked that question in the past year?” That’s how Sinclair Ferguson finishes his 22^nd chapter of Love Came Down at Christmas, his book of 24 daily Advent devotionals. I don’t read devotional books often, but I picked this one up when I unpacked our Christmas decorations and Christmas books, and I haven’t been able to put it down. I’m even a bit sad that it’s almost over, as I write this on December 23, 2020. In fact, I’m a bit sad in general that Christmas season is almost over. Maybe I’m turning into a sentimental sap in my middle age, and maybe I already was one. Regardless, I have loved Christmas season this year – the whole lot of it – lights, decorations, Christmas movies (though I haven’t watched Die Hard yet), Christmas music, Christmas devotionals, and Christmas carols. The other day, my wife had her Christmas playlist on, and when I heard Celine Dion begin to sing, “O Holy Night,” I asked her to turn it up. “This is middle age,” I reflected to her a moment later. “When Celine Dion comes on, you say, ‘Turn it up.’”

So, yes, I love Christmas. Maybe I always loved it this much. Maybe something about 2020 has made me love it more. But back to Sinclair Ferguson, who may have never written a book I dislike. Back to his question: “‘Lord, what are you doing?’ When have you asked that question in the past year?”

Well, let’s see. I’ve probably only asked that question about 1,000 times this year, give or take. I imagine I’m not alone. (And if you haven’t asked that question at all this year, you may be looking in the wrong direction for guidance and meaning.) My answers have been incomplete, at best, but that’s not surprising. I can know generally what God is doing, but I will not know exactly what He is doing in history until much later, if at all. This chapter of the story is incomplete, at best, even if I know how the story ultimately ends.

Yes, I know God is working all things together for good. I know He has not abandoned me. And yet, the dawning end of 2020 still feels strange.

My 2020 has been full of some personal achievements and bits of good news for my family and me, and it has also been overshadowed by quite a bit of drama and hard decisions. I won’t rehearse the details; you’ve lived through most of them, too, and maybe you’ve had more mess than the rest of us.

So as I reflect on 2020 and all the times that I’ve asked God what He’s doing, my mind simply rests on this: By God’s grace, I made it. Well, I’ve made it through 97% of it, at least. It wasn’t because of my effort, though I expended plenty of effort. He dragged me through this year, and even if all the drama that made 2020 so hard won’t magically go away when the calendar says 2021, having finished this race gives me confidence that God will allow me to finish THE race, as Paul says in 2 Tim. 4:7. Sometimes, finishing the latest race is good enough, even if you don’t win a medal, even if you need help along the way.

Thinking of this reminded me of a sermon I wrote in 2018 about the faithful martyrs of Revelation 20:4 and the rest of us Christians with fewer merit badges. At the risk of angering the Equipper editors by totally blowing through my word limit, I’ll close with those words:

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What if all I’ve done is finish the race. Is that enough?

If you’re saying that, then maybe you should YouTube Derek Redmond. He ran the 400 meters for the UK; made the Olympics; won a relay gold medal at the World Championships. But the first clip you’ll find isn’t him winning gold.

It’s the final race of his career: The 1992 Olympics.

He won the preliminary race. He was hopeful. Through the first 150 meters, he was running well.

Then all of sudden, something snapped. He grabbed his leg. He had torn his hamstring.

His career was over. He’d already had 8 surgeries; his body was breaking down. 

But he got up and kept going, limping, slowly. It was his final race. It was the Olympics. He had to finish.

Then all of sudden, someone came out of the stands and onto the track. It was his father, telling the security guards: that’s my son. His dad put an arm around his son and hobbled the final half of the race with him.

By the time, they got to the finish line, everyone else had been finished for at least a minute. Redmond was last place by a mile.

But the crowd gave them a standing ovation.

In the record books, it is listed as a Disqualification due to “outside assistance.” But something tells me that Derek Redmond (and his dad) would tell you this: Sometimes, finishing the race is all that matters.

The martyrs in Rev. 20:4 finished the race. The other deceased believers in v.4? They finished the race.

It doesn’t matter if they were gold medal Christians or train-wreck Christians, clinging to Jesus and limping across the finish line.

They finished.

They were faithful. And so, John tells us, they will reign with Christ for 1000 years, until Jesus returns and comes to gather the rest of us.

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May you finish 2020 well, whether you’re sprinting like a Cheetah, or limping and wounded and clinging to Jesus. And if it’s 2021 when you’re reading this, then look back and realize that you finished 2020, by God’s grace. And (to paraphrase 2 Sam 7:14 and Amazing Grace), chances are, the same grace that brought you safe thus far will be the same grace that leads you all the way home.

Merry Christmas, Forestgate. And may it be a very happy New Year!