Boring Truth

Recently, I wrote that “competition doesn’t make you an athlete, it reveals if you are one.” Meaning, when it’s the bottom of the ninth and the bases are loaded, as a pitcher am I going to be afraid to throw a strike because the hitter might hit a grand slam? Am I going to be afraid to walk him and bring in the winning run? Am I going to call to the dugout and ask the manager to bring in someone else because I wasn’t prepared for that kind of pressure?

Or am I going to say, “Give me the ball. I’m challenging you.”

A real athlete doesn’t shy away from that moment. That’s the moment they dream about. That’s the moment they spend countless hours in the offseason preparing for.

The reality of who you are is revealed there.

If you fail, how did you fail?

If you succeed, were you shocked?

Why you do what you do is exposed.

And the manner in which you do those two things matters more than failure or success themselves.

This idea of putting on the identity of who or what you want to become keeps coming back to me. What’s the reason behind it? To look good? To build an image? For health and fitness? To provide for and protect a family? There are countless reasons. But ultimately, the question underneath all of it is this:

Why are you doing any of this in the first place?

Athletes are often asked, “Why do you play this sport?” It’s a great question, and one athletes should ask themselves often. Is it simply for the love of the game? Because you happen to be good at it and can make decent money from it? Because you want to be great at something, and this particular sport became the thing you chose to chase?

There are many reasons.

I was talking with my father about this, and he said that same question ought to be asked to people in ministry as well. Is it for a following? To attract a spouse? To fit in with church culture? Or is it genuinely to serve Christ?

Most people would probably say the latter. But is it authentic? And the manner in which I’ve seen individuals in church respond to success and failure, suggests any other reason but authenticity of serving Christ.

I’ve heard many athletes answer the “why” question confidently. But when the bottom of the ninth arrived, the “why” suddenly didn’t seem as secure as they thought it was.

Often, “it’s not that serious” becomes a shield we hide behind when reality exposes us. When we fail. When we realize we are not as good as we thought. When someone else reaches a level we cannot seem to touch. When another person takes something seriously, the response often becomes, “Hey man, it’s not that big of a deal. Relax.”

But many times, that’s not peace. It’s protection.

My father and I have often spoken about how baseball and church have become eerie reflections of one another. Maybe that comparison comes naturally because those are the two things I’ve devoted most of my life to: following Christ and playing baseball.

Baseball today exists in many different forms, and I’m not talking about travel ball, high school, college, up to professional baseball. Over the last few years, different versions of what people believe the “true game” should look like have emerged. The same conversations surround church. I’m not placing baseball on the same level as Christ or the Church. It’s simply an observation.

But I think both fans and players could ask themselves an important question:

Is baseball enough? Or do you need something more added to it in order to keep your attention?

To put it more bluntly for my church folk:

Is Jesus enough?

Or do you constantly need more stimulation to sustain devotion? More conferences. More seminars. More books. More entertainment. More lights. Louder music. Bigger productions.

When church feels “boring” because the pastor simply stands and reads Scripture, is that enough for you?

Or do you need something else to keep the fire alive inside you?

Because if external stimulation is required for devotion, what happens when all of it is stripped away?

When life becomes painful in ways you never imagined. When it’s boring and you feel no excitement. When heartbreak enters your home. When betrayal, disappointment, and suffering, arrive at your doorstep. When you lose things you thought you could not live without. When life becomes Job level difficult and everything is taken from you, where does your faith go?

Do you blame God?

Do you walk away?

Do you curse Him?

Or do you remain?

Or do you make your own version of god to stimulate the things you like and cut out what is boring and uncomfortable?

Is it authentic pursuit or performance?

When everything is stripped away, what is left in me? When all the stimulation is turned off, is Christ there?

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Additional Reading

• Job 1:9–11

• Habakkuk 3:17–18

• Matthew 13:18–23

• John 6:66–68

• James 1:2–4

• 1 Peter 1:6–9

• Luke 6:46-49

• 2 Timothy 2:1-7