By Brad Locke
April 23, 2004

(AgapePress) - There is something inherent in winning that is really quite depressing. A couple of things, actually. One is the fruitless endeavor by the winner to draw some permanent fulfilling joy from victory, which is perhaps exacerbated by the second trait: the temporal nature of winning.

I can think of no better example of the first characteristic than Phil Mickelson's long-awaited victory in a golf major (he was 0-for-46 before winning a thrilling Masters by a stroke over Ernie Els on Easter Sunday). Once Mickelson had that coveted green jacket draped over his shoulders, he didn't take it off until the next day. “It was me, Phil and the green jacket" in bed that night, said his wife, Amy.

Mickelson was clinging to something he'd chased for years. Not that Mickelson shouldn't enjoy his triumph. His story is one of the most heartwarming in sports. Just last year Amy and the Mickelson's new baby nearly died in delivery. He's overcome a lot. I was as happy for him as the next guy. But I hope Phil doesn't expect his accomplishment to provide him with prolonged contentment. Many an athlete has reached the pinnacle of his sport only to become depressed and spiritually desperate soon after.

Michael Jordan, upon winning his first NBA championship, took the trophy and embraced it tearfully, as if it were a long-lost love. It's one of the most replayed championship celebrations, yet with each viewing it grows increasingly evident that Jordan was hoping that the inanimate object in his clutches would return his affections. Of course, it didn't, and I think that is part of what fueled his desire to win five more. He was, still is, competitive by nature, which is in itself a laudable attribute. But seeking happiness purely in one's accomplishments is futile and frustrating.

Even in the euphoria of the moment, victory is often tinged with the knowledge that the celebration will soon give way to the familiar routine of preparing for another run at glory. This brings us to the second disheartening aspect of athletic success -- its transience. When Tampa Bay won Super Bowl XXXVII, coach Jon Gruden said that he would enjoy it for about two weeks, then it was back to the 18-hour days required to compete at that same high level the next season. In other words, if one basks in his achievements for too long, he'll get run over the next time around.

Does this mean we should reject the pursuit of athletic excellence? Certainly not. I believe victory is a blessing God gives us to help us understand the greater, everlasting and soul-satisfying victory we have over sin in Christ, and the victory God will ultimately have over evil. As Paul, no doubt a sports fan given the number of athletic analogies he used, wrote in I Corinthians 9:25: “Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable." Our ultimate prize, found in our Father, is worth far more than a jacket that will become tattered or a trophy that will rust.

And the extensive, often tedious preparation it takes just to have a chance at winning it all is an appropriate metaphor for the labor the Lord requires of us in being the means to His ultimate ends. Even if success doesn't come immediately -- if a team loses in the playoffs, if we seem ineffective in our witnessing or ministry -- that's not to mean our toil is for nothing. We can take comfort in I Corinthians 15:58, which instructs us to be “always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain."

Ultimately, being an athlete is not about how often you win. It's about how well you perform, how much of yourself you give to your sport, how well you persevere through adversity. In a sense, being a Christian is easier than being an athlete, because we know the final outcome. Knowing victory is nigh should be sufficient motivation for us to “press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus (Philippians 3:14)."

It's the one prize we can cling to.