The Wall

I, mind you, am not a runner. I have always been pretty firmly of the opinion that the world is made up of basically two kinds of people; those who do enjoy beating themselves to a bloody pulp on a fairly regular basis, and those who do not: I am numbered firmly among the latter. That is a caste of mind that applies pretty well across the board, to any sort of exercise. Whenever I find myself drifting dangerously close, I just lie down for a few minutes, and the mood passes.

However, being an ecumenical sort, I have always believed that we can all learn something of value, even from those whose style of life we do not share. So I listen to runners, and other physically active types. I do so from a prone position, of course, but I do so. And in the process, there is one particular idea that keeps popping up over and over again. As these people talk about their experiences, sooner or later almost all of them touch on this theme. It might not always be expressed in the same way, some might call it "the wall," others "the hurdle," still others "the barrier."

But no matter how it is expressed, the reality seems to be the same. As the runner pushes himself further and further, there comes a point beyond which he believes he is not able to go, a point at which everything reasonable in his make-up is telling him to stop, that it would be senseless, perhaps even dangerous to push any further. A point at which it would seem that everything he could reasonably expect of himself had been done. And that point is a critical one. It is a crisis, in the classical sense of that word. A moment of decision, that will determine how he will experience what is still to come and at least in part determine the value of what he has already done. If he quits, if he stops when it seems reasonable to do so, if he trusts his perception of his own limits, then everything he had done up until then is no more than what it seems to be, a certain amount of effort spent, to achieve a particular goal, a goal which may or may not have been realized, (getting into shape, feeling better, reducing, or whatever).

But, if he doesn't quit, if he doesn't "listen to reason,", doesn't believe his own limits, if he "breaks through the wall," then something totally new, unpredictable happens. He begins to discover in himself unsuspected reserves of strength and ability. He begins to see that what he had thought were limits, walls, were in fact gates, invitations to further expansion. But more to the point, there develops in his understanding something of the sense that everything that had happened, everything he had done up until then was in fact really only preparation for this new experience. Suddenly all the other goals, the obvious reasons for making the effort become a good deal less important, less to the point, and the effort seems almost to take on a life, a value of its own. No longer simply a mean to an end, something unpleasant you have to do in order to achieve something pleasant, the effort becomes an end in itself, its own reason for being. The measurable results matter less, and simply the doing of the thing comes to matter a very great deal indeed.

And, I am told, there is a great joy in that, a sense of "rightness" to the effort that one is making, a sense of rightness that doesn't in the least depend on whether or not one wins the Boston marathon, or wins an Olympic gold medal. Now that is an attractive thought. A sense of rightness about the effort one is making. That is purely the heart of joy, the necessary foundation to a pleasant, meaningful, satisfying experience of life. In this the runners offer us a profound insight. That sense of rightness, that joy is experienced by, available to only those who manage to break though the wall, only those who go beyond what they think they can do, should do.

I think there is something important being said there, something eminently Christian. As the Church moved through the Easter season into the season of Pentecost, she did so against the, backdrop of liturgical readings drawn largely from the Gospel of John. Time after time in those readings we were told that as members of that church, sharers in the resurrection of Christ, the effort we are called to make is simply enough the effort of love, and that the effect of that effort, the way we should feel if we make it, is Joy. "God is love", John wrote, "and those who love in their turn live in God, and God lives in them. . . I am telling you all this so that your joy may be complete, as is My own."

Those are powerful words. Especially so when we remember that John pictures Christ as speaking them at the Last Supper, hours before He was to be arrested, beaten and executed. All of Christ's effort up until then had been a loving thing. Surely He had done enough. He had preached, taught, relieved suffering, even raised the dead. It would be unreasonable to expect more. He had reached His limits. Better to say, perhaps, He had reached His wall... and it was as He stood before that wall, fully prepared to break through it, that He spoke of love, and joy. Well, it is precisely to that same wall that Christ calls each of us as lovers. The wall is a reality, I think, not only for runners, but for all of us. The point at which our efforts seem to be fruitless, accomplishing nothing measurable. We've done enough, served enough, and gotten nothing in return. The point at which it seems foolish to go on, the kids don't appreciate what I do, elderly parents, the boss, whomever it might be that we are trying to love. For lovers that really is the wall. To keep on loving, when there seems to be no good reason to do so, when it is risky to do so, even painful. The essence of Christian love is to break through that wall, to keep going, not because it feels good right at the moment, it may well not, but simply because we are called to do so.

And if we do that, if we are able, willing is perhaps more to the point, to break through that wall, then, just as with the runners, our experience will be radically changed. Christ's promise of joy will be fulfilled. We will come to see that the love to which we are called is its own explanation, its value doesn't depend on any measurable accomplishments. We will have that sense of rightness about our lives and the efforts we make. Our experience of life will be Christ's own, whether we are moments away from the Agony in the Garden, or have just been made president of A.T. and T.

Well, that's enough for now. I've just been seized by a strong urge to go out and jog, and more than anything else, that is a sure sign of naptime.

From 1980 through 1982, Father Sandell served as Chaplain to the Bishop O'Reilly Council No. 3918,Grafton, North Dakota Chapter of the Knights of Columbus. "Scattered ThoughtsS is a collection of essays based on columns originally written for the Chaplain's Corner, section of the Council's monthly newsletter.