Eric Moussambani was an Olympian who quite simply didn’t belong. Nicknamed “the Eel,” he was a swimmer who barely knew how to swim. A 22 year-old from Equatorial Guinea, he was a winner of an Olympic wild card drawing for the 2000 Olympics, held to encourage developing countries to participate when they otherwise would not be able to afford it.
At first it was reported he began to practice in January in a 20 m pool, but that wasn’t quite accurate. It was true that he only began to really swim in January. But it wasn’t in a pool. Rather, he did his practicing in a river known to be inhabited by crocodiles. Come September, he was seeing the first 50 m pool he’d ever seen, ready to compete on the world’s largest and grandest sporting stage. He was scheduled to compete in his heat of the 100 m freestyle alongside two other wild card entrants. But when they each false-started, Eric was left alone in the center of the pool, a lone contestant set to swim the race he was barely even capable of completing, much less winning, at the Olympic games.
When given the cadence, Eric dove in; a man alone in the water. It was obvious from the start that there would be no medal on the way for The Eel. The view from the underwater cameras as seen by viewers at home showed a complete lack of technique. As his arms paddled the water in choppy strokes, his legs kicked with no synchronization, offering little in terms of propulsion. As he made the turn at the halfway mark, his pace slowed even further. The effort being expended was obvious, but the gains were little. About 75 meters in, he seemed to barely be moving. His already painfully slow pace had nearly come to a complete stop. A lifeguard was ready by the side of the pool, just in case. Eric himself wondered whether he would be able to finish. But he persevered. He wasn’t moving fast, but he was moving. So he kept on pushing.
Two things helped Eric as he strove to finish. First, he had the crowd behind him. Fans are notorious for rooting for winners. People usually love the underdog as long as it looks like it could pull the upset. But once the underdog turns into a dud, people lose interest. People don’t cheer for losers. Usually they’re either jeered or ignored entirely. But for Eric, it was different.
The crowd recognized and appreciated the effort this young man was giving. They wanted to see him succeed. They wanted to see him finish the race. So they cheered. They didn’t cheer meekly or out of politeness. They stood and cheered as loudly for him as they would later on in the races that “mattered.” They couldn’t physically help him in his struggles, but they were able to make it known that they were pulling for him, helping him on the best that they could.
The other thing that helped him finish was that he could see the end. He was able to look up and see the goal he was working towards. His body and the water were fighting his efforts to get there, but he pressed on. He knew that if he could just get to the end, he would be able to rest. His goal for the race was not winning an Olympic medal, but finishing what he had started. With the finish line in sight and with the crowd urging him on, he finally finished. At 1:52, his time was nowhere close to a world-record. In fact, his time was even slower than the record for the 200 m. But he had finished. He had struggled, but he had persevered, and he had finished.
Our text for today calls for us to “run with perseverance the race set before us.” Like Eric, we are in a race we are not expected to win. In fact it’s a race we aren’t even capable of winning. Unlike Eric, we are not in this race by chance. We aren’t racing due to the luck of the draw. We are called to run this race. We have been placed here by the Father. This is more than the day-to-day “rat race” we are all familiar with. This isn’t a race as the world would have us understand it. It isn’t about fighting for prestige, promotion, or wealth. Those caught up in that race all come to the same end. Death. Eternal, painful, unending death. But by God’s almighty grace, at our baptisms we were called to run a different race.
Ours is a race of faith. It is a race that multitudes have been called to run before us. In chapter 11 the author tells us of what people like Abraham, Noah, Moses, and Rahab were able to accomplish through their faith. He shows us how they and others had similarly been chosen by God, set apart from the world around them, and endured and lived by faith. They weren’t chosen on account of their own worthiness. Like Eric, they didn’t belong. Like we don’t belong. But through baptism and by the grace of God, we all have been chosen and called to run the race.
Beyond being called to run this race, we are called to run with perseverance, with endurance. This is a perseverance of more than just the flesh. It is a perseverance of will; an endurance of the heart and spirit. It is a perseverance that withstands the trials and tribulations of both day to day life and of the faith, and comes out the other side. As I’m sure you are all aware, the life of a believer is not easy. Our faith and our beliefs are constantly put under attack.
However, as we struggle along, we are not without support. Like Eric, God provides us with different means of encouragement to help us complete the race. Like Eric, we are told we are surrounded by a crowd, or in our case a cloud, of witnesses. However, this isn’t quite the same as the crowd around the pool that day. Our cloud of witnesses is made up of all believers, past and present.
Those who have gone before are not witnesses in the sense that they are watching our comings and goings and rooting for us to succeed. Rather, by their lives we are given a testimony to the faith, examples of what it means to live the life of a Christian. By looking at those who have gone before us, we can learn from what they did right, hope to avoid what they did wrong, and take comfort in the knowledge that they were given the power to persevere through their own trials and tribulations.
At the same time, we have been surrounded by living witnesses to our race, and they are there to provide us with help and encouragement. Our families, both of the biological and Christian nature, are there to help us along our way. We aren’t running alone. Our lives as a whole might be unique to us, but we share many of the same temptations and hardships as those around us. In those situations we are provided the opportunity to help one another, comfort one another, and encourage one another to cast aside those sins that weigh us down.
This happens in a variety of ways. A friend happens to call on a day you’re feeling lonely or depressed. A neighbor asks if you’d like someone to talk to or pray with. A pastor or concerned member comes to visit you while you’re sick or awaiting surgery. Some days are easier than others, but in the long-term, it can be a challenge to not fall away and lose heart. Even so, we persevere; we keep on running, pushing forward in faith.
But we aren’t running the race without purpose or without an end in sight. Just as Eric was able to see his final goal, so are we told to cast our eyes forward. Not merely on the finish line that represents the end of the race, but rather upon Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith. Faith as it is described by the author of Hebrews; the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Christ has borne the burdens of the entire world, was crucified upon the cross, and rose again victorious, having defeated death once and for all. Through his works, imparted to us at our Baptisms, we are able to call ourselves saved and redeemed children of God.
The King James Bible translated the word “persevere” as “patience.” Using the idea of patience, it helps put the purpose of our race into perspective. We said earlier that this is a race we don’t deserve to be in. It’s one that we can’t win. And yet we are called to run it anyway, until we reach the end. But of course, we don’t know when that end will be. It could be today, it could be decades from now.
With that in mind, we can see how our race is one of patience. Patience because we don’t know exactly how long it will take to reach the finish line. Because there may be times we grow anxious for our Lord’s return. It’s in those times that we rejoice at what we see when do fix our eyes upon what is waiting at the finish.
Christ has already won the race. He endured the cross. The crowds jeered and mocked his efforts, but he was not swayed. They put him to death, but he conquered the grave. The victory has been won. While we are called to persevere in our race, we find strength and comfort in the fact that he already sits at the right hand of the throne of God, declaring us to be justified, declaring to the Father that ragged and haggard as we might be, the promise of salvation is ours.
As surely as we are gathered here this morning, Christ is at this moment sitting on his throne, waiting to make his triumphant and final return. Waiting to raise us up and grant us the ultimate, eternal prize of new life in the Kingdom of God. Waiting to welcome us home.
