Horse Races and Rat Races

We love the surge. That eagerly anticipated, intensely orchestrated burst of energy and strength that drives horses around ten furlongs of dirt and dust in two minutes or less (if you count Secretariat) provides a contagious drama that draws spectators and speculators from around the world. Perhaps thoroughbreds embody what all of us desire: the capacity to perform at extremely high levels at critical times. LeBron James explodes past defenders in singleminded pursuit of the rim. Adrian Peterson sheds tacklers who dare stand between him and the end zone. Ryan Howard slams a fast ball 500 feet over the center field wall. Davis Love III crushes a drive 450 yards down the middle of the fairway. It's not just fun to watch, it stirs our spirits, reminding us of our own passion for excellence, instructing us in the power of drive and determination.

But that beloved burst of epinephrine (adrenaline) that fuels our peak performances is the same hormonal phenomenon that feeds our propensity to panic. Necessary when confronted with real and present dangers, essential for effective fight or flight, the heightened state of alertness and anxiety that is so helpful in small doses can be dangerous -- even devastating -- with prolonged exposure. Politicians who shrewdly capitalize on the opportunities implicit in crisis understand this well: panic produces a level of energy and attention not otherwise available, and there are certain short-term advantages to stirring up a well-timed crisis. Business leaders get it too: a good crisis helps generate the funding and resources required to implement significant change. We thrive on crisis (and the panic it provides) in nearly every aspect of living. Our lives sometimes resemble an endless series of emergencies, our homes and workplaces imitate immediate care centers, and triage becomes our standard operating procedure. But eventually, inescapably, the energy wanes, the alertness fades, burnout sets in, and further efforts to stir and awaken are met with increasingly persistent apathy and lethargy. And we wonder why.

The solution to this silly pattern is not at all complicated or complex. We all know that a marathon is run at a different pace than a sprint, that 500-mile races require pit stops, that starting pitchers need three or four days rest between starts, and that every sport has an off-season. We need breaks, naps, weekends, vacations. We need rest, relaxation, recreation, recuperation. The crazy thing is, I'm not sure how long a horse would run, if the jockey didn't tell him to stop. I'm not sure LeBron would ever take himself out of the game, if the coach didn't send in a sub. A dog bred for hunting, but not yet trained to stop when he hears the horn blow, will indeed run himself to death, if the fox is too fast and the chase too long.

We all need a jockey, a coach, a manager, a trainer: someone to blow the horn when its time to stop chasing. Some people picture God as the chronically dissatisfied boss who always wants more out of us: do more, love more, serve more, sacrifice more. Thankfully, the ancient wisdom of scripture preserves a different picture. Our Creator and Redeemer is the Lord of the Sabbath, the Lord of Rest, the Almighty Horn-Blower. When He tells you to stop, Stop.

My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. -- Psalm 62:1


Shalom.

-- Brother Tom