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A recent response to the gospel illustrates how coaching in the inner city blesses me. While waiting with my junior varsity basketball team for an evening game, I sat on a shiny gym floor and leaned against its closed wooden bleachers. A girl from the track team, who had been attending our Fellowship of Christian Athletes meetings, came and sat next me.

I recently had the "pleasure" of running my 3rd 5K. A good friend of mine was also running the race, and at the beginning, I decided I was going to try and keep her pace since we have similar times. I soon realized her pace was a bit faster than mine, so I then decided I would make sure to keep her in my sights. This worked out great for a while and I kept pushing along, making good time (for me, at least). We then got to a weird turn and suddenly I didn't see her anymore. My pusher had disappeared, and it made me feel a little lost and like I wasn't going to be able to finish.

All my friends and I are turning 16 this year and, let me tell you, that’s a big one. I always know who’s just had a birthday, not because their school locker is decorated or because of that faint scent of butter cream frosting on their breath, but because of something far more significant: that shiny new driver’s license burning a hole in their wallet! Hey, that is a milestone in a kid’s life.  And that little piece of plastic pretty much tells it all. I mean, it tells your height, your weight, your eye color—everything you’d need to know about a person. But, if you ask me, even with all that information, a lot of kids in my generation are having a serious identity crisis!  

I was a high school sophomore awaiting surgery to repair torn cartilage in my knee. In walked a young orderly with a razor to shave my leg. Before long, the blood began to flow. He was unskilled, and his razor was dull. Fortunately, the next day was different. The surgeon was skilled, and his scalpel was sharp.
 
Surgery is always painful, but its purpose is to heal. To be successful, the surgeon must be skilled. I once saw a documentary on a surgical technique to reduce an enlarged heart. The surgeon literally sliced off a quarter of the heart and sewed it back together, where upon it began beating again! Would you want a medical intern doing such a procedure? I think not.
 

Rafer Johnson’s dream of a good life hinged on his athletic ability, even though he’d been told that a birth defect would prevent him from participating in athletics. He chose to deal with the defect as a simple setback rather than as a deal breaker. With the help of coaches and family, he not only won his battle but was declared the world’s greatest athlete when he won the 1960 Olympic decathlon.

All athletes have experienced it. The day after a hard work out, we roll out of bed barely able to move. Aching pains shoot like firecrackers through our bodies, making us feel 100 years old. The fact is, during those hours spent in the gym, running, or at practice, we were literally pulling our muscles apart. The resistance of weights and movement caused the muscles to tear and the soreness felt is the body struggling to rebuild those fibers, stronger than before. Isn’t it crazy the pain we endure for a desired physical result—that six pack of abs and a set of pythons to make the Rock jealous? But what are we willing to suffer to be conditioned spiritually?

Humility and competition, especially today, seem to be a contradiction in terms. As human beings, we believe that if we demonstrate humility, we will be walked over, pushed aside, neglected, or even abused. So instinctively we reject humility, maybe not as an idea, but in our everyday actions toward others.

Although Christ’s purpose was not that of competition, we can certainly agree that Christ had a purpose and goal and was successful in achieving it. In this vein, let’s consider our own goals as coaches. Where does humility play a part? Paul, speaking to the church at Philippi, reminded us that Christ recognized His humanity and this resulted in a humility that inspired obedience.