A Resilient Life: You Can Move Ahead No Matter What

by Gordon MacDonald

Your stamina is everything, and it’s built day by day as you give yourself to the workouts. Do your soul work in the same way.”

the race of life is a race of distance, not a sprint. I must cultivate a spiritual life that covers that entire distance and never loses sight of the race leader, Jesus. This is the start of the resilient life.

First, he wanted his athletes to run with a big picture of great possibilities in their hearts and minds. He could not bear the thought of an athlete who would leave unfulfilled potential on the track when the last day of the season arrived. Second, he insisted that his athletes look backward and learn from yesterday’s experiences. There was something to be learned from both victories and defeats. Third, MWG taught his athletes to love self-discipline and to beware of the temptations of self-indulgence.

Finally,MWG wanted his athletes to be proud to be part of a team, a “happy few” who were committed to making great things happen. Marvin Goldberg believed in the power of a team.

I am also aware that orderly, disciplined, durable living for her was a continuous struggle. And while I know that her death was the result of a massive stroke, I fear that she died of a broken, unfulfilled heart.

Over and over again—to this day—when I am tempted to procrastinate, to abandon a commitment, to desert an effort, I remind myself of the day I returned to the cross-country course as a teenager and did something I didn’t want to do. And in a heart-level dialogue with the part of me that lacks finishing-power, I say, “I finished then; I’m going to finish now. I did it well then; I’m going to do it well now.”

Wherever I have gone and talked about the resilient life, I have insisted that one must anticipate that the greatest contributions God has for us to make will happen in the second half of life. You should see the reaction if I add, “And you folks under forty? In actuality, most of what you’re doing now is simply running the first laps of the race.”

The Christian worships a God who can (and does) take the life of any person, turn it inside out, and use it to build a piece of His kingdom.

Ours (at least in the immediate future) is not the question of buckling under overt and severe persecution; rather, we face the questions, can one last and can one grow and can one actually contemplate being more valuable for the kingdom in the second half of life than in the first? Resilience for first-generation Christians had a lot to do with real suffering. Resilience for us has, in most cases, more to do with lasting and thriving in the spiritual way.

In the eleventh chapter of Hebrews there is a crescendo of enthusiasm as the writer looks back across the history of biblical people and notes the championlike behavior of people who had faith, who didn’t quit. Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham and Sarah, Joseph, and Moses are on the list. Gideon makes it; so do David, Samuel, and then a much larger roster of unnamed heroes who “conquered kingdoms, administered justice, . . . shut the mouths of lions, . . . were tortured . . . stoned . . . put to death . . . destitute,” to name a few of the difficulties (vv. 33–37). “These were all commended for their faith,” the writer concludes (v. 39). He describes people whose common characteristic is in fact a resilient faith. These are the great ones who didn’t quit!

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses [the people in the preceding paragraphs], let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance [read resilience here] the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. (Heb. 12:1–3)

the runners tensely approached as the starting judge barked out,“Runners, take your marks.” It was the signal to strip off all clothing. (Runners in the ancient games took it all off—they ran naked.) “Everything that hinders,” the writer said.

“Set an example” for people, he urges Timothy. In other words live in such a way that people want to follow you. The literal rendering of Paul’s words are, “Stamp yourself on people’s lives.”

“Watch your life and doctrine closely,” he adds. Here Paul is advocating the importance of self-examination. It is likely that no one else will do this for Timothy, he reasons; he’ll have to do it himself.

The search for resilience is a futile one if a person is unwilling to engage in a regular assessment of self along the lines of Paul’s challenge to Timothy: in speech, in life, in love, in faith, and in purity.

The truth is that, on many occasions, I had heard the lectures and read the books about building life with a longer vision in mind. But, like many young people, I didn’t get it. I was too blessed with seeming boundless energy, with a self-confidence bordering on hubris, and a practical conviction that thinking quickly on your feet can get you just about anywhere. “Today” was the important hour; tomorrow could take care of itself. What I was blind to was the fact that every “yesterday” was informing the “todays” of my life and that every “today” was formulating consequences that would become influential for the “tomorrows.” They—the yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows—were all networked and interfacing with one another. They could not become compartmentalized.

A second thing I learned about the pursuit of resilience was rather obvious but, nevertheless, important to acknowledge: Developing resilience is demanding, mostly done in secret, often humbling, not always fun.

Saint Paul was talking that language when he wrote: Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes . . . goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize. (1 Cor. 9:24–27)

The search for resilience is a satisfying experience; it is not always a fun experience. And satisfaction trumps fun!

This description is an inspiration to me simply because it describes a person who never stopped pursuing personal growth and a desire to know God and His purposes. She dedicated her entire life to these things.

I am disappointed in the number of so-called Christian people whom I have met who opted out of the search for resilience at an early age. They stopped thinking and hinged themselves to ideas that are dangerously out of date. They maintain the semblance of a spiritual life that was developed in the past and which has never evolved and deepened to match the new realities of life. They slowly empty their spiritual tank of yesterday’s zeal and vision and now merely go through the motions of a fantasy faith that makes no sense in the streets of the real world.

A fourth principle: The search for resilience is dampened if one coasts on his or her natural abilities and talents.

the attempted switch: from living off of natural ability and adopting a life of intentionality in which—as I shall later describe in greater detail—I became more calculated and focused on goals and objectives, just as an athlete would reach for higher levels of achievement. That’s what Paul was saying when he challenged Timothy to “be diligent about these things.”

If you stand in front of a tree and watch it incessantly to see how it grows and to see how much it has grown, you will see nothing at all. But tend to it at all times, prune the runners, and keep the vermin from it, and—all in good time—it will come into its growth. It is the same with man: all that is necessary is for him to overcome his obstacles, and he will thrive and grow. But it is not right to examine him every hour to see how much has been added to his growth.

“Do you have the spiritual stamina to run the entire race of life and cross the finish line with the kind of ‘kick’ [a burst of speed] for which so many great runners are known?”

Grounds developed resilience because he determined to manage the routines of his life with intentionality. That’s one of my words for discipline or self-mastery. He worked hard, but his work habits were healthy and productive. He was careful to prioritize energies and assets.

They have a sense of life-direction. They foresee the great questions of life’s passage. They cultivate Christian character. They listen for a call from God. They are confident in their giftedness. They live generous lives.

but ask me what I think I am living for, in detail, and ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully the thing I want to live for. Between these two answers you can determine the identity of any person. The better answer he has, the more of a person he is.

These are the words of someone who thinks with a big-picture view of life. He is dealing with the largest possible questions: What am I living for? What keeps me from a full realization of what I’m living for? In effect, Merton reduced everything down to two issues: direction and possible obstacles.

you want to jubiliate [celebrate] over driving the first spike, go ahead and do it. I don’t. Those mountains over there look too ugly. We may fail, and if we do, I want to have as few people know it as we can . . . Anybody can drive the first spike, but there are months of labor and unrest between the first and the last spike.4(Emphasis mine) Huntington was not romanced by first spikes, by premature celebration. It was the last spike in the process that grabbed his attention. Everything in between the first and last spike was his big picture, and until the picture was all filled in, he wasn’t celebrating.

For some time I have contended that the contemporary concept of Christian conversion is far too small. It emphasizes the driving of the first spike—a choice to entrust life to Jesus—but tends to ignore the last one—what Jesus calls us to be and to do. And while there is room for gladness when everything begins, the real focus should be on the big picture—where this is all going, how one is growing, what it means to finish well.

The resilient life is one where a person lives every day in the pursuit of the big picture. The pieces of the picture? Perhaps these questions point us in the right direction. Where am I headed, and what are the great questions that will challenge me along the way? What kind of a person am I becoming as a result of this journey? What does God expect of me as I run the race? What have I been equipped to accomplish? What can I give?

When I was a young pastor in my early thirties, I remember thinking that almost no man over the age of forty-five ever visited with me about his personal life unless he had a problem that was so obvious that it could not be ignored. Rarely did anyone from the older generation open their hearts concerning their fears, their aspirations, their doubts or convictions, unless I poked and prodded with a bundle of questions. Only after I’d grown considerably older did I figure out why there was this general silence. They assumed I wouldn’t, or couldn’t, understand. I wonder how many meaningless sermons I must have preached from my thirty-year-old heart into the heart of a seventy-year- old one. And now, here I was, about to talk to worship leaders half my age. Now I was in the place of some of my former church members who were older. I was dealing with issues in my life, in my big picture, that almost none of the people in this room could comprehend. And yet they were charged with leading people like me into a worship experience. How could they pray, design worship, familiarize me with God if they knew so little about what was happening in a life like mine? Instantly, I changed the introduction of my talk for that morning.

And here’s the kicker. As the questions change, so does the content (and perhaps the form) of our spiritual interests. “The questions,” I said, “often become our way of approach when we go to the Scriptures looking for spiritual sustenance. They become a guide when we buy books. The questions form our approach to spiritual life. So if the way one does spiritual life was formed around twenty-something questions and one is now fifty, spiritual life will likely be obsolete and ineffective.”

I was struck with how little we know about each other across the generations. And how important it is to understand what questions form the larger picture of another’s life.

This is the pathway to resilience: knowing what’s up ahead, what we are likely to face, where the possibilities and the obstacles lie. These people had answers to the questions the worship leaders needed to ask.

When I engaged with twenty-somethings, for example, who were just entering the adult years, I found them preoccupied with clarifying their identity. What kind of a man or woman am I becoming, they were likely to wonder, and how am I different from my mother or father? They were asking, Where can I find a few friends who will welcome me as I am and who will offer the familylike connections that I need [or never had]? Or, Can I love, and am I lovable? These are relational questions, of course, and I could feel the discomfort of those in their twenties until they get answered. I found fear of rejection, loneliness, and the feeling that one might not fit. No wonder there were so many goings and comings among twenty-somethings, compelling a person toward one group or another, one friend or another. One needs to find a place, a people to whom one can belong.

What happens when twenty-somethings turn into thirty-some-things? The questions and issues begin to shift. The longer-range responsibilities of life begin to accumulate, and one’s sense of personal freedom is compromised as more permanent relationships and commitments are made. Since there is usually an expansion of responsibility and no expansion of time, thirty-somethings find themselves asking the question, how do I prioritize the demands being made on my life?

Most thirty-somethings who seek a spiritual component to life will tell you that words like empty, tired, confused, and drifting mingle in their thoughts in a way they never expected. Thus these questions materialize: What does my spiritual life look like? Do I even have time for one? It’s a quiet, nagging question that comes in moments when one feels that he or she has failed. Thirty-somethings are likely to see things in themselves they thought they might have overcome by now, simply by growing up. But things they once anticipated they would shake off haven’t gone away. And thirty-somethings find themselves asking, why am I not a better person?

The complexities of life further accelerate, and—and this is worrisome—we begin to recognize that we can no longer fob off our flaws and failures as youthfulness and inexperience. We are, as they say, grown-up. We are expected to handle the bumps and bruises of life with an unshakable courage. Panic and fear are for younger (and older?) people. But in one’s forties, the expectation is that one is solid.

Forty-somethings may ask, why do I seem to face so many uncertainties? But others may begin plotting a second life, a second career. What can I do to make a greater contribution to my generation? Or, what would it take to pick up a whole new calling in life and do the thing I’ve always wanted to do? If one listens carefully, he might hear the word trapped used in the questions that now arise. A few wise forty-somethings may seek a ninety-day sabbatical. They will strip their lives down to bare metal and evaluate their life-journeys to this point. They’ll take a hard look at their spiritual journeys, their personal relationships, their convictions about money and possessions, how they contribute their energies and resources. And when the assessment is over, they will have plotted a whole new course for the second half of life. A very exciting adventure for brave people.

So those in the fifties may ask, why is time moving so fast? Because it is moving so fast.

The sixty-year-old asks: When do I stop doing the things that have always defined me? Why do I feel ignored by a large part of the younger population? Why am I curious about who is listed in the obituary column of the papers, how they died, and what kinds of lives they lived? The sixty-something wonders what is yet to be accomplished, and do I have enough time to do all the things I’ve dreamed about in the past? He or she may not want to admit it, but the question hovers, who will be around me when I die? And, if married, which one of us will go first, and what is it like to say good-bye to someone with whom you have shared so many years of life? For

Perhaps the seventies and eighties blend together and share several kinds of questions. Now one is curious and asks these things: Does anyone realize, or even care, who I once was? Is anyone aware that I once owned [or managed] a business, threw a mean curveball, taught school, possessed a beautiful solo voice, had an attractive face? Is my story important to anyone? How much of my life can I still control? they add.

In his book Soul-Making, Allen Jones describes a visit to the Coptic Monastery of St. Macarius in the Egyptian desert. His host, Father Jeremiah, a bearded monk of indeterminate age, filled him full of stories of the desert fathers. Like this one. One day, it is said, Saint Macarius, among the wisest of monks, was asked by a young man, “Abba, tell us about being a monk.” Marcarius responded, “Ah! I’m not a monk myself, but I have seen them.” Having related this tale, Jones writes, Father Jeremiah then offered his own version, saying to Jones, “I am not yet a Christian, but I have seen them.”1 Does it need to be said that the monk’s words should not be analyzed theologically, but rather, experientially? “I am not yet a Christian” suggests a humility, a realization that life is more than promises and intentions. The phrase is about becoming a person who matches his words . . . maybe better yet, the words of Jesus. Younger people refer to this as authenticity.

But when the word Christian is used to identify a process of spiritual development, it describes a life-journey in which one walks in the ways of Christ and gradually becomes more like Him in conduct and inner orientation. And this, of course, is the perspective out of which Father Jeremiah speaks when he says, “I am not yet a Christian, but I have seen them.” The key word is yet, because he intends—through his personal growth—to become one. Process!

Am I becoming a Christian? More than anything, we’re talking character, Christlike character, here. The kind of person I am becoming as a result of my choice to follow Jesus. In His invitation to people—“Come to [or “follow”] Me”—Jesus said, “Learn from Me.” Translation: absorb My character by focusing on Me.

Character is a word that describes the default “me.” The person I am over the long haul in life. The person who emerges in the most difficult, challenging moments. Character identifies the attitudes, convictions, and resulting behaviors that distinguish my life.

The deep current within us out of which character arises must be monitored and, if necessary, redirected and rebuilt. Words like growth, transformation, and maturity are important to resilient people. True, they could become self-absorbed by this penchant for self-development (all virtues have a trap built into them), but let us concentrate on the strength side before we worry about the potential weakness.

Continuous repentance need not be a maudlin exercise of self-recrimination. We don’t need to return to a “woe is me” time when there was an overage of words designed to strip one’s sense of value in God’s eyes. Rather, we’re talking about a frank assessment of one’s shortfalls, an acknowledgment before God of their existence, and a serious intention to correct the wrongs. Face it; name it; renounce it; replace it.