Lenten Reflection – Day 27 of the Great Lent
Run to Win: 1 Corinthians 9:14-27
“Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain it.” (9:24)
Yesterday we heard the hardest word of the fast. When you have done everything you were commanded, say: we are unprofitable servants. We have done our duty. Nothing more. The economy of merit was demolished. Even perfect obedience creates no claim on God. His love is not a wage. It is a gift.
Today Paul says something that sounds like a contradiction. Run to win.
Not “sit back and wait for grace.” Not “do nothing because your effort earns nothing.” Run. Like your life depends on it. Train. Discipline your body. Fight with precision. Because there is a prize. And it is possible to miss it.
How do these two truths hold together? The unprofitable servant and the champion athlete? Duty that creates no claim and a race that must be won?
This is the tension at the heart of the Orthodox spiritual life. Grace is everything. And effort is real. The fast does not save us. And the fast matters. We cannot earn God’s love. And we must train as though the crown depends on it.
Twenty-seven days in. This is the passage that teaches us how to hold both truths at once. Not by resolving the tension. By living inside it.
The Right to Receive (vv. 14–18)
“Even so the Lord has commanded that those who preach the gospel should live from the gospel. But I have used none of these rights… For if I preach the gospel, I have nothing to boast of, for necessity is laid upon me; yes, woe is me if I do not preach the gospel! For if I do this willingly, I have a reward; but if against my will, I have been entrusted with a stewardship. What is my reward then? That when I preach the gospel, I may present the gospel of Christ without charge, that I may not abuse my authority in the gospel.” (9:14–18)
Before the athletic imagery, Paul establishes something personal. He has rights. As an apostle, he has the right to receive financial support from the churches he serves. The Lord commanded it. Other apostles exercise this right. It is legitimate and good.
Paul refuses to use it.
Not because the right is wrong. Because something matters more than the right. He wants to preach the Gospel free of charge. He wants to give without receiving. He wants his ministry to be unmotivated by financial gain so that no one can accuse him of preaching for profit.
This connects directly to yesterday’s teaching. The unprofitable servant does not serve in order to receive. He serves because it is his duty. Paul does not preach in order to be paid. He preaches because “woe is me if I do not preach.” The compulsion is internal. The calling is irresistible. The reward he seeks is not money. It is the joy of giving the Gospel away without charging for it.
On Day 11, we reflected on stewardship and mammon. On Day 22, the scribes devoured widows’ houses while praying long prayers. Today Paul models the opposite. A servant of God who voluntarily surrenders legitimate rights for the sake of the mission. Not because rights are evil. Because the mission is greater than the rights.
For the Great Lent, the application is immediate. We have rights. The right to eat. The right to comfort. The right to rest. The right to entertainment. All legitimate. None sinful. And during the fast, we voluntarily set them aside. Not because food is evil. Because something matters more. The fast is not the rejection of good things. It is the subordination of good things to a greater thing. Paul surrendered his right to payment for the sake of the Gospel. We surrender our right to comfort for the sake of drawing closer to God.
I Have Become All Things to All Men (vv. 19–23)
“For though I am free from all men, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win the more; and to the Jews I became as a Jew, that I might win Jews; to those who are under the law, as under the law, that I might win those who are under the law; to those who are without law, as without law (not being without law toward God, but under law toward Christ), that I might win those who are without law; to the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all men, that I might by all means save some. Now this I do for the gospel’s sake, that I may be partaker of it with you.” (9:19–23)
Paul is free. He has made clear that he owes no one anything. He is an apostle. He has authority. He has rights. And he uses his freedom not to elevate himself but to lower himself. To become a servant to all.
“I have become all things to all men.”
This is not manipulation. It is not being fake. It is the deliberate choice to meet people where they are rather than demanding that they come to where you are. To the Jew, Paul operates within Jewish categories. To the Gentile, he speaks in Gentile language. To the weak, he does not flaunt his strength. He becomes weak alongside them.
On Day 18, Christ said the greatest must be the servant of all. On Day 15, He sat down with tax collectors and sinners at Levi’s table. Paul is doing the same thing. Crossing boundaries. Setting aside privilege. Going to where the other person is rather than standing on a platform and shouting.
St. John Chrysostom, in his Homily 22 on 1 Corinthians, celebrates Paul’s flexibility as the supreme expression of apostolic love. Chrysostom says Paul was not a chameleon. He was not changing his beliefs to fit the audience. He was changing his approach to reach the person. The message never changed. The method always adapted. Chrysostom compares Paul to a doctor who prescribes different medicines for different patients. The disease may be the same. But the body is different. The constitution is different. The tolerance is different. The wise doctor does not give the same prescription to every patient. He adapts. Not because truth is relative. Because people are different. And love meets people where they are.1
For the Great Lent, this challenges the temptation to make our fasting the standard for everyone. The person fasting strictly looks at the person fasting gently and judges. The person praying five times a day looks at the person praying once and measures. Paul says: stop. Become weak with the weak. Do not demand that others fast at our level. Meet them where they are. The fast is not a competition. It is a race that everyone runs at their own pace, toward the same prize.
Run in Such a Way That You May Obtain It (vv. 24–25)
“Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain it. And everyone who competes for the prize is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an imperishable crown.” (9:24–25)
Now the image shifts. From apostleship to athletics. And Paul draws on something every person in Corinth would have understood immediately.
The Isthmian Games were held near Corinth every two years. They were second only to the Olympics in prestige. Runners, wrestlers, boxers competed for a crown made of pine leaves or dried celery. A perishable crown. It would wilt within days. And yet athletes trained for months. Years. They submitted to strict diets. They endured punishing exercise. They disciplined every aspect of their lives. For a crown that would be dead before the month was out.
Paul says: if they do all that for a perishable crown, what should we be willing to do for an imperishable one?
“Run in such a way that you may obtain it.” Not run casually. Not jog. Not walk. Run. With intention. With focus. With the kind of effort that leaves nothing in reserve.
“Everyone who competes for the prize is temperate in all things.” The word is egkrateuetai. It means to exercise self-control. To master the appetites. To discipline the body so that it serves the purpose rather than sabotaging it. The athletes at the Isthmian Games could not eat whatever they wanted. Could not drink whatever they wanted. Could not sleep whenever they wanted. They submitted their bodies to a strict regimen because the competition demanded it.
This is the theology of the Great Lent in a single verse. The fast is athletic training for the soul. We are not punishing our bodies. We are training them. The way a runner trains. The way a boxer trains. Not because the body is evil. Because the body is powerful and must be directed.
St. Basil the Great, in his Homily on Fasting, compares the Lenten fast to athletic preparation. He says the athlete does not hate food. He loves victory more. The faster does not hate the body. He loves God more. The discipline of fasting is not a war against the flesh. It is the alignment of the flesh with the spirit. The body and the soul pulling in the same direction. Toward the same finish line. Toward the same crown.2
On Day 23, Christ offered rest to the heavy laden. The yoke is easy. The burden is light. And now Paul says: run to win. How do rest and running go together?
Because they are not opposites. The athlete who is rested runs better than the athlete who is exhausted. The rest Christ offers is not the rest of retirement. It is the rest of alignment. When the yoke fits, the pulling is easy. When the body is trained, the running is natural. The fast trains us. The rest sustains us. And the race continues.
I Discipline My Body (vv. 26–27)
“Therefore I run thus: not with uncertainty. Thus I fight: not as one who beats the air. But I discipline my body and bring it into subjection, lest, when I have preached to others, I myself should become disqualified.” (9:26–27)
Paul changes the image from running to boxing. And the boxing is precise.
“Not as one who beats the air.” The boxer who misses his punches wastes energy. He swings wildly. He looks impressive but lands nothing. Paul says: I do not fight like that. Every punch lands. Every discipline has a target. Every act of self-denial has a purpose.
This is the difference between purposeful fasting and performative fasting. The person who fasts without purpose is beating the air. The outward motion looks spiritual. The arms are swinging. The effort is visible. But nothing is being hit. The fast is not changing anything because the fast is not aimed at anything.
Purposeful fasting is targeted. It knows what it is fighting. It knows which appetites need training. It knows which habits need breaking. It knows where the real opponent is. And every blow lands.
“I discipline my body and bring it into subjection.”
The word “discipline” is hupōpiazō. It literally means to strike under the eye. To give oneself a black eye. Paul is not being gentle with himself. He is treating his body the way a boxing trainer treats a fighter in preparation. Pushing it past comfort. Making it submit to the will rather than the will submitting to the body.
This sounds harsh. But notice the purpose. Not punishment. Subjection. The body is brought under the authority of the spirit. The appetites are trained to obey rather than command. The desires are redirected rather than indulged. The body is not the enemy. It is the instrument. And an instrument must be tuned before it can play.
“Lest, when I have preached to others, I myself should become disqualified.”
The most sobering sentence in the passage. Paul, the greatest apostle, the man who planted churches across the Roman world, the writer of half the New Testament, is afraid of being disqualified. Not afraid of God’s anger. Afraid of his own weakness. Afraid that after preaching self-discipline to others, his own body would master him instead of him mastering it.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his ascetical writings, teaches that the danger Paul describes is the most common failure in the spiritual life. It is not the dramatic fall. It is the slow drift. The gradual relaxation of discipline. The quiet compromises that no one notices. The athlete who trains hard for months and then, in the final week before the competition, lets his guard down. Eats what he should not eat. Sleeps when he should be training. And arrives at the race unprepared. Not because he was lazy from the beginning. Because he stopped too soon. Ephrem warns that the Great Lent is especially vulnerable to this pattern. The first weeks are intense. The middle weeks settle into routine. And the final weeks can drift into complacency. The finish line is in sight. And the temptation is to coast. Paul says: do not coast. The disqualification happens not at the beginning when we are fresh but at the end when we are tired.3
Twenty-seven days. The final stretch is ahead. The temptation to coast is real. The fast has been long. The discipline has been hard. The finish line of Resurrection is visible on the horizon. And the body is saying: you have done enough. You can relax now.
Paul says: not yet. Run with intention. Fight with precision. Discipline the body. The crown is imperishable. And the race is not over.
The Imperishable Crown (v. 25)
“Now they do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an imperishable crown.”
The Isthmian athletes trained for a crown that would rot. Pine needles. Dried celery. Beautiful for a day. Dead by the weekend. And they trained with total commitment. Total sacrifice. Total discipline. For something that would not last.
We train for something that will last forever.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his letters and homilies on the Christian life, teaches that the imperishable crown is not a reward added to salvation. It is salvation itself. The crown is the life of God. The communion with the Holy Trinity that begins in baptism and reaches its fullness in eternity. It does not fade because God does not fade. It does not wilt because love does not wilt. The athlete who wins at the Isthmian Games holds his crown for a week. The person who finishes the race of the Christian life holds God forever.4
On Day 16, we heard “by grace you have been saved.” On Day 26, we heard “we are unprofitable servants.” And now Day 27 says: run to win the imperishable crown.
Here is how the tension resolves. The crown is a gift. We cannot earn it. Grace gives it. But the gift can be missed. Not because God withdraws it. Because we stop running. We get distracted. We let the body take the lead. We coast when we should be sprinting. We beat the air instead of fighting with purpose.
The fast does not earn the crown. The fast trains us to receive it. The disciplines of the Great Lent are not payments toward a heavenly reward. They are the conditioning that keeps us in the race. Every skipped meal is a stride forward. Every prayer is a landed blow. Every act of self-denial is the body learning to submit to the spirit. And the spirit is running toward God.
For Our Journey Today
Run with purpose. Twenty-seven days in. The danger now is not failure. It is drift. The fast has become routine and the temptation is to let the routine carry you without intention. Today, choose one discipline and re-engage it with purpose. Not a new discipline. The one that has gone on autopilot. Pray with intention this evening. Fast with awareness tomorrow. Give with focus this week. Every stride counts. Stop beating the air and start landing blows.
Train, do not punish. The fast is not a punishment. It is training. The athlete does not hate his body. He trains it. Today, change the language we use about our own fasting. From “I have to give up” to “I am training for.” From “I cannot eat” to “I am learning to want something more.” The body is not the enemy. It is the instrument. And it is being tuned.
Remember the crown. The athletes at the Isthmian Games trained for months for a crown that would be dead in a week. We are training for a crown that will never fade. The life of God. The communion of the Trinity. The fullness of everything our heart has been longing for during this fast. The crown is imperishable. It is worth the training. It is worth the discipline. It is worth the final sprint when every part of us wants to stop.
Lord Jesus Christ, who ran the race set before You and endured the Cross for the joy that was set before You, teach us to run. We are twenty-seven days into this fast and we are tired. The temptation is to coast. To let the routine carry us. To beat the air instead of fighting with precision. Forgive us for the days we have drifted. Forgive us for the disciplines we have let go slack. Train us again. Not with punishment but with purpose. Align our bodies with our spirits. Align our spirits with Your will. And keep the crown before our eyes. The imperishable crown. The life that does not fade. The love that does not wilt. We run toward it. Not because we can earn it. Because You have given it. And the gift is worth training for. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Apostle Paul, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
A blessed twenty-seventh day of the Great Lent. The athletes of Corinth trained for a crown that would rot in a week. You are training for a crown that lasts forever. Do not coast now. The finish line is ahead. The crown is imperishable. Run to win.
Patristic References
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407). Homily 22 on 1 Corinthians, on 1 Corinthians 9:19–23. ↩︎
- St. Basil the Great (c. 330–379). Homily on Fasting (Homilia de Jejunio 1 and 2). ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373). Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns, translated by Kathleen E. McVey, Classics of Western Spirituality (Paulist Press, 1989). Also Sebastian Brock, The Luminous Eye: The Spiritual World Vision of Saint Ephrem the Syrian (Cistercian Publications, 1992). ↩︎
- St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444): On the Unity of Christ, translated by John McGuckin (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, Popular Patristics Series, 1995). Also Norman Russell, Cyril of Alexandria (Routledge, Early Church Fathers Series, 2000). ↩︎
