“Paul said: ‘I have fought the good fight’”
II Timothy 4:7
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus.
He didn’t win a medal. In fact, he didn’t even come close. But in his defeat and pain, he came to represent something far more profound and enduring than what any other athlete could ever hope to achieve.
It was 7 o’clock at night on October 20, 1968, and only a few thousand spectators remained in the Mexico City Olympic Stadium. The winner of the 26-mile marathon, Mamo Wolde of Ethiopia, had already crossed the finish line more than an hour before, and now, the last runners were also crossing the line and leaving the track.
That’s when, all of a sudden, just as the crowd was about to leave, a siren sounded. Thirty-year-old John Akhwari, wearing the colors of Tanzania, with a leg bandaged and bloody, limped onto the track.
What happened? John was a good runner--one of his country’s very best, but he had never trained at such a high altitude and in such oxygen-thin air, so his legs cramped. Even worse, halfway through the race, as some runners were jockeying for position, he was hit and knocked down hard to the ground. He smashed his right shoulder and gashed and dislocated his right knee. But while any other runner would have quit and gone to the hospital, (after all, eighteen of the seventy-five starters had already dropped out), John had it wrapped, then got back in the race.
Finally, more than an hour after another runner had already won, limping, with his bandage flapping in the breeze, Akhwari crossed the finish line in last place.
Later, when a reporter asked why he didn’t quit, he replied, “My country did not send me 5,000 miles to start the race; they sent me 5,000 miles to finish the race.”
Later, a reporter said, “Today we have seen a young African runner who symbolizes the finest in the human spirit, a performance that gives true dignity to sport, a performance that lifts sport out of the category of grown men playing a game, a performance that gives meaning to the word courage. All honor to John Stephen Akhwari of Tanzania.”
So it was for a man named the apostle Paul. Listen to the words of II Timothy chapter 4, starting at verse 6. Paul said, “For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that Day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing” (II Timothy 4:6-8).
If you’ve been with us for the past few weeks, you’ll remember that Paul’s second letter to Timothy is likely the very last letter he wrote. Not only had he been charged with subverting the empire, and thrown into a prison in Rome, in just a few short weeks, he would die.
So as he sat in a cold, dark, damp, prison cell, reached only by a rope or a ladder from a hole in the floor above, with no windows, no lights, no furniture, and no running water, facing imminent death, he wrote, in chapter 1, “Do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me His prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God,” and in chapter 4, “Do your best to come to me soon.”
And what a beautiful letter it is, for it’s here that we find words like these: “In the last days there will be terrible times,” and “All Scripture is breathed out by God and is profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness,” and, “For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching.”
Now here in chapter 4, he writes, “For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come.”
What’s a drink offering? Old Testament law commanded that, whenever a worshiper brought an offering, he burned part of it on the altar, then gave the rest to a priest, so he could use it for his own family and his own home.
But a drink offering wasn’t like that at all. Instead, as his sacrifice burned, he poured a glass of wine on top. And as that wine sizzled over those hot, burning coals, it’s sweet smell rose up from the altar. It was a worshiper’s way of saying, “This sacrifice that I offer is a symbol of my wholehearted commitment to God. I hold nothing back. I gladly give all that I am and all that I have to the Lord.”
As Paul wrote, “For I am already being poured out as a drink offering.”
Then he said, “And the time of my departure has come.”
“Departure,” he wrote. It’s a word that means, “to hoist the anchor, raise the sails, leave the harbor, and set sail for a distant port.” It’s used of an army breaking camp, leaving the battlefield, and heading towards home. It’s the picture of a man laying his burden down on the ground. It’s the voice of the Lord calling, “Now it’s time for you to come home.”
In effect, Paul was saying, “Someday soon, Timothy, you’ll hear of my death. But don’t think Nero has executed me against my will, for I gladly and willingly lay down my life for the Lord. And while a man may take my life, I gladly offer it to Christ, to the One who loved me and gave Himself for me.”
As another translation puts it, “For I am already being offered as a sacrifice, and the time has come for me to die.”
And while he once wrote, “Fight the good fight of faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called,” now he writes in verse 7, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that Day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing.”
“I have fought the good fight,” he wrote. “In trouble, distress, tribulation, trials and hardships, in afflictions and hunger, in beatings and imprisonments, in labors and watchings, in prayers and tears and fastings, helped and hated, blessed and cursed, assisted and attacked, against the forces of darkness, against the indwelling power of the flesh and deep, deep, spiritual darkness, in good times and in bad, with much patience, one step after another after another, in days full of pain and times of suffering, I have fought the good fight, and finished the race.”
Even more, he said, “I’ve kept the faith.” “When others fell away, when some boasted they were smarter, better, and stronger, when many were willing to compromise the truth, when I refused to preach only what people wanted to hear, even when all others stood against me, yet believing that everything happened for my good and for God’s glory, I kept the faith. Nothing could shatter my confidence in God.”
As our twenty-sixth president, Theodore Roosevelt, once put it, “It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done better.
“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming, who does actually try to do the deed, who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion and spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the worst if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly. Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checked by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy, nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”
And now that Paul has fought the good fight, finished the race, and kept the faith, now what? He wrote in verse 8: “Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that Day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing.”
The year was 1904, and a young man graduated from high school in Chicago, Illinois. He was a member of what was called, “Chicago Avenue Church,” and his pastor was Reuben Torrey. His name was William Borden.
Now if his name sounds familiar, it’s because he was the heir to the Borden dairy fortune. Even in 1904, he was worth millions!
Now while some of you might give your graduating senior a nice graduation gift, his parents sent him on a cruise around the world!
First he went to Hong Kong, then he went through all of Asia, then Egypt. And after touring the Middle East, he went across Europe, and visited its many capitals.
But as he wrote home telling of where he’d been and what he’d done, the tone of his letters began to change. He began to feel an incredible burden and passion for those who were lost. There were so many, he said, who lived without Christ.
One letter said, “I believe God is calling me to be a missionary.” Another said, “I’m sure God is calling me. I’m going to give my life and prepare for the mission field.”
But that wasn’t the family plan. He was, after all, the most gifted of all the children. He was the one they hoped would run the Borden family business. Even one of his friends couldn’t believe he would “throw himself away,” to become a missionary.
But after the cruise, he returned home and spent four years at Yale preparing for the mission field. Then he attended seminary for another three years--a full seven years of training. And during his time in college and seminary, he gave away his fortune.
Then as he prepared to enter the mission field, he took his Bible, opened the back cover, and wrote two words, “No reserve.” In other words, he said, “I have nothing but trust. I’ve given away all I have. I’m going in complete faith that God will supply everything I need.”
Then after praying about where God would want him to go, his heart was moved toward a group of Muslims in China.
But just as he announced that he would leave, his father became very ill. His family begged him, saying, “You can’t go! We need you to stay. You have to stay. You’re the only one who can run the family business. We’ll give you your father’s office. You’ll have all the money you could ever want or need.” Still he said, “I can’t do it. My life is committed now.”
Again he opened the back of his Bible and wrote two more words--”No retreat.”
No reserve. No retreat. And off he sailed for China.
But on the way, after passing through the Mediterranean, he stopped in Egypt. And while he was there, he contracted spinal meningitis, then died a month later, never reaching China, never becoming a missionary, and never reaching his mission field. In spite of all his training and effort, he died at the age of twenty-five.
Later, when his mother found his Bible, she opened it to the back flap. This is what she found--”No reserve. No retreat.” But just before he died, he had added two more words--”No regrets.”
Our Christian life will never be easy. It was never meant to be. But by the grace of God, and only by the grace of God, when we come to the end of our lives, we too can say, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there’s laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing.”
You have called us to serve You, dear Father, through a lifetime of struggle, then final peace. By Your grace, make us worthy of Your calling, for Jesus’ sake. Amen