The Agonistic Christian: Running to Win Text: 1 Corinthians 9:24-27
Introduction: No Room for Spiritual Flabbiness
We live in an age of soft Christianity. The modern church, by and large, has traded in the rugged, demanding faith of the apostles for a therapeutic, sentimental spirituality that is about as threatening to the kingdom of darkness as a wet sponge. We want the crown without the conflict, the prize without the pain, and salvation without sanctification. We have turned the grace of God into a license for spiritual laziness, treating it like a comfortable hammock for a Sunday afternoon nap rather than the high-octane fuel for a grueling marathon.
The apostle Paul would not recognize this kind of faith. For him, the Christian life was not a leisurely stroll through a meadow; it was an intense athletic contest, an agon. It was a race, a fight, a war. It required discipline, self-control, and a relentless focus on the finish line. When Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, he was writing to a city that was world-famous for its athletic competitions, the Isthmian Games. Everyone in that city knew what it took to be an elite athlete. They knew about the brutal training, the strict diet, and the singular focus required to win. And so, Paul grabs this metaphor by the throat and applies it directly to the Christian life.
This passage is a bucket of ice water in the face of our complacent, self-indulgent age. It is a call to arms for every believer who has grown comfortable, lazy, or aimless in their walk with God. Paul is not interested in participation trophies. He is not interested in half-hearted effort. He is interested in winning. And he lays out for us, in the starkest possible terms, what it takes to run the race of faith in such a way as to lay hold of the prize.
The Text
Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win. Now everyone who competes in the games exercises self-control in all things. They then do it to receive a corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible. Therefore I run in such a way, as not without aim; I box in such a way, as not beating the air; but I discipline my body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified.
(1 Corinthians 9:24-27 LSB)
Run to Win (v. 24)
Paul begins with a rhetorical question that would have been obvious to every Corinthian.
"Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win." (1 Corinthians 9:24)
In the ancient games, there was no silver or bronze medal. There was one winner, who received the victor's wreath. Everyone else was a loser. Paul is not saying that in the Christian life only one person will be saved. His point is about the manner of running. We are to run with the same intensity, the same purpose, and the same all-out effort as the man who is determined to be the sole victor. We are to run to win.
This single command demolishes the lazy excuse-making that is so common among us. It is not enough to simply be in the race. It is not enough to be jogging along at a comfortable pace, content that you are on the track. God has called you to maximal effort. Grace is not an excuse for passivity; it is the empowerment for striving. We are saved by grace alone, through faith alone, but the faith that saves is never alone. It is a faith that runs, and fights, and strains every spiritual muscle to cross the finish line.
This is not a call to earn your salvation. The ticket into the race is free, purchased by the blood of Christ. But now that you are in the race, you are commanded to run for all you are worth. To do anything less is to show contempt for the prize and for the one who entered you into the contest.
The Perishable and the Imperishable (v. 25)
Paul then draws a sharp contrast between the motivation of the earthly athlete and the heavenly one.
"Now everyone who competes in the games exercises self-control in all things. They then do it to receive a corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible." (1 Corinthians 9:25)
The prize in the Isthmian Games was a wreath of withered celery or pine. It was corruptible. It would fade and crumble to dust within a few days. Yet, for this temporary honor, athletes would exercise extreme self-control in all things. They would regulate their diet, their sleep, their passions, and their schedule for years, all for a leafy crown.
Paul's argument is one of "how much more." If they do all that for a perishable crown, how much more should we discipline ourselves for an imperishable one? The prize we run for is eternal glory, fellowship with God, a crown that will never fade. Given the infinite value of our prize, our self-control should far exceed that of any Olympian. This self-control, this enkrateia, is a fruit of the Spirit, but it must be cultivated. It must be applied to all things: what we eat, what we drink, what we watch, how we spend our time and money, and how we govern our sexual appetites. A disciple is a disciplined one. There is no other kind.
No Shadowboxing (v. 26)
Paul then applies this principle directly to his own ministry and life.
"Therefore I run in such a way, as not without aim; I box in such a way, as not beating the air;" (1 Corinthians 9:26)
Paul's life was not a series of random, disconnected activities. He ran with a definite goal in view. He was not just flailing. When he threw a punch, he intended for it to land on a specific target. This is a rebuke to all forms of aimless, fruitless religiosity. Much of what passes for Christian activity today is just shadowboxing. It looks spiritual, it makes us sweat a little, but it never actually connects with the enemy. We attend meetings, read books, and have discussions, but we never land a decisive blow against the sin in our own hearts or the strongholds of darkness in the world.
A disciplined Christian has a purpose. He knows what he is fighting for and what he is fighting against. He directs his energy with strategic precision. He is not wasting his breath, his time, or his punches.
The Black Eye and the Disqualification (v. 27)
Here we come to the raw, violent heart of the matter. How does Paul run with aim? How does he land his punches?
"but I discipline my body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified." (1 Corinthians 9:27)
The word for "discipline" here is hypopiazo. It is a boxing term. It literally means to strike under the eye, to give a black eye. Paul is saying, "I beat my body black and blue." He follows this with another brutal image: "I make it my slave." The body, with its appetites, passions, and desires, is a wonderful servant but a horrific master. You must decide who is in charge. You either pummel your body into submission and enslave it to the purposes of God, or its lusts will enslave you.
This is not Gnosticism. The body is not evil. But it is the beachhead from which sin launches its attacks. It is the instrument that must be brought under the control of the Spirit. This requires violence. It requires a ruthless mortification of sin. You must kill it, or it will kill you.
And the stakes could not be higher. Paul gives a shocking reason for this brutal self-discipline: "so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified." The word is adokimos. It means to be tested and found wanting, to be rejected, to be a castaway. Paul, the chief of the apostles, the man who was caught up to the third heaven, lived with a holy fear of being disqualified.
He was the herald (keryx) who announced the rules of the race to others. What a terrifying prospect, to be the one who calls others to run, and then to be rejected at the finish line for not having run yourself. This is not about losing your salvation in some Arminian sense. It is about the very real danger of apostasy, of having a faith that was never genuine in the first place. It is the danger of being a counterfeit. If the great apostle Paul took this threat seriously, what kind of arrogant fool are you if you do not?
Conclusion: What is Your Training Regimen?
The call of this text is intensely practical. The Christian life is an athletic contest, and you are in the race. Are you running to win? Or are you just shuffling along, hoping to get a participation ribbon? Are you exercising self-control in all things for an imperishable crown, or are you indulging your appetites for the fleeting pleasures of this world?
Are you shadowboxing, wasting your energy on things that do not matter? Or are you landing real blows against your sin? Have you declared war on your body, beating it into submission and making it your slave? Or are you letting it lead you around by the nose?
These are not questions for a spiritual elite. This is baseline Christianity. The grace that brought you into this race is the same grace that empowers you to run it with discipline and violence. Do not insult that grace by being lazy. Get up, get your eyes on Christ the prize, and run in such a way that you may win.