Shoes, shin splints & sanctification.

While connecting in O'Hare recently, I couldn't help but notice the struggle of a freshly-minted college grad in business attire as she stumbled down the jetbridge, lugging her seemingly heavy carry-on behind her 3-inch, black patent leather heels. Each step looked painful, but I couldn't tell if she was blistered or just unpracticed.

There was a middle-aged man walking between us who clearly had another flight to catch, so he was following rather closely behind her. Annoyed, the young woman stopped abruptly, turned, and gestured for the man to walk around. "By all means," she huffed, "GO AHEAD!"

Before sprinting past her in my flats off to Concourse F, I rolled my eyes and muttered: "Rookie." Four and a half years deep into Beltway living, I know better than to wear heels to the airport. 

Matthew 7 fail. 

I admit, I judged that young woman for wearing inappropriate shoes to try to fit a particular image. But I do the same thing all the time. Like tonight, for instance.

When I run, I don't wear shoes; I cover my feet with barefoot performance footwear. I know they look weird. I know the marketing information on the Vibram website is probably bogus. I just bought them because my brothers wear them, and I desperately want them to think that I'm cool.

Anyway, as I was meandering ("jogging" would be too bold a term) south along the Mt. Vernon Trail, I noticed that men kept checking me out. Naturally, I started asking questions like, "Why do I waste so much time doing my hair if this is all it takes?" and "Perhaps I shouldn't be jogging alone at night?" I quickly realized, however, that many of these lechers were also wearing Vibram Five Fingers. They weren't checking me out at all - - they were staring at my shoes.

By slipping my toes into VFFs, I'm signaling that I'm a serious runner - - or at least serious enough to be trendy. This is blatantly false. I try to hit the Parkway once a week or so, but mostly just to get outside and get moving. I love the distinctive (if not always fresh) smell of the Potomac, the cicadas' rhythmic chanting, and the occasional heron sighting. Unlike the people who sprint past me, my outings have very little to do with the concept of "exercise."

And so it is with sanctification . . .

Some people run in order to clear their heads. Unfortunately, my thoughts race much faster than my feet, so my mind always wins (and then it gloats). Here are the thoughts that were keeping pace with me tonight:

• In the same way that wearing these shoes doesn't automatically make me a runner, manifesting the fruits of the Spirit doesn't make me a Christian. 
• However, consistently putting on these shoes and jogging are essential actions if I want to be called a runner. If I don't actually run, then I can't be a runner. Likewise, if I don't put a little effort into living like a Christian and practicing the fruits of the Spirit, then I can't claim to be led by the Spirit.
• So how do I know when it's appropriate for me to stop referring to myself as an amateur and start thinking of myself as a runner? Two more miles? Ten? Also, how do I know if I'm saved? Two more years without any major slip-ups? Ten?
• Both my calves and my brain are starting to hurt. 
• Running is hard work. If I ever call myself a runner, it will be because I feel that I have earned that term. However, other people sometimes call me a runner . . . so I technically get that distinction, even if I think that doesn't count. Likewise, grace is free. I get the distinction of being saved because God calls me His own, not because I've earned it. Fortunately, that counts.
• So what I accomplish during my weekly jogs does matter, in a sense. It affects how long, how hard, and how fast I can run. But it doesn't affect whether or not other people will call me a runner. And the way that I conduct my life also matters. Practicing the fruits of the Spirit will draw me closer to God and enable me to be more fully Christian. However, it doesn't affect whether or not I'm saved.

Just to be sure, I looked up sanctification in my trusty copy of the Beacon Dictionary of Theology (which Pops sent with me to college so that I could answer all of my questions without becoming a Calvinist). Here it is:


     . . . in man's sanctification God is the actor; man is the object (John 17:17; 1 Thess. 5:23). The verb "sanctify," as the verb "convert," is generally in the passive voice. Only God can purge sin from the human heart, restore the moral image of God, and produce the communion with God that is reserved for the pure in heart. And only as inbred sin (inherited depravity) is destroyed can the human personality be set free to mind the things of God (Rom. 6:6, 22; 8:1-5). . . . 
     Entire sanctification does not deliver from all the consequences of the Fall. Bodies still die. Impaired humanity still suffers frustrations. Temptations continue to be felt. Time, effort, and patience are still required to develop the skills of Christian living. New light demands fresh improvements. But we are committed in our hearts to the will of God and to the guidance of the Holy Spirit. God's complaint is not against our limited ability but only against our reluctance. He gives more grace.
     Entire sanctification does not end growth. It promotes it.