Take Some Lessons
Spirituality
Golf In The Real Kingdom
A Spiritual Metaphor For Life In The Modern World
Object:
All scripture is inspired by God and is useful....
-- 2 Timothy 3:16
My handicap was heading to single digits and those absurd late fortyish daydreams about the senior tour were making denomi-national meetings more tolerable when disaster struck.
Playing with my dad in one of those little friendly-while-you're-winning matches, I was even through fifteen holes. I had been slow, steady, and solid throughout the round. So I strutted to the sixteenth tee, undoubtedly more personally impressed than impressive.
Looking back, I was probably coming off as badly as the starlet who blurted out during an interview, "Well, well, well, that's enough about me. What do you think of me?"
Time has taught me to be careful while riding high in the saddle. You're an easy target. God always seems to have a Mount Gilboa around the corner for the arrogant. When you think you've arrived, God's providence has a way of letting you know there's still a long way to go.
Anyway, I nailed it. My drive landed about fifty yards from the pin on a hole measuring 390 yards.
Roll the video!
Swaggering to my ball with increasing obnoxiousness, I promptly shanked it into the woods.
I finished six over on the last three holes!
Understanding golf etiquette, nobody said a word as I butchered the once promising round and related to Dick Schaap's quip: "Golf is a bloodless sport -- if you don't count ulcers."
The problem -- disease -- wouldn't go away. It followed me from Wilkes-Barre's Irem Temple Country Club to Canonsburg's Lindenwood Golf Course to Claysville's Dogwood Hills.
I completely concur with Harvey Penick: "A shank shot is so ugly that I hate to write the word. Let's call it a lateral shot instead."
All I know is players don't yell shank when they hit one.
The harder I tried to fix the fault on my own, the worse it got.
After almost two weeks of ruined rounds, I called my dad and asked for help. He asked what I thought I was doing wrong. "If I knew that, Dad," I replied sarcastically, "I wouldn't be asking you."
At that moment, my dad could have responded in kind like Sam Snead once told a student, "Lay off three weeks and then quit for good." Or as Phyllis Diller disclosed for struggling hackers, "The reason the pro tells you to keep your head down is so you can't see him laughing."
Instead, he repeated the question. My dad has always been patient with his son. He reminds me of another Father and His children.
After I theorized the error as hitting the ball off the club's toe, my dad explained how a shank occurs when hitting the ball off the hosel. In other words, my cure for the disease -- hitting the ball closer and closer to the hosel -- was producing the opposite effect. The more I pursued my theory, the farther I moved from the truth.
Sometimes the truth eludes us. That's when we need to go to a pro and take some lessons.
The same goes for women and men of faith. Sometimes we just don't get it on our own. We need to go to the pro and take some lessons on life.
Paul put it this way, "All scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work" (see 2 Timothy 3:16-17 NIV).
Moreover, women and men of faith have always looked to Jesus as the perfect pattern for life because he is the enfleshed God. Or as Paul explained, "All the fullness of God was pleased to dwell in him" (see Colossians 1). Or as a Sunday school teacher once defined incarnation for me, "Jesus is God with skin on."
That's why so many Christians are wearing bracelets, necklaces, T-shirts, hats, ties, lapel pins, and all the rest with WWJD on them (viz., "What would Jesus do?").
He's the pro.
And that's why the best lessons for life are taught by Him.
Hale Irwin, arguably one of the top two or three senior players of all time who wasn't too shabby on the junior tour either, observed, "There are days when you play well and there are days when you learn."
The goal of golf is simple: put the ball in the hole with as few swings as possible.
How to reach the goal is the tough part.
It's the same for everything else.
It's easy to establish goals.
Reaching them is the tough part.
I think of the fellow who found a magic lamp while walking on a beach. He rubbed it and a genie appeared. "Before you get any ideas," the genie noted, "I'm only granting one wish today. So make it good." "Well," the man said, "I've always wanted to go to Hawaii. But I don't like to sail or fly. So build a highway from California to Hawaii." "Forget it," the genie said, "that's three thousand miles away. And can you imagine all the environmental restrictions? Give me another wish." The man reflected a moment and then said, "Well, I've always wanted to understand women. Explain women to me." Quickly, the genie asked, "Do you want a two or four lane highway?"
A couple met at Myrtle Beach and fell in love. As they discussed the future of the relationship, the man admitted: "It's only fair to tell you that I'm a golf nut. I eat, sleep, and breathe golf." "Since we're being honest," the woman admitted, "it's only fair to tell you that I'm a hooker." "I see," the man reacted pensively. Gathering himself after a long silence, he said with a smile, "It's probably because your in-to-out swing is too severe or you need to adjust your grip a little."
Whether it's golf or just about anything else, most things don't come naturally. Even when we can learn things on our own, there's usually a lot of trial, error, and pain along the way. That's why it's best to have a manual and mentor. It's best to read the instructions and pay attention to the teacher.
Sure, there are exceptions to the rule -- those especially gifted few who pick it up all by themselves. Trevino. Rodriquez. Mozart. Einstein. But there are only a few! I haven't met or even heard of too many self-taught -- I prefer to say divinely gifted -- of any stripe who can say with Lee Tevino: "I've never had a coach in my life. When I find one who can beat me, I'll listen."
Most of us need help. Or as Johnny Miller acknowledged, "No one becomes a champion without help."
So the prerequisite to improvement is recognizing the need for improvement. "If you're serious about improving your play," Greg Norman urged, "be brutally honest with yourself." Improvement requires the humility of Harvey Penick: "I never know so much that I can't learn more." Or as Jack Nicklaus, golf history's greatest competitor, insisted: "Don't be too proud to take lessons. I'm not."
Again, if you think you've arrived, you've got a really long way to go.
One of the most apocalyptic moments in my life occurred when I was a fifth grader in Nanticoke, Pennsylvania's Lincoln Street School. We were having lunch in our home room. I watched Mr. Moore, our science as well as home room teacher, take out his false teeth to gum graham crackers. Then I looked over at Donna who exchanged penny candy for kisses in the cloakroom. She was winking at me. I winked back. I always liked licorice. Melvin had another puddle under his desk. And Marilyn who was in her third year of fifth grade started rubbing my back. I didn't stop her. And I thought to myself, "Everybody in here is messed up." Then it hit me! "If everybody in here is messed up," I reasoned, "then I must be messed up too."
It was an apocalyptic moment.
Everybody -- including me -- was messed up.
Everybody -- including me -- remains messed up.
It's that original sin thing. We don't need any help to do things badly. It comes to us naturally. But we need help to do things the right way. We need instructions.
While none of us is as bad as some suggest, none of us is as good as our moms pretend.
Everybody has room for improvement.
It's a major theme of Christianity.
Everybody has problems.
That's the bad news.
Here's the good news.
God loves us any way.
To paraphrase a popular person from Pittsburgh, "God loves you just the way you are, but loves you too much to leave you just the way you are."
And by God's grace, we have a manual (the Bible) and a mentor (Jesus) to teach us how to improve.
However, no one takes lessons until she or he confesses the need for them.
That's another major theme of Christianity.
Confession precedes redemption.
And between confession and redemption is repentance, or turning away from people and actions that don't work to people and actions that do work. Repentance is turning away from who and what are bad and turning to who and what are good.
I'm reminded of this story from Ken Blanchard (Playing the Great Game of Golf, 1992):
You can't just wait for good to come your way. You have to take action. It's like the man who, every night for six months, had prayed to the Lord to let him win the lottery -- but nothing happened. He became impatient. The next night when he knelt to pray, he was angry. He said to the Lord, "I can't understand why I haven't won the lottery yet. I've prayed every night for six months for it. I am a good person. I love my wife, I am good to my kids, and faithful to You. Why haven't I won the lottery yet?" There was a crack of lightning in the sky and a voice shouted down: "Give me a hand. Buy a ticket!"
Billy Graham put it this way: "Prayer never seems to work for me on the golf course. I think this has something to do with my being a terrible putter."
If you've got a problem, see a pro!
Take some lessons!
-- 2 Timothy 3:16
My handicap was heading to single digits and those absurd late fortyish daydreams about the senior tour were making denomi-national meetings more tolerable when disaster struck.
Playing with my dad in one of those little friendly-while-you're-winning matches, I was even through fifteen holes. I had been slow, steady, and solid throughout the round. So I strutted to the sixteenth tee, undoubtedly more personally impressed than impressive.
Looking back, I was probably coming off as badly as the starlet who blurted out during an interview, "Well, well, well, that's enough about me. What do you think of me?"
Time has taught me to be careful while riding high in the saddle. You're an easy target. God always seems to have a Mount Gilboa around the corner for the arrogant. When you think you've arrived, God's providence has a way of letting you know there's still a long way to go.
Anyway, I nailed it. My drive landed about fifty yards from the pin on a hole measuring 390 yards.
Roll the video!
Swaggering to my ball with increasing obnoxiousness, I promptly shanked it into the woods.
I finished six over on the last three holes!
Understanding golf etiquette, nobody said a word as I butchered the once promising round and related to Dick Schaap's quip: "Golf is a bloodless sport -- if you don't count ulcers."
The problem -- disease -- wouldn't go away. It followed me from Wilkes-Barre's Irem Temple Country Club to Canonsburg's Lindenwood Golf Course to Claysville's Dogwood Hills.
I completely concur with Harvey Penick: "A shank shot is so ugly that I hate to write the word. Let's call it a lateral shot instead."
All I know is players don't yell shank when they hit one.
The harder I tried to fix the fault on my own, the worse it got.
After almost two weeks of ruined rounds, I called my dad and asked for help. He asked what I thought I was doing wrong. "If I knew that, Dad," I replied sarcastically, "I wouldn't be asking you."
At that moment, my dad could have responded in kind like Sam Snead once told a student, "Lay off three weeks and then quit for good." Or as Phyllis Diller disclosed for struggling hackers, "The reason the pro tells you to keep your head down is so you can't see him laughing."
Instead, he repeated the question. My dad has always been patient with his son. He reminds me of another Father and His children.
After I theorized the error as hitting the ball off the club's toe, my dad explained how a shank occurs when hitting the ball off the hosel. In other words, my cure for the disease -- hitting the ball closer and closer to the hosel -- was producing the opposite effect. The more I pursued my theory, the farther I moved from the truth.
Sometimes the truth eludes us. That's when we need to go to a pro and take some lessons.
The same goes for women and men of faith. Sometimes we just don't get it on our own. We need to go to the pro and take some lessons on life.
Paul put it this way, "All scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work" (see 2 Timothy 3:16-17 NIV).
Moreover, women and men of faith have always looked to Jesus as the perfect pattern for life because he is the enfleshed God. Or as Paul explained, "All the fullness of God was pleased to dwell in him" (see Colossians 1). Or as a Sunday school teacher once defined incarnation for me, "Jesus is God with skin on."
That's why so many Christians are wearing bracelets, necklaces, T-shirts, hats, ties, lapel pins, and all the rest with WWJD on them (viz., "What would Jesus do?").
He's the pro.
And that's why the best lessons for life are taught by Him.
Hale Irwin, arguably one of the top two or three senior players of all time who wasn't too shabby on the junior tour either, observed, "There are days when you play well and there are days when you learn."
The goal of golf is simple: put the ball in the hole with as few swings as possible.
How to reach the goal is the tough part.
It's the same for everything else.
It's easy to establish goals.
Reaching them is the tough part.
I think of the fellow who found a magic lamp while walking on a beach. He rubbed it and a genie appeared. "Before you get any ideas," the genie noted, "I'm only granting one wish today. So make it good." "Well," the man said, "I've always wanted to go to Hawaii. But I don't like to sail or fly. So build a highway from California to Hawaii." "Forget it," the genie said, "that's three thousand miles away. And can you imagine all the environmental restrictions? Give me another wish." The man reflected a moment and then said, "Well, I've always wanted to understand women. Explain women to me." Quickly, the genie asked, "Do you want a two or four lane highway?"
A couple met at Myrtle Beach and fell in love. As they discussed the future of the relationship, the man admitted: "It's only fair to tell you that I'm a golf nut. I eat, sleep, and breathe golf." "Since we're being honest," the woman admitted, "it's only fair to tell you that I'm a hooker." "I see," the man reacted pensively. Gathering himself after a long silence, he said with a smile, "It's probably because your in-to-out swing is too severe or you need to adjust your grip a little."
Whether it's golf or just about anything else, most things don't come naturally. Even when we can learn things on our own, there's usually a lot of trial, error, and pain along the way. That's why it's best to have a manual and mentor. It's best to read the instructions and pay attention to the teacher.
Sure, there are exceptions to the rule -- those especially gifted few who pick it up all by themselves. Trevino. Rodriquez. Mozart. Einstein. But there are only a few! I haven't met or even heard of too many self-taught -- I prefer to say divinely gifted -- of any stripe who can say with Lee Tevino: "I've never had a coach in my life. When I find one who can beat me, I'll listen."
Most of us need help. Or as Johnny Miller acknowledged, "No one becomes a champion without help."
So the prerequisite to improvement is recognizing the need for improvement. "If you're serious about improving your play," Greg Norman urged, "be brutally honest with yourself." Improvement requires the humility of Harvey Penick: "I never know so much that I can't learn more." Or as Jack Nicklaus, golf history's greatest competitor, insisted: "Don't be too proud to take lessons. I'm not."
Again, if you think you've arrived, you've got a really long way to go.
One of the most apocalyptic moments in my life occurred when I was a fifth grader in Nanticoke, Pennsylvania's Lincoln Street School. We were having lunch in our home room. I watched Mr. Moore, our science as well as home room teacher, take out his false teeth to gum graham crackers. Then I looked over at Donna who exchanged penny candy for kisses in the cloakroom. She was winking at me. I winked back. I always liked licorice. Melvin had another puddle under his desk. And Marilyn who was in her third year of fifth grade started rubbing my back. I didn't stop her. And I thought to myself, "Everybody in here is messed up." Then it hit me! "If everybody in here is messed up," I reasoned, "then I must be messed up too."
It was an apocalyptic moment.
Everybody -- including me -- was messed up.
Everybody -- including me -- remains messed up.
It's that original sin thing. We don't need any help to do things badly. It comes to us naturally. But we need help to do things the right way. We need instructions.
While none of us is as bad as some suggest, none of us is as good as our moms pretend.
Everybody has room for improvement.
It's a major theme of Christianity.
Everybody has problems.
That's the bad news.
Here's the good news.
God loves us any way.
To paraphrase a popular person from Pittsburgh, "God loves you just the way you are, but loves you too much to leave you just the way you are."
And by God's grace, we have a manual (the Bible) and a mentor (Jesus) to teach us how to improve.
However, no one takes lessons until she or he confesses the need for them.
That's another major theme of Christianity.
Confession precedes redemption.
And between confession and redemption is repentance, or turning away from people and actions that don't work to people and actions that do work. Repentance is turning away from who and what are bad and turning to who and what are good.
I'm reminded of this story from Ken Blanchard (Playing the Great Game of Golf, 1992):
You can't just wait for good to come your way. You have to take action. It's like the man who, every night for six months, had prayed to the Lord to let him win the lottery -- but nothing happened. He became impatient. The next night when he knelt to pray, he was angry. He said to the Lord, "I can't understand why I haven't won the lottery yet. I've prayed every night for six months for it. I am a good person. I love my wife, I am good to my kids, and faithful to You. Why haven't I won the lottery yet?" There was a crack of lightning in the sky and a voice shouted down: "Give me a hand. Buy a ticket!"
Billy Graham put it this way: "Prayer never seems to work for me on the golf course. I think this has something to do with my being a terrible putter."
If you've got a problem, see a pro!
Take some lessons!
