“And where does the power come from, to see the race to its end? From within…If you commit yourself to the love of Christ, then that is how you run a straight race.”

~ Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire

Chariots of Fire is essentially the story of two men and their religions: Harold Abrahams, a Jew, and Eric Liddell, a Christian. Both men see their running as an extension of those religious convictions. For Abrahams, being Jewish is a trial that he did not choose and cannot avoid, and he is convinced that success on the track is a way that he can prove his worth to non-Jews, whom he perceives as critical of his every move. In answer to his soon-to-be girlfriend Sybil’s query about whether he loves running, Abrahams replies, “I’m more of an addict. It’s a compulsion with me, a weapon I can use…[against] being Jewish.” Abrahams’ running style mirrors his goal: he attacks his races and views his competitors as if they are enemies.

On the flip side, Eric Liddell doesn’t really see himself as solely a runner. Instead, he is foremost a missionary, a preacher, and an example to those around him of a life completely dedicated to God. When his sister Jennie expresses concern that his running is interfering with his work for God, he tells her, “I believe God made me for a purpose, for China, but He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure. To give it up would be to hold Him in contempt.” Like Abrahams, Liddell’s running style reflects his philosophy about the sport: he runs as fast as he can for the whole race, his arms flailing wildly and his head thrown back with an expression of awe and utter delight—like he is communing with God during the race.

Liddell (right) defeats a stunned Abrahams in their first competitive meeting.

By the end of the film (spoiler alert!), both men have become gold medalists at the 1924 Olympic Games, but how they approach those races on the world’s biggest stage—as well as how they react to their victories—could not be more different. Abrahams, true to his conviction that everyone is against him, hires a professional trainer, Sam Mussabini, in his desperation to defeat the stiff competition he’s been scouting. But their sessions and preparations become more secretive when the University of Cambridge, Abrahams’ school, objects to him (as an amateur) being trained by a paid coach. Oh, and Mussabini is also half Italian, and the recent termination of WWI didn’t leave the Italians in the most friendliest of relationships with the British…which, of course, Abrahams picks up on. Anyhow, Mussabini’s methods work for Abrahams, and he is victorious over his “enemies” in the 100-meter sprint. Yet rather than elation, Abrahams sinks into depression after his race, uncertain what to do with his life now that his one goal, his way of “justify[ing]” his “whole existence,” is over.

For Liddell, the Olympics, which were supposed to be a culminating achievement before his return to the mission field in China, turn into a test of his faith and commitment to God. Discovering that his qualifying heat for the 100-meter sprint is scheduled to be held on Sunday, a day which Liddell believes should be completely set aside for God and not for sports, Liddell is faced with the tough choice of whether to run and break what he sees as God’s law or to withdraw and lose the opportunity of a lifetime. Liddell pulls out of the race despite intense pressure from the British Olympic Committee, which includes the Prince of Wales. Liddell’s faithfulness is rewarded when Lord Lindsay, already having won a silver medal, sacrifices his place in the 400-meter race in order for Liddell to have a chance to compete. Even though the 400 meters isn’t Liddell’s strength, he wins the gold medal and is carried off the field in triumph by his teammates—including Abrahams. Liddell’s victory on the track mirrors the excerpt of the biblical verse Jackson Scholz, one of the American runners, hands him prior to the race: “He who honors Me, I will honor” (I Samuel 2:30). For Liddell, there are no regrets, no doubts about the future, no qualms that achieving a dream has crushed all the meaning out of his life. His win is simply God’s reward to a humble man who stood up for what he believed.

Liddell and his teammates rejoice over his victory in the 400.

For Me Then…

I used to believe that, in the case of athletic competitions, God would reward those who honored Him by providing them with victories. In other words, the success of a team depended on the level of their godliness. At least, that was what I had been taught when I was younger. However, as I got older, I learned from some rather difficult losses that sports victories are not necessarily the guaranteed result of living a godly life. In fact, one might even be able to say that Eric Liddell’s winning a gold medal in a race that wasn’t his forte might be in the minority of occurrences in which acts of faith resulted in (specifically) athletic victory.

But in watching Chariots of Fire again this week, I was re-contemplating this idea. Certainly, in Liddell’s case God honored someone who honored Him, but the honor Liddell received was not limited to his Olympic victory. In addition to the gold medal he won, Liddell was also honored by the attention he received by taking a stand for what he believed in. His story and his beliefs were placed before the entire world—allowing him a platform to speak the truth to those who might not otherwise pay attention. Furthermore, after his win, the notoriety of what he had said and done permitted the good news of Christianity to spread further than it would have otherwise. In short, Liddell definitely received more from God than simply a gold medal.

A gold medal is still pretty spectacular, though, I must admit! But to comment on Abrahams before this post closes, let me quote another fabulous sports movie, Cool Runnings (1993), the story of the 1988 Jamaican bobsled team: “A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you’re not enough without it, you’ll never be enough with it.” For Abrahams—especially in contrast with Liddell—winning is personal in the sense that he needs to prove his equality as a Jew in a prejudiced society. But in protesting his need to “stick it to” everyone who is against him, Abrahams fools himself, for the person he really needs to convince about his worth is himself. He is incorrect that winning defines him; he still has value even when he loses. Plus, when his competitive running days are over and there is no more winning, where will his self-worth (and method of proving it) come from? Such is Abrahams’ crisis at the end of the film. His inability to love himself—despite what others think or say about him—prevents him from finding peace during his competitions (regardless of their outcomes) and hope after he is victorious.

To the contrary, Eric Liddell’s identity doesn’t rest on his running ability or number of victories—and he undoubtedly knows this. Win or lose, Liddell finds rest and peace before, during, and after every competition because he is a Christian. His hope is in Christ for his present and his future, and his purpose is God’s purpose. He is not without trials and difficulties, but he knows from whence comes his strength to finish each race—for the races involving running and for the race of life.