Chasing Celery Crowns
I recently stumbled across a piece of history that I found really interesting. Did you know that the Olympic Games weren’t the only major sporting event in ancient Greece?
There were actually four major athletic festivals. One of them was the Isthmian Games, held just outside Corinth. Every two years, athletes and spectators travelled from across the Roman Empire to Corinth, one of the great metropolitan cities of the time (think London or Paris today). The city would have been buzzing with excitement.
But competing in these games wasn’t quite the glamorous affair we might imagine.
The Stoic philosopher Epictetus, writing about what it meant to become an athlete, paints a sobering picture:
“In the games you cannot simply be beaten and depart. First you will be disgraced... and if you withdraw without sufficient reason, you will be whipped.” (Discourses 3.15)
Hardly an inspiring recruitment campaign.
The training was gruelling. The sacrifices were significant. Your failures were public and might even involve whipping if you can second.
And then, drum roll please… I discovered what the winner received.
A wreath of celery. That’s it.
Not a gold medal. Not prize money. Not a lucrative sponsorship.
Just a crown made from celery. And because this was nearly 2,000 years before refrigeration, it would have been wilted celery, and before long, it would have been discarded.
Which makes Paul’s words to the Christians in Corinth all the more remarkable.
Writing to people who knew these games intimately, he says:
“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.”
I don’t believe Paul’s point was to diminish achievement. He uses the athlete as the example because it was relevant to his audience and his argument, and it seems to still be relevant today.
His challenge is this: don’t spend your life just chasing wilted celery crowns.
Don’t build your identity on something that can be taken away.
I think that’s where many of us get caught. We attach our identity to our achievements. It might be our marathon time, a promotion, or even the business we’ve built. It might be the number on the scales or the medals on the wall. Or even the applause of other people. Now, for a person who chases achievement, believe me, I know this full well.
Friend, don’t misunderstand me, none of those things are bad. In fact, they’re often good gifts from God for us to enjoy. Representing your country at the Olympics would be an extraordinary achievement. Breaking a personal best is worth celebrating. Building a successful business is something to be proud of, and you could impact hundreds of people.
The problem comes when those achievements become the answer to the question, “Who am I?”
Because what happens when the injury comes? When retirement arrives? When someone else is faster? When the business struggles? When life takes an unexpected turn?
If our identity is built on achievements, then our identity rises and falls with our performance.
Paul invites us to something far more secure. He reminds us that there is a prize that doesn’t fade. A purpose that isn’t dependent on applause. An identity that isn’t earned by performance but received through Christ.
When our identity is secure, we’re free to pursue excellence without being enslaved by it. Go out and live a bold life! But we can get closer to celebrating success without worshipping it. We can experience failure without being crushed by it (although hard to do when the dark times hit).
So, by all means, chase the marathon medal. Chase the promotion. Chase the dream.
Just don’t mistake them for your celery crown.
Because even the greatest achievements eventually fade.
Who you are, and even more interestingly, who you are becoming, will always matter more than what you’ve accomplished.
Keep Growing
Sarah
Live Boldly – You have One life, live it!