Athlete, Farmer, Soldier: Which One Are You?

Most people emoji their way through life. They react to what comes upon them. This is why it is essential you know your calling. Emojis fade. Accountability remains. And the prize of joy for a life well lived: a cup shared with Christ. 

First, let’s get a poor definition of “calling” out of the way: It is not a narrow category of people who go to seminary.¹ It is not a group of people with superpowers. “Calling” means you are walking out life as the original self God had in mind when He said, “Let there be…”

With that definition in mind, let’s get you in the ballpark of your calling with three clear analogs—three basic operating systems—our Lord and the writers of the New Testament give us. You are called to be:

• An athlete
• A farmer
• A soldier

Whether you are more than one is a matter of discovery, but you are at least one of these. I am not talking about a literal athlete, farmer, or soldier. (Though, if you are any one of these, I commend you.) I am talking about the mindset of the three. 

Let’s start with the athlete.

“The chief goal of the athlete is to enter into his heart,”² said the smuggler-turned-basket weaver Macarius (AD 300-390). Now, since it was a monk and hermit in the Egyptian desert who said this, what on earth was he getting at? A heart attitude. A set of habits. A life of prayer. Among other things, perhaps he meant that the athlete:

• Abides by rules of the game
• Works with the realities of his body
• Focuses on one thing only

And regarding the farmer:

“Good earth clods up without the farmer’s labor, and the prudent farmer first clears his land of brambles before sowing it with seed.”³ So wrote Symeon Metaphrastis (Symeon the Translator, AD 900-987, citing an earlier source).

Symeon was a career civil servant promoted to high rank, the kind of competent official you hope to deal with when you must visit the county courthouse. He’s just given us advice about pulling weeds, yet sits at a desk. He is not a farmer, yet he knows how to farm. He knows that the farmer:

• Recognizes the power of “small”
• Cultivates a handful of daily habits
• Has the harvest in mind

And regarding the soldier:

“The soldier ignores the dangers of war and the miseries of service abroad. His goal is to enjoy the advantages of rank.”⁴ It was not a man in uniform who wrote these words, but a well-endowed college kid, who, after graduating, launched on a life-long spiritual journey: John Cassian (AD 360-435). And yet this man, who, as far as we know, never drew a weapon or marched behind a flag, knew that the soldier:

• Obeys
• Endures hardship
• Operates with a team

Athlete, farmer, solider: Which one are you? The answer has several sides, but the best place to start is to meditate on the one that is most energized when you read it. Apostle Paul tells Timothy, “reflect on what I’ve written and the Lord will give you insight.” (2 Tim 2:7) Paul knows we must meditate on truth until we convert it into personalized choices. For what is our life but a sum of our choices? It is not the sum of what we know; it is the sum of what we do and our motives for why we did them. 

Over the next three essays, let us do just that. We will explore:

• The way of the athlete
• The way of the farmer
• The way of the soldier

and unpack three aspects that touch on each. A simple exploration of three Scriptures will accompany each essay.

And as you meditate on the ways of the athlete, the farmer, and the soldier, you might discover that a solid conviction is forming in you. Something of His grace and not of your own engineering. Something deeper than your job description. Someone you can be within the present limitations of life, whether you’re a paraplegic, on parole, or a single parent with two jobs. It is something constant. Something that remains. Something no person or circumstance can remove from you. But you have to drink the cup, and there is no turning back once you do.  

© Kurt Mähler

1.  My brother-in-law Fred Nelson, a graduate of seminary and veteran of more than twenty years of Christian service, observed that seminary equipped future ministers with knowledge but did not foster the inner fire of faith. To paraphrase Henri Nouwen: We have fallen from the institution’s original meaning, which was union with God through prayer, and we have made it an exploration of debates, schisms, and the victory of power over self-giving love. (cf. In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership in the Twenty-first Century) ↩︎
2. See The Name of Jesus by Ireneé Hauser, translated by Charles Cummings. p. 314. Cistercian Publications 1978. ↩︎
3. The Philokalia: The Complete Text. Vol. 3, p. 296. Compiled by St. Nikodimos of the Holy Mountain and St. Makarios of Corinth. Translated and edited by G.E.H. Palmer, Philip Sherrand, and Kallistos Ware. Crux Press (2022) Quote is abridged. ↩︎
4. Philokalia,Volume 1, p. 109. Quote is abridged. ↩︎