G is for GOAL

He had been annoying me for the whole game and it wasn't as if the referee couldn't see or hear what was going on. But, for whatever reason, the man in charge had chosen to ignore it all. It wasn't a simple push in the back, a tug at the shirt or even a heavily disguised elbow in the face. Nor was it a few choice words uttered as we challenged for a ball or ran across the pitch. No, it was much more overt than that, a mixture of taunting, teasing, name calling and tripping. I understood his reasons though I would have hardly called it good sportsmanship. After all our team were older and expected to win comfortably but his team had scored the goal that mattered. It was a friendly only in name, for there were bragging rights attached to victory and lasting shame for us older kids if we lost. And the small handful of supporters who had gathered to witness our execution had firmly nailed their colours to the mast throughout the game. My mind was a mess and I suppose he had won our individual battle without even having to tackle me for as the game grew towards a conclusion, I decided that if victory was beyond us, retaliation was not and it was time to redress the balance of power. Likewise I chose not to be covert in my response. No, this was to be no two footed tackle, no head butt or no premeditated over the top challenge for the ball. It was simply a rush of blood to the head, ranting, mouth foaming kick up the backside, when the ball was halfway towards the other goal. Amidst my tears of frustration and anger, there was an element of satisfaction that you get as a thirteen year old, so I didn't hear the referee's whistle immediately. But I did hear his words. One short sharp sentence consisting of just two words, 'Ian, off!' I pleaded provocation, unfairness, privately thought a few unmentionable words to describe my opponent and the referee but they never passed my lips, because the ref was our minister! I soon realised it was pointless to argue my case and with the taunts still ringing in the background, made my way, shamefully to the touchline and walked home. I had scored a million goals (slight exaggeration there- but you know what I mean) at home, in the playground, in kickabouts and in other games but on this day, I let other things get in the way and ended up missing the goal, letting myself and everyone else down and learned a very harsh lesson. Always keep you eyes and mind on the goal.

Some years later, I'm standing in front of a different type of goal, There is no net, but two long posts with a crossbar. By this stage I have played rugby for many years and kicked a few goals in my time. Now, as I devote my final years on the pitch to the lower division teams, I see that no matter what level you play at, victory is always the goal. There may be fewer taking the time to watch from the sidelines but for those on the pitch every game is a cup final and we win and lose together. I have been place kicking for this team all season, though it was never my job on a regular basis in past years. The ground is wet and sticky and rain has been falling. I have missed a couple of long range penalties that I hit more with hope than expectation on the muddy surface. But we have just scored a try under the posts and my conversion will win the game. I'm not overly confident, though the kick is directly in front of the uprights and only twenty or so yards out. Thoughts of a similar kick for the first fifteen, a couple of years back, that I somehow managed to steer wide, are floating through my brain as is the fact that some of my colleagues on that day are playing with me today and might have good memories. I take refuge in the fact that the other kick was meaningless to the result and I probably wasn't really focused. I begin to see a picture of a famous rugby league player lose a sup final in the sixties by missing a kick in front of the posts. These are the kicks that you put over in your sleep. Somewhere in my mind I feel a lack of confidence in my watching team mates and I think about those missed penalties earlier. This all happens in less than a minute, but the kick is over in a couple of seconds, though over is probably not the correct word to use in this instance as I see it drift wide of the left upright and the referee blows the final whistle. I've kicked a million goals(slight exaggeration there- but you know what I mean) in practice, in other games, from greater distances, on wetter pitches, but on this day I let other things get in the way and ended up missing the goal, letting myself and everyone else down and learned a very harsh lesson. Always keep your eyes and mind on the goal.

Paul, in his writings to the church at Philippi makes it very clear about our goal, as believers, when he says, 'But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.' And that prize of everlasting life in the presence of our Father in Heaven, is not beyond any of us. But how often we take our eyes of that goal by allowing other things to occupy our thoughts and our time and how often they make some people miss that goal completely. It's all about the proper preparation, knowing your goal and always aiming for it. And it's all about getting rid of the distractions that might affect the sight of our goal. The key of course is that we can never obtain our goal by our own efforts. We need Jesus keeping us pointing in the right direction and we need His Spirit at the centre of all we do. Time to get some coaching from the Master!