Saturday was Grand National day. It's probably the best know horse race in the world, a steeplechase run over four and a half miles at the famous Aintree course in Liverpool. Yesterday, forty jockeys lined up their hopefuls at the starting point each with a dream of emulating some of the great riders and their mounts of past years. Alas, many fell by the wayside and only over a dozen of the starters made it to the winning post. Three jockeys are forever etched in my memory of that great race. The first, Johnny Buckingham, became a hero with his horse, Foinavon, back in 1967, though he shouldn't have been riding in the race at all. As it turned out the horse's trainer, who was aslo a jockey, was deemed to heavy to ride and the lot fell to Johnny, while the owner and original chosen rider went off to race at another meeting in Worcester. Not surprising really, as Foinavon was a complete outsider to win the event, a bit like the Irish League Champions winning the Champion's League, not impossible but very, very unlikely. Anyway, as I watched events unfold on a black and white, grainy screen in our kitchen, the horse was certainly living up to all expectations and by the second circuit was well and truly at the back of the field, some distance behind everyone else. Then, just after the mighty Beecher's Brook, came the smallest fence on the course, the twenty third, standing at only four feet six inches high. Suddenly, in front of him, Johnny could see all manner of pandemonium breaking out as on horse after the other either fell or dismounted its jockey, so that by the time Foinavon reached the jump, nobody had cleared it. Carefully, Johnny steered his horse around the disruption and panic, chose a path that seemed clear and both horse and jockey successfully manoeuvred their way past the obstacles and set off for home. Though, eventually several jockeys remounted and set off in hot pursuit of the outsider, the distance was just too great and Foinavon came home as one of the most unexpected winners in the history of the National. Sadly horse and jockey could never repeat their success, failing to complete the course on both of their next two visits, but they will always be remembered for giving hope to those who have no hope.
Six years later, I was standing inside the very course of the famous race on Grand National day. It had been a hurried journey across the city from Anfield, the home of the mighty Reds, having sat through and early morning kick off and marvelled at the display of fellow countryman Pat Jennings in saving two penalties and earning a hardly deserved draw for his side. As we queued outside the race course, it was slightly unnerving to watch several evangelists complete with sandwich boards, announcing the certainty of hell and destruction for all who didn't believe. There were times when I wanted to go over and say to one of them, 'Look, I'm a Christian and I'm not going into bet on this race, just to see it and anyway I don't do this sort of thing as a habit, in fact it's the first time I've ever been to a horse race and I never, ever gamble.' But I guess by the look on one or two of their faces, it might have been difficult to convince them. Anyway, the race is always special in my mind and not just because of the winners, jockey Brian Fletcher and his horse Red Rum, who went on to be a legend at the race and is now buried beside the winning post, while his brass statue sits proudly in the grounds. No. I recall the experience because it's one of the few races where the runner up is remembered just as much as the winner. His name was Crisp ridden by a jockey called Paul Kelloway, a joint favourite to win and by the end of one complete circuit was so far ahead of everyone else that the result seemed already assured. But as he came past our vantage point just after starting the second lap and despite his huge lead and his pedigree, the horse was clearly panting more than any other of the field and by the time he cleared the last fence, his strength had gone and another horse had got far too close for comfort. That horse was Red Rum and with only a couple of stride from the winning post, Brian Fletcher eased his mount in front and Paul Kelloway and Crisp were beaten.
The tale above is about perseverance and even though not everybody won, all who persevered finished the race. Life as a Christian is not about a short sprint, it's not about starting out full of enthusiasm and then losing that energy and it's certainly not about what others are doing all around you. It's about persevering, keeping going right to the end, about gaining strength each day for the battle and about always believing. Paul says, 'However, I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the gospel of God's grace.' Later he reminds the church in Corinth, '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' and then tells James writes ' Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.' And in his letter to the Hebrews Paul records, 'You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.'
How wonderful it would be if along with Paul we can say 'I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.'
