The Naked Runners

I have a couple of friends who have recently taken up running with me, and it kind of caught me by surprise because I don’t actually ever remember them being with me on a run. But I’m sure they were, because as soon as my run totals get posted on Facebook, they have the exact same totals showing up on their profiles, too. It was confusing at first, because I kept telling myself that if they ran the exact same distance at the exact same time and the exact same pace on the exact same road, I should have seen them. Heck, you’d think we’d have talked at some point, too, even if the most we could say was a grunt. But nope, all I remember hearing on my runs was the sound of my legs screaming something at me about being an idiot and the wheels of cars trying to put me out of my misery.

So how were they logging the same number of miles I was? And why weren’t they ever as tired as I was after our group runs? The answer, of course, is obvious. They’re just joking around with me by copying my running stats and pasting them on their profiles. Pretty slick, too, because they’d even have people commenting on their “runs” and telling them what a great job they were doing. It was all very funny, and awesome, and…

A great illustration of why so many of us have a form of godliness but no power. A great modern day example of what happened that caused the first naked group run in the Bible.

Seems that there were seven sons of some guy named Sceva (we should bring that name back, huh?) who decided they wanted to do the same stuff Paul was doing, and so they would walk around trying to cast out demons in Jesus’ name. It must have seemed pretty cool for a while, and I can imagine a number of their friends “liked” what they were doing. They probably even commented on it: “Wow! When did you guys start casting out demons?” and “That was the best one yet! You’re really getting good at this stuff!” Everything was perfect, and if you didn’t really look past the appearance, you’d have sworn that they were doing the same things as Paul. Right up until one of the demons spoke…

It’s easy to copy, mimic, pretend. It’s even easier to enjoy the temporary kudos that come our way when we “look the part” enough that people actually think that’s who we really are. The entire landscape of American Christianity is full of people who have faked it for so long that they have actually convinced themselves that what they have is real, and the delusion has lasted as long as it has because nothing has ever pushed back. But when the push comes – when a revealing voice pierces the scam – the end result isn’t good.

The demon answered them, which says one thing to me. They were talking to him. They were addressing something that they never expected to talk back. And the question from the demon must have sent a chill down their spines. “Jesus I know, and I know about Paul, but who are you?”

Oh, snap.

Let’s not kid ourselves. There will be a day when what we have pretended to have will be the very thing required, and we’ll come up short. We’ll reach for the gun that we’ve played cops and robbers with and find it empty. In the face of a real life or death situation, we’ll hear the empty *click* of a gun’s dry fire. And in that moment, we’ll wish that we’d never pretended.

In a flash, those seven sons went from a group of pretenders to a group of naked runners, overcome by the evil spirit in one man. They were, in every sense of the word, exposed. My guess is that they never pretended to have power again, and didn’t play loosely with the name of Jesus any more, either.

As soon as I post this, I’ll lace up my shoes and hit the road for a run, and when I get back, you might see on Facebook that a couple other guys ran the exact course I did at the exact time and pace for the exact distance.

I can assure you, though, that only one of us was clothed.

Facebook Comments

comments