Navigating Conflict with Grace
Final Week
Feb. 16, 2025
Rev. David Collins
1 Corinthians 9:24-27
This is our final week in our series, Navigating Conflict with Grace, and I realized something about myself while we’ve been working our way through this series.
I think part of the reason that I avoid conflict is that I wasn’t any good at sports as a kid.
Gasp!
I know, I know—try to contain your shock. This may come as a revelation to exactly no one, but I was not what you would call "athletically gifted." I was the kid who got picked last at recess, and not even in a dramatic, movie-montage kind of way where I finally did something amazing and proved everyone wrong. No, I was picked last because the laws of physics and basic hand-eye coordination demanded it.
That’s not to say I didn’t have some successes. I did score a goal once in a soccer game. It was for the other team, it turns out.
Twice while playing second base for my little league team, I was staring at the action through my slits in my glove, and the batter hit the ball directly into my it! Both times I threw the ball to the first baseman, and one of those times turned into a double play, which was very exciting! The other time it turns out that no one was going back to first base, so I could have gotten a double play if I’d been paying attention, and thrown it to someone else.
My athletic career kind of petered out after age 8. But boy what a ride!
Maybe you’re like me, and you avoid competition because you’re just not used to it. Some of us learned early on that if we didn’t get in the game, we couldn’t lose. We became the ones who stood just close enough to say we were involved, but not close enough to get knocked over.
But you know, avoiding competition also means missing out on growth. It’s easy to convince yourself that if you just stay out of the fray, you’ll never fail. But you also never win. Or learn. Or get a chance to throw the ball to the right base.
Or maybe you’re on the other end of the spectrum. Maybe you’re the kind of person who doesn’t just like to compete—you have to win. Maybe you know yourself well enough to realize that if you so much as dip a toe into competition, it’s game over for everyone else. You don’t just play; you dominate. What starts as a lighthearted game of Uno will become a ruthless campaign of psychological warfare.
Either way, whether you run from competition or run over people in competition, the problem is the same: We treat it like something to be afraid of.
But what if conflict—what if competition—wasn’t something to avoid or something to win, but something to engage with in a healthier way? What if, instead of seeing it as a battlefield, we saw it as a training ground? What if competition wasn’t about proving our worth but about refining our character?
Ted Lasso
I may have never gotten into playing sports, but I love watching movies and shows about them. Something about seeing other people run drills, give inspiring speeches, and pull off last-second victories makes me feel almost like I was part of the action—without the risk of getting hit in the face with a ball.
And of all the great sports stories out there, one of my favorites is Ted Lasso. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a show about an American football coach who somehow ends up coaching an English soccer team—a sport he knows absolutely nothing about. But what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in optimism, kindness, and an unshakable belief that competition isn’t just about winning or losing—it’s about becoming better, together.
Ted cares more about coaching than about winning. The character is based on a number of great coaches, and one of them is the legendary John Wooden. If you’ve seen the show, you might remember that Ted has Wooden’s famous Pyramid of Success hanging on his office wall. And if you’re curious, I put a copy of it in the bulletin this morning—you’re welcome to take it home and see if it can work some coaching magic in your own life.
The Pyramid of Success
Now, I’m not going to go through all 14 building blocks (we do want to get home today), but here’s the big idea: Wooden believed that true success wasn’t about winning—it was about doing the work the right way, every single day.
The pyramid isn’t a shortcut to victory; it’s a framework for becoming the kind of person who earns success by consistently showing up, working hard, and leading with character.
And look at what sits at the very top. Coach Wooden taught that if you did all of these other things consistently, the result will be Competitive Greatness. What a great phrase! Wooden defined it as the ability to be at your best when your best is needed, not just for yourself, but for the team.
It’s not about crushing your opponents or cutting corners to get ahead. It’s about finding joy in the challenge itself.
But that’s not how we tend to think about conflict these days, is it? Too often, we don’t want our rivals to push us to be better…we just want them to go away so we can win by default.
We don’t see conflict as something that sharpens us; we see it as something that threatens us. Instead of respecting the people who challenge us, we resent them. Instead of striving for excellence, we look for shortcuts. Instead of seeing our rivals as worthy opponents, we turn them into enemies.
Now, sometimes they really are. Obviously. Some conflicts are high stakes, and there are people who seek to do harm.
But does it really help us to see even those who vehemently oppose us and the things we believe in as the enemy? Wouldn’t it be more productive— healthier even—if we viewed them as rivals instead?
Rivals
A rival is someone who’s just like us, someone who wants to win, like we do, but also someone we can beat—not through destruction, but through hard work, cooperation, and enthusiasm.
Because when we see someone as an enemy, we only have two options: fight to the death or run and hide. But when we see someone as a rival, suddenly there are lots of ways to win. You can outthink them, outwork them, outlast them. You can respect them, learn from them, and still strive to beat them.
But that’s not the way things tend to play out in our world, is it?
We’ve lost the ability to compete with respect. Look at our politics, and our social media, even our everyday interactions.
We don’t just disagree; we despise. We don’t just compete; we cancel.
We don’t want a worthy opponent who makes us better; we want an easy victory.
We want to win without the work. And if we can’t win, we’d rather burn the whole thing down than risk losing with grace.
But Wooden, and Ted Lasso, and most importantly…God! offer us a different way. What if, instead of trying to eliminate our competition, we embraced it? What if we saw conflict as a chance to grow rather than just a fight to win? What if we learned to see our rivals not as enemies but as partners in making each other better?
Because, let’s be honest—what would Magic Johnson have become without Larry Bird? What would any great competitor be without someone to push them beyond what they thought possible? Their rivalry didn’t just make them better players—it made them better people. And, in the end, it made them friends.
This isn’t just good coaching—it’s biblical wisdom. Proverbs 27:17 puts it simply: “Iron sharpens iron, and one person sharpens the wits of another.” The friction of competition and conflict isn’t meant to tear us down; it’s meant to refine us, to sharpen us, to make us stronger and wiser.
And that brings us to today’s scripture.
The main passage we’re going to unpack today is one of those great little athletic images that are all over the Bible. But it comes from a long letter from the Apostle Paul to one of the first churches in a Roman colony called Corinth, and this church had a bunch of problems.
One of the members was shacking up with his stepmother. (5:1-13) Members were suing each other in court (6:1-11) They were fighting over how much they could assimilate into their pagan culture. (8-10) They were in conflict with each other about what worship should look like, and who should really be in charge of it (11-14) and they were dividing up about which leader to follow (1-4).
(Nothing we can relate to, right?)
And so they wrote to Paul, and asked him to solve all of their problems, and he does weigh in on a little over half of them. But never in a way that reflected the divisive nature of the question itself. Who is right? Who is wrong? (Except for the guy with step mother! He had to go.)
Like a good coach, Paul doesn’t just address the Corinthians’ conflicts—he points them to their purpose. He reminds them why they’re here, what their lives should be about as followers of Jesus. Not every battle is worth fighting, but some are. And when you step into those, you need to be ready to give your best.
And so he gives them this image—one of competition, of racing.
1 Corinthians 9:24-27
24 Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it.
There’s a big difference between running and racing. Anyone can go out for a jog. Anyone can move their legs and technically call it running. I’ve even done it a few times. But a race? A race requires something more. It takes training, focus, perseverance, and—this is important—a desire to win.
Sometimes we get it in our heads that wanting to win is selfish or unspiritual. That since Jesus sacrificed himself for us, we should just be content to sacrifice, to step aside, to lose. But his sacrifice doesn’t need to be repeated—he gave everything for everyone, once and for all. Now, we are called to run the race he set before us—not hesitantly, not half-heartedly, but to run like we mean it.
Paul isn’t saying, “Take a nice jog through life and hope for the best.” He’s saying, “Run to win.” And that’s not selfish. That’s not unchristian. That’s bringing your best to the work God has given you.
Wanting to winning doesn’t have to mean thinking less of the competition. And it sure doesn’t mean cutting corners. It means being the best version of who God made you to be—bringing your full self to this life of faith, with discipline, perseverance, and joy.
25 Athletes exercise self-control in all things;
If you want to be great, every little detail matters. That’s true in sports, and it’s true in life. Nobody just shows up on game day and magically performs at a championship level. It’s true for athletes and it’s true for us.
That’s what John Wooden believed. His Pyramid of Success is built on this idea—that success isn’t about one big moment, but about stacking discipline on discipline, habit on habit, until excellence isn’t just what you do—it’s who you are.
The great coaches know this. Wooden and Lombardi both started every season the same way—by going over the basics. Not just for the rookies, but for the veterans too. They would literally walk their players onto the field or court and review the rules. The boundaries. The fundamentals. Wooden even made his players learn how to properly tie their shoes so they wouldn’t get blisters and miss practice time.
That sounds ridiculous, right? You’re a grown man, playing college basketball, and your coach is teaching you how to tie your shoes? But Wooden knew something we forget: The details matter.
You don’t reach competitive greatness—the top of the pyramid—by ignoring the small stuff. You don’t run a great race by just hoping for the best. If you want to grow in faith, in life, in purpose—every part of your life matters.
The way you talk to people when you’re stressed matters.
The way you talk about your rivals, and even your enemies, matters.
The way you handle disappointment matters.
The habits you build when life is easy will determine how you respond when life gets hard.
Now athletes do all of this work, all of this training, all of this discipline, for a prize that won’t even last.
they do it to receive a perishable garland, but we an imperishable one.
Back then, the prize for winning a race wasn’t a gold medal or a trophy—it was a wreath made of leaves. It looked great in the moment, but in a few days, it withered away. Paul’s point here is that if athletes go to such great lengths for something temporary, how much more should we be willing to train for something that actually lasts?
Our race isn’t just for a prize that fades. It’s for something that endures. The kind of life we’re training for isn’t just about a single moment of success, but something deeper, something that transforms us, our communities, and the world around us.
Paul isn’t saying that this life doesn’t matter. He’s saying it matters so much that we should compete for it with everything we have. The daily discipline of love, faith, integrity, and perseverance isn’t just about checking a box for heaven, but living a life that shows we believe Jesus is Lord here and now, a life that reflects the in-breaking of eternity in every act of justice, every moment of grace, every choice to do what is right.
But how do we know what we’re supposed to do? How do we discern which impulse to act is the right one?
Because let’s be honest—not every reaction is the right reaction. Not every conflict is worth our energy.
But, we don’t like to sit still, do we? When we see something wrong in the world, or at work, or church, or in our family, when we feel frustrated or helpless, the instinct is to do something. When we’re in a conflict with someone, our impulse is to answer everything they say, to correct every falsehood. To react. To take action. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing—faith isn’t passive, and following Jesus isn’t about sitting on the sidelines.
But the truth is, not all action is meaningful action. Not all movement moves us forward.
We’ve all been there—filling our time, our minds, and our feeds with things that make us feel like we’re engaged, but in the end, haven’t actually accomplished anything. We say, “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.” And that might be true—but what is the outrage accomplishing?
Are we just throwing punches at the air, exhausting ourselves on things that don’t move the race forward? Paul puts it like this:
26 So I do not run aimlessly, nor do I box as though beating the air.
Paul isn’t telling us not to engage. He’s telling us to fight with focus. To run the race on purpose. And in the right direction.
It’s not enough to just do something. We have to ask: Is this the right something? Is this where our energy is best spent? Is this leading to transformation, or just exhaustion?
Don’t just move—move with purpose. Don’t just fight—fight for something that matters.
Last verse:
27 but I punish my body and enslave it, so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified.
That language—punish my body, enslave it—sounds intense, doesn’t it? But Paul isn’t talking about punishment for the sake of suffering. He’s talking about training. He’s talking about discipline. He’s saying, I put in the work. I push myself so that when the moment comes, I’m ready. So that I don’t just talk about the race—I actually run it.
And you know what? All of the conflicts we’re thinking about today—whether it’s at work, in your family, or everything that’s happening in our country—none of them are going to be won by talk.
They’re going to be won by bodies.
That’s what Paul is saying here. “I punish and enslave my body”—because he knows that showing up matters. Not just his opinions. Not just his explanations. Him. His presence, his effort, his discipline.
The truth is that Every body needs other bodies to work with.
We can’t do this alone. You need a team.
You Need a Team
If you want to compete—if you want to rise to the challenge—then you need to find a group of people doing work that matters to you and give them more than your encouragement. Give them your time. Give them your money.
There is no other way.
They don’t need more opinions from the sidelines. They don’t need you to admire what they’re doing from a safe distance.
They need you. And you need them.
This is not the time to watch from the stands. It’s not the time to just cheer for the ones already in the fight.
If you want to win, you have to get on the field.
And maybe that’s the real reason we hesitate. It’s not just that we’re busy. It’s not just that we don’t know where to start.
It’s that stepping onto the field—really showing up—means we could fail. It means we could give our best and still fall short. It means we might find out that trying doesn’t always lead to winning.
And that brings me back to being a kid.
We’re all experts at tricking ourselves, aren’t we? One big way I did that to myself was believing that If I didn’t really try, then I didn’t really fail. I could tell myself that if I had tried, maybe it would have been different. Maybe I would have been better. Maybe I would have won.
But I never had to find out—because I never really trained.
Maybe some of you know what that feels like.
We fear losing so much that we don’t even enter the race. We don’t put in the work. We keep a safe distance from competition, from challenge, from conflict—because as long as we don’t try, we can’t be disqualified, right?
But what if that fear of losing has actually become a fear of winning?
What if we’ve gotten so comfortable avoiding competition that we’ve stopped believing we’re capable of excellence? What if we’ve convinced ourselves that stepping up, and giving our all, and wanting to win isn’t humble, isn’t spiritual, isn’t for us?
What if we tricked ourselves?
What if we’ve been wrong about competition all along?
What if winning wasn’t about beating someone else—but about bringing our very best?
John Wooden understood this. He never talked about being competitive in terms of winning. He never connected being a great competitor with being a winner. He had a much higher standard.
For him, competitive greatness wasn’t about the scoreboard—it was about showing up at your best when your best is needed. He called it enjoying it when things are difficult.
He actually thought difficult situations should be fun. That instead of avoiding challenges, we should embrace them—because that’s where the real joy is.
He said, “There’s more pleasure in being involved in something that’s difficult than there is in being involved in something that anybody else could do.”
Think about that. Most of our daily tasks? Anybody else could do them. They’re easy. But there’s no joy in them. But there is joy in stepping into something that stretches you.
There is joy in competition—not in blowing someone out of the water, but in pushing yourself to be better. Wooden said UCLA alumni used to love it when the team won by 50 points, but that wasn’t real joy.
The real joy was in playing against someone just as good as you—because that’s when you’re tested. That’s when you have to bring your best.
And that’s what Paul is talking about.
It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about wanting to win—because that means you care. That means you’re training. That means you’re engaged in something worth your full effort.
So maybe it’s time we stop being afraid of competition.
Maybe it’s time we stop pulling back because we’re afraid to lose, or because we’re afraid of what it might mean if we win.
Maybe it’s time we step into the challenge, not because it’s easy, but because it’s worth it.
Because the goal isn’t just to start strong. It’s to finish strong.
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