The Arena of Love: Athletics as a Metaphor for Life
Athletics are a metaphor for life.
They give us a grasp of the meaning of love through a condensed lesson—received in our youth—to carry with us for life.
From an early age, we’re taught to give our all to the game. At the same time, we’re encouraged to have fun doing it. To some, this seems paradoxical: how can one embrace suffering and sacrifice, and yet enjoy it?
I had a high school lacrosse coach who would often send us running. To the average athlete, this felt like punishment. But to the dedicated, it was healing. It was making us better. To help us endure the inevitable pain, he told us to smile through it—to convince the mind it was enjoying the suffering.
I’ve come to see this as a half-truth. What’s really happening is something deeper: the soul is being restored to its original image—made for joy, for gladness, for gratitude in all things. A smile, however small, is a glimmer of light—and when wielded against the darkness, it becomes a rising sun that outshines the night.
Sport teaches us to embrace suffering—and, more importantly, that joy and suffering can coexist.
More than anything I’ve experienced, it teaches us to lean into this seeming contradiction. In doing so, we find the narrow gate—where total sacrifice meets selfless offering, where discipline meets delight. Somewhere between intense effort and overflowing joy is true love—a love that fulfills.
Athletes who give their all—who “leave it all on the field”—know this well. Yes, they rejoice in the thrill of winning, but more than that, they return for love. Love of the game. Love of the team. Love of the work. It is not winning that keeps them coming back—it is love.
But to attain this love, a specific mindset must be formed—one where losing is no longer shameful, but a pathway to revelation. Loss exposes our inadequacy, our laziness, our poor habits. Like weeds brought into the light, or a sickness rightly diagnosed, what is revealed can be healed. What is confessed can be cleansed. What is faced can be transformed.
And yet, even this success, even this zeal, carries danger. With progress comes a subtle disease—the spiritual sickness of pride. In our victories, we begin to boast. We look down on others. We inflate ourselves. And suddenly, we are no longer offering ourselves in love—we’re returning to the game to serve our pride.
This is the path to death.
Like despair, pride leads to loneliness and darkness. They lie on opposite ends of the same spectrum—despair wears sadness; pride wears a false joy. But both end in isolation. The only path of salvation—the only path to true success, joy, and peace—is the path of selfless, humble love.
That’s why it’s essential, as young athletes, to become obedient—to your coaches, your teammates, your commitments. The “game” is life itself. The drills and disciplines are orders from the Lord. Your coaches are authorities given for your good. A life of obedience leads to freedom. A life of rebellion leads to prison, where even the world feels against you.
But know this: coaches, parents, teachers, even priests—they are not God. They can be questioned in humility, when something weighs on your soul. Because all of us are broken. And those who spread evil, laziness, or selfishness are the most sick of all. The only cure—for them and for us—is love. And love is not always gentle, but it is always love: never self-seeking, always healing.
Therefore, commit to your team as you would a marriage, or a vocation—so that one day, when you are married or called to serve, you’ll know what commitment means. And one day, when the real battle comes—the lifelong fight against evil—you’ll be ready to show up with Love, day after day, willing to sacrifice for the greater good.
And never forget: the greatest strides are made in private.
Not just on the field, but off of it. Not just in the gym, but in silence, in prayer.
Monastics retreat to their cells and pray unceasingly. They fast. They confess daily. They review the “film” of the day in repentance. They rise each morning not proud of yesterday—but humble, joyful, and grateful to try again. So must we, in all we do.
And when you’re lacking love, or truth, or strength—go to the Source.
The Source of Joy.
Go to God.
Because there is only one true hospital for the soul.
Only one divine playbook with the right rules.
Only one theology that makes metaphysical sense.
Only one Truth.
If you want to play the game of life the right way—
If you want to heal your soul,
And taste the joy of victory that never fades—
Learn from the best coaches.
Heal with the best doctors.
Enter the arena of Orthodox Christianity.