Winning (now) is not Everything

Winning (now) is not Everything 

We have heard the “winning is everything.” Is it, really?

As I write, two baseball teams are left, playing for the right to be called World Series champions. They are scrapping and fighting, because winning is everything. You cannot be called “champion” unless you win the last game. But do you know what will crop up in the post-game discussion? “What about next year?” It seems that winning it all this year is not everything, since there is always another season.

Yes, there is always another season, and that changes the calculation on how we think about winning. So what if you did not win the final game? Were there accomplishments along the way that were actually more important than winning the final game? Were lives changed, or goals met, or a brotherhood formed, that will survive long after the celebration of a last game victory? Winning is not everything. What if your struggles in the present season are preparing you for what you will experience in the next season? Is that “winning”?

For Christians, the next season is not in this earthly life. Whatever accomplishment you may achieve here, it may not count for much over there. Winning now is not everything. Being the winner in the money sandbox is not real winning. Nicest house or fastest car? No. Travelling around the world. These may all be nice things, but they speak only to this-world accomplishments. They are not indicators of doing well in the next season.

There are believers who have served the Lord in difficult places who will be regarded as winners in the next season - the season that counts. There will be relatively less-gifted people who stewarded their gifts well who will be more richly rewarded than those with greater gifts, because they used well what they were given. There will be those who lived very short lives who, in those short years, accepted God’s plan for their shortened lives and served faithfully and testified clearly that living a short life in right relation to God far exceeds the value of living a long life in this world only to find that the ladder they climbed is leaning against the wrong reality.

I still think of Joseph, who married Mary, Jesus’ mother. He accepted the situation of a pregnant fiancé, though it was difficult to understand and impossible to explain. He obeyed God, at risk to his own life, let alone that of his wife and baby. He moved and started over and worked and prayed. And then he disappeared. No one would call Joseph a winner. Joseph went from marginal character to a missing person. Winning is not everything. 

And though I don’t know the whole story, I suspect in the next season, when we stand before God on the throne, Joseph and those like him may receive more honor than those who seemed to win it all in this world.

Adiaphora

Adiaphora

“Adiaphora” is a fascinating word to think about. It’s Greek (αδιαφορα), and the form above is plural. The website GotQuestions.org defines it this way:

Adiaphora, the concept of “things indifferent,” offers Christians a means of navigating non-salvational differences within the body of Christ, especially in matters that are neither strictly commanded nor forbidden by Scripture. Rooted in both biblical principles and historical application, adiaphora encourages believers to focus on core doctrines while allowing freedom in non-salvational matters.

Interestingly, this particular word does not appear in the Greek New Testament, but the concept certainly does. Consider Romans 14:1:

NASB: “Now accept the one who is weak in faith, but not to have quarrels over opinions.”
NKJV: “Receive one who is weak in the faith, but not to disputes over doubtful things.”

Those “doubtful things” are adiaphora.

They are not unimportant—but they are matters about which sincere Christians may disagree. Some hold strong convictions on one side; others, equally sincere, on the opposite. Yet these are not tests of faith. In our polarized age, we often struggle to handle disagreement graciously, but not every issue is ultimate.

Adiaphora in the NT came to include circumcision. As Paul’s pattern with Titus and Timothy shows, you could do it, or not. Today, we might think of subjects such as where to send your children to school, or the efficacy or ethics of vaccines, or the appropriate use—or avoidance—of certain technologies.

Scripture does not speak directly to these issues. We may differ, and still remain one united fellowship of believers, in full agreement with the truths Scripture clearly teaches.

In the early church, a sect called the Gnostics claimed to possess “secret knowledge.” Variations may still appear today with those who claim insight others supposedly lack. Yet the truth is, we all know far less than we imagine. Our knowledge is partial, and humility requires that we acknowledge it. We should certainly learn from one another, but always, like the disciples, we are called to “watch and pray.”

When the Bible speaks, we have God’s revealed truth—what He wants us to know, with certainty. Yet even then, our understanding is not exhaustive. God reveals what is necessary for faith and godliness, not everything there is to know. Therefore, wisdom and grace demand that we admit the limits of our understanding.

A quote often attributed to Richard Baxter, the English pastor who lived in the 1600’s in England and author of The Reformed Pastor, captures the point well: 

“Unity in things necessary; liberty in things unnecessary; and charity in all.” 

Wiersbe’s Reading Room

Wiersbe’s Reading Room

Many of you will recognize the name Warren Wiersbe—pastor, conference speaker, and author. Born in 1929, Wiersbe devoted his life to helping others understand and love God’s Word. Shortly before his passing in 2019, he donated his vast personal library to Cedarville University. That collection now has a place of honor in the university’s new Bible building: The Wiersbe Reading Room.

Jane and I were there for homecoming a couple of weeks ago. Between events, while others were catching up with old friends, I wandered into the reading room. Before long, I found myself surrounded by Wiersbe’s books—and drawn into one in particular.

Every volume I opened bore his name neatly inscribed on the flyleaf. The shelves were filled with a remarkable variety: theology, pastoral works, devotionals, biographies. Wiersbe himself wrote extensively—his well-loved “Be” series has been a staple in our Ladies’ Bible Study more than once. 
One important rule governs this room: no book may leave it. “Of every book in the room you may freely read,” I joked to myself, “but from the room no book shall be taken, lest you surely die.” (Genesis 2 speaks of another subject entirely—but the rule seemed just as serious here.)

Lately, I’ve been especially interested in Augustine of Hippo—a towering figure from the time of the Roman Empire’s fall, known for Confessions and The City of God. Augustine’s writings contrast the crumbling city of man with the enduring city of God.

On a shelf, one title caught my eye: Augustine the Thinker. I opened it and began to read—and before long, lost all sense of time. The pages felt crisp, almost untouched. It seemed that Wiersbe himself may never have opened this copy. Of course, with 13,000 volumes in his library, who could possibly have read them all? Still, I smiled at the thought that perhaps someday, in heaven, I might tell him what he missed in that book. Though, considering he may be in conversation with Augustine himself, I’d have to wait my turn—and I imagine there are no interruptions in heaven. I’ve since ordered a copy of Augustine the Thinker for myself—though, for now, it’s out of stock.

What was it that made this small experience so meaningful? Was it the room’s unmistakable “bookish” scent? The quiet sense of Wiersbe’s presence lingering there? Or perhaps it was something deeper—the realization that this well-known giant of the faith and an ordinary pastor like me share something essential: a love of books, yes, but more importantly, a love for the same Savior.

It may have been the simplest moment of the weekend, but it has become one of my favorite memories from homecoming.