An American Gladiator Commentary on Suffering

(I feel like the following reference to American Gladiator should be accompanied by a disclaimer that I watched it while working out at the gym…where the televisions are often set on shows I would never choose to watch in the comfort of my own home.)

A few weeks ago I was working out at the gym when one of the televisions caught my eye. Let me assure you, it was not by virtue of the programming itself but because of a particular feature about one of the contestants that I paused to watch the final segment (the obstacle course) on American Gladiators. I didn’t realize it at first—I glimpsed it out of the corner of my eye—and I looked back and realized that one of the men competing had a prosthetic leg. It was black and flat, rounded on the bottom and looked like it was made out of plastic.

Watching this contestant was a mixed experience, both intriguing (how would he handle swimming in the water? Climbing the net? Crossing the tight rope bridge?) and painful (every part of the course seemed to be a struggle). The final section of the obstacle course is an inclined treadmill upon which the contestant is expected to run up the belt against the direction of movement; if he or she can muster enough momentum, a few feet from the top a rope hangs down for the competitor to pull him or herself the remaining distance.

During the race, the man with the prosthetic leg fell quickly behind is opponent, but he admirably pushed himself through each obstacle on the course. Finally, he reached the grueling inclined treadmill. He stepped back from the belt, took a deep breath, and leaped up, mustering momentum by planting his good leg. The prosthetic leg slipped against the belt and sent him sliding back to the bottom. He stepped back again, reconsidered his approach, and leaped again—his hand nearly brushed the bottom of the rope—but again, he slid back down. The camera panned over the audience, his family, all waving their arms and cheering him on. He attempted again. And again.

I felt my stomach sink, offered up my own silent cheer, but couldn’t help wondering how long the show would let him go on like this—would they eventually just make him give up? Would they go to a commercial break? No, they couldn’t! He would do it! He’d worked so hard to get this far.

But he was starting to look tired and frustrated, his face strained and his chest rising and falling with brisk breaths. He stepped back one last time, narrowing his eyes and focusing on the treadmill—he would make it this time, I knew he would!—and then bound forward with unwavering determination. And this time, he grabbed the robe, but as he did, I realized that the treadmill had been turned off so that he was leaping up a still belt. He climbed up to the top, was clapped on the back by his opponent and congratulated by Hulk Hogan (yes, you read right…Suburban Commando himself).

I have to admit, in some ways I wondered if this contestant felt cheated. I felt cheated watching because I really thought this time he would get up to the top. But he was a gracious finisher and his family was very proud.

Here is where recounting this episode of American Gladiators actually touches on relevancy in faith and writing (it really does!). As I was walking out of the gym and driving home after my work out, I was still thinking about this man with the prosthetic leg who had struggled through the obstacle course and never gave up. I reflected on a lot of things: how his determination was so admirable; how hard he must have worked; how many struggles he must have already faced because of his handicap—and how often and much he must have overcome; how proud his wife and son must have been that he had made it on the show. I wondered if on the ride home, he would complain to his wife that they should have let him get up the treadmill on his own, and if she would assure him of that pride they felt and how much he really had accomplished.

But more than those passing thoughts, the aspect that has kept me thinking about this competitor with the prosthetic leg is our human nature to anticipate and expect victory. We are fascinated by struggle because we expect the struggle to be overcome. In many ways, this is the heart of a good story—any good story. Even stories that end in the hero’s failure often have significance because of what they have to say about overcoming struggle.

This is particularly poignant to me because I have been thinking and writing and reflecting on suffering throughout my spring semester. One difficult aspect about discussing suffering is that it is a complex issue; there isn’t one simple answer to deal with all the questions. A work like C.S. Lewis’s The Problem of Pain approaches from a different angle and to address different issues than the discussion I had in my class on 1 Peter, where we talked about implications of Christians who suffer for the sake of Christ (because they follow Christ).

However, I think an important point of common ground from a Christian perspective about questions on suffering is that we see God ultimately has victory over suffering. And even now, as we live in a dying world, as we are confronted by the effects of sin and death, God is somehow able to act in redemption, to set aright that which is upside down. Even when the Son of God humbles himself and takes on flesh, when he is mocked and beaten and spit on and cursed, when he is unjustly condemned, when the Living Word who created all things is put to death on a cross by the hands of created humans…even then—especially then—the one who judges justly is at work to bring life from the dead. And this is the hope in which we rejoice.