There is a lovely invention in the game of golf that I am convinced was inspired by the Holy Spirit, even if it isn’t recognized by the Rules of Golf: the mulligan.
For the non-golfer, let me explain. A mulligan is the blessed reprieve after your first drive slices so spectacularly that it lands three fairways over, frightening small animals and possibly invalidating your insurance coverage. In the spirit of Christian charity, your playing partners look at you, sigh deeply, and say: “Take another shot.”
I have to tell you though that in my usual golf group, there was one guy who was known to take a huge number of mulligans. Every shot he took that wasn’t good was quickly written off the score sheet. He would come in after hacking up the course, and proudly announce that he shot a 76, and we would all shake our heads. We instituted a new rule. Every mulligan cost a dollar toward the annual end of season banquet. It didn’t slow down his use of mulligans, but it saved us all a lot on the admission to the dinner.
Now, purists will tell you that a mulligan doesn’t exist in the official rulebook, that it’s cheating, that the honour of golf demands you play the ball where it lies—even if where it lies is in a pond that is now home to both your golf ball and your dignity. But I maintain that the mulligan is nothing less than a sacramental sign of grace.
Because let’s be honest: life is full of bad swings. We say the wrong word at the wrong time. We make decisions that land us in rougher patches than the groundskeepers at St. Andrews have ever seen. And when we survey the result, we want to stand there, head in hands, crying out like the Psalmist, “How long, O Lord?”
But then, comes grace. God, in infinite mercy, leans over like a kindly golf partner and says, “Take another shot.” That’s the heart of the Gospel: in Christ we are given a fresh start, not because we deserve it, but because God loves to give second chances. And God isn’t going to add a $1 rule for those fresh starts.
Now, the apostle Paul never wrote about mulligans (though I secretly believe he might have been quite handy with a seven-iron). But he did say, “If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; the old has passed away; see, everything has become new” (2 Corinthians 5:17). Which is essentially a theological way of saying: “That first swing doesn’t define you. Pick up another ball. Try again.”
Of course, as with mulligans, grace doesn’t mean we should make a habit of aiming for the water hazards of life. St. Paul also asked: “Should we continue in sin so that grace may abound? By no means!” In other words: don’t keep swinging wildly into the woods just because you’ve got a bag full of golf balls and a generous God. Grace is meant to transform us, not enable our recklessness.
And yet, I find comfort in knowing that the God we worship is not keeping score like a stern golf marshal with a clipboard. Instead, God delights in our learning, our growing, our fumbling swings. God is not tallying double bogeys but whispering encouragement: “Get up. Try again. You are loved.”
So perhaps the most Christian thing you can do on the golf course is not sink a long putt or land on the green in regulation, but to offer someone else a mulligan — to extend to them the grace that you yourself have received. Because that’s the real Kingdom game: not perfection, but forgiveness; not competition, but compassion; not final scores, but fresh starts.
And if, on some Saturday morning, you happen to find yourself with a driver in hand, squinting into the rising sun, may you hear not just the birdsong and the sound of sprinklers, but also the quiet, steady voice of God, saying to you what He has said to generations before: “Take another shot.”
Amen.
A Prayer for Mulligans and the God of Second Chances
Gracious God,
You are the Lord of fresh beginnings,
the Giver of second chances,
and the One who sees us not for our worst swings,
but for the children You call us to be.
When we drive our words and deeds
into the rough of selfishness,
or slice our intentions so far astray
that even the angels shake their heads,
You are there—
leaning over in mercy,
placing another ball before us,
and saying gently: “Try again.”
Teach us, O God,
not to fear our mistakes,
but to learn from them;
not to keep score against ourselves or others,
but to rejoice in grace freely given.
And give us courage, Lord,
to offer mulligans to those around us:
forgiveness where there has been failure,
patience where there has been frustration,
and compassion where there has been conflict.
For in Your Kingdom,
love is stronger than any out-of-bounds,
mercy runs deeper than any water hazard,
and Your grace is the true fairway home.
Through Jesus Christ,
our Saviour and Redeemer,
the Eternal Lord of the Second Chance.
Amen.