There are certain activities in life that reveal the full complexity of the human soul.
Golf is one of them.
Now, at first glance, golf appears wonderfully peaceful.
Green grass.
Blue sky.
Birdsong drifting gently through the trees.
One imagines a leisurely stroll through creation punctuated by occasional moments of athletic competence.
And sometimes, very occasionally, this even happens.
But golf also possesses a unique ability to humble a person with startling efficiency.
One can stand on the tee box feeling entirely confident and spiritually centred…
…and seconds later be searching for a golf ball somewhere deep in vegetation not previously known to exist on the course.
Grace abounds.
Now, I should confess that I genuinely love golf.
Not because I am especially good at it.
This has never been the primary attraction.
In fact, golf may be one of the few activities where people willingly pay money to become intermittently frustrated outdoors for four consecutive hours.
And yet we return with astonishing optimism.
Because somewhere beneath the occasional disastrous shot lies something deeply restorative.
Golf forces a person to slow down.
You walk.
You breathe.
You spend several uninterrupted hours moving through creation instead of merely hurrying past it.
And in a world increasingly shaped by screens and schedules and endless notifications, there is something almost holy about that.
Now, one of the greatest spiritual gifts of golf is that it repeatedly places human beings into direct contact with beauty they did not create and cannot control.
The early morning mist rising off the fairway.
The sunlight breaking through trees.
The astonishing stillness of a pond before someone inevitably hits a golf ball into it.
Creation surrounds you constantly.
And if you are paying attention—even imperfectly—it becomes difficult not to feel grateful.
Now, I should also admit that golf teaches humility in ways few spiritual disciplines can rival.
There are moments when one strikes the ball beautifully and begins briefly entertaining visions of future athletic greatness.
Then comes the next hole.
The game restores balance rather quickly.
But perhaps that too contains spiritual wisdom.
Because Ordinary Time is not about perfection.
It is about attentiveness.
Learning to receive ordinary moments with gratitude rather than constantly striving for flawless performance.
And golf—perhaps surprisingly—is rather good at teaching this.
You cannot replay the last shot forever.
At some point, you simply walk forward and play the next one.
Honestly, there may be an entire theology of grace hidden somewhere in that reality alone.
Monday is generally my golfing day.
I usually gather with a group of longtime friends at Grand Valley Golf Club. There are often twelve of us altogether, which means that one is never golfing entirely in private.
There is always a gallery of friends on the tee behind you and another on the green ahead of you, all fully prepared to observe — and generously comment upon — whatever unfolds on the hole you are currently attempting to survive.
It is wonderfully good-natured.
Usually very funny.
And entirely rooted in friendship.
Now, last summer, after more than forty years of golfing, I accomplished something I had never previously managed.
I shot my first hole in one.
For those familiar with the course, it happened on the seventh hole, which is one of the more difficult par threes around.
I stepped onto the tee block and, for reasons known only to divine providence and perhaps temporary atmospheric alignment, struck the ball absolutely perfectly.
It sailed through the air with astonishing confidence.
Straight at the pin.
Now, this alone was already highly suspicious.
The ball landed on the green, rolled toward the hole… and then disappeared over a rise in the slope.
At which point I naturally assumed the shot had continued over the back of the green and disappeared into the rough somewhere behind it.
Because, historically speaking, that is the far more familiar pattern within my golfing ministry.
So when we arrived at the green, I did not even pause there.
I walked directly behind it and began searching through the taller grass looking for my golf ball.
Eventually one of my friends called out:
“Don… look in the hole.”
And there it was.
Now, I can only describe what followed by saying there was considerable rejoicing.
Cheers erupted from the tee behind us.
The group ahead began applauding.
Somewhere, I suspect, angels briefly considered taking up golf themselves.
It was glorious.
And naturally, after such a moment, I stepped confidently onto the next tee carrying all the quiet self-assurance of someone preparing for the Masters Tournament.
Whereupon I immediately topped the ball approximately thirty yards.
Fame, as it turns out, is a fleeting thing.
And honestly, there may be spiritual wisdom there too.
Because life has a remarkable way of keeping human beings grounded.
Moments of brilliance happen.
Moments of embarrassment happen immediately afterward.
And still the game continues.
You pick up your club.
You laugh at yourself.
You walk down the fairway with your friends.
And grace quietly follows along beside you.
Because much of life unfolds exactly this way.
Mistakes are made.
Plans go sideways.
Perfect outcomes remain elusive.
And still, God gently invites us onward.
Take the next step.
Swing again.
Keep walking.
Now, I realize there are people who approach golf with tremendous seriousness.
They track statistics.
Study mechanics.
Purchase equipment possessing the approximate technological sophistication of small spacecraft.
I admire these people.
But personally, I have increasingly come to value golf less as athletic achievement and more as a long walk through beauty interrupted occasionally by minor emotional crises.
And perhaps that is why I love it.
Because somewhere around the seventh fairway, after enough fresh air and enough quiet moments watching the wind move through the trees, the soul itself begins to loosen slightly.
Worries soften.
Perspective returns.
And gratitude quietly rises again.
Not because everything is perfect.
But because creation has a remarkable ability to remind us that grace still surrounds us.
Even if the ball is currently in the sand trap.
Again.
Alleluia.
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Companion Prayer
Creator God,
Thank you for the beauty that surrounds us.
Teach us to slow down,
to walk attentively through your creation,
and to receive ordinary moments with gratitude.
When life humbles us,
give us grace to begin again.
When worries overwhelm us,
restore our perspective through beauty and stillness.
And in all the simple joys of life,
draw us closer to you.
Amen.