I did my best to wipe the sweat off with the sleeve of my right shoulder, my hands were otherwise occupied above my head holding an M-1 Garand .30 caliber semi-automatic rifle at full extension; one hand near the trigger-guard and the other on the front hand guard. This nearly 11 pounds of steel, leather and wood found itself hanging precariously in the air just a foot or so above the top of my head as my exhausted arms buckled, elbows shook and the sweat of nearly two hours of extensive exercise poured down my face and into my eyes. I'm a brand new cadet, and this is week two of what would be over three years of attention to detail, drill, classes, and of course... lots and lots of exercise on my path to becoming an Air Force officer.

Being a cadet at my school's Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corps (AFROTC) program wasn't always brutal or difficult, but that particular late August evening was special; that night we were learning the importance of doing your best for your buddy, your teammate, and your friends in combat. I had joined an elite group of cadets who aside from the required classroom work, weekly drill and constant drudgery of early morning "fun-runs" needed to become an officer in the United States Air Force, had also willingly dedicated themselves to additional evenings of extended training sessions known as 'Candidate Training Nights.' This specialized group within the AFROTC program was not mandatory, it was completely voluntary and offered only one very unique thing to its members; brotherhood. You joined it because you wanted to be part of something that pushed you to excel, offered you a chance to become more than you were before, and allowed you to be known amongst all those who had come before you and would follow behind you.

I should take a moment to explain something; my views on life, on how we should approach God and on how we should strive together as Christians were largely molded during nights like the one I am about to share here. For better or worse, these events made me understand who I am and how I fit in the world around me. I say that to say, these moments were a pinnacle in my life and I share them in the hopes of affording you the opportunity to learn from them as I did.

Another cadet-trainer was yelling at me, and for the life of me I can't remember all that he was saying. In that moment though, as I held that hunk of metal over my head, it didn't matter because what I did remember was what we were told before the exercise even started; "All of you will stand in a line. The lead man will hold this M-1 Garand above his head as he runs around the track. The rest of you will be doing an exercise of my choosing until he gets back, at which point he will run to the front of the line and hand off the rifle to the next man who will then run with the rifle above his head around the track. The first man will then fall into the back of the line. All of you will complete at least one lap with this rifle above your head while the rest of your teammates stay here and do what I tell them to do. The faster you run, the less your buddies have to suffer. If the rifle drops below your chin as you run, you must stop until you feel as though you can keep the rifle over your head again."

Simple, elegant, and dubiously precise in its design to illicit both pain and comradery among those who partook. What seemed like no problem for a pack of fit men and women quickly turned into one of the most gruelingly difficult and poignant exercises of my life. The pressure and pain was constant in our large group as one-by-one we ran. The key point that we all took away from this exercise was this; the longer I take to complete my task (run a lap,) the longer my friends had to suffer (do more PT). Sure I could take my time, walk the full length of the track, take a couple breaks and put the rifle down for as long as I wanted... but when I did, I was burdened with the knowledge that all my friends who were enduring a cruel amount of PT were put through just that much more suffering because of me. Put another way, the more selfish I was with my time, the more excuses I made up, the more pain I caused to others whom I cared for.

If you've spent any time in the military, you've probably heard the term 'No Excuse.' This phrase was uttered usually at a moment of great duress when you were faced with the overwhelming realization that no matter what you said, you were wrong. Offered generally as a means to say, "I messed up" or "I cannot give a reason for the lack of my correct action," the term 'No Excuse' was given when you were being charged with wrong doing of some sort and you had to make an account for yourself. By saying 'No Excuse,' you acknowledged that you could have done something different, you could have tried harder, but you simply didn't. It is taught to our men and women in uniform as a means of instilling the great responsibility that is entrusted to them; that they have No Excuse for failure as failure is not an option.

While sweat was stinging my eyes and I found myself running as fast I could around the track with this rifle over my head, I remembered all that had been told to me. I had no excuse not to run as fast as I could push myself to go, no excuse not to try as hard as I could to lessen the suffering put on my friends as it was in my power to lessen, no excuse to give anything less than my very best. This moment was mine to own, mine to execute, and mine to regret forever if I messed it up. Simply put, I had no excuse not to do my best. I could be lethargic... but that would be at the great cost of knowing I was condemning others as I took my time, or didn't do it at all.

So I ran as hard as I could - not for myself, but for my brothers and my sisters. Knowing that they suffered less when I did my best created a very strong bond between us that lasted for years afterward.

Christians today are faced with two very starkly contrasted options in how they choose to worship; come in and fill a seat, or go forward and serve. Many times we call the folks who just come in and fill a seat "Pew Packers" as a tongue-in-cheek way to acknowledge their lack of actual commitment. Often you can count on a pew-packer to be generally late or tardy, give only what is necessary so as not to draw attention, know others on a very tentative basis and drift out of the building directly after services are over. A pew-packer makes up excuses when asked to do work and will disappear if they think that their comfortable seat may be in jeopardy of being earned through any kind of commitment in the Lord's Kingdom.

I personally don't like the term 'pew-packer' because it denotes an idea that there is a difference between someone who doesn't really show up and someone who commits to working just a little bit in the church. In my mind there is no difference between someone who shows up simply for appearances' sake, and someone who attends church regularly but gives minimal effort and shies away from making any discernable change to their life that would pull them closer to Christ. The pew-packer is synonymous with the "Lukewarm Christian," with the "Comfortable Christian," and the undedicated Christian. They all give less than what they could and the Lord speaks in very harsh terms toward this kind of Christian in Revelation 3 while speaking to the Church in Laodicea; "So then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth (v. 16)."

What God is saying here is that we have to choose what kind of Christian we want to be. When we are offered the chance to do good work, we must do it! There is no excuse for our actions otherwise and being on the fence about it is as bad, if not worse than not showing up at all! An excuse is an excuse; it is a place holder for the truth and it is a lie. Anytime we as Christians put something else between us and the work we are commanded to do (James 2:17) it is an excuse, it is a lie, and we throw ourselves in allegiance with the prince of lies. We even go as far as deceiving ourselves into thinking we are validated in our excuses.

As I ran around that track, exhausted, broken and near collapse, I can tell you I could have come up with a dozen excuses not to complete that lap. My back hurt, I was dizzy, my arms were like jelly, I couldn't see straight because of the sweat that was in my eyes, but none of it would have mattered. I had no excuse. If I didn't do it, others suffered.

Christian, you are called to great purpose (Matt 5:13) and you have work laid out before you (Luke 10:2). But if you only offer up excuses when commanded to do God's work, even what you have will be taken away (Matt 25:29). If you value your Christian brothers and sisters, go out and tend to their needs (James 2:15-16). Trust that if God brings you to it, He will bring you through it (Eph. 6:10; Phil 4:13).

There is no excuse for not doing everything we can for God. And when you offer an excuse, you don't just hurt yourself, you hurt me and every other Christian who's putting forth an honest effort for you. There was no excuse for me while I ran; there can be no excuse for the Christian whom God entrusts with great work.