“When archaeologists discover the missing arms of Venus de Milo, they will find she was wearing boxing gloves.” — John Barrymore

Venus de Milo – Where are your arms, hands, gloves? You are so beautiful, so vulnerable. How did you lose the signs of your competence? As if a woman could not be beautiful and boisterous, curvaceous and competitive.

Venus, who were you fighting? Was it one who, like you, chose to be there, agitated to be there? Or were you being humiliated and punished, the outcome impossible to slip or counter? I suspect you were punching out of your weight class, relying upon practiced reflexive movements, not brute force. I wish more than anything to know who trained you. That person was the game changer. It is as trainers that we have maximum influence for good or for ill. It is as trainers that we support the status quo or quicken its demise.

Venus, tell me, did you lose the signs of your competence because of envy, victory, defeat, reverence? I can imagine each of these as possibilities. Relics of the saints were collected, divided, and transported over hundreds of years and hundreds of miles. Did your arms, hands and gloves crumble into dust of their own accord? If they were helped by antagonists, may it give you sweet comfort to know that some of us see them still. Your spirit lives.

That is how I began a sermon on boxing and spirituality almost three and a half years ago. Now, from the vantage point of today, I will recap some observations I made then and share updates in this “Boxing and Spirituality Rematch.”

Boxing is spiritual in the same way that any exercise is spiritual. Through exercise I learned that soreness is not pain. Exercise (physical, mental, or emotional) is soreness, not pain. Re-framing “pain” has been part of my spiritual growth.

Exercise is about embodiment. Embodiment is not all about aches, pains, and limitations, though aches, pains, and limitations are virtually inevitable for all of us, sooner or later. Embodiment is also about joyful stretching, twisting, running, jumping, leaping, and sweating. Embodiment is also the mind having a chance to stretch, twist, run, jump, leap, and sweat by engagement with ideas. Through exercise, I learned that strength, balance, and coordination all improve with practice. Improvement is its own reward. That goes for spiritual improvement, as well as athletic improvement. Victory in a contest is icing on the cake. Pay attention to the process, and let go of attachment to outcome. I strive to approach spiritual life that way, too.

Boxing is spiritual in the way that any sport non-traditional for a particular gender is spiritual. Exploring non-traditional ways of moving expand the realm of possibility for everyone. The unfolding of talents and abilities in anyone is cause for rejoicing.

Boxing is spiritual in the same way that any of the martial arts are spiritual. Having the means to defend oneself makes it less likely (not more likely) that a person will get into a fight outside the ring. Someone trained in boxing or martial arts has nothing to prove and generally cannot be goaded into physical stupidity. Taking boxing lessons has largely cured me of wallowing in a “poor me” attitude on account of my bad eyes and bad bunions. So what? I have come to see. This bunionny, nearsighted body can do amazing things. Spiritual bunions and spiritual bad eyes need not hold us back either.

Then what is spiritually significant about boxing, in particular? Three years ago, I said that learning to take a punch was the most important thing that I have learned. Life batters us and bruises us, I said. Whether the battering and bruising is by other people directly or by forces such as the economy more generally, we take punches in life. Through boxing, I have learned that bruises heal. Scratches heal. Scars are decoration, not ugliness.

I have come to trust in my body’s ability to heal and my mind’s ability to heal from what feel like assaults against the self. Boxing has helped me recalibrate my internal spectrum of distress, and that feels spiritually profound. Before, I was like a hothouse flower, ready to call 911 with every paper cut. That is no longer true. It is helpful in congregational life, as well, to distinguish between the mildly annoying and the really distressing.

While distinguishing between the mildly annoying and the really distressing is helpful, indeed, I no longer believe that learning to take a punch is the most important thing that I’ve learned from boxing. Here are few lessons that are ascending the ranking as taking a punch is descending the ranking.

There is something to be said for having a “humility generator” in our lives. Three years ago, I reported that boxing revealed possibilities. Today I report that boxing has revealed limitations – and that is OK. Making peace with our limitations and developing a genuine sense of humility is important spiritual work. Week in and week out, I have gone to the gym, learned principles, followed instructions, had the right attitude, and some days it all came together and paid off.
Other days, my mind knew the objective and how to achieve it, my attitude was positive, and it seemed like my body belonged to someone else! It certainly was not doing what *I* wanted it to do. Generally speaking, I have been blessed to be able to grasp a new principle and apply it fairly readily. Not so with boxing. It has taught me that you can try and try and try – and sometimes it just does not click.

“My people” are the people who try and try and try – and what is hoped for and worked for just does not come together. Boxing has taught me the spiritual value of failure with grace and persistence despite failure. Boxing is a humility generator, and humility is a virtue for a reason. Humility makes room for the “other.” Humility does not use up all the oxygen in the room. Humility is not high maintenance. Humility maintains itself. There are few personal qualities as irritating as false humility and few qualities as welcoming as genuine humility.

Other more recent lessons learned . . . It is easy to get caught up in someone else’s rhythm. It is easy to lose touch with our own rhythm. We lose touch with our own rhythm to our detriment. This is the boxing experience that brought that home for me: For about two months, I have sparred twice a week for half an hour each session with a trainer. I am always decently winded after each round, even though a round for me at my age is only two minutes.

My trainer started varying the number of punches he threw. As the number of punches he threw increased and the number of punches I threw decreased, I got more winded, not less winded. It makes no sense! I was getting more winded as I was making less effort. How could that be? My trainer pointed out that as he was being more energetic, my breathing was increasing to match his breathing, even though I did not need to get so ramped up.

Simply being face to face with someone who was moving energetically increased my anxiety and my rate of breathing and my feeling of being winded. Spiritually speaking, it does not have to be so. We can be around someone with a different rhythm and remain true to our own.

Another lesson . . . I am prone to fighting the last battle. I have noticed that I am not alone in that habit. Fighting the last battle is a recipe for failure. What matters in boxing (and in life) is creatively responding to the current situation, not trying to prevent the recurrence of some past mistake. For example, after one sparring round, the trainer said, “You always waited for me to go first. If you want to go, go.”

In the next round, I took his feedback to heart. Afterwards, my trainer said, “You always went first. Don’t do that.” Not only might you wear yourself out, you risk giving your opponent too much information about your habits, making it easy for him or her to counterpunch.

How exasperating for someone like me who is stronger on rule following than improvisation! Yet the point is well taken. Accept feedback. Welcome feedback. Request feedback. It is just that we are not necessarily served well by reacting by rote to the most recent thing we have heard.
Speaking of opponents . . . Three years ago I underestimated the value of a worthy opponent. In a boxing context, by “worthy” I mean someone fair and motivated and appropriate in terms of gender, age, weight, and experience. We need opponents to help us develop, to help us see the flaws in our habits, to strive for excellence.

In spiritual terms, my development is more likely to be sparked by engaging with a worthy opponent than by hanging out like-minded friends. Worthy opponents force us to keep our eyes open. Keep your friends close and your opponents closer – unless you have a longer reach than your opponent. 😉

Those were a few of the recent lessons from the boxing and spirituality rematch. I will conclude with a few lessons that have stood the test of time. There are places in life for individual effort and places in life for collaborative effort. In positions such as ministry, which are primarily about collaborative effort, the spirit needs outlets for individual competition. Without healthy outlets for competition, competitive impulses can come out sideways. The converse is true, as well. In positions characterized by substantial individualized competition, such as sales positions, the spirit needs outlets for collaboration. Congregational life provides opportunities for individual effort and collaborative effort.

With skill and luck, we can punch outside our weight class. We can have disproportionate impact. Our Unitarian Universalist Association president Peter Morales has observed that Unitarian Universalism punches outside of its class. We have an impact disproportionate to our size. That is occasion for spiritual humility and spiritual courage.

Finally, what I know is that you meet the nicest people while boxing – the trainers, the other boxers, and the bystanders who say encouraging words. We can leave our comfort zones and find rich rewards. May the world be a better place because we are out there. May we exert ourselves regularly – physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. May our exertions benefit others, as well as ourselves. May it be so!