God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.

When Eric Liddell, the “Flying Scotsman,” declared, “God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure,” he gave voice to one of the most profound testimonies ever spoken about the union of faith and human endeavor. These words reveal that true greatness does not lie merely in victory, nor in human applause, but in aligning one’s gifts with divine purpose. For when a man uses the talents given to him by God, he becomes more than a competitor—he becomes a vessel of the sacred, a living hymn sung with motion and breath.

The origin of this saying lies in Liddell’s story during the 1924 Paris Olympics, later immortalized in the film Chariots of Fire. Liddell, a devout Christian and missionary, had refused to run the 100 meters—his best event—because its heats were scheduled on a Sunday, the Sabbath he would not break. Many mocked him, yet he stood firm in his conviction. Instead, he competed in the 400 meters, a race for which he was not favored. There, running not for self but for God, he stormed down the track and captured gold. In that victory, his words became living truth: speed itself was a gift, and in using it, he felt the smile of Heaven upon him.

The ancients, too, understood this holy union between gift and purpose. The Greeks believed that the gods endowed heroes with strength or skill, and that to use these gifts with excellence was to honor the divine. The Romans taught that virtue meant living in harmony with nature and duty. Liddell’s words echo these eternal philosophies, but with the light of his Christian faith: when he ran, it was not vanity, but worship. Every stride became a prayer, every race a liturgy of motion.

Consider the countless athletes who have sought victory only for personal glory. Their triumphs, though shining for a moment, soon fade into dust. But Liddell’s story endures because it was not only about winning, but about purpose. When he ran, he embodied the truth that human gifts are sacred trusts, meant not for selfish gain but for the glory of God and the service of others. His later life, spent as a missionary in China until his death in a Japanese internment camp during World War II, proves that his faith was not bound to the track—it was the essence of his being.

The lesson is clear: every man and woman has been given gifts—some of speed, some of wisdom, some of artistry, some of compassion. These gifts are not accidents of birth, but divine endowments. To neglect them is ingratitude; to misuse them is corruption. But to embrace them, to cultivate them, to pour them out with humility and joy, is to feel, as Liddell felt, God’s pleasure.

What then must we do? First, discover the gifts within us, those talents that stir the soul and bring life to others. Second, dedicate them not only to personal gain but to service, excellence, and love. Third, live with courage and conviction, as Liddell did, refusing to compromise faith and values even when pressured by the world. For when we use our gifts with integrity, we align ourselves with something eternal, and in that alignment, we taste true joy.

Thus, Eric Liddell’s words endure across generations: “God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.” They are not only the creed of an athlete, but a command to us all: to take the gifts we have been given and use them with courage, humility, and reverence. For in that use lies the secret of fulfillment—not fleeting applause, but the eternal smile of the One who gave us breath, strength, and purpose. Let us then run our own races with faith, so that in our striving, we too may feel His pleasure.