Powerlifters for Christ

I LIFT WEIGHTS and I am a Christian, which means every day I have to ignore the norms of what makes a “good Christian” and a “fit person” and instead follow my own compass and live how I choose. But what if I didn’t? What if instead, through the power of televangelism and protein powder, I turned into the pinnacle of both conservative Christianity and weightlifting culture: a white male Incredible Hulk, a powerlifter for Christ?

What follows is a dispatch from the alternate reality in which this transformation occurred. Look upon it with awe and dread. Don’t let this happen to you.

I AM A POWERLIFTER for Christ. My reps and my PRs ascend to the highest heaven. My delts are for the Divine, my pecs for the Promised Land, my triceps for the Trinity. (Truly I tell you, this makes my triceps confusing.)

Were you to ask: “Do you lift His name on high?” I would answer, “Yes, my brother in Christ, bring it in.” And we would embrace like true godly men, slapping each other’s backs to remind each other and ourselves that we are violent and therefore heterosexual.

It is written (upon my workout shirts): “Reps for Jesus,” “Hallowed Be Thy Gains,” “Jesus Lifts.” So, to you I must ask: Wherefore art thy gains?

Do you even lift your heavily muscled arms to the Lord? Do you use your enormous masculine physique to lift high His name? Do you sing praise to the Lord at all times in all places, belting praise music at the top of your lungs not just in church but at the gym, at the grocery store, at the library? Are you frequently kicked out of the library for your loud flexing? (Be not afraid, the “shh” from the librarians is the hiss of the serpent when trampled by fitness icon Arnold Schwarzenegger.)

Mine are the cooldowns of the Creator, the rest breaks of the Redeemer, the supersets of the Sanctifier. Yours are the Bulgarian split squats of Baal and the bicep curls of Barabbas. But enough alliteration, you nonresident of Swole Nation. You need buff white American Jesus, and you need him yesterday.

To quote the Apostle Paul: sucks to suck.

Is your muscular machismo of the Messiah on display throughout the day? Are your displays passé? Your rhymes fine? Your prayers extemporaneous instantaneous? And, like, what do the babes think? You got the correct number of babes? (Biblically, the correct number of babes is anywhere from one to 700.)

Do you show dominion over the Earth and all the babes and protein sources therein? Do you honor the women in your life by shouting “compliments” at them from across the street? Do you flex on ’em like Jesus did as he famously flexed so hard that the cross broke and he was lifted to Heaven? (As they say, they will know we are Christians by our lifts.)

We are but one muscular body with many parts. And what that obviously means is that everyone’s sufficiently swole except you, and it’s your responsibility to pull your own weight. Power of the individual! Bootstraps! One body, tons of voices, no substantive community care, and definitely no emotional support.

When you’re yoked? It’s easy. Your burden is light. Until then, go forth and conquer. Be the dominant Christian man you wish to see in the world.

WHOA! I SEE the attraction. More Sampson, less Shiprah. More lions, less lambs. High five, brother!