Through it all, Eric did his best to remain humble as he polished his oratory skills with each new speaking opportunity. He engaged people with the prospect of faith in Christ and how that might factor into their lives and futures.
During the fall of 1923, Eric had to make preparations for the VIII Olympiad, which was swiftly approaching. Despite his valued contributions to Scotland’s international rugby team, he decided to sacrifice his rugby play and focus exclusively on his running regimen. Knowing that he was the strong favorite to win the Olympic gold medal in the 100 meters, he decided that training for the sport and the race deserved his complete focus. With so much on the line, he didn’t want to risk potential injury, especially with the hopeful eyes of the nation on him.
During this time, everything in Eric’s life ran smoothly and efficiently. He enjoyed all the things prized by the superficial—athletic superiority, fame and adoring fans, youthfulness and health, respect and admiration from his peers, and a bright future. Yet as a man of faith, contentment reached its height with a sense of purpose and security in the belief that he was accomplishing what God had assigned him.
And then—just as everything seemed to be going well for the young Scottish athlete—news turned Eric’s world on its head.
The opening heats for the 100 meters in the Olympics fell on a Sunday.
By this time, Eric had literally told tens of thousands of people about the role of Christ in his life and the importance of observing the Sabbath. How could he possibly compete on the Lord’s Day, going against his own word—not to mention the Word of God—and throw sand in the eyes of everyone who had listened to him in the process? The very fabric of his integrity was at stake.
And he knew it.
What he didn’t know, however, was that a single decision would send an otherwise humble man to the heights of fame, not only in his lifetime but for nearly a century afterward.
[5] David McCasland, Eric Liddell: Pure Gold: A New Biography of the Olympic Champion Who Inspired Chariots of Fire (Grand Rapids, MI: Discovery House, 2001), 71.
[6] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 44.
CHAPTER 5
OLYMPIC MIND GAMES
Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.
Exodus 20:8
Late Autumn/Early Winter 1923
Eric stood at the sitting room window, staring out. The land he loved lay beyond the street of the town house he called home. He had not been born into this land; rather, it was the land of his forefathers, the one that had adopted him early in his life and that embraced him as a mother nurtures a child.
She had been good to him, providing him friends and an education, places to strengthen his faith and tracks to fortify his abilities in races and games. She had trained him, nourished him, adored him.
And now . . . was it any wonder she had turned on him?
“Your decision not to run on the Sabbath has farther-reaching consequences than national pride, Eric,” D. P. said from a chair behind him in the sitting room, the same chair where, only months earlier, he had come to Eric asking him to join him in Armadale.
Eric crossed his arms and felt every muscle in his back tense. “How’s that?”
“The people are nearly out for blood—you were their shining hope in the aftermath of the war.”
Eric flinched. “I didn’t ask to be. I never—”
“No,” D. P. agreed. “No, you didn’t. But I daresay more than you imagine is at stake.”
Eric turned and kicked at the fraying carpet with the toe of his shoe. “I know.” He didn’t look at his friend. He didn’t have to. He knew instinctively the overwhelming concern that had worked its way across D. P.’s face.
“The more tarnished your image becomes, my boy, the more negative the impact it could have on the campaigns.”
Eric sighed deeply as he walked to the same chair he had sat in the previous spring. “What do you suggest then?”
Thomson chuckled as he shook his head. “I would never dream of trying to persuade you, Eric—though I’ve surely been propositioned to do so.” He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “I wouldn’t even be so presumptuous as to believe I could persuade you to change your mind. I only want you to understand the situation for those who have put their faith in you—”
“But I have put my faith in God,” Eric said, the resolution rising in his voice.
“Some are saying this is a type of publicity stunt.”
Eric’s hand twitched. “You know me better than that.”
D. P. chuckled again. “Ah, yes. Yes, I do, Eric. Your decision is based on principles from which you have never deviated. Not even by a hairsbreadth.”
Eric closed his eyes against the words, remembering the agitation of those who had demanded something more of him than he could give. To go along with them meant to turn his back on God—the God of the Sabbath and the God of his life. And he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t.
Eric’s eyes opened to find D. P. staring at him expectantly.
But Eric shook his head. “I will not run,” he said. “I will not.”
PERHAPS THE BIGGEST MYTH surrounding Eric Liddell’s life involves one highly scrutinized episode: that he deliberated over withdrawing from the 100 meters up until the week of the Olympic Games and that by serendipitous fortune, an eleventh-hour opportunity presented itself for Eric to run in the 400 meters, thereby paving the way to glory. What sounds like a Hollywood story indeed is presented beautifully, but inaccurately, in the critically acclaimed film Chariots of Fire
