For fitness fanatics, fitness fakers, and everyone in between, the searching questions and robust exegesis of Theological Fitness contain a workout plan for the soul. Writing about 1 Pet. 3:15, Byrd explains: “There are two qualifications of fitness here: knowing God’s truth, and the patient endurance of suffering for the sake of it. This requires conditioning, strengthening, and training. Just as our bodies need continual practice in any kind of physical training, so do our minds in theological growth.” (p. 85)

I hate to exercise. So the irony was not lost on me when I recently found myself sweating on the elliptical at my local Planet Fitness (“The Judgement Free Zone”) reading Aimee Byrd’s new release,Theological Fitness.

Regarding physical fitness, I fall squarely into the fitness faker category—high metabolism, non-competitive, and sweat-avoidant—and I initially wasn’t convinced the 188 pages of Byrd’s book would hold my attention for the length of several trips to the gym. To be sure, for a non-exerciser, Theological Fitness sometimes reads a bit like a science fiction novel; every turn of the page reveals a new world: sit-ups, hammer curls, nun chucks, and something called “weighted-side-plank-T-stand-pushups” (p. 82). I don’t even want to know.

But Byrd is an excellent writer, and her alternate universe of physical fitness is paralleled in the familiar spiritual fitness illustrations used in Scripture, particularly in the book of Hebrews. Byrd’s grand thesis is to encourage her readers to pursue the kind of tough, conditioned, and thorough fitness in their spiritual lives that they might desire in their physical bodies. Byrd writes: “Faith is a gift of God, but faith is a fighting grace. Theological fitness, then, refers to that persistent fight to exercise our faith by actively engaging in the gospel truth revealed in God’s Word.” (p. 16, italics original) And this is going to require some sweat.

Like a good coach, Byrd is not apologetic about the discipline required to exercise faith. She is encouraging, but she doesn’t offer any magic bullets or quick fixes: “[The Christian life] involves struggle and wrestling, unceasing warfare, and many bruises. If we despair under the hard blows, we will not yield the peaceable fruit of righteousness. Like a good martial arts instructor, we need to encourage one another not become weary under the blows.” (p. 68) Her perspective is refreshing in a Christian culture that often lacks true grit, and Theological Fitness would make an excellent basis for a mentoring relationship or a book study.

One of the illustrations I found most compelling was Byrd’s description of a women’s self-defense class she attended. In the session, the students were asked to get out their purses and find whatever items might be useful as weapons if they needed to practice some real-world self-defense. The instructor then taught the women to use their keys, pens, and magazines as tools for a fight. Everyday objects became defensive essentials, but woe to the woman whose purse contained only a used Kleenex or a tube of Chap Stick. The things we carry with us can make the difference between life and death. Refocusing on our life-long spiritual fight, Byrd then asks her readers, “What’s in your theological bag?” (p. 88)

For fitness fanatics, fitness fakers, and everyone in between, the searching questions and robust exegesis of Theological Fitness contain a workout plan for the soul. Writing about 1 Pet. 3:15, Byrd explains: “There are two qualifications of fitness here: knowing God’s truth, and the patient endurance of suffering for the sake of it. This requires conditioning, strengthening, and training. Just as our bodies need continual practice in any kind of physical training, so do our minds in theological growth.” (p. 85)

I guess it’s time to exercise.

Megan Hill is a PCA pastor’s wife and regular contributor to The Aquila Report.  This article first appeared at Sunday Women. It is used by permission.