What movie or TV series have I watched more than five times? There are likely a few contenders, but one stands above the rest: Chariots of Fire. This film entered my life in the 1980s, a golden era when I was in the prime of my youth—running track and cross country, chasing fleeting romances, and beginning to uncover the presence of God in my world. Yes, the girls often stole my focus, but through it all, I was discovering who God was to me, a quiet awakening beneath the clamor of adolescence.
The film captivated me then, and it still does now. Its score—revolutionary for its time—sweeps me back to those days with every note. I can still see the runners, their feet pounding through the shallow, salty waves along the shore, the vast sea stretching out like a promise. The crisp air, the rhythm of their strides, the unspoken call to something greater—it spoke to me. It was more than a race; it was a summons to rise above oneself, to run for country, for self, for God, or for whatever burns brightest in your soul. As a young man, I found my place in that vision: individual in my talents, yet woven into the fabric of a team. That was what I craved, and Chariots of Fire gave it to me.
Decades later, the film remains a mirror to my life’s journey—its triumphs and its trials. It carries me back to moments both radiant and shadowed, letting me savor the fullness of where I’ve been. I can recite countless lines by heart, weaving them into my days even now, but one stands eternal: Eric Liddell’s quiet confession to his sister as he wrestles between his Olympic dreams and his missionary calling. “I believe God made me for a purpose,” he says, “but He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.” That line is more than dialogue—it’s a hymn. It captures Liddell’s unshakable faith, his belief that his speed was a divine gift, and that in the act of running, he touched the joy of his Creator.
That sentiment has echoed through my own life. I’ve chased many things—some I’ve conquered, others I’ve lost. Looking back, the pursuits that endure, the ones that still stir my soul, are those where I felt God at the center. I’m no saint; I’ve stumbled often, and I’ve reveled in pleasures that had little to do with the divine. Some of those joys were immense, but they’ve faded with time, as fleeting as youth itself. Yet the moments wrapped in what I can only call “God’s pleasure” remain vivid, powerful enough to bring tears to my eyes at a mere whisper of memory. For that, I am profoundly grateful.
Chariots of Fire is more than a film I’ve watched over five times—it’s a companion to my life, a testament to purpose, faith, and the beauty of running toward something greater. And each time I return to it, I feel that pleasure anew.
For fun, a few more from my five-plus-watched list: Seinfeld, with its endless wit; Nacho Libre, a quirky delight; The Princess Bride, timeless and true—“As you wish!” And, oh, the Disney films—especially anything with princesses. Those hold a special place in my heart, tied to my two lovely, beautiful daughters, my own princesses, who even now sometimes call me “Daddy” and melt me to my core. Monty Python, too, with its absurd brilliance, and so many others that flicker through my memory. Each one’s a treasure, revisited time and again.
BB Grey--musings 
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