Endurance on the Course of Marriage

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

If you happened to catch the U.S. Open Golf Championship this past week, you witnessed something remarkable—not just an athletic competition, but a powerful metaphor for life and, more specifically, for marriage.

The tournament was held at Oakmont, a course legendary for its brutal difficulty. It’s not designed to entertain or to flatter—it’s designed to test. The greens were lightning fast, the fairways were narrow, and the rough was thick enough to swallow dreams. Even the world’s best golfers, with years of training and countless victories behind them, struggled. Only one player finished under par. The rest—gifted, determined, seasoned athletes—walked away over par, humbled by the course.

And yet, they endured.

That word—endurance—is at the heart of what I want to reflect on today. Because Oakmont, with all its sand traps and struggles, bears more than a passing resemblance to another kind of course: marriage.

At the beginning of a marriage, the course ahead often looks smooth. The sun is shining. The greens are clear. The first tee shot sails with promise. There’s joy, laughter, and anticipation. But just as in golf, the further you walk down the fairway of life, the more you begin to see its challenges. Illness may come. Finances tighten. Children require constant energy. There may be misunderstandings, frustrations, or unexpected losses.

And like Oakmont, marriage will, at times, test you—not to break you, but to strengthen your love, to deepen your commitment, to call forth something greater than fleeting happiness: holiness.

St. Paul, in his letter to the Romans, writes:

“We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Romans 5:3–4).

Endurance in marriage doesn’t mean just staying together under the same roof. It means growing together, praying together, forgiving each other over and over again. It means holding hands even when you don’t agree, and saying, “I still choose you,” even when the course is hard. Like a golfer stuck in a bunker, who doesn’t walk away but regroups, refocuses, and tries again, married couples are called to keep going—shot after shot, day after day—trusting in the grace that brought them together in the first place.

Let’s be honest: the culture around us doesn’t always support this vision. In fact, it often whispers the opposite: “If things get hard, walk away. If it isn’t perfect, try someone else.” But Jesus doesn’t call us to perfection. He calls us to faithfulness.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus reminds us that “what God has joined together, let no one separate” (Matthew 19:6). That isn’t just a moral statement—it’s a statement of divine truth. Marriage is not a contract; it’s a covenant. And covenants are not based on feelings but on sacrificial love—the kind of love Christ showed on the cross.

When you stood before the altar on your wedding day, you made a vow not just to your spouse, but to God. And in return, God gave you something the world can’t give: grace—a spiritual gift that strengthens your union, even when human strength fails.

That grace is your “spiritual caddie.” Think of it that way. You don’t play the course of marriage alone. The Lord walks with you. When you’re tired, He steadies your hands. When you’re confused, He guides your aim. When you’re in the rough, He offers forgiveness, healing, and a way forward. And just like a good caddie who’s seen every hole and knows every slope, Jesus knows what lies ahead—and He never leaves your side.

You see, the couple who stays married for 30, 40, 50 years is not a couple who never struggled. They are a couple who learned to fall forward—together. They didn’t achieve under-par perfection. They just kept showing up. They forgave. They grew. They matured. And they loved—deeply, sacrificially, and enduringly.

One of the things that made this year’s U.S. Open so compelling was not how pretty the golf looked—it wasn’t. It was messy, frustrating, and at times painful to watch. But it was real. And the winner didn’t win because he avoided trouble. He won because he kept going. He had the same rough, the same wind, the same fast greens as everyone else. But he endured.

And so it is in marriage. You don’t endure because your marriage is easier than others. You endure because you have chosen love over ego, commitment over convenience, Christ over comfort.

And if you are single or widowed or divorced, this message still speaks to your vocation. Because endurance is not only for marriage—it’s for every Christian life. In your own unique journey, you are called to remain faithful, to trust God when things are unclear, and to seek holiness even in hardship.

To those who are struggling in their marriages right now: don’t give up. Even the best players find themselves in the rough. It doesn’t mean the round is over. God has not abandoned you. Seek His guidance. Talk to one another. Get support. Pray. The grace is there.

To those who are newly married: treasure the journey. The most beautiful fairways lie ahead, but also some tough holes. Be kind. Be patient. Be honest. And always, always pray together.

To those who have walked many years with a spouse by your side: thank you. Your witness is a gift to the Church. You show us what enduring love looks like—wrinkled hands still clasped, hearts still open, faith still strong.

As we leave today, let us remember: marriage is not a sprint. It’s not a one-day round. It’s a lifetime course—and like Oakmont, it will test you. But with grace, humility, and faith, it will also form you into something more beautiful than you could ever imagine.

May each of us—whatever our vocation—find the courage to endure, the faith to trust, and the love to remain faithful. And may the day come when, after walking the full course together, we stand before the Lord, hand in hand with our beloved, and hear the words that make it all worthwhile:

“Well done, good and faithful servants. Enter into the joy of your Master.”

— Deacon Dan Ritchie