Touchdown Jesus
Here it comes. Wait for it….
First, I’d like to thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Ugh. Now get on with how YOU and YOUR TEAM won the Super Bowl. What does some dead Jewish rabbi have to do with it?
I imagine this was the skeptical color commentary heard in the minds of many unbelievers Sunday night at the awarding of the Lombardi trophy to the Philadelphia Eagles. They expected it…dreaded it…and it did come, this year from Eagles’ coach Nick Sirianni, quarterback Jalen Hurts, and others. In snack-strewn living rooms and noisy bars across the country the unwelcome profession of faith was derided and ridiculed, and the faith itself likened to brainwashing.
If you’re one of those skeptical types, let me tell you I get it. It can seem almost cultish…the familiar, attributing refrain and the skyward-pointing fingers…as if these players and coaches were getting subliminal, religiously indoctrinating messages while watching game footage with the team. And idiotic. Haven’t you been practicing that play all year? Didn’t you work your butt off to help your team get to the Super Bowl? Did you fly into the end zone or did you actually use your legs and feet and the muscles you sweated buckets to bulk up?
What does Jesus have to do with football, why do you have to mention him, and why would a God who loves everyone favor one team over another?
What’s going on
There are at least two things going on when an athlete credits God for a successful play or a win. First, he is humbly acknowledging that God is in control of all things. It’s not that he doesn’t recognize his own part in his success, but he knows that God could have orchestrated a different outcome no matter what he did. And he knows that God gifted him with certain talents and that his every breath is a gift as well.
Secondly, professional sports are a world stage and the solid Christians who are on it feel a responsibility to use it for the glory of God and to make disciples. They know what an impact their confident faith can have on the millions who watch them play. And since they know the world needs what they have found in Christ, if they care about the world, they’re going to share it.
God is desperate
And it’s not that God plays favorites. The Chiefs have Christians on the team as well who likely asked for his help before and during the game. God isn’t on anyone’s side – he’s on everyone’s side, because he wants everyone to know him and share eternal life with him. Yet he may very well have ensured that the Eagles won because he knew they would praise and credit him. Not because God is desperate for recognition but because he is desperate for those he loves (you) to know that he does and that he has made a way for you to enjoy him forever.
So, skeptical friend, though you may not be convinced by the faith that has convinced Sirianni, Hurts, and many others, give these guys a break when they express it. They’re not parroting a cult mantra and they’re not stupid. They’re brave but humble men who know their place before a great and sovereign God and they’re only giving him his due. What’s more, they know you’re watching.
They’re doing it for you.
Oh, Caroline you are such a child, and you are going to die a child. What nonsense you keep promulgating.
However, maybe a part of your brain realizes how ridiculous the public affirmations of jesus propaganda are. The phrase “cult-like mantra” is pretty good – thanks for that.
These are modern gladiators, subjecting their bodies to enormous physical damage from concussions and covert PED use, yet you try to call these frauds “humble”!
Your kind is having its moment now in the rise of control by a minority of Christian psychopaths, but you’ll never be able to shake the feeling that others think you stupid and evil.
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I wrote a poem about this.
Not Only Texas (Football)
Three darkly clad gladiators of the eventual eleven,
clasp hands
and march together
into the night,
onto the place where town heroes are made for life,
where cheers and tears are looked forward to—
all year long, where football is not only king,
but the guiding force called team, spelled without an “I”
(one of many lies) that makes boys gods
whose Gods can’t help them.
It’s like a religion, but it’s not the same.
These minor gods are transient. Heaven is winning a game.
The game gives them reason. The stadium,
their fields, like churches with gridiron pews
and endzones as altars with goalpost frames.
Hymns are cheers from stands
led by beautifully clad encouragement,
perchance a mascot,
yelling is encouraged raucousness. Defeat is deeply felt.
It’s serious business, American football.
But in the black-and-white towns of Texas with teams,
lifetime memories
are set in shaded darkness under the illumination
of Friday night lights after rallies, the breaking
of barriers, of illegal prayers to Jesus Christ,
their Lord and Savior who cares greatly
about high school football and who wins.
The God of the human godlings who will endow
the favored with great plays and touchdowns.
“Thank you, Jesus, for this blessed win.”
The game where the best and worst pupils become one,
where ending segregation with despised integration
created championships,
and later,
millionaires would rise from denied memories.
The three, a darkly clad trio, of the eventual eleven,
no! thousands,
clasp hands and march together into the night,
feeling and hearing the cheers and adoration,
which,
for most,
is fleeting at best.
And the band played well.
Look both ways, offense-or-defense,
we are not all playing by the same rules.
Mind the gaps, the fumbles, the muffs,
the broken bodies, and ubiquitous concussions.
Rave on! The band!
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