Football & Jesus

I am not watching football right now. You probably don't care about that, but I should explain that currently, the Denver Broncos are playing (and getting their collective behinds handed to them by) the New England Patriots in a championship game.

I live in Denver.

I used to live in New England.

So approximately half of my social networks are posting furiously about the game, some lamenting and others rejoicing. And it's only half because I am a church nerd (see blog name), so the other half of my contacts have been re-posting or reacting to a YouTube video featuring a spoken word piece called "Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus."  More on that in a minute.

Tebow fever is big here in Denver, and in many church circles. Of course his name has become a verb, and the action it refers to has become what the reporters like to call "an internet sensation," with people from all over submitting photos and videos of the knee-down prayer posture. I have heard that some people call him "Tesus," or "white Jesus," and I admit to having smiled at the jokes.  I haven't done a ton of research, but from the little I know, his life story, his unashamed commitment to his faith, his sincerity, are all touching and beautiful.  I don't think it's (entirely) his fault that a crazy cult of personality has sprung up around him (snark/satire alert on that link).  But.  I hate football, and even Tim Tebow can't change that.

Hate is a strong word, and probably not quite accurate: I hate oppression and injustice, whereas I really just find football incredibly boring.  And a shocking waste of resources.  A colleague in ministry posted on Facebook,

How about this for a bet.
If the Broncos win: I'll Tebow at church tomorrow.
If the Broncos lose: You'll seriously consider the possibility that there is a serious theological problem with a God that answers the prayers of an NFL quarterback before those of a starving child.

Which raises a number of excellent questions about what we believe is the purpose or function of prayer, whether and how God intercedes in the world, and what the relative balance of responsibility  between God and humanity is for all kinds of things, from football games to ending starvation.  What are God's priorities?  What are ours? What is the relationship between God and human beings?

Showing on another TV channel tonight is the Miss America pageant. I didn't watch, but novelist Jennifer Weiner live-tweeted much of it so I caught glimpses of it through her words. And frankly, that was enough.  (Her final comment: "Thanks for enduring this insane anachronism with me. See you Monday for the #bachelor [which she live-tweets each time a new ep airs]. Because that's much more intellectual.")

Now, I find myself on the edge of a precipice, teetering on the brink of making blanket judgmental statements like, "Football is such a waste of time - football fans have no sense of what is important in life!" or "I can't believe we're still judging women based on what they look like in a swimsuit! Anyone who watches or participates in beauty pageants is so superficial!"  Both of which are as unfair as they are untrue. Because my idea of quality television?  Reveling in the nostalgia, glamor, romance, and intrigue of WWI-era aristocracy (and their staff) in Downton Abbey.  Which, of course, is smart and witty and incredibly fun, unlike football [ducking as the one football fan reading this throws a shoe]. But it has veeeerrry little to do with how I believe God wants me (or others) to live.

So. I can't throw stones at people who watch TV to be entertained, obviously.  But it does force me to confront the question: What are my priorities?  Around whom does my life revolve?  To what will I give my time, my energy, my money?  How does God call me to live?  And the answer I want to live into is this: To illuminate the ways God is at work in the world for love, joy, justice, beauty, and wholeness, and to invite others to join in that creative and life-giving work.

And to the young poet Bball1989 who wrote and performed “Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus,” I want to say, this is the work to which Jesus leads me. And I cannot do it without the community of faith and grace and tradition and Spirit called the Church.  Because although I understand your point about Jesus ending a certain kind of religion, a particular perspective on and way of practicing what it means to be religious, or faithful, or holy, or right with God, I do not believe that Jesus intended to end religion.

At its heart, religion - from the Latin, re- + ligāre  to bind, tie - is about the ties that bind us to one another, about re-connecting with the source of our being and our sisters and brothers, about not only beliefs but stories and prayers and practices and wisdom that link us in a long chain through history and around the world.  And like every other organization or institution or facet of civilization in which humans are involved, it gets corrupted, regularly, by some of the tendencies in human nature to draw circles that make sure some people are in and some people are out, or to feel better about ourselves by pointing out the flaws or failings of others.  But this is not religion, any more than it is education or government or art. This is sin.  And yes, Jesus helps us overcome sin - depending on your flavor of theology, he conquered it, or rooted it out, or heals us from it, or took away its power - but religion is how I keep learning to see Jesus in my daily life, instead of only in the Bible.  And it helps give me new frameworks for understanding how Jesus saves, and how God is at work in the world, beyond what was written 1900 years ago.  (Both Nadia and Christian wrote eloquently about this, so be sure to read their responses.)

So I do not apologize for not watching football, or for watching Downton Abbey. But I do pray that my life might bear witness to the loving, healing, creating, inspiring power of God at work through Jesus Christ, through community, through the traditions and practices and prayers and beliefs that have been handed down, questioned, reinterpreted, poked, prodded, sung, reclaimed, syncretized, celebrated, condemned, and preserved through religion.  And that we may all learn to pray sincerely for the will of God to be done on earth, as it is in heaven.  Where, I'm pretty sure, there is no football.

Easier not to

The new year is off to a bit of a bumpy start for me. No big crises or drama, just the end of a rushed vacation back east to see family followed by a heavy work week with grantwriting and back pain and motivation issues. Nothing worthy of complaining about when I know so many people dealing with major illness, unemployment, bankruptcy, and so on, but enough to make me want to go back to bed for a week and start 2012 over again.

Like millions of others, I have lots of good intentions about what I will do differently this year, though in recent years my cynicism has led me to limit my formal resolutions to a very short list of achievable goals. There's something about a threshold moment like putting up a new calendar (or graduating from college, or moving, or getting married) that makes the future seem so open and full of possibility, as though all the past mistakes have been erased and we can really start from scratch in deciding who we will be and how we will live.  And the Christian faith affirms this sense of possibility, of redemption and new beginnings, of the time when God begins to "do a new thing" in us.

But then, after a few weeks or days or hours of being on our best behavior, somehow we slip back into those old habits or routines. Despite our best intentions, we behave as though nothing had changed. We sleep in instead of meditating, watch TV instead of exercising, ignore the reminder taped to our desk to "Write Every Day!!" because conveniently, we didn't tell anyone about it and therefore we are only accountable to ourselves and God, and fortunately, God is very forgiving. (Or is that just me? No? )  Christians (starting around the 2nd century, with Bishop Irenaeus) have called this tendency to mess up repeatedly "original sin," but I prefer a more scientific explanation.

Inertia.

A body at rest tends to remain at rest; a body in motion tends to remain in motion - and resists change in the direction of its motion proportional to its mass.  Just one of many lessons from my high school physics class that have proven to be useful in justifying phenomena only remotely related to actual physics (see also Entropy, which explains why my workspace tends to get messier with time rather than neater).

Change is not easy, whether we are trying to change our diet, exercise habits (or lack thereof), addictive behavior, ways of relating to family members, how we think about God, or a tendency to leave dirty dishes in the sink. It takes energy, intention, and paying attention; and it takes a willingness to try, fail, and try again.  One of my coworkers in my non-profit job has a framed print on the wall of her office that reminds us all, "Change - of any kind - requires courage."

It's just easier not to. It's easier to let inertia have its way with us, to be carried along by the momentum of our lives and pretend we have no say in the matter. It's easier to believe God has decided all that has happened and all that will happen, that no matter how hard we try, we are doomed or destined to be who we have always been.  Fatalism can be awfully handy at times.  But I don't think that's what Jesus the Christ asked of those who would follow him.

Whether you take the Gospels symbolically or literally, the stories about Jesus reflect over and over a man who chose the desires and purposes of God over the expectations of the world. (I know lots of people believe that Jesus' life was entirely predestined and that his crucifixion was necessary to redeem people from their sins; I have a different understanding that perhaps I'll go into another time.) And again and again, Jesus invited people to choose: to follow him, or to stay on their original path. To take up their cross, or take the easy way out. To love their neighbor, or to let the religious leaders of the day tell them it was okay to see some people as less than human, undeserving of justice or compassion.

I don't know about you, but to me, choice implies the ability to actually choose, to say yes or no, to accept or refuse the invitation to a radically different way of being in relationship with God and with other people - with all of creation - than most people had previously imagined.  In reading the Bible, I can almost hear Jesus saying, "I know it's easier not to. But this is the only Way, the only Life, the only Truth that makes sense to me in light of God's amazing, all-embracing love. Join me. Easier has nothing to do with it."

So I will try. And probably fail. But with God's grace, I will keep trying. To honor my body through exercise and healthy eating choices. To honor my relationships with family and friends by being intentional about staying in touch.  To honor other people as God's children by looking them in the eye, listening to their story, focusing on relationship more than task or result. To honor the earth as God's creation by driving less, eating more plant-based foods, reducing waste, accumulating less. To honor the gifts and passions God has given me by writing every week -  here and for worship and for publication (writing daily is still a step or two away!) - and finding other ways to play and create things of joy and beauty.

Today is Epiphany, the celebration of the Wise Ones from the east arriving in Bethlehem to honor Jesus with their gifts, and of the star that led them in their journey, from distant cultures across inhospitable terrain, to see firsthand the young child who they believed was destined to become a king.  It would have been easier not to. Nobody would have blamed them if inertia had gotten the best of them. It would have been easier to stay home, to give thanks for this new life in their prayers instead of with their bodies, to stay far away from the paranoia of King Herod and the fears of all Jerusalem about the rumors of a baby who would change everything.

But easier had nothing to do with it.