Football and Faith

Football and Faith
Here in Texas we take our football very seriously. Just take a look-every small town has a football stadium. They may not have a library, but darn it, they’ve got to have a playing field. Electricity moves through a crowd at a Texas high school football game. It’s not just a game: it is a metaphor for life. Dressed up in the garments of support and loyalty, we cheer on those who participate in the struggle. We even have a halftime break for entertainment- a time to relax, regroup, and consider our options, albeit hot dog or Frito Pie.
From my own high school experience through my days as a high school teacher, I was an enthusiastic participant in this revelry. I attended every game- yelling, clapping, and crying with our boys. Likewise, I took part in another activity with equal zeal- church services. I sat in the pew very Sunday – singing, clapping, and praying with fellow worshippers. Commitment was the key in both of these activities, and I sat in both places wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself, yet feeling completely isolated as the crowd roared with enthusiasm.
Don’t get me wrong- at first I was very present- I was moved by the emotion and excitement the struggle represented in both venues. Slowly, however, things changed. I found myself going through the motions, less and less touched by the upheaval of passion that existed on the football field and in the chapel. As I watched the struggle on the field, I listened to the jeers of “fair weather fans”; in the chapel I felt the stinging, silent judgment when I declined an invitation to join the choir, teach Sunday School or lead the puppet ministry.
I stopped attending football games- then I stopped attending church regularly. I didn’t miss the football games; I spent Friday nights doing personally nurturing things like reading, dating, or grading papers. And I didn’t always miss church. I missed the singing. I missed the personal messages from the pulpit that I remember from my childhood. I missed the reverence. I did not miss the hypocrisy, or the guilt and judgment sometimes associated with “holy” people.
I look back now to ponder the reason for the sea change in my heart. I am an observer, and I observed many people who would dive into football season with zeal, but have lukewarm relationships with their family and friends. A conversation of depth and meaning was fleeting, taken over by halftime statistics and scores. Religion can also serve as a substitute for genuine connections with those around us. Over and over I experienced relationships involving a façade of faith, dedication and service. I have known true people of faith, but too often these are overshadowed by the self-serving parishioners, not unlike the over zealous fans of the gridiron. You‘ve seen them, with banners held high, turning on their “team” at the first sign of weakness or imperfection.
How sad that both venues have the potential to create a cocoon of faith and support, but so often end in judgment and subtle ridicule for not being “good enough.” Both football and religion produce raw and vibrant emotions that move people to do, well, amazing and unspeakable things. Why else would a person paint their whole body blue, or strap themselves with explosives?
In my observations, I have come to some conclusions. Anything that personal and emotional has the potential to morph into something unlike its original incarnation. Second, if people are in any way involved, this will happen. And finally, until we can move beyond the football faith of extremism, our lives, relationships, and even our final score, will suffer.