Can Anything Good Come From Harvard? The (In)Auspicious Origins of Jeremy Lin

The Reformers, specifically Martin Luther, often talked about God working in unexpected ways. Luther called this work of God sub contrario, that is, "under the opposite." God, in other words, is most often found working in the thing that looks the opposite of what we would expect. As evidence, we can look to Biblical stories of Jesus eating with tax collectors and sinners, forgiving thieves on crosses (okay, one thief on one cross), and resurrecting the dead. Jesus' modus operandi seems to have continually confounded those among whom he lived. This idea of God working sub contrario perhaps finds its most concrete Biblical warrant in the account of the calling of the disciple Nathanael. Philip comes to Nathanael and tells him that the Messiah has come, and is from Nazareth. "Nazareth!" Nathanael exclaims, "Can anything good come from there?" (John 1:46) Two thousand years later, the billions of Christians who have lived would, no doubt, say yes.

In fact, we say that this is precisely the kind of place from which good comes. God brings Jesus from Nazareth in order to bring life out of death. We hold tight to this "Nazareth Principle" because we feel that we are from Nazareth; we are not special; we are dying, and we hope and pray that God can bring something good out of us.

Which brings us, of course, as everything these days must, to Jeremy Lin. A major factor in Lin's having become the current hot cultural story (totally overflowing the bounds of a simple sports story) is that his rise to prominence in the NBA has been so unexpected. He is said to have come "from nowhere." He is Asian-American, he was totally unrecruited out of high school and undrafted out of college, and he went to...Harvard. This is the extent to which God works sub contrario: he has made Harvard into Nazareth!  A commentator on one of the many talking-head sports punditry shows I watch (they are all the same...I just can't stop myself) made the point that coming from Harvard is in no other context seen as a detriment. Professional athletics may be the only arena (get it?) in which a Harvard pedigree causes an opponent to doubt your skill.

God is always working under the opposite. He always brings life out of death. He chose Peter, the often-faithless friend who denied him three times, to be the rock upon which he would found his church. He chose Harvard (the ivory tower of ivory towers) to be Nazareth when he needed it to be. God works under the opposite, bringing the savior of the Knicks and the Savior of the World from the places least likely, to show that he is God, capable of anything, even the salvation of sinners such as us.

We Always Do the Hard Thing

Remember when President Kennedy said that we were going to the moon not because it was easy, but because it was hard?  Okay, I don't either, but I've seen it on TV a bunch of times.  That sentiment, though rousing, always seemed strange to me...I mean, why not do easy things?  That way, we might avoid things like Gus Grissom (and crew) blowing up on the Apollo 1 launching pad.  I thought of this upon reading a new piece in The Chronicle of Higher Education called "Do Sports Build Character or Damage It?"  The article is a lengthy (and very good) read, but one sentiment jumped out at me above any other.  Mark Edmundson, a professor of English at the University of Virginia, recalling his days as a high school football player, says:

I liked the transforming aspect of the game: I came to the field one thing—a diffident guy with a slack body—and worked like a dog and so became something else—a guy with some physical prowess and more faith in himself. Mostly, I liked the whole process because it was so damned hard. I didn't think I could make it, and no one I knew did either. My parents were ready to console me if I came home bruised and dead weary and said that I was quitting. In time, one of the coaches confessed to me that he was sure I'd be gone in a few days. I had not succeeded in anything for a long time: I was a crappy student; socially I was close to a wash; my part-time job was scrubbing pans in a hospital kitchen; the first girl I liked in high school didn't like me; the second and the third followed her lead. But football was something I could do, though I was never going to be anything like a star. It was hard, it took some strength of will, and—clumsily, passionately—I could do it.

The sentence that stands out to me is this:  "I liked the whole process because it was so damned hard."  It also put me in mind of the story of Naaman from 2 Kings.  Naaman is an Aramean army commander sent by his King to Israel to be cured of his leprosy.  Elisha hears of his plight and tells Naaman to wash in the Jordan and he'll be made clean.  Naaman has brought money and beautiful clothing to give in exchange for his cleansing, and he's outraged that he's told to simply go wash in the river:

Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage. But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, `Wash, and be clean'?" So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.

Edmundson seems to be a Naamanite in his recollection of his athletic experience.  He liked it because it was hard.  If it was easy, it would have been wholly unsatisfying!  Ultimately, Edmundson suggests that sports both build character and destroy it, saying that 

Sports can do great good: build the body, create a stronger, more resilient will, impart confidence, stimulate bravery, foment daring. But at the same time, sports often brutalize the player—they make him more aggressive, more violent. They make him intolerant of gentleness; they help turn him into a member of the pack, which defines itself by maltreating others—the weak, the tender, the differently made.

The good things that he claims come from sport, though, are all derivations of the "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" thesis of Kennedy's moon vision.  We do things that are hard because we cherish the acclaim that comes with success.  No one will sing our praises if we accomplish something simple.  Naaman is furious that neither his riches nor his intricate obedience are required to cleanse him of his ailment.  Athletes, in perhaps stretched metaphor, bristle when someone does something with a great supporting cast.  LeBron James has been excoriated for joining forces (the pathetic easy way) with Dwyane Wade in an attempt to win a championship.  How much more honorable to win one by yourself.

Christians are the same way.  We can't handle being given something for free.  We are like Naaman, incensed that our riches (our spiritual quality) and obedience are not only not required but, we are told, actually an impediment to our healing.  We struggle to retroactively purchase our salvation by becoming people for whom substitutionary atonement is not such a scandal.  We want to do something hard.  We want to earn God's favor.  We fear something easy, both because we don't understand it and because we've been convinced that something easy isn't worth anything.  Athletics has helped teach us this.  Naaman's servants have it right, though:  Having prepared ourselves to do something hard, shouldn't we be grateful that we've been asked to do something easy?  Having convinced ourselves that a righteous life (or a rigorous workout) is the path to God's (or the fans') love, shouldn't we be overjoyed to learn that God's love has been given to us for free?  Our resistance to our no-cost salvation belies an ignorance of the most crucial tenant of our faith:  While "no pain, no gain" is quite true, the pain was suffered by another, and need not continue.

For Your Consideration: A Church Growth Strategy

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD.  “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.  As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth:  It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it (Isaiah 55:8-11). 

At our annual meeting on Sunday, I read the above passage.  It will be a verse we focus on this year.  Being in an institutional church (The Episcopal Church) that is shrinking (the Diocese of Newark, for instance, has shrunk 2% per year for the last decade), I have to hear about church growth all the time.  We are constantly told that we are "doing church" in an old model, and that that model is not working anymore.  We teach each other about websites, inclusivity, and "radical" welcome.  At a recent convention a speaker from an organization called Green Faith suggested that we use our commitment to the reduction of greenhouse gas emissions as an "evangelistic tool."  I suppose he meant that people would see how kind we are being to the environment and want to worship with us.  

All of these things can work.  The problem is that, at the same time, they can all fail.  John Wimber, a charismatic pastor in California many years ago, suggested that churches concerned with growth must be like surfers:  a surfer can have the right board, outfit, and wax, and can have practiced paddling and "popping up," but the one thing that a surfer can't do is create waves.  Having a great website can help people find your church.  It may not.  Being inclusive and green are good things.  They don't, however, seem to be helping churches in the Diocese of Newark grow.  We forget, as we ask ourselves all these church growth questions that we're talking about making waves...as if we can do that!  The more we attempt to convince ourselves that we can "make waves," we'll beat our heads against this "church growth" problem, fail time and again, eventually destined to give it all up (if we fail completely) or become intolerably self-righteous (if we hit on something that actually works for a time).  Both options are a kind of death.

If the best thing a Christian can do is "let go and let God," isn't that the best thing a church can do, too?  What if we actually believed that God's word would not return to him empty?  That it would actually accomplish the purpose for which he sent it?  That God, being the one who creates waves, doesn't really need us to do his work at all?  The only wave-creator I know is the Gospel...the Word of God.  We preach Jesus, a Jesus who lived, who died, and who was resurrected for us, to reconcile us to God.  This word goes out into the world, producing bread for the eater and seed for the sower.  Bread for the eater is a comforting word for a sinner.  Seed for the sower is a word of proclamation for the church.  The Gospel is preached, waves come, and churches grow.  

What is "The Gospel" Anyway?

In my life in and around the church, and in and around Christianity, I've heard the phrase "the gospel" used many times and in many different ways.  It has sort of become a catch-all word for anything that has to do with God, even in the most oblique way.  The most common way I've heard it used is in the context of "living out the Gospel."  What people generally mean by this is "doing good things for other people."  So "the Gospel," then, must be translated, in this instance, to "good things for others."  I submit to you that this is a gross misunderstanding of what the Gospel is.

First of all, "gospel" is a word that comes from an old English translation of the Greek word euangelion, which means "good news."  So, more than anything else, the Gospel is news.  More specifically, the Gospel is an announcement.  More than that, though, the news (or, the announcement) has to be good.  The announcement that you must "love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength" is news, but it's not particularly good if you're a human being like me.  Classicly speaking (and the reason that the "G" in Gospel is capitatized here, denoting a particular announcement), Christians have defined "the Gospel" as the announcement that Jesus has died to save sinners.  Those six words.  Period.  The phrase "living out the Gospel" makes no sense when "the Gospel" is understood in this way: an announcement of good news.

When you watch your favorite newscast, you can't "live out" the news.  You can react to it, certainly, and knowledge of it may well influence the things you do.  The Gospel is the same way.  It will, no doubt, impact your life.  But that impact is not the Gospel.  It can't be.  It's the impact of the Gospel.  And it should be noted that "the Gospel" itself does not demand a certain response.  It makes no demands at all; remember, it is an announcement.  Hearers of the Gospel, from St. Paul to Richard Dawkins, have recommended responses, but again, these things are not "the Gospel."

The Gospel is that Jesus has died to save sinners.  Do you agree?  If I were to ask you "What is 'The Gospel' anyway?" what would you say?

Tom Brady, Meet the Unyielding Demand of Perfection

Tom Brady found himself in an untenable position last weekend, as his Patriots played the Tim Tebow-led Broncos for a spot in the AFC Championship Game.  In the words of Bill Simmons, writer for ESPN.com, founder and editor of Grantland.com, and huge Patriots fan, before Brady's big win:

"It's the first-ever Boston sporting event with zero upside. Name one result that would make Patriots fans feel fantastic afterwards. For example, let's say the Patriots win by 35, with Brady finishing 34-for-35 for 450 yards and 6 TDs. What does that mean? So the no. 1 seed Patriots took care of business at home, after a bye week, by blowing out a .500 team featuring a QB who can't throw a 10-yard out, an overworked running back who's running on fumes and three above-average defensive players (and they're six days removed from one of the most emotional victories in recent football history, no less)? Can you really celebrate that?

Meanwhile, any other result is a potential heart attack … or worse. That's why most Patriots fans are a nervous wreck heading into a game in which their team is favored by 13½ points and playing a team it already crushed. Has that ever happened before? Even if Super Bowl XLII will always be the worst defeat in the history of the franchise, this particular loss would be more excruciating because we can see it coming … even though, again, losing this game makes absolutely no sense."

So here's the thing.  Tom Brady is, by far, the best quarterback playing right now.  It's easy to forget that, with the modeling, the formerly flowing locks, and the Brazilian supermodel wife.   Get him on a football field, though, and he's truly in his element.  So...what happened when perfect Brady met the seemingly-touched-by-the-divine Tebow?  Annihilation.  Eerily close to Simmons' best-case scenario, Brady threw for 363 yards and 6 touchdowns, and the Patriots won, 45-10.  But what interests us is Simmons' (and others') acknowledgment that, for Brady, everything hung on this game.  He "had" to win this one, in order to validate is glorious stature, but, at the same time, winning was just the thing he was supposed to do.  A classic no-win situation.

Martin Luther famously said that "the quest for glory cannot be satisfied...only extinguished."  Tom Brady knows what that feels like.  Had Brady retired before this season, he would have been a first-ballot Hall of Famer and a necessary mention in any Greatest Quarterbacks of All Time discussion.  Once he suited up against Tebow last weekend, however, he had to win to maintain the glory that he had achieved.   Lose, and you're just another broken corpse in the rubble left behind by the Tebow juggernaut.  Win, and...well, that's what you were supposed to do; you were favored by almost two touchdowns!  Win, and move on to the next game in which all of your accumulated glory is at stake.  Little wonder that Todd Marinovich gave it all up.

We Christians know this feeling, too.  There is no quiet time long enough, no WorldVision donation generous enough, no act of devotion passionate enough to quell our fear that God's demand remains unsated.  And the tremendously unsettling truth is that God's demand is unsated.  Jesus claimed the the requirement was nothing short of actual and literal perfection (Matthew 5:48).  Tom Brady, why didn't you throw for 7 touchdowns?  How do you account for the eight out of thirty-six passes that fell incomplete?  Tom Brady, you'd better beat the Ravens this weekend, or we'll forget all about your wonderful (but not perfect!) performance on Saturday night.

As Tom Brady knows all too well, the quest for glory is never satisfied...only extinguished.  Retirement is the only way to relieve the pressure.  For the Christian, retirement comes in the arrival of a savior; one who says, "It is finished."

Rooting for the Evil Empire: The Etymology of a Sports Fan

How does one come to root for the teams one roots for? Often, it boils down to the town in which you're born. But sometimes, it's more complicated. I root for the Phoenix Suns, Miami Heat, Pittsburgh Steelers, New York Yankees, and the University of Arizona. Three of the five are easy to understand; the other two require some explanation.

I went to college at the University of Arizona. Boom. Fan of the teams. Living in Arizona, I became a fan of the Phoenix Suns. Boom. After living in Arizona for eight years and never becoming attached to the atrocious Arizona Cardinals, I went to seminary in Pittsburgh. Boom. Steelers fan. If you like NFL football and move to Pittsburgh without a pre-existing allegiance, you will become a Steelers fan. The people get in your blood and a Terrible Towel gets in your closet.

My rooting for the Heat and Yankees, though, looks like bandwagon jumping. I started rooting for the Yankees just before they won their most recent World Series, and I started rooting for the Heat immediately upon their signing of LeBron James. In short, just when each team started to get good (although the Yankees have been a powerhouse basically since Abner Doubleday invented baseball), I became a fan. This is the worst sort of fandom...if it was an accurate representation of what happened. It isn't.

I have always been an appreciator, if not a fan, of great talent. Case in point: I recognize that Ray Lewis is (or at least was until very recently) a great linebacker. I can't stand him nor the Ravens, the team for which he plays. I love watching the best of the best, whether I'm a fan or not. Roger Federer, Lionel Messi, Roy Halladay...I love to watch sports greatness. I was never a Bulls fan, but watched every Michael Jordan game I could get my TV dial turned to. Remember TV dials?

So I appreciated both LeBron James and Alex Rodriguez, even before I became a fan of their teams. LeBron always struck me as an amazing athlete (he's 6'8", 270lbs, no body fat, and as fast as a wide receiver) and a master on the basketball court. His recent well-documented fourth quarter failures aside, he never seemed to have any weaknesses. I appreciated that, as one appreciates a fine painting in a museum. Alex Rodriguez, for his part, is one of the greatest hitters in the history of baseball. He hit 30 or more home runs for 13 consecutive years from 1998 to 2010. He's made 12 All-Star teams and won 2 Gold Gloves. I appreciated that, too.

Then, just before I started rooting for them, both James and Rodriguez came under fire. James became a pariah for "snubbing" his hometown Cleveland Cavaliers and choosing to sign with the Miami Heat in the summer of 2010, and for having the gall to broadcast the announcement on a live TV show called "The Decision." Rodriguez, on the other hand, seemed to be disliked just for being himself. Or, rather, for not being himself. He was seen as an image-conscious marketing creation rather than a human being (this is, of course, before he was accused of, and admitted to, using steroids). I began to root for James and Rodriguez the way one roots for underdogs: hoping that they'll prove their detractors wrong. Both players were roundly criticized for failing to be "clutch" in big (i.e. playoff) situations, and so I began hoping that both would a) make the playoffs, and b) perform well in them. This entailed rooting for their teams. And just like that, I realized that I was something I thought I'd never be: a Yankees fan. I was also something that many sportswriters claim doesn't really exist: a Heat fan. I was rooting for them because they were under fire.

Why is it that we root for the underdog, even when they stretch the limit of what it means to be an underdog to crazy extremes, like LeBron James and Alex Rodriguez? Why do we hate Duke unless we went to school there? I've talked about this before, and it's a phenomenon that continues to interest me. We root for the underdog because we feel that we are the underdog. With James scoring no points in the 4th quarter again last night and the Heat blowing another big lead -- and struggling mightily against a zone defense, it looks like it's going to be a tough road for the Heat to win a championship this season. A tough road is what we face every day. It's what we identify with. It's where we live. We'd like some company.

Tim Tebow, We're Not Through With You Yet

Everyone is seemingly tired of talking about Tim Tebow. And yet, they talk. And talk and talk. I witnessed Kordell Stewart get visibly angry this morning on ESPN's First Take when talking about the chances that Tebow is getting compared to chances that African American quarterbacks with the same skill set have gotten in years past. At one point, he simply sighed and said, "I'm just so tired of talking about Tim Tebow." But even after Tebow's Broncos are eliminated from the playoffs (hopefully this week by my beloved Steelers), we'll talk about whether or not Tebow is the "quarterback of the future" for the them or if he has a future on any NFL roster.

Even Saturday Night Live is talking about Tebow. Admittedly, the above clip is several weeks old, and the Broncos have lost their last three games. Apparently, Jesus stayed away longer than he thought he would. But this post isn't about Tim Tebow. Surprised? Well, it is and it isn't. It is in the sense that Tebow's play (terrible for three quarters, dominant in the fourth) illustrates a common misconception about God: that he's involved in the good stuff and absent for the bad stuff. The Gospels, on the other hand, overflow with stories of Jesus becoming involved with sin, illness, and death. He said explicitly that he didn't come for the healthy, but for the sick (Mark 2:17). My friend John Zahl has famously said that "God's office is at the end of your rope."

Another thing that Saturday Night Live gets wrong (who knew they were such a flawed theological source?) is the idea that what God really wants is for us to do most of the work ourselves, or at least, to "meet [him] halfway." This has been said another way: God helps those who help themselves. Only...that's not true. Remember, Jesus said that the healthy have no need of a doctor. If someone is well enough to work, they'll convince themselves that they don't need saving after all. If we might be so bold, Tim Tebow highlights the Broncos need for a savior by helping put them in a seemingly untenable position each week. Indeed, God's power is made perfect in weakness (2 Cor. 12:9).

As funny as Jason Sudeikis' Jesus is, he's unlike the Christ in two profound ways: he wishes humanity would do more to help itself and his absence means that things will probably go awry. Luckily, our Jesus helps the helpless and makes his home in our weakest moments.