Don't Poke the Bear: The Law of Chastising Boo-Birds

Monday night was "Chris Mullin Night" at the Golden State Warriors/Minnesota Timberwolves game. Mullin, the most popular Warrior ever, had his jersey retired before the game. These sorts of ceremonies are invariably feel-good affairs for fans, and it was going just as expected on Monday night. Then Warriors owner Joe Lacob took the mircophone and things got ugly.

Bill Simmons wrote a scathing article yesterday (3/21/11) on Grantland.com about the sixty ways that the Warriors franchise has antagonized its fans (through bad drafting, terrible trades, and horrific luck) since it last won a championship in 1975. Lacob, though (it should be noted in his defense), is a new owner and not responsible for the bulk of the Warriors woes. However, what he is responsible for is trading Ekpe Udoh and Monta Ellis to the Milwaukee Bucks for Andrew Bogut and (via a second trade with the San Antonio Spurs) Richard Jefferson. In short, after decades of losing, Lacob apparently gave up on this season by trading an up-and-coming talent (Udoh) and one of the most exciting scorers in the NBA (Ellis) for a currently injured-for-the-season big man (Bogut) and an uninspiring small forward with an albatross of a contract (Jefferson). So when Lacob took the mic, the fans let him have it.

Mullin gets cheered, as you can see, as he walks out. His cheers fade as he attempts to defend Lacob. As Mullin retreats, Hall-of-Famer and greatest-Warrior-ever Rick Barry grabs the microphone and tries a different tack. He doesn't defend Lacob, he chastises the fans. And that's when the interesting thing happens. The boos reach their zenith as Barry exhorts the fans to have some class.

The biblical explanation of this phenomenon comes from St. Paul, who says both that when he didn't know what coveting was, the law of "thou shalt not covet" came in and awoke in him "all sorts of covetousness" (Rom 7:7-8) and that the law was brought in so that the trespass might increase (Rom 5:20). It is fashionable to think that if you can open someone's eyes (educate them) to their "sin" (or, for instance, their classlessness) they'll realize that they should stop. The Golden State fans illustrate, as Paul supposed, that, in fact, the opposite is often true: chastisement increases sin!

The old sayings stick around because they're true: There's no quicker way to get a kid to stick their hand in the cookie jar than to forbid them, and, apparently, there's no easier way to get a booing crowd to boo harder than to call them out on their classlessness and demand that they stop. 

Hit 'Em For Money, Hurt 'Em For A Little More

The recent revelations about the New Orleans Saints' "bounty" program have rocked the talking-head world at ESPN. The Saints, apparently,  had a program, administered by defensive coordinator Gregg Williams (who ran similar programs at previous teams), wherein players received cash bonuses for inflicting injuries on opposing players. For instance, knocking a quarterback out of the game might get you $10,000, and getting him carted off on a stretcher might earn you $20,000. No one seems to be particularly surprised that this kind of thing was going on; many have suggested that this occurs on every team, and that the Saints mistake was writing it all down and keeping track.

I don't want to get into the morality of paying players to intentionally injure other players, although I will say that it seems an awful lot like criminal activity (aggravated assault) to me. When Tonya Harding paid her boyfriend to take out Nancy Kerrigan, people went to prison. It has been notoriously difficult to prove "intent" on the athletic field, but with documented records of who got what for hurting whom, intent seems a bit easier to prove. Alternatively, I want to use these revelations (and especially the response of several former players) as an opportunity to talk about a theological idea: casuistry.

Over the last couple of days, I've heard both Mike Golic and Marcellus Wiley (former players) say that everyone is overreacting to this story. They say that they "went after the quarterback" as hard as they could on every play, and couldn't have done more if they'd been paid to. Their argument was, in effect, that the devastation of a hit would be the same, whatever the motivation of the player delivering it. Put another way, they said something like: "Football is a violent game, and people are going to get hurt playing it. We all know that going in. Paying people a little extra to put a little extra on some hits isn't going to change anything."

Casuistry might well be defined as "an attempt, via nit-picking, to appear to obey a rule whilst breaking it." It seems that it would be clear to the most uneducated observer that while a player might not be able to hit a quarterback harder  to earn their little bonus, they might well be able to hit them in the knee or in the head. And since when is "I play a game that is inherently violent" an acceptable excuse for attempting to injure another person? The best example of casuistry of all time is this 2005 story in The Telegraph, the first line of which is, "Machines will perform euthanasia on terminally ill patients in Israel under legislation devised not to offend Jewish law, which forbids people taking human life." Yowza.

As humans, we answer "thou shalt not kill" with "I'm not killing. This machine that I invented, put in place, and turned on is!" Apparently, as football players, we turn "don't intentionally injure another person" into "don't intentionally injure another person unless they signed up to play a game in which they might get injured anyway." Casuistry is the human occupation. It's what we must do when faced with a rule that we cannot follow. We mold the rule to fit our behavior, because we find that we cannot improve our behavior to match the requirement of the rule. When Jesus gives us the ultimate rule, that to be in a relationship with God, we must be as perfect as He is (Matthew 5:48), we turn to casuistry for an escape hatch. Usually, though, we're caught out, and look, like these former NFLers, pretty ridiculous.

The NeverEnding Story of Being Human

There is a great crossroads in life, a place described by two verses from the Bible.  The first comes from Jesus during his Sermon on the Mount, where he describes what righteousness looks like:  "Therefore you must be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect" (Matthew 5:48).  Crossing this road is another thoroughfare, this one described by St. Paul:  "There is no one righteous, not even one" (Romans 3:10).  We all find ourselves at this crossroads, desiring to be righteous but prevented by our humanity from getting there.  Consider this clip from the 1984 classic The NeverEnding Story:

Though the scientist phrases it differently ("aware of your own worth"), clearly it is righteousness that will allow a person to pass through the sphinx gate.  There's even a little shot at the "white-washed tombs" of pharisaism (Matthew 23:27) when the "fancy" looking knight gets his.

It is a staple of fantasy books and movies for there to be a "chosen one," who is pure, even though those around him don't know it.  Arthur is able to pull Excalibur out of the stone, Aladdin is a "diamond in the rough," and so on.  Atreyu, at first, seems to follow that mold...but then the Sphinx's eyes start to open!  Even Atreyu is revealed to be impure, and it's only his cat-like reflexes (and some pretty severe limitations on the eye-shooting abilities of the sphinxes) that allow him to escape with his life.

For the sphinxes, nothing less than perfection will do.  This is true of God.  The sphinxes can see right through a shiny (righteous-looking) exterior and see into your heart.  This is true of God.  No one is worthy, not one.  Not even Atreyu.  This is true of all of us.  Finding ourselves at this crossroads, where requirement meets ability, and lacking the quickness of Atreyu, we must rely on a savior from outside ourselves who, as St. Paul says, "at just the right time, while we were still powerless, died for the ungodly."

Preach Tim Tebow Always...Use Words When Necessary

This story is actually from November of last year, but just came to my attention now, brought on by the recent Brady Quinn/Tim Tebow flap.  For those not in the know, GQ Magazine recently ran an oral history of last year's Denver Broncos season called The Year of Magical Stinking.  In it, many of Tebow's teammates and fellow NFLers offered opinions on the man, his season, and, of course, his expressions of faith.  Brady Quinn, another quarterback on the Broncos (and a Christian), is quoted on the subject of Tebow's public displays of faith, saying:

If you look at it as a whole, there's a lot of things that just don't seem very humble to me. When I get that opportunity, I'll continue to lead not necessarily by trying to get in front of the camera and praying but by praying with my teammates, you know?

In the wake of this becoming a "story," as anything regarding Tebow must, I was sent (ht DP) a link to this story about Kurt Warner, another famously and openly Christian quarterback, also commenting on Tebow's expression of his faith.  Warner says, among other things, that

You can’t help but cheer for a guy like that….But I’d tell him, ‘Put down the boldness in regards to the words, and keep living the way you’re living. Let your teammates do the talking for you. Let them cheer on your testimony.’...There’s almost a faith cliche, where (athletes) come out and say, ‘I want to thank my Lord and savior.’… As soon as you say that, the guard goes up, the walls go up, and I came to realize you have to be more strategic. The greatest impact you can have on people is never what you say, but how you live. When you speak and represent the person of Jesus Christ in all actions of your life, people are drawn to that. You set the standard with your actions. The words can come after.

This quote puts me in mind of the famous saying attributed to St. Francis:  "Preach the Gospel always.  When necessary, use words."  Francis, Warner, and Quinn all seem to agree that Tebow ought to let his actions speak for his faith, not his words.  Quinn sees the words as an annoyance, Warner sees them as flawed strategy, and Francis sees them as something like putting the cart before the horse.  They're all forgetting one thing, though:  If Jesus were accurately described by his followers' actions, no one would want to have anything to do with him!

Gandhi famously said, "I would be a Christian -- if I ever met one." This quote is commonly used to claim that Gandhi was an admirer of Jesus and his teachings and to point out the hypocrisy of Christians (e.g. we preach "turn the other cheek" but don't do it). In reality, though, this reveals that Gandhi didn't understand Christianity at all. Christianity is a religion founded on the idea that human beings can't live up to Jesus' teaching. That's the whole point. Jesus came to save a sinful humanity, not to author a life manual for people able to make good decisions. This is the error that Quinn, Warner, and Francis are making, too.  It's quite true that actions speak louder than words; that's why we must practically shout the Gospel for it to be heard over our undermining actions.

So here's hoping that Tim Tebow keeps talking about his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  His actions, no matter how noble, certainly won't illuminate Him.

A Sermon for Ash Wednesday

“Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:20-21).

Let us pray. Dear God in Heaven, we ask you to join us here, and we trust that you are here with us. May my words be your words, and all of our thoughts, your thoughts. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

Today, we gather together for a unique purpose. Unlike any other service in the course of the year, unlike any Bible study, any prayer group, any fellowship dinner…tonight we come together to intentionally disobey the Bible. Worse, we’re going to intentionally disobey Jesus Christ’s specific instructions! Toward the end of this service, I’ll invite you to come forward to receive the imposition of ashes. I’ll make a mark on your forehead, and then you’ll go to work. Everyone will know where you’ve been. They might not know what particular kind of church you’ve been to, but they will definitely know something about your spiritual life…your life of faith. So listen again to Jesus’ words: “Be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven... But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you” (Matthew 6:1-4). So exactly what are we doing here?

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.