The Theology of Ray Lewis

Just whipped off my latest “In Good Faith” column while basking in the warm glow of the Ravens Super Bowl victory.

The Theology of Ray Lewis

Whenever anyone asks me whether God has a hand in the outcome of sporting events, I have a ready answer. I point to the three little league baseball seasons I coached with a fellow Episcopal priest: we never had a winning season. Granted we weren’t exactly down on our knees in the dugout or teaching our players the proper way to cross themselves in the batter’s box. But you’d think God would have at least sent one power hitter our way or blessed us with an outfielder who could actually track fly balls.

There’s been a lot of talk about God’s role in sports the past few weeks. Sports Illustrated even ran a cover story with the headline “Does God Care Who Wins the Super Bowl?” featuring a picture of Baltimore Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis emerging from a body of water with his hands clasped in prayer.

Now, for the sake of full disclosure, I should tell you I’m originally from Baltimore. I am a passionate, life-long Orioles fan and a huge Ravens fan. As I write this the morning after the Super Bowl, I’m reveling in last night’s events while drinking coffee at Redeye Roasters wearing my Ray Lewis jersey.

It’s no secret Lewis is a polarizing figure — as a young man he was put on trial in connection with a double murder following Super Bowl XXXIV in Atlanta. He was cleared but charged with misdemeanor obstruction of justice. For some, that connection, regardless of the fuzzy circumstances and outcome of the trial, has forever vilified Lewis. Like most Baltimoreans I believe he’s done an admirable job of turning his life around and have seen first-hand the impact he’s had in that city through charity work and inspiring a generation of underprivileged young boys and girls. I also love his passion for the game of football, admire his leadership skills, and feel privileged to have seen the best linebacker of his era play both live and on television.

I must, however, take exception to Lewis’ brand of public theology. There’s no doubt he has a larger pulpit than any member of the clergy. He can “preach” to millions while most of us are stuck preaching to hundreds. His platform makes the pulpit at the Washington National Cathedral look like a battery-operated megaphone. The problem with this is that Lewis can preach the Gospel According to Ray without consequence or accountability. He claims to answer to God alone but sometimes there’s a fine line between God and Ray and that not only makes people uncomfortable, it can be dangerous.

In the immediate aftermath of the Super Bowl, a reporter asked Lewis, “How does it feel to be a Super Bowl Champion?” He responded “When God is for you, who can be against you?” The implication being that God was “for” Lewis and the Ravens more than God was “for” the 49ers. That’s a slippery theological slope. Does it mean that God preferred one Harbaugh brother over the other? Does it mean that if you pray enough, God will reward you with success and riches beyond your wildest imagination? If you don’t win the big game or get that promotion or get an A on your calculus test, are you a lousy Christian?

This not only turns faith into competitive blood sport, it sets up a dangerous dualistic approach where you’re either on God’s side or not. Everything becomes black and white with no shades of gray. Unfortunately, the human relationship with God is much more nuanced than this — our faith ebbs and flows, there are moments of inspiration followed by periods of doubt. Like the experience of the Israelites in the wilderness, faith is a living, breathing life-long journey of falling away and returning to God.

In other words, if God is for us, that doesn’t mean there’s an equal and opposite person that God is against. It just doesn’t work that way since God is “for” everyone who seeks God out and takes even the most tentative step toward relationship.

I’m still going to enjoy this Super Bowl victory and wear my purple with pride. I just don’t think I’ll be inviting Ray Lewis to guest preach any time soon.

Replacement Clergy?

This morning  I give thanks — as I have for the last three Monday mornings — that I’m not an NFL replacement ref. Talk about receiving the scorn of the nation. Ouch! ESPN highlights your most recent gaffes and follies, players bash you on Twitter, and, while head coaches try to refrain from heaping verbal abuse on you during their post-game press conferences for fear of heavy fines from the Commissioner, their body language and facial expressions hardly belie their true feelings.

You have to pity these folks who are doing the best they can amid an untenable and highly visible situation. Plus those of us who “only work on Sunday mornings” have to stick together. Just kidding — I certainly hope the NFL and the “real” refs can iron out their (monetary) differences so these replacement refs can go back to their real jobs of selling shoes at Foot Locker.

Of course this got me wondering about what would happen if replacement clergy were used on a Sunday morning. Sure, people like to complain about their parish priests but I think there’d be a new appreciation for them if we brought in replacement clergy one week. Here are some possible conseqences:

1. The liturgy would start 15 minutes late because the “priest” couldn’t figure out how to tie the cincture (the fancy church word for rope that gets tied around an alb, which in turn is a fancy church word for white garment).

2. No one could hear the opening collect (fancy church word for prayer — pronounced COLL-ect) because the “priest” couldn’t operate the wireless microphone. On the other hand, everyone could hear the “priest’s” pre-service trip to the bathroom because he/she got the on-off button confused.

3. Liturgical bedlam would ensue as the “priest” would have no idea when to stand, sit, or kneel. This would likely cause somebody at the 8 o’clock service to break a hip.

4. Not being used to public speaking, the sermon would be an unmitigated disaster. Remembering the words of the third grade teacher who told the “priest” to picture the audience in their underwear, he/she would become flustered and strip down to his/her underwear instead. While this might attract the two new families that Sunday, the parish veterans would be horrified and Tweet pictures to the bishop.

5. There’s a fine line between a moment of silence and an awkward pause.

6. The “priest” would completely lose control at the Peace and it would devolve into a coffee hour-like free-for-all. Though, in some parishes, that’s the norm so no harm done.

7. Upon receipt of the collection the “priest” would assume this was a tip and pocket all the cash.

8. Prepaing the altar for communion looks easy to those who have seen it done hundreds and hundreds of times in their lives. In practice there’s an order to things that doesn’t include dumping a chalice-full of wine on the fair linen (fancy church word for table cloth).

9. Rushing out the door and forgetting to eat breakfast, the “priest” would engage in the old ‘One for me, one for you’ practice at the communion rail.

10. Rather than greeting people at the door following the liturgy, the “priest” would see an opportunity to be the first one to coffee hour. You’d find him/her tossing back munchkins in the parish hall like the Wicked Witch of the East.

So be careful what you wish for the next time you consider locking out the clergy. But remember, if things go away you can always throw one of those liturgical penalty flags.

Liturgical Fouls

Have you ever fantasized about throwing a bright yellow penalty flag into the aisle when the priest wears the wrong liturgical color or the organist plays the opening hymn at the speed of a sick tortoise? Probably not. But with the convergence of the start of football season, the church “program year,” and the labor dispute between the NFL and their referees, I saw an opportunity to bring this all together in a blog post. (Bear with me — it’s how my mind works).

To assist you in exercising your God-given (literally) right to good liturgy, I’m offering my guide to liturgical fouls. I urge you to use this empowerment of the laity (and cranky visiting clergy) wisely and with discretion. I’ll soon make the penalty flags available on my website for a mere $49.99.

Illegal Procession (out of order)

Heretical Trinitarian Theology

Deacon on Wrong Side of Celebrant

Unseemly use of Liturgical Dance (resembling Chicken Dance)

Happy Clappy Worship

Sermon Over 15 Minutes

Overly Enthusiastic Peace

Illegal Use of the Orans Position

Pope Paterno?

While I’m not exactly comparing Joe Paterno to the Pope, it’s hard not to see parallels between the sex abuse scandals at Penn State and in the Roman Catholic Church. Blind loyalty, concerns about protecting the institution above all else,  gross negligence, and abused children.

This week’s headlines screaming about former assistant coach Jerry Sandusky’s guilt on 45 of 48 counts of sexual assault must be dredging up tremendous emotional trauma for those affected by abuse in the church.

A lot is made about the culture of both institutions. Paterno is often referred to as the “god” of Penn State Football. People close to the program say that nothing ever happened without his approval or knowledge. Far from being the bespeckled, slightly out-of-touch grandfatherly type — an image he cultivated — he was a larger-than-life figure who controlled every aspect of the program and demanded absolute loyalty from his players and coaches.

In the Roman Catholic Church, at least in the past, the parish priest was revered in a “Father knows best” way. To respect and trust the priest implicitly was to respect and trust the entire basis of your faith. When a sacred trust is violated, faith (not to mention the abused), is violated as well.

Like I said, I’m not comparing JoePa to the Pope but there are clearly some parallels in terms of utter, unquestioned devotion and control. This isn’t to say that Paterno or the Pope are evil in any way — if questioned they would obviously be appalled at such behavior. But I do question whether their “protect the institution at all costs” mentality got in the way of their better judgement as these issues were coming to light internally — before the respective scandals broke.

Any institutional leader sets a tone. I think this is one of the great responsibilities of leadership. The tone varies — it may be a culture of joy and gratitude; or discipline; or integrity; or creativity. Like it or not, whatever tone is set comes down from the top. When there is dissonance between the tone and the actions of an organization, an erosion takes place. It may be slow but eventually the hypocrisy will be exposed. Sometimes the blow is crippling and sometimes an institution can recover. But unless lessons are truly learned and the culture is changed, it’s just putting off future crisis.

Please continue to pray for victims of abuse; both those who have come forward and those who suffer in silence.

 

It’s Not “Only a Game”

Here’s an article I wrote for the Baltimore Sun if only to prove that it is possible to write about faith and football without once mentioning Tim Tebow. It’s on the Sun’s website now and will supposedly appear in tomorrow’s print edition on the Editorial Page. Oh, and the other reason I wrote it was so my mother could brag to all her friends in Baltimore.

It’s not ‘only a game’
Ravens’ fortunes bind a diverse community with a single, consuming passion

By Tim Schenck

HINGHAM, Mass.-I’m in mourning. Not the kind that involves grief counseling or a call to the local funeral home. I’m mourning the loss of my football team, the Baltimore Ravens, in gut-wrenching fashion to the New England Patriots in the AFC Championship Game.

Of course, I’mnot getting any sympathy around here, living as I do in the heart of Pats country. My day-after-the-game visit to Pete’s Barber Shop was an exercise in torture, decked out as it is in Patriots memorabilia. And while I have yet to meet fellow Hingham resident Coach Bill Belichick, I have a hard time believing he’d offer me his hoodie-adorned shoulder to cry on.

There’s a terrific sports program called “Only a Game” that airs Saturday mornings on public radio in Boston and Baltimore. It’s basically a sports show for the highbrow fan –  you won’t find anyone identifying himself as “Lou from Lowell” calling in to suggest the Red Sox trade John Lackey to the Yankees for Derek Jeter. The stories are told from interesting angles and are well-researched, written, and delivered by host Bill Littlefield.

My only problem with the show is the name, because to die-hard sports fans, it’s much more than “only a game.” Such a title implies an observer’s detachment, not a fan’s passion.

Yes, every sports fan, when pushed (even ones who have season tickets and wear face paint) will admit that ultimately it is  just a game. Perspective is important, and whatever the sport, whatever the stakes, it’s never life and death.

Nonetheless, in the midst of profound grief over a heart-wrenching loss by your favorite team, the perspective doesn’t matter. It’s not a question of the mind but of the heart – because even though I know the Ravens’ loss is hardly the end of the world as I know it, the loss stings.

Days later, I’m still nursing profound disappointment when I think about the game, though the immediacy of that raw, slugged-in-the-gut feeling has dissipated. Yes, even a seemingly mature, thoughtful, emotionally healthy and spiritually plugged-in person can experience profound sports-related grief. I skipped over the denial phase after watching Lee Evans seemingly catch the winning touchdown pass from Joe Flacco and then seeing kicker Billy Cundiff miss a potentially game-tying 32-yard chip shot. I went straight from disbelief to anger to depression, which was only reinforced by the stark photographs of the Ravens players cleaning out their lockers the next day. In sports, unlike much of life, there is a black-and-white finality that defies nuanced shades of gray.

The other reason true fans don’t treat their sports as “only a game” is that our teams become part of our identity. I’m not sure “Orioles and Ravens fan” will be inscribed on my tombstone, but it will likely make the obituary one day. Such loyalty allows me to tap into my geographical roots (Baltimore), my emotional roots (my childhood) and my spiritual roots (my late father). This is why we care so much about our sports teams – our loyalties transcend the box scores and standings. There’s a reason I own a stadium seat from the old Memorial Stadium: It’s a holy relic from the past that keeps me connected to a cherished time in my life.

As a person of faith, I realize that my true identity has nothing to do with sports teams or social clubs or denominations or schools attended; it is as a child of God. Yet God has created all of us to be interconnected with one another and to be in relationship with others. One manifestation of this is our human associations and shared passions.

I’ll get over this loss (I’m not that pathetic), and so will every fan, coach and player. But that doesn’t mean it  won’t affect us all in profound ways. This is part of the joy of our humanity: We hurt, we heal, we are transformed. Passion and loyalty for things beyond our personal control don’t make us delusional – just human.

The Rev. Tim Schenck, the rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church, is a transplanted Baltimorean living in Hingham, Mass., a suburb of Boston. His email is frtim1@gmail.com.

A Fan’s Lament

There’s a great sports program called “Only a Game” that airs Saturday mornings on NPR. It’s basically sports radio for the highbrow fan — you won’t find anyone identifying themselves as “Lou from Lowell” calling in to suggest the Red Sox trade Marco Scutaro to the Yankees for Derek Jeter. The stories are told from interesting angles and are well-researched, written, and delivered.

My only problem with the show, aside that I don’t get to hear it very often, is the name. Because to die-hard sports fans it’s much more than “only a game.” Such a title implies an observer’s detachment, not a fan’s passion. Yes, every sports fan when pushed (even ones who have season tickets and wear face paint) will admit that ultimately it is only a game. Perspective is important and whatever the sport, whatever the stakes, it’s never life and death. We may use all sorts of war-like images in football — the blitz, the bomb, etc. — but we all know that sports heroes don’t compare to actual heroes.

Nonetheless, in the midst of profound grief over a heart-wrenching loss by your favorite team, the perspective doesn’t matter. It’s not a question of the mind but the heart. Even though I know that the Ravens loss to the Patriots in the AFC Championship Game is hardly the end of the world as I know it, the loss stings. The game’s emotional roller coaster ended in tangible grief, something that makes it much more than “only a game.”

I’m still nursing that slugged-in-the-gut feeling this morning. And I’m aware that even a seemingly mature, thoughtful, emotionally healthy person can experience sports-related grief. I skipped over the denial phase after watching Ravens receiver Lee Evans seemingly catch the winning touchdown pass from Joe Flacco and then seeing kicker Billy Cundiff miss a potentially game-tying 32-yard chip shot. I went straight from disbelief to anger to depression. Where I’m still lingering as I suck down my morning coffee.

For someone who lives much of his faith up in his head, it’s good to know that I can still be in touch with such emotions. The life of faith is always a balance between head and heart. We assent intellectually but experience emotionally. There’s a reason I don’t like “happy clappy” liturgy (well, many actually) but it’s not something I can do with any authenticity. Yet when the Ravens miss a field goal at the end of a hard-fought playoff game I can writhe around the floor like a fired-up Pentecostal. I’m not sure why this is but it’s all in there; it’s all part of my human make-up.

The other reason true fans don’t treat their sports as “only a game” is that their teams become part of their identity. I’m not sure it will say “Orioles & Ravens fan” on my gravestone but it will likely make the obituary. It allows me to tap into my geographical roots (Baltimore), my emotional roots (my childhood), and my spiritual roots (my late father). There’s a reason I own a stadium seat from the old Memorial Stadium in Baltimore — it’s a holy relic from my past.

I realize that my true identity has nothing to do with sports teams or clubs or denominations or schools attended — it is as a child of God. Yet God has created all of us to be interconnected with one another and to be in relationship with others. One manifestation of this is our human associations and shared passions.

I’ll get over this loss — I’m not that pathetic — and so will every fan, coach, and player. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect us in profound ways. And that’s the joy of being human — we hurt, we heal, we are transformed. Passion and loyalty for things beyond our personal control don’t make us delusional. They make us human.

Thank you, Ravens, for a great ride this season. And now I feel empowered to face another brutal year as a long-suffering Orioles fan. It’s been a long quarter century on that front.

God and Football

So a recently released poll claims that 43% of people believe God helps Tim Tebow win football games. 43%!! If I knew how to use Photoshop I’d totally create a picture of Jesus wearing a Broncos helmet. Here’s a link to the article from Fox Sports.

One of the best-known religious athletes was Sandy Koufax who famously refused to pitch Game One of the 1965 World series because it fell on Yom Kippur. Well, he went on to pitch in three more games that series and was named MVP as the Dodgers defeated the Twins in seven games. A lot has been said about Koufax’s faith and courage but it has never been suggested that the Dodgers won the World Series that year because God especially smiled upon Sandy Koufax.

I have very little patience with a theology that insists God cares who wins football games or somehow intervenes. There are equally faithful players, albeit less demonstrative perhaps, on every team in the National Football League. Is their faith somehow less important or does God just really dig “Tebowing?” It’s a very slippery slope.

And anyway, if you want further proof that God could not care less about the outcome of sporting events, I have my own Exhibit A. Last spring and summer another Episcopal priest, Tom Mulvey, and I coached our 10-year-old sons’ baseball team. With this rationale you’d think our team would have been a shoo in to take the little league World Series in Hingham. I think we won three games all season.

No, we didn’t do any Tebowing before games and I guess we could have created a pre-game ritual involving two bats in the form of a cross at home plate. And, believe me, with the players we had it would have taken a miracle to win more games. But if two clergy coaches couldn’t get a break why would anyone think someone else should?

Don’t get me wrong. As a huge Baltimore Ravens fan, I was delighted to see the Broncos bounce the Steelers out of the playoffs last weekend. I just can’t imagine God sitting in a La-Z-Boy chair watching the game on a big screen TV and deciding who should win.

Frozen Tundra — Episcopal Style

In deference to the recent Super Bowl and the election of NFL Films president Steve Sabol to the Football Hall of Fame, I offer you the striking story of spraining my ankle before Sunday’s 8 o’clock service.

Cue the dramatic music and the deep, unmistakable voice of the late John Facenda.

As the Rev. Tim Schenck arose in the pre-dawn hours on the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, he was fully aware of his date with destiny. Regardless of the obstacles he would face that day, Father Tim knew what he had to do: preach the gospel and celebrate the holy mysteries. Upon waking he donned his battle gear — black suit, black shirt, and white collar.

After taking care of his wristless wife’s needs, he steeled himself for the battle with the forces of wickedness that awaited him. Armed with his sermon and steaming mug of coffee, Father Tim forged into the chilly air of early February. Early Winter moans…but it’s that February wind that rattles 42-year-old bones. Charging up the driveway through whipping wind en route to the massive stone church on the hill he was a man on a mission from God. But  unbeknownst to Father Tim, danger lurked across the frozen tundra that was the St. John’s parking lot.

Emerging from the darkness a patch of black ice suddenly seized him and catapulted him to the asphalt. Writhing in pain, Father Tim looked deep within himself and, like a war-tested gladiator, hurled himself toward the large wooden front doors of the holy shrine.

Tossing aside the pain of a bad ankle sprain he  marched down the empty corridor toward the sacristy. And then, fully vested in chasuble and stole and with a blood curdling rasp in his throat, dramatically declared the opening acclamation. In dogged pursuit of the pulpit, Father Tim hobbled up the steps to deliver a Lombardi-esque sermon; all-the-while grimacing under the weight of both expectations and searing pain.

The victory of the cross was not to be denied that day. And for Father Tim, humbled by human frailty but unwilling to surrender, the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany in Year A would be a day neither he nor the gathered faithful would soon forget.

Fade to black.

Gone Bowling

For much of America, New Year’s Day is all about the bowl games. And why not? Sitting in front of the TV watching college football is a great way to avoid coming up with resolutions to better yourself. As we speak, I’m watching Alabama trounce Michigan State in the Capital One Bowl. Which sure beats resolving to do Yoga in 2011.

The problem with bowl games these days is that there are so many of them it’s no longer quite the honor it once was. And the names of the games reflect this. Sure, the traditional bowl games still exist but they all carry corporate sponsors: The Rose Bowl Presented by Visio, the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl, The AT&T Cotton Bowl Classic, and the All State Sugar Bowl. Ugh.

But I guess it’s better than playing in one of those other new-fangled and less prestigious games like the GoDaddy.com Bowl, the Meineke Car Care Bowl, or the Little Caesar’s Pizza Bowl.

I actually played in a famous bowl game with years of tradition behind it: The Lavabo Bowl**. This was the annual flag football game between my seminary, Seabury-Western in Evanston, Illinois, and the Episcopal seminary just to the north, Nashotah House in Racine, Wisconsin. And before you reject the whole notion of a bunch of future Episcopal priests going at each other, this game was war. It began with a pre-game “liturgy” with incense, incantations, and the blessing of the pig skin. Despite the prayer to protect us from injuries, there were always at least a few. Rumor had it that one player had a spleen removed after one such encounter.

While the Lavabo Bowl is no longer played (it petered out as Seabury was winding down its Master of Divinity program), those who played in it will never forget the experience. Our proudest moment came in 1997 when we tied Nashotah before the game was called on account of darkness. We had held many practices that fall, preparing for the game and were decided underdogs.

By that time Nashotah was full of young men from Texas. We were a pretty rag tag unit in comparison. But we did have a former high school quarterback and a running back who had been a member of the Junior National Speedskating Team. It was a tough game and was much more physical than the term “flag football” implies. But we ended up with a fine moral victory and left Nashotah without a major injury.

If the game was still being played perhaps it would be known as the Almy Lavabo Bowl or the Wippel’s Lavabo Bowl Classic. Who knows? But an endorsement deal that included new cassocks would be hard to turn down.

Enjoy the rest of this year’s line-up of college football games, have a happy New Year, and take notice of the Lavabo bowl the next time you’re in church.

**Yes, this is liturgical humor. The Lavabo bowl is what a priest ritually washes his or her hands in before saying the eucharistic prayer.

Please Don’t Trip the Clergy

The problem with taking Mondays off is that it gives me time to come up with ridiculous ideas for blog posts. This week? Eight things to be thankful for in light of Week 14 of the NFL season.

1. The roof of the church didn’t collapse, thereby forcing us to have services on Monday night in Detroit.

2. No one from an opposing church tripped me as I was processing down the aisle in a purple cope for Lessons and Carols.

3. I did not receive a concussion during coffee hour after being sandwiched between two elderly parishioners.

4. I do not have an overweight, loud-mouthed, sweater vest-wearing bishop who talks trash to the media but can’t back it up with soaring diocesan-wide attendance figures.

5. With the furnace working, I did not have to ply my trade in windy, sub-Nordic “Bear weather.” And, anyway, I performed a whole lot better than said Bears.

6. My promising young curate from California (San Mateo) preached a great sermon for St. John’s unlike the performance of a promising young quarterback from California (USC) for the Jets (see number four).

7. There was no drama about a consecutive eucharist streak and whether or not I could elevate the chalice even with an extra day off (see number one).

8. I believe that, given my glory days as captain of a lousy high school soccer team, even I could kick an extra point. And probably so could Mike Shanahan. The church equivalent would be me not having the strength to break the priest’s host at the fraction.

Well, that’s all I have. Fortunately for everyone the kids just got off the bus.