Article by Carl Laferton
The anthem was belted out. My heart beat fast. The adrenalin flowed in torrents. Ah, it’s the hope, the rising hope, the no man’s land of touching distance. And then it’s the ebbing, the dashing, the dying of the hope. And the sadness settles in. And then the “If only we’d…”, and then the strange sense of emptiness.
I really could care less about the football. And I think I really should care less about the football. (And the rugby, and the cricket, and the tennis.)
I’m a sports nut. I will happily read about sport, talk about sport, watch sport and shout at sport all day. There was a time when I hoped very much that my job would be to write about sport all day.
And there’s nothing wrong with any of that.
Until there is.
One thing that changed me
I remember years ago—back in 2013 at an Acts29 Europe conference—listening to the pastor Matt Chandler give a seminar. Honestly, I don’t remember the topic—I think it might’ve been something to do with longevity in ministry. Frankly, I don’t remember most of what he said.
But I do remember him saying one thing that changed me. And it was about sport. Matt was talking about how he had made a conscious decision not to actively support any sports team. Why? Because when he started to care about a team, he would always care too much. Their success would stir his affections more than anything else. Their failure would make him irritable like nothing else.
And that’s just not Christian, he said. Jesus Christ is the One whose cause should capture us. His victory is what should most excite us. The advance of his kingdom is what should most stir us.
Honestly, would I get more excited if someone were converted this summer, or if we won whatever major tournament is on?
His point was that anything that replaces Christ as the thing that most attracts our excitement, our devotion, our hopes and our dreams is an idol that needs to be rejected. Not cuddled. Not toyed with. Not excused because, you know, all the other guys at church do it…
And as he spoke, I realised he was speaking of me. That when we’re searching for an equaliser, it’s like my life and happiness depend on it. That I shout helpful and innovative advice like “Shoot!” from thousands of miles away as though this, right here, is life. That defeat makes me feel like the world is a worse place, and I have the right to be grumpy with those around me and one-eyed about the referee. That I excuse all this by making a joke of it.
And I thought: Honestly, would I get more excited if someone were converted this summer, or if we won whatever major tournament is on?
The answer wasn’t the one I think God would be pleased with, or that I should be pleased with. I was more gripped by the prospect of a gold trophy than a trophy of grace.
This matters more
Since then, I’ve tried to spot when I am enjoying sport as a good thing, given by the God who wants us to enjoy the world he’s made us to live in; and when I am straying towards idolising sport as a god thing, replacing my God in my affections, capturing my excitement, leaving me feeling empty if we lose. I’ve asked the Spirit to prod me when I am beginning to define myself more in terms of my country-tribe or team-tribe than in terms of Jesus’ tribe (he calls it the church).
Because that’s the moment when I’m loving the football (or rugby, or cricket, or tennis) too much. And I say to myself, ‘Carl, you are literally getting over-excited about whether a man can kick a small sphere between two posts and under a bar.’ And then I try to think about what else is happening today: that round the world, the good news about a man who won the greatest of victories in the most unlikely of venues is being shouted, spoken, whispered, read about, believed. Victory after victory is being won as His Spirit brings everlasting hope to those who were facing the defeat of death. And I am being invited to show in my life (including in how I watch sport) and say with my mouth that, yes, His triumph means more than my team’s.
Last night, we won. Because Jesus has won. And seriously—that matters more.
And sooner or later, my heart will race. The adrenalin will flow. The shouts will come. The hopes will rise, and never die. There will be no more sadness, no more disappointments, no more “If only we’d…”. And all I’ll know is soaring fullness and all-encompassing adoration as I join the crowds and belt out the anthem:
Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they were saying:
‘Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
and honour and glory and praise!’ (Revelation 5 v 11-12)
I really can’t care too much about the Lord.
You?
Article posted at: https://www.thegoodbook.co.uk/blog/interestingthoughts/2018/07/12/last-night-we-won/