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NASCAR, Traffic Jams, and Heaven

Jul 11, 2011 2:30 pm by Paul Jenkins in Culture, Sports

If you’re not into NASCAR, then you probably didn’t know that Saturday night was the running of the very first Sprint Cup race in Kentucky.  If you are into NASCAR, you probably already had the date tattooed on your arm as a reminder (which is now a lasting memorial).  Either way, you’ve more than likely heard of the awful traffic jam that is quickly becoming known as “Carmegeddon.”

Stories of drivers taking 4 hours to move 10 miles – and even some who spent 8 hours in their cars to move 30 miles – are beginning to surface.  NASCAR’s Facebook and Twitter accounts were loaded with fans enraged because they were holding tickets to an event that they weren’t going to even get to, and many of those tweets and status updates were sent from their vehicles within sight of the speedway. Now everyone’e pointing a finger at someone else, because no one wants to answer the obvious question: how did it happen?

Apparently, in their rush to bring the highest level of NASCAR racing to a new location, officials spent a lot of time and money on necessary upgrades.  The seating capacity was upped from just under 70,000 to just over 100,000, and 200 acres around the speedway were renovated to make room for RVs.  Somehow, though, officials never thought about widening the roads enough to help those extra people get there.  My guess is they were too busy counting the money from the record ticket sales.

My point in this column isn’t necessarily to paint NASCAR and Kentucky Speedway as villains, but rather to make what I think is a much more obvious point, and that is simply that when you build a place, you should probably also invest whatever it takes to make sure people can get to it.

Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going. (John 14:1-4)

It’s encouraging to know that there’s a place that’s being prepared for us – one that is much greater than the Kentucky Speedway, or any other Speedway for that matter.  For as long as many of us can remember, we’ve heard a great deal about this place.  Streets that look like gold, lakes that look like crystal, with lots of loud music and singing.  Many of us will have mansions there that will far exceed anything that we’ve seen here, and as great as all that stuff is, this place will pale in comparison to its Builder.  Thomas (one of the disciples that Jesus was telling about The Place) totally got this and wanted to make sure he got there.  Suddenly realizing he didn’t have a map, he asked Jesus how to get there (John 14:5) and Jesus answered with what is one of His most discussed sayings:

I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. (John 14:6)

We could go into a lot of writing and comment posting about that one statement, couldn’t we?

About how counter-cultural it is that there’s only one way to The Place.

About how that means a lot of well-meaning people in other religions are wrong and about how that one un-PC statement makes a lot of people squirm.

About how the way He’s speaking of is a narrow road and not the eight lane interstate that the people in the NASCAR traffic jam were dreaming of.

Each of those naturally come up when we read that one statement, but if we dive into those, then I fear we’ll miss the most obvious truth – and the one most pertinent to this column…

Jesus built The Place, and He also invested what it took to make sure there was a way to get there.

He doesn’t stand next to the wonderful architecture of The Place and admire it while leaving all of us on our own to deal with a way that is inadequate for our journey.  He didn’t go cheap on the infrastructure that The Place demanded.  Instead of smelling the profits while leaving the travelers to smell exhaust fumes, He personally financed the building of the way and made sure that it was accessible to – and drivable by – all.

That kind of sacrifice is a lesson that so many of the officials pointing fingers after “Carmegeddon” should learn.  It isn’t enough to just promote a great destination to people, because without a way to get there, the destination becomes little more than a dot on a map, a tantalizing carrot in front of a hungry horse, and in the end, the people you want to attract are too tired and frustrated to come back.

But the most important Place has more than just the bells and whistles and lots of rooms.  It has a road that can handle all the people coming to it, and because it was paid for with the precious investment of Jesus’ own sacrifice on the cross for our sins, it’s a road that won’t fail when it’s needed most.

I know, because I’m on it, and there’s room in the lanes beside me for more.


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I’m so glad the Father runs

Jul 1, 2011 1:20 pm by Paul Jenkins in Sports, Videos

Just an absolutely beautiful real-life example of how the father of the prodigal son runs to us when we are at our lowest moments. A very moving video.


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Please excuse my LeBronsternation

Jun 13, 2011 3:02 pm by Paul Jenkins in American Christianity, Culture, Sports

Today is Big Word day on TBC, and our word is consternation.  It means “feelings of dismay, typically at something unexpected.”  Something like, I don’t know, LeBron James coming up short on his personal quest to win a championship by playing on a team stacked so deep with talent that experts said there was almost no way they couldn’t win.  But they didn’t.  It was unexpected, too, the way they lost 3 straight games with LeBron playing the Invisible Man at the end of each of them.

Here, then, are my thoughts as I experience “LeBronsternation…”

There is something so innate within us that it is rarely ever recognized.  It slips into our speech so easily that it is imperceptible, and even when it is blatant, we stop short of calling it what it is because we don’t really see the danger in it.  Perhaps if it was a four-letter word, we’d be more apt to shine the light of truth on it, but since it has more than four, we don’t.  It is powerful enough to bring kingdoms to their knees and, yet, it never happens overnight.  Like a vine, it grows slowly, quietly, until it is finally in place to pull the noose around the neck of the unsuspecting.  It was at the center of the greatest failed coup in the history of the world, and it will be at the center of future coups for generations to come.  Relentless, calculating, and cold, it works behind the scenes whispering self-help mantras to anyone who will listen.  It’s pride.

Pride filled the imagination of a beautiful angel who wanted to take his talents to the throne of God, and led to the destruction of that devil and those angels who sided with him.  The consequences of that prideful action have been far-reaching, and today you and I are left navigating this life like men in a river watching for the sudden strike of a constrictor.  Pride searches for us and tells us stories of what could be if people would only see how great we know we are, and if we’re not careful, it will get us in its grip and squeeze the life from us.

I thought a lot about this last night as I watched the Dallas Mavericks defeat the Miami Heat for the NBA championship.  I recalled The Decision, a prime-time special paid for by LeBron James in order to announce where he would be playing basketball this season.  I replayed the words that have been burned into the hearts of every Cleveland Cavalier fan forever: “I’m taking my talents to South Beach.”

This is what the LORD says: “Let not the wise boast of their wisdom or the strong boast of their strength or the rich boast of their riches, but let the one who boasts boast about this: that they have the understanding to know me, that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,” declares the LORD. (Jeremiah 9:23-24)

Pride.  It causes us to boast in what we feel are our strengths.  The wise about their wisdom, the strong about their strength, the rich about their wealth.  LeBron about his mad ball skills.  It makes us feel like we’re the piece that’s been missing.  “If only I was the boss…the teacher…the President.”  We see it as ambition, and applaud people for having upward mobility and career goals.  We wish we had the nerve to say what they say and do what they do, and yet somewhere deep inside all of us, we know that we can’t quite picture Jesus saying and doing the same things we’re hearing from and seeing in them.

Am I the only one having a hard time picturing Jesus’ response to our need for a Savior being, “I’m taking my talents to Bethlehem?”

The longer I serve Jesus, the more I see in Him a Savior who boasted in His relationship with the Father.  He didn’t talk about how once He was resurrected He was going to win, not 1, not 2, not 3, not even 4, or 5 or 6 billion people to Him.  He just kept on loving God and loving the people around Him.  I want to boast in knowing that Savior, and in understanding that it isn’t about me and what I can do for people, but rather what He has done for people.

Pride blinds us to what could happen.  It causes us to believe that the best perceived end is the guaranteed end.  When James joined the Heat, he and Chris Bosh and Dwayne Wade had a big party, err, press conference, and announced with index fingers raised how they were going to be a dynasty.  Pride makes us count our chickens before they hatch, because pride convinces us that it’s not possible for us to do anything but have chickens, and not just any chickens, but the best chickens ever.

It’s sickening, really, especially in light of a Savior who came to seek, to serve, and to save.  His eyes looked outward.  Always. A total failure at self-promotion, He instead chose the route of self-demotion and as a result was made more upwardly mobile than anyone ever has or will be (you can read about His career path in Philippians 2:5-11).  He walked on the side of justice and kindness, and those of us who love Him might want to consider walking there with Him.

Walk that path with Jesus very long and you’ll begin to see there isn’t room on the road for pride, because there isn’t room in the presence of Jesus for our selfishness and ambition.  Sometimes I watch the premature celebrations in sports, or the over-hyped promotions in church programs, and think that pride must stand for Predicting Ridiculous Individual Deeds Enthusiastically.  Too harsh?  Maybe.  One thing is sure, though.  Not only does pride lead to a fall, but it almost always ensures that there’s no one there to catch us when the inevitable happens. It’s not that they don’t care.  They’re just too busy celebrating the victory of the guys who weren’t jerks.


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A peek behind the curtain

Jun 1, 2011 5:54 pm by Paul Jenkins in American Christianity, Culture, Sports

Sometimes when I read about current events, I get mad.  Sometimes, I get disgusted.  Today, as I read a pretty revealing article from Sports Illustrated about the events that led up to the resignation of Ohio State football coach, Jim Tressel, I got embarrassed.  First, let me try to catch some of you up on what event I’m referencing, and then I’ll tell you why I could feel my face getting red as a result of it.

In order to fully understand what has happened to the head coach at one of the country’s premiere universities, you’ve got to accept that there are certain rules which the NCAA requires of programs, players, coaches and universities.  Some, to you and me, can seem pretty silly, and perhaps should even be changed, but that’s for other people to debate.  One of those rules forbids college athletes from receiving any type of pay.  Should they?  Maybe.  But again, that’s not the point here.  The point here is that a coach who “has been lauded for his sincerity and his politeness, and [who] often mention[ed] the prayer-request box on the desk in his office at Ohio State” has now been effectively released for failing to tell the truth.

Is there more to it than that?  Well, there are more details and infractions, and apparently a pretty long history of “say one thing but do another” by Tressel, but all of it comes back to almost having integrity.  It’s not that anyone is questioning whether or not Jim Tressel was sincere, or that people are pointing their fingers and calling him a hypocrite.  More accurately, it appears that people are now scratching their heads and wondering how a man who regularly spent 10 minutes before each meeting and practice reading to his players about humility, faith, and gratitude, could have then so blatantly violated those same virtues when it mattered the most?

The high price we pay as a result of an unchecked lack of integrity in our lives is a steep one, and often leaves us with payment plans stretching out for years to come.  Consider this: in the mid-80s, when Tressel was running the summer camp for Ohio State, he was in charge of selling raffle tickets to campers, some of which were prospective OSU players.  According to one of the coaches who worked with Tressel, he would rig the drawings so that the potential players would win.

Now, the world didn’t end as a result of that, but it was a violation of NCAA rules.  And the price he paid for that?  Being a man who could be described by Tony Dungy as a picture of integrity while at the same time being described by the assistant at that camp with the following statement:

In the morning he would read the Bible with another coach. Then, in the afternoon, he would go out and cheat kids who had probably saved up money from mowing lawns to buy those raffle tickets. That’s Jim Tressel.

Ouch.

Assuming Tressel is a man of faith and that integrity matters to him, I’d have to believe that having his name kicked around like that would probably be harder than losing your job and the likelihood of any coaching jobs in the future.

So, why would any of that embarrass me?  I didn’t do anything wrong.  Heck, I’m not even a fan of Ohio State.

It embarrasses me as a believer.  I’m not embarrassed by the fact that Jim Tressel got caught up in the overwhelming consequences of what would appear to be a small crack in judgement (although given the decade-long track record of consistent poor judgement in the same areas, one could argue whether it’s a small crack). There’s forgiveness for those kinds of transgressions.  But I’m embarrassed to see the world recognize the importance of integrity more than the church.

Look, let’s just say it like it is.  It’s just really tough for me to swallow the fact that a bunch of people who may or may not even know Christ have held up a standard for integrity more than we have in the church.  The leaders of Ohio State University finally said enough, and even though I doubt their motives were 100% pure, they made a tough call about a good man who made some really poor choices, and they aren’t apologizing for taking a stand that says lying is wrong, and a man who could so easily do it shouldn’t be in charge of younger men who are learning from him.

I know I’m taking a risk here, and that I might sound harsh, but when do we say enough to inconsistencies in the church?  When do we decide that what we can’t see is quite possibly more important than what we can see, and start holding ourselves accountable to truth in every area of our lives?  Is it enough to be mostly good, even 99% good?  How do we reconcile the other 1% with verses like Romans 12:2?

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.

One of the keys is found in the very next verse: think of yourself with sober judgement.  There comes a time when good men realize that they aren’t good enough, and never can be.  That left to themselves, apart from the grace of Jesus Christ, they will take seemingly small steps over the line between right and wrong and will find themselves in a whirlwind of consequences threatening to sweep them away.

If we’re honest, we don’t consider a man’s heart as long as the show is good. Consider the following statement from Ohio State booster Geoffrey Webster and ask yourself if it sheds light on the tendency in American Christianity to believe that all we really need is a good band and a great communicator in order to feel good about our church:

“As fans we always write off what goes on behind the scenes,” says Webster. “We say it is no big deal because we so enjoy watching these fellas play. But maybe we need to pay more attention to what is going on behind the curtain.”

The people who will make an eternal impact in this culture will not be the ones who play the best on gameday. They will not be the ones who wear WWJD bands religiously (like Tressel did) but never actually consider the message behind the 4 letters.  They will be the ones who think of themselves with sober judgement, and because they understand their desperate need of truth in every area of their lives, will see every step they take as one that can’t be made without Jesus.

When we live with integrity like that, we will find that we don’t need to run and hide when God – or anyone else – decides to take a peek behind the curtain.


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What Steve Smith can teach you about money

May 12, 2011 10:31 am by Paul Jenkins in American Christianity, Culture, Finances, Sports

There are a lot of things that don’t go together.  Good and evil.  N.C. State and Carolina.  Politicians and common sense.  Professional athletes and the ability to handle money.  Enter Steve Smith, the most popular wide receiver to ever play for my beloved Carolina Panthers.  I have loved watching #89 play since the Sunday afternoon that he caught a pass over the middle from Jake Delhomme against the St. Louis Rams and took it 69 yards for a score in overtime to get to Panthers closer to their only Super Bowl appearance.

He’s been a controversial player, for sure.  He’s had great one-handed catches that made me cheer, and he’s used that same hand to pummel a teammate in training camp.  He’s had amazing touchdown celebrations and awful, bone-headed reactions that led to devastating penalties.  At times he’s been great, and at other times he’s just grated.  He’s a lot like me, and probably like you, too, and seeing how he gets scrutinized for everything he does makes me glad that people don’t follow me around like they follow him around.  But that’s not the point.  The point is that he’s got something to teach you and me about money, and it may be the first time I’ve ever read a quote from a professional athlete about the green stuff that made me think that.

I found this out as I was reading, err, researching, current events on ESPN’s website yesterday, and I ran across this article in which Steve Smith tried to lay to rest the rumors that he wants to be traded to another team.  Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but one of the reasons that people have speculated about it is the fact that his Charlotte home has been on the market for about a year now.  Typically, a FOR SALE sign in the yard is a pretty good indication that the people who own it are moving on, so it’s understandable that people might wonder if Smith was headed somewhere else.  But as Smith explains in the interview,

I think it’s important that people realize I am not packing my bags. As far as why my house is for sale, we built this huge house and we just don’t have any business living in it. It seemed like a great idea, and then we moved into this big house. We started cringing at all that space we had. For me, it was a little bit vain that I have this big house with this big yard.

At this point, I was already saying “wow” under my breath.  Did a pro athlete just say that having something too big for him was vain?  I was growing to like Smith even more, and then I read his next statement:

People saw my house was on sale and said it was me sending a message. Really the message I sent was to my kids: Dad made a mistake. This isn’t how we are supposed to live. This isn’t what I should be projecting. If we don’t do this now, what incentive do I give my kids to reach for? You make a lot of money and then you go blow it? I don’t want to be a statistic. I want to be a good steward.

I almost literally got out of my chair and bowed to a poster of Smith.  Here’s a guy who is one of the best receivers in the game today, who is making upwards of $7 million a year, and he’s telling his children that he made a mistake by projecting that he has the right to blow his money on things he and his family don’t need.  Let’s bottom line it before we move on: an NFL star is downsizing.

Let that sink in.  He’s buying a smaller house, a house more suitable to their needs instead of their wants.  He’s aware of his responsibility as a steward, not just his ability as a spender.

You and I can learn a lot from those two statements.  No one is immune from the pressure to over-purchase.  All of us feel the ever-creeping presence of more, and my guess is that most of us know all too well the tight feeling that comes when we realize we’ve got way too much of the things that just get in the way.

I’m reminded of another man who had a lot, and then came to realize he didn’t need it.  Paul wrote these words to the Philippians:

If anyone else thinks he has reasons to put confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for legalistic righteousness, faultless. (Philippians 3:4-6)

Translation?  Paul was at the top of his game, a sought-after religious free agent, and he’d accumulated quite a bounty of well-deserved stuff.  But something happened.  He saw something, or someone.  Just like Steve Smith saw his children and it made him wonder about his financial priorities, Paul saw Jesus, and seeing Jesus caused all that stuff to turn into, well, I’m not sure I can write the actual word since The Blog Channel is family-friendly.  The nice folks over at the NIV cleaned it up by using “rubbish” in verse 8, but the actual word is more like the word that gets bleeped.  Paul saw his stuff pale in light of the value of Christ and His cause.

Seeing a greater cause makes all the difference in how we see our money and possessions.  It makes us stewards, not spenders.  Givers, not keepers.  More aware of others’ need of salvation than our own need for recreation.

I can hear you asking about balance, and I really want to write that we’re supposed to seek balance in all of this, but to be honest, I’m starting to have a hard time reconciling our need for balance with the overwhelming weight of Scripture that demands our all.  Zacchaeus gave it all, and he was a just a wee little man. Paul gave it all.  Jesus gave it all, and let a rich young ruler walk away sad because he wouldn’t.

Giving everything isn’t balanced.  It’s irrational.  Uncomfortable.  It’s the kind of action that keeps us up at night wrestling with our own doubts and busy during the day defending ourselves against the doubts of others.  It is full of tension: on the one hand we want to trust, and on the other we know that the only way to do that is to cut the tether.

How does it all play out practically?  I’m not sure.  Perhaps it starts with asking the simple things.  Do I really trust God?  Do I really need what I have?  Am I willing to take a step away from balance and a step toward the radical Savior Who gave it all in order to draw me to Himself?

Who knows where questions like that may lead you and me, but for now, it isn’t about trying to see so far into the future that we become paralyzed in the present.  It’s just about taking the first step.  For Steve Smith, it was hammering a FOR SALE sign into his front yard.

What will it be for you?


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