Most of you who read this devotional are from the Indianapolis area. You know that our metropolitan area is hosting the be-all and end-all of football events, the Super Bowl, this week. We are also in the midst of controversy over whether Peyton Manning will play for the Colts later this year or not. Thus, many here have football on the brain.
One of the final two teams is the New York Giants, whose quarterback is Peyton’s kid brother, Eli. Growing up in a famous football family, it’s interesting to see Peyton and Eli (on YouTube) play football as little boys – both very, very competitive, even back then. I remember when I played football at age 7, how desperately I wanted to win, to score a touchdown, to do anything that looked even remotely like my football heroes on the TV screen…to be as elusive on offense as Gale Sayers…to be as menacing on defense as Dick Butkus. Some of the greatest football fans are 7 year olds.
The Giants got to the Super Bowl by defeating the San Francisco 49ers eleven days ago. For 49er fans, it was a difficult way to lose, because they lost a close game that turned on the fact that one of the 49ers fumbled a punt. The name of the fumbler was Kyle Williams, who also fumbled earlier in the game. That time a Giant scooped up the fumble and ran for a key touchdown. So no 49er fan/player/coach was happy with Kyle Williams that night. Not even Kyle Williams, head sunk low on the bench, was happy with Kyle Williams.
Unfortunately in the hours that followed we all learned yet again that spectator sports have become too important to some adults. Several angry fans anonymously texted/emailed/mailed Kyle Williams several death threats. Ridiculous. A sure sign of the times, when fan interest turns into fan perversion and football idolatry. But at the same time there appeared a ray of light.
What happened was that Kyle Williams received one letter that was different, from one of those super-devoted seven year old fans. His name was Owen. His father Michael shared Owen’s story with a reporter friend. You see 49er fan Owen was crying his eyes out after the game, his sobs interrupting his complaint about Williams: “But…why…did…he…have to…fumble?”
His Dad was trying to get Owen to stop crying. Finally he said to his son, “If YOU feel this way, how sad do you think Kyle Williams is?” That made Owen pause a second. Then he asked his dad, “Can I write him a letter to make him feel better?” Yes.
I have seen a copy of that letter, written in squiggly, large, but legible printed letters. “Dear Mr. Williams We just watched the playoff game I feel really bad for you but I wanted to tell you that that you had a great season. You sould be very proud. So I wanted to say thank you I am your #1 FAN! p.s. your awesome”
If I’m Kyle Williams (and haven’t we all, a time or two or three, been Kyle Williams, so to speak?), I’m keeping that letter. I’m framing it, even. Because that letter is grace.
But I want to focus on something – on something Owen did that I believe was even more important than writing the letter itself. It’s that point right in the midst of his angry crying, right after hearing his father’s question, a question which sought to direct Owen’s attention to the person beneath the red and gold uniform with the number 10 printed on the back. The reporter said that at that point Owen “paused.”
He paused. He paused and thought. He paused and thought and felt for another human being, someone who was not himself.
That’s often what it takes in our lives, to get us out of ourselves, a pause to think in a different way. Whether we are “why is me-ing” or “how dare you-ing” or “worry-ing” or exhibiting some other selfish thought process that is bolstering our selfish actions….that’s often what it takes. A good, heartfelt pause. That’s often what it takes to listen to the Holy Spirit inside of us, telling us yet again to love our neighbor as ourselves – Jesus pointing out through the Good Samaritan parable that our neighbor can be anyone, even some football player on a TV screen.
O Lord, help us to pause and redirect our thoughts, thus derailing the plans of our spiritual enemy. Help us to pause and listen in that pause to the Voice of Compassion. For when we do that, something great can happen.
At the end of that letter something great continued to happen when Owen told Kyle, “You are awesome.” But Kyle and his dad are awesome, too. Awesome because between the two of them they created a pregnant pause, pregnant with possibility…the possibility, which suddenly took shape, of showing divine goodness and love to another thirsty soul.
David Hewitt
