Why Everything That Doesn’t Matter, Matters So Much

A Super Bowl Homily

After 40+ years as a follower of Jesus, assessing the Church and our collective crimes against the populace, I'll name one in particular on Super Bowl Sunday. It was dominant in the 1970s among the new breed of Christian, the born-again type, and leaked into the '80s when Andi and I encountered it, and thankfully it has dissipated some over the decades. It's a shadow-lurker, though, always anxiously drooling to make a comeback. It is, in short, the idea that not much in life matters but Jesus.

If you’re thinking that doesn't make sense, I don't know any Christians who believe this exclusively. I understand. If you’re thinking, I’ve encountered this my whole life. I see you. It’s not doctrinal as much as functional and specific to individuals, spaces and places—and imaginations. And, empathetically, I know that some of the broken among us attach themselves to this idea because to their ears, it sounds like unwavering commitment and faithfulness. This is backwards though isn’t it? If as the Bible alludes, that Jesus is the agency of creativity, then wouldn’t all of life matter, at all times, in all places, to this Jesus?

I revisited the question this week because the main character in the novel I'm writing is plagued by the myopic notion that only her evangelism work matters to God. Sadly, she also suffers from OCPD (obsessive-compulsive personality disorder), and the two together make for a life that hurts more than helps—herself and everyone she encounters, especially her husband and children.

Readers who know the history will remember that Christians have periodically turned their imaginations to the imminent return of Christ with obsession and organized life around this idea—e.g., refusing a loving relationship, foregoing vocational dreams, and renouncing the arts have been common responses. The key word here is imminent, as in any minute. Which, for many folks, has led naturally to nothing much in life matters but the imminent minute. With time so short, there's really no sense in investing oneself in anything, except what prepares for the imminent, ought to precede it, insure it, or expedite it. I could waste your time with a litany of how and why this happens, but I won't. Instead, I’ll give just two examples. In the 1970s, Hal Lindsey’s bestseller, The Late Great Planet Earth, was a driver. Today, aspects of Christian Nationalism are; precisely, a reconstructionist element hoping to organize society so that Christ's return is expedited.

All of this brings me to the Super Bowl and why everything that doesn't matter matters so much. It is one of life's great ironies that Christians who bow to a book of stories, who call it the Word of God, are somehow enticed to believe that the intertwined fabric of story that is life in every generation is of less importance or no importance at all.

As for me and my house, the Super Bowl party is the single most important story I will step into on this day (at least that I'm aware of right now). It is both a context for something and the thing itself (a football game). Those who attend will be bringing stories. For example, two friends I've known for 40 years are dealing with deep heartache. I'm eager to be near them. Not to pry but to be present. I want to see them laugh at a commercial, even scream at the screen if the game doesn't go their way. I hope to be with them and 20 others making a new story, a new memory, and if my will be done, then Patrick Mahomes and the Kansas City Chiefs will secure the W and the trophy. Regardless of the game’s outcome, I will be grateful to God for the game and the context of food, fellowship, and friends. At no time during the Super Bowl party will there be any great distance between God and us or the absence of what matters. This is not a personal construct. It is a promise I take to heart.