Did you sign up to be Jesus?

Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. John 14:2.

This passage always struck me as overly optimistic of Jesus, or at least narrowly applied. After all, Jesus did some pretty amazing things, and while select saints through the ages have done remarkable things as well, it’s been hard to accept this as a blanket statement applicable to the Church universal. I certainly cannot say that I have seen this evidenced in my own life.

Of course, the notion of what it means to be a Christian, namely that we allow Christ to live His life through our bodies in a very literal and practical sense, would seem to provide an answer to this quandary. If Jesus did those things while on earth, and He lives in us while we live on earth, then he can do the same things or even greater things as we make ourselves available to Him. I get that.

But “even greater things that these”? That’s a pretty bold statement for the Son of God to make. Basically, “you’re going to do more astounding and revelatory and miraculous things then I did to convince you that I am the Son of God, and therefore, God.” And it seemed to me that Jesus was perhaps just trying to buck up the troops, stir our spirits to avoid those feelings of helplessness that so often overwhelm us.

But this evening a thought occurred to me that put a whole new spin on this. If every Christian is supposed to be the embodiment of the Spirit of God on earth, like Jesus was, if we’re all going to be the ambassadors of God to the world like Jesus was, the thought went, if in essence we’re all going to be little jesuses (or “christians” aka christlings) then what really is happening is that there will be a hundred Jesuses in the local church, a thousand in the town, a million in the country, a billion in the world.

A billion Jesuses.

Isn’t that something? We marvel at what one Jesus did in three years with no technology or global outreach, without the New Testament to read or the history of the Church to learn encouragement and humility from. Even if none of the billion Jesuses are as perfect and submissive as Jesus Himself, if we’re only a quarter as obedient, that’s still a quarter of a billion Jesuses on earth.

And maybe this is one of the ways in which we will do greater works than the one Jesus who started it all. By sheer numbers! Now don’t get me wrong; this only works insofar as we are walking in surrender to the life of Jesus in us. Down through the ages well-meaning (or not) Christians have done incalculable damage to the name of God through their own misguided efforts to forward the Kingdom according to their own wills and intentions. And misguided is the absolutely correct term, since they are being guided by their own flesh that they’re trying to rehab into perfection, instead of giving up on ever saving the Sin-man and exchanging their wills for God’s will. That’s what Jesus did; more to the point, that how Jesus did what He did on earth. If we don’t realize and accept and obey that principle, then we’re a billion Sin-men and –women trying to do God’s work our own way, and Jesus is not going to show up for that.

But imagine what the Church would be like (I mistyped “life” there, but it’s appropriate) if we all strove to cease striving, we all tried to give up, we all decided to surrender our will, and let Jesus be Jesus in and through us. What could an army of Jesuses do in this world? Care to find out?

Old and New: Star Wars and the Polemics of Change

I am a Star Wars fan. Not a fanatic, but a fairly sizeable fan. I was beyond psyched to see the releases of the Special Editions of the original trilogy, and despite the problems I had with the tweaks George Lucas made on them, eagerly awaited the prequels, Episodes I-III. Need I say that I was severely disappointed with the results? 

I’ve mostly moved on from the debacle that was the Prequilogy, the way one moves on after the house one grew up in is demolished to put in a convenience store. (Though I still nurse a distant grudge against GL for, well, everything connected with the second trilogy; I fantasize about blowing up that convenient store like Martin Blank). (If you don’t get that reference, it’s okay). (But you should watch the movie Grosse Point Blank). (Like, immediately). 

Visiting my good friends the Eglis, we were browsing through Netflix for a suitable diversion when Caleb recommended a documentary called The People vs. George Lucas. This film, which may interest even the uninterested newcomer to all things Star Wars, served to reopen many of the wounds of the past, as well as introduce some new ones. (Thanks, Caleb). The filmmakers interview myriad fans and connoisseurs of Star Wars and popular culture, charting the history of the original trilogy up to present day. And the essence of the story revolves around the right of George Lucas to change the universe of Star Wars to suit his own designs, not only in the new movies and shows that have come out in recent years, but in his updating of the original movies. There is an almost universal loathing of Lucas for his treatment of the fans’ sensibility, at least according to them. And some of the clips they insert of Lucas himself don’t help dispel the image of him as an egomaniacal control freak consumed with squeezing every possible cent out of the tortured fans that made him an icon in films.

Afterward, I was discussing it with the gracious hosts and happened to mention that there seems to be a strange parallel to the Jewish religious rulers’ (and, I’m sure, many of the common people who made up their congregations) reactions to the Incarnation and the inevitable obsolescence of the Old Covenant. And I thought it might be interesting and possibly instructive to explore this analogy further.

In the beginning there was an original doctrine laid down by the creator. God gave the Ten Commandments as well the Levitical practices for offering sacrifices. These were the precepts by which man could expunge his guilt and sin before God. Similarly, Lucas gave the original trilogy of movies, which created a cultural phenomenon and served as a seminal touchstone in a great many people’s lives.

Also, once the originator finished laying down the first words, the adherents began to expand upon what was originally communicated. The six hundred and fourteen laws that existed by the time Jesus walked into the Temple were the exhaustive attempts by man to improve upon God’s laws. Similarly, fans throughout the years began to write books, to recreate the original stories, as well as create fictionalized tales of Lucas’ early days and how he created the Star Wars saga. By the time the next trilogy came out, dozens, possibly hundreds of novels were on shelves featuring the characters originally from the film, along with new characters, adventures, and conclusions beyond anything Lucas could have possibly anticipated.

Next, the creator made some changes. (Do bear in mind this is an imperfect analogy. Don’t get riled if I seem to suggest blasphemous analogous elements; such is not my intention). God, who had always been a monotheistic deity (in fact, this aspect of the Hebrew religion is what differentiated them from every other world religion heretofore), introduced a Son, who also introduced a Spirit, thus creating a Trinity in the person of Father-Son-Holy Spirit. This was a major departure from the way Jews had always understood God; the religious rulers of the day used this blasphemy to justify killing this upstart preacher from Nazareth.

Similarly, Lucas changed some elements in the original trilogy, sprucing it up to appear more modern and technologically advanced. Further, he caused a quiet outrage by explaining the Force, the source of the Jedi’s power, not by means of a spiritual or mental power, but rather made up of microscopic particles call midichlorians, thus allowing a rational, biological explanation for a philosophical quandary (namely, “What is the Force?).  Fans were incensed.

And this is where the true similarity appears to me, what originally got this concept rattling in my brain. Because I watched the fans rant and rage about what had been done to the stories they loved so much, how Lucas had betrayed their trust with the Special Edition Original Trilogy, then the Prequels, coupled with the incessant and ubiquitous marketing and commercialization of the saga while simultaneously ignoring fan sentiment. It was fascinating and not a little instructive that Lucas refuses to release the original trilogy in the most updated format as they were originally aired in theatres, only providing the updated versions, the “true” versions that he wanted to release back then but didn’t or couldn’t. Much was made of this fact in the film, the outright disdain which Lucas seems to view the fans while he still attempts to cajole them into buying whatever products he releases. The creator does his own thing, and the acolytes utterly reject it.

Sound familiar? The Jewish religious leaders were by far the driving force that put Jesus on the cross, and continued their persecution of the early Christian church. The new doctrine of the New Covenant, that Jesus the Messiah had come and provided victory over death, a final sacrifice for sin, and a direct relationship to God the Father for everyone, directly threatened the status quo that the Pharisees and Sadducees used to obtain wealth and influence. If men didn’t need to offer sacrifices or sojourn to the Temple to communicate with God through His appointed leaders, then the priests would have to find another line of work, and one that probably wouldn’t give them the status to which they were accustomed. Small wonder they so vehemently rejected the Gospel.

Perhaps herein lies the lesson: in certain circumstances, good can become ossified to the point where it is no longer good. And when change comes, those who attach too much importance on what came before resist that change to their own detriment. And I say this as one who falls much more into the betrayed, outraged camp than one who had no problem with the new movies. Interestingly enough, kids like the new movies, kids with no deep attachment to the previous movies, who take things as they come and enjoy things for what they are. Part of my disappointment with the new movies was my expectations that they would be like the old movies. But everything had changed since the original movies were made: the culture, the technology, the fans, the actors, Lucas himself, the community of the Star Wars universe. It was rather ridiculous to imagine that the new movies would resemble the old. Ossification.

And the Old Covenant was incomplete precisely because it was originally intended to be merely a shadow, a picture, a map, an analogy of the coming Messiah Jesus. The sacrifices, the various precepts, the symbols, everything about the Old Covenant paved the way for the New Covenant. The Old Covenant was like hearing someone describe a foreign country; no matter how great the detail or evocative the language of the description, it’s not the same thing. The New Covenant was actually going to the place, seeing the sights, hearing the sounds, savoring the smells, soaking in the atmosphere. It’s everything the description said it would be, but oh so much more! It’s 2D vs 3D. It’s life vs. a pale imitation.

(Though don’t mention 3D to Lucas; he’ll try to release all six movies in 3D. Anything for a buck. Yeah, I’m still bitter).

A Defense of College Athletics

Buzz Bissinger recently wrote a piece for the Wall Street Journal in which he made an argument against the perpetuation of college football at universities nationwide, which you can find here. His argument essentially states that football programs serve no academic purpose: the players don’t go to class and/or study, so their description as “students” is basically false; the programs themselves, barring a few outliers, aren’t particularly profitable for the university; and the average student is harmed rather than hurt when expensive buildings or exorbitant coaches’ salaries raise their tuition rates. 

As I chewed this issue over, the salient question that emerged seems to be a little more fundamental: what is the purpose of the college experience, both for students and for universities? This question must be answered before a judgment can be made as to the necessity or value of football, or any sport really, being associated with higher education establishments.

So what’s the point of college? For students, the answer that readily falls from their lips would be “to be educated in a particular field of study so that they might get a well-paying job in that field.” Fine. But why do they pick the institution that they attend? The elite students with designs on becoming scientists, engineers, politicians, professors, or some other profession that places great emphasis on one’s educational background select their schools based on the reputation of the school. If you’re planning on being a history professor, as a good friend of mine would like to do, then going to a school like the University of California at Davis will facilitate this ambition. She doesn’t care twopence about the quality of the football team because her reason for going there is completely academic. Aside from the top-level schools like Harvard, Yale, Berkley, etc, different schools boast expertise in different areas of study. I’ve heard it said that the University of Missouri is a well-respected journalism school, though not being interested in journalism I have not researched it in-depth.  The point is, for serious students with definite goals in mind, ancillary considerations do not apply to their decision to attend a particular university.

The rest of students who don’t really know what they want to do after they graduate from high school, but who have been “encouraged” (read: tuition has been paid for) by their parents to attain a college degree are more likely to make choices based on criteria such as their friends’ presence at a school, the location of the school (i.e., it is close to home, is it warm, are there mountains nearby where they can snowboard or rock-climb), the cost of attending, and finally, the reputation of the athletic program. If you’re a Kansas City resident, the prowess of Missouri’s football program or Kansas’ basketball program may weigh heavily in your decision where to attend. Other factors like family history (“Dad went to K State, KU’s not an option!”) may also come in to play, but the point here is that for these types of students, the experience of college itself is as important as the benefits and career possibilities a degree will afford. 

For example, I grew up on the University of Oregon’s campus, surrounded by that culture. I attended a basketball game as a child where the Ducks play Cal and I got to see the college version of Jason Kidd demolish the Ducks on a sprained ankle. I attended Truman State University for 6 years, and never went to a single football game during that time. I attended women’s volleyball matches, because the team was excellent, and the one year the basketball team made noise, I went to several games. The football team stank, so the desire to contribute to team spirit was lacking. Now, there were other factors in my decision to attend Truman; the fact that my father taught there and thus allowed me to graduate with a Bachelor’s debt-free was the primary factor, along with the close proximity of my family and the free room and board that went along with that. What point am I making you ask? I am more of an ardent fan of the Oregon football squad than any Truman athletic program, despite the fact that I graduated from Truman with 2 degrees and Oregon turned me down for their doctoral program twice. U of O football is nationally renown, and thus I am a fan.

So my answer to the question What is the point of college for the average student, “to have a good time”, requires us to factor in the experience of having a successful athletic team. There is an undeniable sense of camaraderie that occurs even with non-sports fans when their school’s football team is doing well. A sense of pride and notoriety accompanies them wherever they go; a sense of commonality among everyone on campus spreads like a happy virus. It’s a cliché, but sports can bring numerous and disparate people together in ways that nothing else apart from religion can. Which is why sports have supplanted religion in many peoples’ hearts; the connection, the instant rapport that it affords builds communities and gives a sense of belonging that most people desperately seek. And the question then becomes: is it worth paying an additional 5% in tuition to have such an experience, to have that shared community and sense of loyalty that can transcend racial, social, ethnic, and even generational barriers? Do Nebraska alumni react with delight and pleasure when they encounter a student who graduated ten years later than them? Do Alabama grads yell “Roll Tide!” to their grandparents or grandkids, instantly establishing a common ground among separate generations? 

The second aspect of the question, what is the point of college from the perspective of the school itself, is more straightforward. Money. Some might say Prestige, but prestige is the means to the end of making the school more Money. Yalies might lord over Princeton students, but the board of directors and presidents of schools care more about generating revenue to expand their school’s scope of operations. In this I agree wholeheartedly with Bissinger; if schools’ single focus was academic excellence and scholarship, then they would completely sever any official ties with athletic programs. 

Originally, a healthy mind was thought to require a healthy body to go with it, which is probably why college athletics began. But quickly the powers that be recognized the singular appeal of athletics to both students and alumni, and saw an opportunity to woo potential students (more tuition money) and coerce alumni to donate to the school’s athletic programs. 

Bissinger makes the argument that smaller schools like New Mexico or Alabama at Birmingham do not benefit from football programs, and the risks to students’ health far outweigh the benefits they gain. I would be curious to discover the ratio of players who make a profession out of their athletic endeavors, as well as the GPAs and graduation rates at such schools. For the main case made against college athletics at the big programs are that the students aren’t attending classes or actually attaining an education; they are merely showcasing for professional leagues. The players are exploited by being unpaid laborers putting their health at risk for no compensation. The schools grow rich off the players whom they exploit.

My answer to this issue begins with the nature of sports. For most players know that their chances of becoming professional athletes are virtually nonexistent. They have reached the pinnacle of their career in football or basketball or tennis or weight-lifting. But most of them first started playing sports because they loved to, and because of the bonds and experiences sports provided to them. I never played college athletics, but I played pickup basketball for years. It didn’t benefit me in any way other than keeping me relatively healthy and making connections with other students and professors. Plus, I loved playing basketball! Athletes play sports because they love to, and the fact that risks are involved (which they are more acutely aware of than anyone else) and that they may never go pro ultimately doesn’t matter to them. They love to play, and the opportunity to play in front of thousands of cheering fans, for high stakes, makes the competition all the sweeter. 

Moreover, those select elite who will go pro have the opportunity to demonstrate their skills before scouts from professional teams. The current system does benefit the pro leagues and colleges more than the players who fill them, but as currently situated the players still benefit from college ball as their exhibition of skills. If they insist on earning money straight out of high school, there are developmental leagues or foreign leagues that will compensate them. Whether or not that system should change is a different issue than the original premise for this post, so we will not address it, merely acknowledge it.

As for the argument that it subjects athletes to possible injuries, the answer is simple: injuries are the risks of the business no matter what level of play a person is at. High school athletes are injured frequently, and as minors must have their parents’ permission to play. If anything, ban high school sports with injury potential, but once a person turns 18, they become legal adults, and if they choose to roll the dice by playing football or rugby, that is their right. Besides, since the players are bigger, stronger, and faster in pro leagues, and more is at stake, the argument could be made that college athletics is safer than professional athletics. 

This is my argument to the issues raised by Mr. Bissinger. College athletics benefit students, the athletes themselves, and the programs who offer them. Keep them as they are. They’re jolly good fun.