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A week ago Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin were both living my boyhood dreams. They were employed by the Miami Dolphins as offensive linemen, both probably making (without checking) around or more than $1 million per year (Incognito was a long-time starter, Martin a high draft choice). Martin had the added cache of being a Stanford grad, meaning that he’s probably smart in addition to being incredibly gifted athletically.

Today they’re both former NFL offensive linemen—Martin on a paid leave of absence for what he’s calling depression, and Incognito on an unpaid version of the dreaded “suspended indefinitely,” which means this aging offensive lineman with a truckload of (again, dreaded) “off-field issues” probably won’t play again.

If this story has made its way into your periphery, you know that Incognito is a huge, tattooed white guy who, incidentally, looks exactly like a Hollywood central-casting version of a bully. He’s Biff Tannen in real life if Biff Tannen bench-pressed Buicks. Martin is an equally huge light-skinned black guy who went to Stanford and didn’t necessarily fit into the testosterone-driven world of the NFL locker room. You also know that Incognito texted, voicemailed, and did some vile stuff to Martin while they were both in the employ of the Dolphins making millions, signing autographs, playing on television, and living our dreams. Last week Martin walked out, went public, and created a public debate/fiasco that was noteworthy even by NFL fiasco standards, given that the NFL sometimes seems like entertainment’s largest penal colony.

Something About Football

When I explained this story to my wife, she said, “There’s something about football . . . “

To which I awkwardly replied: ” . . . “

I love football. I always have. I love the competition, the workouts, and even the violence of the game. I used to tell my high school players, “It’s a nasty game for nasty people.” And it is. Even at age 37, I’m going to France in a month to play and coach it again. But she’s right. There’s something about the culture of the game that allows a 30-something bully (Incognito) to continue unabated for decades in his pursuit of acting like an idiot. This, in a nutshell, is what’s wrong with football.

“These guys have to live their lives on a professional razor’s edge in order to do what they do,” I told her, trying (and failing) to sound profound. “They’re constantly in danger of losing their jobs and their money . . . the next waiver-wire acquisition or draft pick could be the guy who takes your job. And it’s a job that hinges on being violent and tough and aggressive.” Every athlete, at every level, has experienced this dynamic to some degree or another. This dynamic is part of what makes the NFL such great television.

What Would You Do?

“What would you have done if you were Martin?” she asked.

” . . . “

Finally, I responded. “I would have prayed for Incognito, that he would be brought to repentance by the Holy Spirit. That he would find joy and peace in Christ. And then I would have fought him in practice.”

I would have, honestly, done both things and, again honestly, fighting Incognito in practice might be easier than praying for his soul. That’s the way it usually is for our enemies. Fighting him would have restored some semblance of balance to a locker room that seems to need it. Martin—even if he lost—would have gained the respect of his other teammates and of Incognito himself. And if he got the best of the fight, he would have lived the unspoken dreams of a number of his teammates and lots of other guys around the league.

But then there’s the not-insignificant issue (for Christians) of turning the other cheek and praying for our enemies. I’m not sure how to handle this command, except to try to obey. Again, difficult.

Identity in Christ

I don’t know anything about the souls of Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin. Ironically, I liked Incognito’s game before this news broke. He’s the kind of guy you want blocking for you if you handle the football. I pray for him the same way I pray for most of the guys I know who compete on a high level: that they somehow find their identity in Christ and the cross instead of the idol of football or even in being idolized themselves. It’s my prayer for my son, who plays football now.

“Is there anybody who’s actually happy?” my wife asked, finally. She’s apparently in the business of asking hard questions I can’t answer. But she was getting to the heart of the “guys living your dreams” issue.

“Not without Christ, it would seem,” I replied. Christ inexplicably brings joy, reconciliation, and redemption out of situations that seem unredeemable. He’s also in the business of crushing human idols. So I pray for Incognito, Martin, and my family these words from Psalm 27:13: “I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.” And I remember that it’s probably best we’re not seeing the “goodness” of the NFL, since beneath the money, fame, television, and glamour, there may not be much. And yet we make it an idol anyway. 

Is there enough evidence for us to believe the Gospels?

In an age of faith deconstruction and skepticism about the Bible’s authority, it’s common to hear claims that the Gospels are unreliable propaganda. And if the Gospels are shown to be historically unreliable, the whole foundation of Christianity begins to crumble.
But the Gospels are historically reliable. And the evidence for this is vast.
To learn about the evidence for the historical reliability of the four Gospels, click below to access a FREE eBook of Can We Trust the Gospels? written by New Testament scholar Peter J. Williams.

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