My Sunday Feeling

"God would never let this happen without a reason. It is up to me to find out what that is and use it to glorify (sic) him."-Matt Courson

I guess there just wasn't much going on in the world of sports last week. You couldn't tell it by my newspaper. The NBA and NHL playoffs were in full swing. Barry Bonds was still stalking #714. The State High School Track Meets were going off at different venues all over the state. I guess all that was not sufficiently stimulating enough to warrant Wally Hall actually writing a sports column last Wednesday. Rather, he wrote a piece about a former AAU and UA- Monticello pitcher named Matt Courson who is paralyzed from the waist down after an accident last April. Wally cranks out 2 or 3 of these types of pieces a year wherein he writes about the grit and determination of the subject in his/her attempt to overcome the long odds illness or an injury has put upon them.

To be fair, and we are nothing if not fair around here, Wally is by no means the worst offender in this regard. All sportswriters engage in these sort of puff pieces from time to time, I suspect generally when they can't think of anything else to write about. It's just that not everybody is as sappy and maudlin as Wally can be when his bathos enzymes are flaring up on him.

But this is not about Wally. Neither is it about the poor young man who has sustained this awful tragedy. This is about the perverse application, or logical extension of if you will, popular sports theology. How many times have we seen guys pointing to the heavens after scoring touchdowns or hitting home runs? Practically every other post-game interview with some triumphant jock is full of such hokum as "God was with us today" or "We'll just have to give God the Glory for this win."

Well, I no more believe that God intervenes in human history to fix the outcome of sporting events than I believe that there is a teleological explanation for why this boy is in a wheelchair. As an aside, I also don't believe that God talks to Pat Robertson either. The God of my Bible suffers little children. He doesn't suffer fools. But I digress.

And at this point, let me make something abundantly clear. I am not making fun of this kid. I am not even particularly finding fault as such with his attitude. It is simply human nature to try to assign an explanation for why bad things happen to people. I cannot possibly imagine what young Mr. Courson is going through. If this interpretation of events keeps him fighting another day, who am I to criticize?

I just don't think Wally should use this kid to pander to the bible-bangers, which he cannot resist doing from time-to-time.

I remember years ago a man named Jim died unexpectedly. He was rewiring his house and accidentally electrocuted himself. As it happened, his son was struck by a car and killed exactly 5 years earlier to the day. The priest who was giving the homily, an otherwise sensible type, actually said the following words, " And imagine the joy in heaven when Jim saw his son exactly 5 years after his own accident." If he meant this to comfort the congregation, it had the opposite effect. One loud gasp rang throughout the church. Women began weeping openly. This was a disaster in the making.

The priest sat down. Bishop Andrew MacDonald stood up. He removed his miter and went to the pulpit. Quite frankly, I winced when I saw this. Bishop MacDonald is a very fine man but he is not going to make anybody forget John Wesley anytime soon. I was not looking forward to this.

He leaned against the pulpit and propped himself up with his folded his arms. He is a very formal man. I had never seen him do this. After things had gotten very quiet, he spoke.

" When I was a young priest, I was the assistant at a small church in Savannah. There was a very devout young couple there. They were very regular in their attendance at Mass, they tithed, they volunteered. A wonderful Catholic family. Unfortunately, their only child got away from them and drowned in a nearby lake.

I went out to the house and we sat at the kitchen table. I can see their faces today. 'Father', they said. ' We are devout. We follow the church's teachings How could this happen to us?'

All my studies, all my training, nothing prepared me for this question. And so I said ' As God is my witness I do not know why these things happen.'

And I stand here today as your Bishop and I am here to tell you, just as I told that young couple 30 years ago, as God is my witness, I still don't know why these things happen."

I wish young Mr. Courson all the luck in the world. He is a better man than I am, and is dealing with this situation with much more intestinal fortitude than I could summon forth. I guarantee you that. And that larger point got obscured by the bad theology regurgitated by a bad writer in last Wednesday's column.

I don't know what I believe about half the time. I don't know why these things happen. But like I said, I don't believe that God fixes ball games. And I don't think an earnest young man like Matt Courson is in a wheelchair for a "reason."