Editor’s Note: This article was originally published in byFaith’s Winter 2022 issue.
We have a social and cultural divide in our country and most everyone is aware that it’s fierce and ever-growing.
It’s due in part to our epidemic of loneliness. We are relational beings and inescapably so. Our souls crave connection as much as our bodies crave food, which means that isolation is as unsustainable as starvation. We are a ravenous, hungry people, so we will inevitably seek community in some form. We simply must have it.
But what happens when traditional sources of community — faith, friendship, and neighborhoods — collapse? We search for new community, for another tribe. And for a variety of reasons, partisanship — our conservative/liberal tribalism — has filled the void left by the collapse of conventional communities.
Politics, then, is no longer something we do; it is now something we need. We gather around political ideology in order to satisfy relational hunger. Today, these partisan communities have become so dominate they now transcend the more traditional communities such as religion and faith.
It used to be that the church and family relationships were much stronger than political ties. But now, that’s been flipped. We have more in common with those who share our political views than we do with those who share our religious views. And, in some cases, even with those who share our last name.
But there is still one tribe that’s stronger than our political tribes — one communal commitment that transcends partisan commitments: Sports.
More Than a Game
At this time of year, something remarkable happens every Saturday. Stadiums fill — not with conservatives or liberals — but, where I live, with one united Big Blue Nation. That’s what we call ourselves in Kentucky — BBN for short. Of course, it’s not just here. The same thing happens in Gainesville, Florida, in Athens, Georgia, in Auburn and Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and in Knoxville, Tennessee. All across our nation, hallowed stadiums will be filled. But we gather, not to vilify one another, but to join one another in sacred traditions that span generations. We will chant and cheer; we will boo and curse; we will high-five they guy sitting next to us and awkwardly hug each other. For a few brief hours of partisan sobriety, we will forget just how much we hate each other. It’s a remarkable thing; arguably, it’s the only unifying thing we have left.
Why do we care so much?
My wife watches me, sitting there, at the mercy of athletes, some still teenagers — teenagers! — who possess the power to lift me to new heights of happiness or plunge my heart to the depths of despair. She thinks I’ve lost my mind. It’s just a game for crying out loud.
But it’s not just a game. There is so much more going on beneath the surface — something fundamental to what it means to be human — dare I say, something religious.
You may not see yourself as a religious person, but you are. The fact is, we all have religious longings of the soul that cannot be suppressed or dismissed, but instead must be expressed through some form of religious devotion. Simply put, we have an undeniable impulse to worship something.
For many, that something is a sports team. So, what are these religious impulses? What are our worshipful longings that make us this way? There are many, but as a good preacher, I’ll boil them down to three: glory, community, and identity. Sports taps into all three of these, but in the end, like every idol, they leave its worshipper wanting.
Let’s begin with the truth that all of us are made to behold and admire glory. It’s why we hike mountains, attend concerts, and visit museums. And it’s why worshipers make their pilgrimages to stadiums in the fall. They are our meccas of athletic glory.
But how glorious is this glory? My son was talking with me this week about how difficult college football is for him; about how he must wait all week for another game. I’m with him on that. Every college football fan knows what it’s like to count down the days to Saturday’s glory. But suppose there was a game every day. Suppose every game was a big one, against your biggest rival. And suppose we had front row, 50-yardline seats to every game. As glorious as that may seem, I don’t think it would be long before we got bored.
Sports are glorious, but they remain an exhaustible glory that always leave us wanting and unsatisfied in the end.
The second reason we love sports is because we are made for community, and communities are formed around a common love. There is a transcendent love we share and it’s this love that binds us together in fellowship. In my state, the most popular love is UK sports and without a doubt this is the basis for an impressive community. Everywhere I go — one time in England — I meet a member of the Big Blue Nation and immediately found commonality with them.
But how deep is the community, really? Coaches like to call fans a family, and while I appreciate the sentiment, I’m not sure they fully mean it, at least not to the depths the word family deserves. Players say they love the fans, but I’ve seen some around town and, shockingly, they didn’t seem to notice me — totally indifferent to me, their supposed family member. Bottom line, sports cannot provide the depth of community we want and need.
And then there’s identity. We are all made to identify with greatness, and sports offers us that as well. This is why we all speak of our teams with first person pronouns. We say, “We won.” Think about that: “We won.” We didn’t do anything but sit on the couch, drink beer, and yell at the TV. What’s with the we language? But this is what we do. We identify ourselves with our teams; when they’re great, it’s as if we’re great.
The problem, however, is that we also have to identify with their failures. Consider Kentucky basketball, for example. Historically speaking, this is the greatest college basketball team to identify yourself with: most wins of all time, highest winning percentage of all time, eight national championships, more SEC championships than the rest of the league combined. On and on our greatness goes. And yet, despite all this greatness, Kentucky has only ended a season with a victory eight times. Since the first season in 1903, Kentucky has left its fans defeated all but eight times.
Truth be told, sports afford us moments of greatness, but more often than not, this source of our identity fails us.
A Great Hobby, but a Terrible Religion
When you consider these deeper desires — glory, community, and identity — it becomes clear that sports are an amazing hobby, but a terrible religion. They are wonderful and worthy of our love and enjoyment, just not our ultimate love and enjoyment.
Which begs the question: Is there is anything worthy of our ultimate worship? Is there a place to go with these deep longings of the soul and find them satisfied?
Sports are like every joy in life, intended by God as a foretaste of something much greater. And the greater something is that same God.
There is. Sports are like every joy in life, intended by God as a foretaste of something much greater. And the greater something is that same God. The Bible doesn’t just claim that we were made by God, it claims we were made for God, meaning the creator of our souls is also the answer to our souls.
In God, we discover an inexhaustible glory that through all eternity will never cease to excite and delight us.
In God, we discover a community so deep and intimate that we are brothers and sisters, with God as a Father who knows us by name, and who gives us the riches of his eternal inheritance.
And in God, we discover an identity that is eternally victorious through the death and resurrection of Jesus, our unfailing representative.
There isn’t a desire you have that doesn’t find its ultimate answer in God. Sports are one the greatest joys in my life and in the lives of countless others. And yes, they are a powerful protest to the division of our society, perhaps the last remaining cultural practice that brings us together. And so, we need them. But as great as sports are, they were never meant to be our religion. So, let’s cheer for them but not worship them. Let’s do what C.S. Lewis says we ought to do with every good gift given by the gift giver. Let’s trace the sunbeam back up to the sun. In other words, let’s allow our fandom to stir our religious longings and then let’s direct them back up to the One who can truly meet the demands of our longings, the God for whom we are made.
Robert Cunningham is the founder and director of Christ for Kentucky. He was senior pastor at Tates Creek Presbyterian Church in Lexington, Kentucky. This article was adapted from his podcast, “United Sports of America,” which can be found here.