For the Love of the Game (and my Dad)
Playing dodgeball in a 100 year old tavern
This is the recording and manuscript of a sermon I gave at my church last Christmas season for a series we were doing called Holding the Quiet. The lectionary text for the day was Hebrews 10. So, naturally, I explain the basic game of catch in excruciating detail… and harassing my dad at a tavern.
There may be nothing my dad and I have done more than throw a ball back and forth.
In the spring, we'd throw the baseball back and forth in the street, backing up further and further from each other, testing our athletic limits. I could always tell, even before it landed in my glove, when my dad had thrown it just a little harder than usual - a silent challenge wrapped in a curve. Like he was saying, alright son, can you handle this?
Whenever I would drop the ball, he’d make an *explosion sound.* And I would yell, "Dad! Stop!" He’d laugh at my discomfort with failure - my perfectionism and intensity made me a better than average athlete, but also made me sensitive to any criticism - even a playful explosion sound.
In the fall, we would throw the football in the living room during the commercials of the Sunday Night or Monday Night Football game. Often, some candle or vase would get broken. We'd try to quickly put it back together and he would whisper, "Don't tell mom."
That was our sacred ritual: standing some distance apart, tossing a ball back and forth, each throw a subtle conversation of trust and connection. It never occurred to me then that there would come a time where that connection would feel shaky, and the distance between us would feel too vast for a game of catch.
At the risk of over-analyzing the simplest game to ever exist - let's talk about how catch works.
First: you need another person.
You technically can play catch by yourself - and I often do, pacing around by myself in the backyard - but then it's not really called catch, it's just called sad.
Second: you need space between you and the other person.
This may sound obvious, but... it's crucial. They are over there... and I have to be here. Too close together and the whole thing falls apart.
Third: you need a ball of some kind.
If you're me and my dad, a football is preferable. This is what you use to bridge the space between the two of you. The better you get, the more creatively you can try to bridge the gap.
This is the structure of catch. It's simple, yet profound.
This is why it has lasted through the ages.
It's why parents and children, probably especially fathers and sons, have been drawn to this game since the dawn of
Because in that action of tossing a ball back and forth, we are physically metaphor-izing the ways we toss so much back and forth between us - our fears, our desires, our passions and interests, our beliefs and ideologies, our hopes and dreams.
Or maybe it's just because men are simple creatures and like the hit of dopamine from successfully catching a ball.
But, on this Advent Sunday of Love, I believe it is the perfect representation of what it means to Love someone.
PART 1: Another Person
A few months into my faith deconstruction, after beginning to tear through books on the history of religion and Christianity, books on psychology and anthropology that were helping me understand my previous beliefs and form new ones...
... I longed to share these new ideas with my dad.
My dad is a pastor. He has been my whole life.
He's the one who handed his Christian faith down to me.
So, I really wanted to talk about what I was learning, and to see what he thought.
I wanted to throw the ball back and forth.
But this time, the ball wasn't a football. Now, I wanted to throw back and forth Paul Tillich's idea of God as "Ground of Being." Or Alfred North Whitehead's "Process Theology." Or Joseph Campbell's ideas on the power of "Myth." Or Thomas Merton's "True Self."
I was tossing these ideas around in my head and I wanted to throw them back and forth with my dad.
The problem was, when we would talk, the intensity I was throwing these ideas at him was not like we were playing catch - I was throwing them like I was playing dodgeball.
This usually happened at The Tavern - this 100 year old pub in the heart of Austin. It's old, historical architecture makes it stand out in the middle of all the modern buildings in a city that's constantly evolving - like a stubborn refusal to acknowledge change. It's cavernous interior with dark, old creaky wood makes it the perfect place to watch a football game in the fall. That, and the dozen TVs you can see from any seat in the house.
It's also exactly mid way between our two houses. And at this mid-way meet up spot, we would attempt to find some middle ground to connect on about our faith and my changing beliefs while pretending to watch a game.
The football game on TV an apt metaphor for our conversations - aggression and bruises.
I peg him with a challenging topic, like, alright dad, can you handle this?
But he dosn't engage in my argument. He drops the ball.
*explosion sound*
It's always me forcing the conversation towards faith and beliefs. He rarely engaged as much as I want him to.
That bothers me. I think: Why does my dad have to be so rigid, so fragile, so triggered by new ideas? Doesn't he see how incredibly life giving these ideas are for me?
I so want my dad - my pastor dad - to talk about my evolving faith with me. I want him to ask me about what I'm learning. I want him to bring up the topic of faith for once. I want to feel like he is interested, curious, that he wants to understand me.
All this frustration and bitterness is really covering up something deeper in me - I'm scared.
I'm scared that I won't feel close to my dad - the way I always had, for the first 27 years of my life.
Scared that the closeness we enjoyed when we believed the same things would slowly fade.
Scared that he won't understand me or accept me.
Scared that we would drift apart as our beliefs evolved in different directions.
Scared that we would become one of those father-and-sons who could only talk about "the game."
"Did you see the game last night?"
"Yeah - nail-biter."
"Yup."
"Yup..."
Scary.
My way of dealing with that mix of fear and anger is to insist we address it. I tell myself this is the mature thing to do, even the loving thing to do. I won't let our relationship drift! I'm going fight for it!
And fight I do.
And I'm breaking more than candles and vases.
"Don't tell mom."
PART 2: The Space Between
Sue Johnson, a psychologist whose work built on attachment theory, found that adult couples can develop Avoidant Attachment or Anxious Attachment styles with their significant other.
While avoidant attachment is characterized by withdrawal and lack of vulnerability, anxious attachment interprets distance in the relationship like a threat, and can lead to an emotional intensity that overwhelms their partner and pushes them away.
Hi - I'm Brandon, and I have an Anxious Attachment style. With MY DAD!
I'm so afraid that I will never be close to my dad the way we used to be... that I've become the classic stereotype of the crazy ex-girlfriend. Clingy, obsessive. Constantly texting him saying, "Hey, we need to talk. It's important." Just so I can bring up theology and religion. Dramatic mood swings from loving to angry. Inability to let go of the past.
He doesn't know it yet, but we're meant to deconstruct together.
I think it's often fear that leads us to attack or distance from others - fear that our differences are too big to cross. Fear that we won't be able to connect, to understand each other, to see or be seen.
But love actually requires we recognize and allow each other our differences. Attachment theory has found that being too far apart, too walled off OR too close together is not conducive to a healthy relationship. We have to have space between us. Otherwise, the whole thing falls apart.
Dr. Johnson's work found that what was needed for couples - or, in this case, a father and son - is vulnerability and safety. When partners turn towards each other, risk opening up and are met with empathy, their bond can deepen.
To allow for you to be over there... while I am here. And the space between must be safe, and filled with empathy.
Theological dodgeballs probably aren't the best tactic for safety and empathy.
But it's hard for me to stop. I'm afraid if I stop forcing conversations about our beliefs, we will lose connection. The ideological chasm between us is too big.
We'll never be the dad and son laughing with ease while playing catch in the backyard again.
PART 3: The Ball
The central Christian narrative is about God bridging the ultimate distance - the distance between the divine and human.
As far as I can tell, this was new in human history - for anyone to imagine this divine chasm could be crossed. It was a distance thought too big to connect across. The best that could be done was to try and bridge the distance by following the law.
The lectionary text today was Hebrews 10: “Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but a body you prepared for me."
I think the sacrifices and offerings commanded by the law served mainly to highlight the distance and differences between us humans and God. They pointed to the space between us. And that's part of being in relationship - acknowledging our differences.
But it doesn't do much to help us actually connect and commune.
To actually be in relationship, to Love, we have to find a way to connect across our differences, with vulnerability. And in all the vulnerability of a human infant, God throws the ultimate backyard pass. And a young teenage girl catches it. (The men, of course, were slower to catch on - too caught up in competition to notice the divine lob.)
Just like catch requires space between us, Love requires we allow each other our differences.
But how different is... too different?
Can we become so different it's not possible to relate?
Can we become too polarized to connect?
Love may require we allow our differences, but how far is too far to still play catch? To still connect?
God answers by throwing the ultimate throw - across the chasm between humans and the divine.
If it's possible to Love across this distance, what new world have we just entered into?
I see much of the New Testament as guys (who seem to be stuck in their head and much slower than Mary) trying to work out what this might mean... maybe there's no more Jew and Greek in God? Maybe we're all children of God? Maybe in Christ all are made righteous?
Cool. Maybe.
And...
Maybe all that's required is the vulnerability to turn and catch the ball, like Mary.
For the past several years, my dad and I have continued to meet up at the Tavern in between us - that consistent pub stubbornly holding onto the past in a changing city. We break bread, drink beer, and catch up while pretending to watch boys play catch on the TVs. It's our sacred ritual.
After countless dodgeball games at the pub resulting in little more than relational bruises, I put down my dodgeballs. It was time to try something new.
So I asked my dad, "Dad, how are you doing?"
He said, "Fine. Did you see the game last week?"
"I did. Nail-biter."
Then, we just hold the quiet.
After some light conversation about our work and a few pauses to watch the game on TV, he turns and asks me, "What have you been reading lately? Any new favorite theology books?"
He threw me a pass.
And I try my best to field it, and throw it back - softly, with a bit of empathy.
And we begin learning to play catch again.
These days, I'm not as afraid that our differences will pull us apart. I can see that allowing them - even respecting and admiring them - is necessary for being in a relationship.
Now I actually get to just enjoy my dad. I kind of enjoy our differences... even the parts of us that deviate quite a bit.
Because those differences are what make it possible for us to play a really interesting and meaningful game of catch.