I love Baker Mayfield. He led the University of Oklahoma’s football team with an infectious flair and joy that filled every Sooner fan with pride and belief. And now he has the chance to do the same for the most beleaguered and tortured franchise in all of sports: the Cleveland Browns. I am fascinated by the theater of it all. Is Baker physically gifted enough to play at that level? Is it possible that the first player ever to be selected first in the NFL draft after being a walk-on in college—not once, but twice—can channel his singular charisma turn into collective belief for a whole city?

I am so excited for what happens next.

But I can’t watch.

The reason is simple. I can’t watch because too many of my black pastor friends are saying “no more” to a league that, with its latest ruling on player conduct during the national anthem, demonstrated yet again that it is perfectly willing to conflate political agendas with its bottomline. If you’re going to come back at me with a.) “its completely understandable for employers to deter employees from demonstrating while on the clock” (totally fair) or b.) “they are disrespecting the flag” (they aren’t) or even c.) “the policy is almost exactly the same as the NBA’s” (it is), just trust me I have thought about these explanations. Prior to kickoff, the NFL holds elaborate patriotic demonstrations, with liturgies of solemnity exceeding most Sunday morning church services. The NFL gladly stages their players and coaches as altar boys escorting that most sacred object, a football field-sized American flag (itself a violation of flag code) and even more gladly cashes the check that comes with football being America’s game. But what they didn’t realize was, many of these men are very smart, disciplined, compassionate men. They saw not only that there is a pattern of  violence directed specifically at black men by police; they also saw, like good biblical prophets, that the flag and the anthem were symbols that could be megaphones for the resistance.

And, from the NFL’s perspective, things have gotten out hand. I was at Lincoln Financial Field for an Eagles home game this past year when Malcolm Jenkins stood, fist raised, as Chris Long placed his hand on his back. Jenkins’ courage, the power of that one defiant hand, brought me instantly to tears. The only response of those in power to that kind of truth-telling is to write laws, to tell the marginalized “shut up and dribble,” or to label to them “animals” or “sons of bitches.”

My friends have walked away, far more courageously and far earlier than I was willing.^[1]The information available on CTE and the players who have retired prematurely along with issues of domestic violence related to football are also major factors in this discussion.You don’t have to agree with my reasons, you really don’t. In fact likely most of my black friends will still be watching come September rooting for teams that are inferior to the Philadelphia Eagles.  One of the most influential pastors for me is Dr. Derwin Gray,  himself a black man, former NFL player and a huge supporter of the league. And many of the same players I am writing to praise for their courage would say, “Don’t stop watching, this is our platform!” But as for me, I am trying to actually listen to people of color in our country and to not patronize businesses who profit from their work while disregarding their concerns. And there are a growing number of black pastors saying, “Why are we supporting a business that is predominately staffed by black players yet completely tone-def to what they stand (or kneel) for?”

For once, I am going to use not only my words but my privilege to stand alongside them. Its a microscopically small gesture, even less significant than Chris Long putting his hand on Malcolm Jenkins’ back. You don’t have to agree with me, I will not be ending our Sunday morning gatherings at church by telling people not to go home and watch the NFL or constantly reminding my friends that I am not watching this season.  I will miss tuning into the NFL after a long day of ministry and will certainly cheer on Baker Mayfield’s inevitable success from afar, but my sisters and brothers are worth infinitely more than entertainment.

The following is a mixture of good biblical theology, tongue in cheek sarcasm with sports hate unrelated to any other area of Tom Brady’s life, and a petition to God to finally let the Eagles win the Super Bowl. As much my better judgment says I should not assume readers of the internet at large in 2018 cannot distinguish between these things, I know my readers are much more sophisticated than the average Twitter-egg or fake news sharing Facebook user and so will leave it to you to distinguish between that which is fun and that which is true. God doesn’t care about football, he cares about every person he has made in his image, he cares about widows, orphans, the poor. He cares about justice and beauty, goodness and truth.

Dear Lord:

Throughout the Scriptures, humans—let’s be honest, it’s mostly men—have often convinced themselves that they, in fact, were god. The thing that makes that forbidden fruit so alluring is that the serpent promises Adam and Eve that eating it will make them “like god” (Gen. 3). In Gen. 11, humanity is united in its attempt to sit on the throne of God, building a siege tower to assail the heavens. Pharaoh’s heart is not hardened to show that every act of human will is merely an expression of the fiat of God, or as some theologies argue that God “hardens whom he will harden” suggests that there is an in-group and out-group when it comes to grace. No, Pharoah’s heart is hardened because he claims to be a deity on earth, the god of Egypt in the flesh, and YHWH, the God of Israel, is showing how me makes other so-called gods his playthings. Nebuchadnezzar, in Daniel’s account, becomes a raving lunatic, eating grass like some sort of bovine creature with hair growing all over his body (Daniel 4) because he did not grasp that the Lord is the world’s only sovereign. In the New Testament, Herod Agrippa is hailed by his subjects as speaking with “‘the voice of a god, and not of a mortal” (Acts 4v22) and is immediately struck down by God and given to the worms for food (Acts 12vv22-23).

The lesson is simple. Don’t pretend to be god, be humble, know your place.

And then there’s Tom Brady. Tom Brady with his Disney-prince chin, his puppy dog eyes, his 7 PM bedtime, his avocado ice cream, his ability to manipulate the players from the other teams—John Kasay mysteriously kicking out of bounds, Russell Wilson throwing the ball at the one yard line, Matt Ryan taking a ten yard sack when a field goal would have sealed the game, the referees—what the h is the tuck rule?!— not to mention his ability to manipulate the air pressure in footballs and to work a video camera. Couple those things with his five Super Bowl Rings, his super model wife, and his millions of dollars and we can conclude two things. First, Tom Brady, by all worldly standards, is winning at life. Second, Tom Brady needs a reckoning.

Consider, Lord, your servants Carson and Nick. Two homely looking guys from different parts of the heartland, who just want to love Jesus, love their families, visit sick kids in the hospital, and win football games. Carson, who quotes Hillsong (your fourth favorite artist behind U2, Chance, and Bob Dylan) lyrics on his Twitter feed and who has been a part of sparking a good old fashioned revival right in the Eagles locker room. Now he is injured, walking with a limp (like Jacob no less), forced to humbly and courageously support his backup, and brother in Christ, Nick. Nick, looking like a slightly more athletic Napoleon Dynamite, who was left for dead as a viable NFL starter (for longer than three days), jettisoned to the Rams—the St. Louis version, not the LA version, I mean come on Lord, you’ve met Cardinals fans before—brought back as an afterthought to hold a clipboard suddenly elevated into the spotlight again after Tom Brady put out a hit on Carson Wentz’s knee. The first thing he said after having a better performance than Tom Brady in the championship round?  You guessed it, “Glory to God!”

And despite all odds we are here. Good vs. Evil. Eagles vs. Patriots. Tom Brady, a black magic, cool beanie-wearing vampire who wants to live forever vs. Nick Foles, a humble disciple of Jesus who wants to help this sweet old man depart in peace because his ” eyes have seen thy salvation.” Will not the Lord of all the earth do right? Will not we finally see Tom Brady reduced to this again?

Liberate us from the iron clutches of his dimples and perfect teeth. May the Eagles win, so that the world will know there is justice and goodness still. Fly Eagles Fly.

Even youths will faint and be weary;  and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.