Addiction

My name is James... 

and I have a problem...

I am a sports addict...

We all have our vices. You have areas of addiction or, at the very least, guilty pleasures too... yours may not be the kind that warrants multiple cable channels or endless hours of AM Radio, but your thing steals your time, brain cells and affections just like mine.

Yours may be a usual suspect like alcohol or pornography (if so, talk to someone and get help), or it may fly under the radar in the form of reality TV or Dawson's Creek re-runs (seriously, if that's you, you need help). Your addiction may resemble working really hard at your craft, an instrument, hobby or job. As a Youth Pastor, I would be remiss to not recognize that your addiction could masquerade as the line item unlimited texting on your cell phone bill. 

Whatever the case, we think of addictions as having a negative connotation. We spin addictions as "hobbies" and "interests" or even "callings" and "passions". I would argue that the label "addiction" is a euphemism in itself. If I am honest... and if I were to pair that honesty with biblical thinking, which some might suggest is right thinking, I would have to acknowledge that sports hasn't just been an addiction most of my life... sports has been an idol. Sports, for me, has spilled over into idolatry. It is hard to know where the line is between interest and idolatry, between passion and worship. But the line became clearer for me this NCAA Tournament season.

March Madness followed by the Master's is the Yom Kippur of the Sports calendar. If you fill out less then 6 brackets and don't take sick days on the Thursday and Friday of the opening round, you are really just fooling yourself and the truth of sports addiction is not in you. But as you get older and take on more responsibility, anything you are into can be judged as addiction based on the same factors. 

Just like drinking is simply fun and cool when you are with your buddies at a party in college and not necessarily an addiction, watching sports with your friends all weekend when you are in college and have nothing else to do was innocent enough. But if you are still drinking with your buddies every weekend, tailgating at every game, showing up late to work or not coming home to your family because of your appetite for partying, than this begins to smack of something more like addiction. If alcohol or pornography, for example, dominate your thoughts, plans and conversations... if they destroy your marriage, family, relationships, job, career or health... if they deeply impact your time management, spending habits, sleep patterns or overall stability... well, these are the things addictions, idols and functional saviors are made of. 

It is not hard to see how something as seemingly innocuous as sports can produce the same net effect as more obviously unhealthy addictions. So, I am a perpetually recovering sports addict.

Much of my married life, as a result of this, has been spent pruning my proverbial sports tree and like people being liberated from other addictions, I am finding freedom in experiencing the reality that there is more to life than a 6 overtime thriller, or a 19-hole playoff in the U.S. Open. 

Like everything else, I am learning this from my kids. Dylan is 7 and in his third season of baseball. He has been a pretty average player to this point in his life, though it seems he is starting to take big strides. Having him in baseball has been fun, but at the end of the day, they are only 7 to 8- year-olds. Naturally, it was frustrating to have a rainout game rescheduled for a Friday night that happened to be day two of the NCAA Tourney. I had to leave near the beginning of the early tip games to get him there on time and I despaired at the idea of missing a couple of hours of action. Round two started on Saturday of course, but to my dismay, the schedulers gave protocol the finger and Dylan's team was playing a saturday evening game rather than the early morning first pitch parents are accustomed to. 

I could stay home from the baseball games and enjoy basketball, but then I would incur the wrath of the household commissioner and I didn't want to be in violation of league policy and subject to a fine or other disciplinary action. You may roll your eyes, but make no mistake... I have made the wrong choice before. Having been cajoled into the coaching circle, I had the necessary impetus to leave the couch to fulfill my commitments. I did this begrudgingly to be sure.

To make matters worse, Dylan's team was getting beaten like a drum for four innings on Friday night. Then something happened. Dylan was playing the pitcher position in the field (he is playing coach pitch still). And in the top of the fourth, down 12-6, and he fielded two ground balls and threw some young punks out. They went three up, three down, and after the third out, made by Dylan, he was fist pumping like dang Rafael Nadal... I couldn't help but listen for him to yell out "vamos!" They spent the next couple of innings closing the gap and then taking the lead 13-12. 

Top of the 6th, with the time limit expired, the other team scored the one run to tie, but no more. Then, with 2 down, bottom of 6 and a runner on first, mighty Harrison, sprinting in from the cinder-block restrooms, fresh off a number two, came to bat. He spent the first three pitches catching is breath, while his parents did the same, and then he took that swing we have been working on with him... If you haven't experienced a walk-off home run with 7-year-olds, well... you just haven't lived. Harrison through his hands up as he watched it go and then he rounded first base, where I was coaching, giving me a high-5 and conjuring up images of Kirk Gibson... Un-believable. Harrison got the dinger and Dylan got the game ball for his two doubles and... count 'em... five put outs in the field. 

The next night, in similar fashion, coming from behind against the undefeated Blue Jays, who might have several Danny Almontes from the look of things, they scored in three in the bottom of the 6th to win it with 2 outs. No walk-off homers, but still, riveting action nonetheless.

I missed much of the NCAA tournament action, but I tell you, you and so many millions of others missed those two baseball games, and you are the ones who got cheated. You may be thinking that I am in denial, having simply fed my sports addiction with a new brand. I would argue, instead, that a rather profound paradox took place. I would argue that an exciting sporting event worked toward curing my sports addiction.

If you are addicted to anything at all, if you have appetites, longings and cravings that are unhealthy in any way, it's crazy how watching your 7-year-old son experience pure joy is a compelling distraction, and ultimately, it will compete for all of your affections. My only regret that weekend was my own internal conflict at the outset... March Madness has got nothing on what I watched. 

I have spent less time watching the tournament this year then any year I can remember. It's not that I don't like to still. It's just that I've realized that I had a worship problem... an idol problem. When things get hard, I want to retreat and watch a good sporting event. I would rather watch sports then spend time with my family. I would rather watch sports then go to church. I would rather watch sports then get sleep. I would rather watch sports then go to work. Sports was my passion, my escape, what I knew I could count on. Sounds stupid I suppose. Sports has been a functional savior. My guess is you have little saviors not named Jesus too.

I found something to combat my appetite for sports... something that gives a better high than an epic game... something that beats an upset or come-from-behind win... 

Children are the best teachers. 

My name is James... 

and I have a problem...

I am addicted to seeing my kids come alive... I intend to do my best to feed this addiction. 

Perspective

It's 5:09 a.m. and I am usually not awake at this hour. This has turned out to be an average night for this week, though thankfully, this has not been the average week. Josiah has finally fallen asleep next to his mom after enduring some seemingly significant pain caused by an ear infection, accompanied by a fairly aggressive cough and uncomfortable fever. The last few hours have crept by at a profoundly unhurried pace, and now that he is resting I can't seem to. 

Josiah's unfortunate evening has mirrored that of Ephraim's, his twin brother, from a couple nights ago. I am normally a very deep sleeper, undisturbed by would-be disturbances while slumbering. Something about the genuinely painful cry of your child has an unsettling effect though. It's easy to go through life and intellectually grasp that God loves me and wants good things for me as he does for all his children. It's a bit more elusive connecting with that reality emotionally. I think one of the great gifts of being a parent is that God sometimes invites you to experience, on a small scale, how he feels about you personally and all of his creation. In such moments, an affection and love that seems a bit fuzzy and incomprehensible starts to make sense. 

I was in bed tonight, Josiah snuggled tightly in, alternating between moaning, crying, coughing, and other expressions of pain and discomfort. We tried several different medicines for the several different problems and nothing seemed to work. Josiah, confused, thinking each time that mommy and daddy were going to make the pain go away, kept saying things like "my ear hurts" with a genuinely helpless whimper. He seemed to think that we should just be able to make it stop... and it didn't.

There is nothing worse than watching your young child endure pain and suffering that you can't seem to alleviate at any level, even as they look to you as the one who has the power to make it all go away. As a dad, you feel a little helpless (and tired) but all you can do is hold them and tell them you love them... tell them your sorry it hurts... maybe cry with them. 

 

Sometimes we parents think it's our responsibility to protect our children from pain. Sometimes, our children might think so to. But at the end of the day, we just can't. Pain is part of life. Suffering happens. I am reminded tonight that our part is to love our children through their painful experiences and do what we can to help them process those things appropriately, to cry with them and stay present as they walk it out.

But more than that, I am reminded how God does those things. Sometimes I feel like he is absent or detached from our pain and as we go through difficult situations we wonder where is God and why did he let this happen. We expect him to protect us from pain... from suffering. 

I know an ear infection seems pretty insignificant on paper, I guess that's the thing. It is painful to watch your son experience pain at any level. You sit there, wishing you take it away from him and upon yourself. 

There's that well-known verse in the book of John that says "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son..." This might sound sac religious, but I have often thought the idea that He gave his only Son was a bit of a copout. His Son was the one who endured the pain, not the Father. And it was the ultimate suffering. 

My wife, Betsy, was by my bedside 2 weeks ago in the emergency room as the a doctor stuck a catheter in me (I don't want to talk about it), part of the process of trying to relieve the pain of a kidney stone. I was in quite a bit of pain that night but I'll never forget the look in her eye when it was over. She was just looking at me, tears in her eyes, right there, clear evidence that she was enduring every ounce of pain I was plus a large dose of helplessness. When you love something deeply, their pain is your pain and their suffering is your suffering... usually accompanied by helplessness. God sent his only Son, and not unlike me, He probably wished he could take it all on himself, protect him from the pain. But pain usually produces something good, and when you come out on the other side, it looks something like resurrection.

I guess I was just meditating on this idea that love always allows you to feel in some way what another is feeling. I generally think of God's love as an deep but abstract affection, a desire to bless and things like that. But what it must feel like to be Him, intimately acquainted with the individual suffering of each person in a world full of suffering. What I feel for Josiah and his ear infection is real. How real must his feeling be for my pain, for your pain... for those who are living in poverty... those who live in isolation... those who have worldly wealth but are spiritually dead... those who have cancer... those who have been sexually abused... those who live in fear because of war all around them... those who are trafficked as products to be consumed... those with HIV/AIDS...

He feels all of it. Each one breaking his heart all by itself... imagine how much it must hurt to bear the totality of human suffering. To try grasping that brings clarity to the intensity with which scripture says he will be returning. Pain... suffering... tragic realities that dominate the human story. But only for now. I can't shake the thought of that day... when "the dwelling of God will be with men, and He will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away... I am making everything new."

Today, may we usher in glimpses of this future reality as we await his return to this world, to reclaim what has been lost, and remake that which has been stained. Today, may you see, experience and participate this new order of things and a new way of being.