The story rage in NFL football over the past several weeks has not been brutal defeats of reigning teams or even scandalous reports of inappropriate behavior by coaches.  To the contrary, the media has been focused on one man, Tim Tebow, the quarterback for the Denver Broncos.  And it’s not even his playing that has attracted so much attention, although he is an incredible quarterback most of the time.  The subject of the media reports and fan spin  has been the spirituality of Tim Tebow. 

Tim is not shy in talking about his deep personal spiritual life.  He attributes his success as a football player to the Grace given to him by “his lord and savior, Jesus Christ.”   And when he does perform well, or when he seeks strength to perform, he drops on one knee, places his fingers on the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and prays.   Right there in front of everyone … he prays.

It has been amazing to hear the responses of all kinds of people, from those who are outraged at public displays of spirituality to those who have decided that he is a saint, or an angel sent to remind us of who is really in charge.   We were in a very fancy restaurant the other evening when the maitre ‘d began talking with us about how wonderful it was to have such a role model as Tim Tebow.  Not knowing a lot about Tebow or the Broncos (or much else about the NFL)  I just listen.

I’ve never been a real fan of public displays of faith, even in the confines of the church.  Raising one’s hands in prayer (although it is clearly an ancient Christian prayer form) doesn’t really turn me on. 

I remember being an American Baptist kid in a primarily Roman Catholic community in what seems like a hundred years ago.  One day we were in gym class where the p.e. instructor (our High School basketball coach) was teaching us about foul shooting.   I could barely get the ball to the rim, to say nothing about sinking it.  I noticed that all my friends were making the sign of the cross on their forehead, lips, and chest before shooting.   They told me that it was because of their sign of the cross that they were getting the ball in the hoop.  I decided to try it, sending the coach into gales of laughter.  He knew my family and knew that this was an uncommon practice for me.  It didn’t help either.  I was the king of airballs.

My concern with the Tebow thing is the theology of it all.   If Tim’s prayer to Jesus is for success in his passes and victory for the team what about the other guys?  Does the other team suffer from lack of support from God because they don’t pray before a play?   And if Tim throws an interception, is Jesus telling him that he shouldn’t have sworn or sipped a beer?  (I suspect he doesn’t do either, incidentally.)  

This form of spirituality that Tebow demonstrates is very individualistic and personalized, as if he has the ear of God all to himself … and as if Jesus would really care about who wins an NFL game.  Maybe that’s not the prayer he’s offering, but it sure looks that way to us in the ignorant masses.  I don’t subscribe to that kind of spirituality or faith stance, and I suspect I’m not alone in that.  I’d like to think that God is more concerned with people dying from disease, hunger, and war than the Denver Broncos.

There is no question that Tim Tebow is a good role model for fans.  He is everything that many other sports stars are not.  I’m glad kids are drawn to him and his personality.   But I’m still very confused by the public prayer concept.  Maybe I need to pray about it.

Photo Credit:sacbee.com

A Massachusetts state championship football game was the scene this week of one of the most flagrant examples of over-reaction I’ve seen in a long time.   A player ran the ball for a touchdown which gave the victory to his team.   Before he reached the end zone, clear that his was home free, the player raised his arm in jubilation for a fleeting moment.   He scored, and it seemed as if the player’s team was the new State Champion.

Then the referee threw the dreaded yellow flag, disallowing the touchdown and snatching the victory from the boy’s team.   The reason:  the rules of high school football do not allow for excessive demonstration of victory, wanting to prevent any sense of taunting the opposing team.  The rule specifically states that such things as pumping a fist, bowing to the crowd, or shaking a fist toward the other team will not be allowed.   The referee stated that the boy’s having lifted his arm in celebration of the soon-to-be touchdown qualified for the penalty.

I don’t think so, and neither do a lot of other people, including the Mayor of Boston, who will hold a celebration  lunch for the boy’s team in which he will identify them as “champions.”

My suspicion is that the opposing team, in spite of welcoming a winner’s trophy, must feel pretty conflicted about the “victory.”  It isn’t the way one wants to win a contest.

While this experience is a sad commentary on high school football , it is more than that.  It demonstrates the kind of power hunger that seems so prevalent in our society today.  Exaggeration of a rule to the point of over-reaction is not restricted to athletics.  It is common in too many instances of life when a person charged with authority gains the spotlight by stretching a point to become the focus of attention.

I remember when I was the scorekeeper for our high school basketball team.  There is a rule that states that a substitute player must report to the score-table before entering the game.  The scorekeepers have the authority to enforce that rule by notifying the referee, in which case an infraction is called and the team is punished.  It was one of the first times in my life that I had such power, and it went straight to my head.  I called the infraction on a player from my own team!   I was right.  The player had entered during a timeout without checking in.   The infraction resulted in a penalty to my own team.   I felt the power of the moment, but it was short-lived.  The coach never said a word about it to me, but I could feel the disappointment…to the point that I can still remember the event and the feeling of shame which came with it.  I felt foolish when I realized what I had done…and I still do.  It was a learning moment for me, hopefully a reminder when such authority would be handed to me over the rest of my life.

The yearning for power and recognition is deep-seated, and I suspect it is an event a psychologist might be able to utilize as an example.  But I cite it, not as a trophy, but as a personal experiencing of something that I see repeated over and over in our society.  Is it a seeking to fulfill a yearning which cannot otherwise be demonstrated?   Does it have something to do with early childhood deprivation?   Is lack of recognition such a high priority in life that one will stretch to achieve it?   Probably some of all of the above, and maybe other stimuli.

In this case, the referee did, indeed, get recognition.   He will probably live to regret his over-reaction … and maybe already has.  The disappointment and embarrassment heaped upon the boy by his probably-involuntary raising of his arm in celebration will be a nightmare for years to come.   No amount of assurance by friends and family will erase it for a period of time.  The referee has to know that by now, and he, too, will suffer from the memory of his action.

There is a lesson to be learned by the young people who invest themselves in athletic competition, and that rule is probably better known today than it was a week ago.   But if the reason for the over-reaction by the referee was to make an example of the young man, it was a cheap shot.

Photo Credit: Ted Fitzgerald

Not every fan of NCAA sports goes as far as Greg Fishel, the Syracuse University football fan shown here.  He’s pretty over the top.  But you only have to attend a game at the Syracuse Dome to realize that there are a good number of fans who take  it pretty seriously and spend a lot of time with makeup, costuming and an ample amount of beverage in order to show their true colors.

This fan behavior isn’t restricted to Syracuse University, however.  Every college and university in the country has some hardy, never-say-die supporters who will go to any extreme to show their allegiance.   The stronger the program, the more bizarre the response.

Fan, you must have realized, is a word that is a shortened form of the word fanatic.  Bryan Garner , my reliable linguist, points out that the word fanatic is a source for the derivatives assassin, zealot and thug, and I would suspect that there are security police on numerous campuses around the country who would not flinch at that thought.  When things build to a frenetic level following victories (or losses) you can depend upon fans to present behavior that can only be classified as unbelievable.

Being a fan can be fun when it is controlled and within the realm of acceptable behavior.   But, as in any gathered group, there are always fringe types who take it too far, and that’s where the trouble begins.

I’m particularly aware of the situation on the campus of Penn State University as I write this posting.   Other writers in various media circles have already taken their shots at the fans,  on campus and off, who have rallied to the defense of their alma mater in the face of the scandal.   I have no desire to add to the pain that already exists by my own comments from a distance.

However, there is a point to be made which, while aimed at Penn State, is generic enough to apply to any number of colleges and universities.   When the adoration and enthusiasm for the athletic program of an academic institution exceeds and dwarfs the real reason for the existence of a college or university, it is a sign that something needs to be done to rein in the fanaticism.   It isn’t hard to spot, and university administrators are well aware of the symptoms.  It begins when the budget for athletics so far exceeds that of academic life that it becomes a sacred cow.   Allowances for any number of exigencies are permitted because the university cannot afford to trim things back by reining in the exaggerated athletic program.

Young people go to college and university to learn.  That is the #1 reason for spending in excess of a quarter of a million dollars over the course of four years on one or several of your children.  Public universities (like Penn State) may be less expensive, but not by much.  I don’t think parents, who many times take on a debt they will have to own for decades, are paying that kind of money so their kids can get all hyped up for an athletic program.  They certainly want their kids to enjoy athletic events and be proud of their teams.   But when rules of decency and order are waived to protect the athletic program, and academic programs will suffer (as will Penn State…in a big, big way) it becomes unacceptable.

I’m as guilty as the next person for getting overly-enthusiastic about my favorite teams (they are legion.)  But I stand with those who say that it may be time to take a more serious look at the way in which colleges and universities seem to be willing to sacrifice learning for playing.  It distorts the vision of higher education and leads us to believe that the primary purpose is for athletic successes.

You’ll have to excuse me, but I have to leave now to get ready for a Providence College men’s basketball game at the Dunkin’ Donuts Center this afternoon.   I’m wearing my brand-new PC jersey, and I’ll probably be hoarse before dinner time.  Go Friars!

Photo Credit: greg fishel

In many ways I will miss seeing Terry Francona, who has been fired as Manager of the Boston Red Sox.   He is personable, entertaining, and competent in many ways.   But one thing I won’t miss is the frequency of television coverage of his chewing habit and the need to expectorate multiple times a minute.  Terry is a spitter.     He is addicted to Double Bubble chewing gum, and it has been amusing to see the buckets of gum in the dugout to keep him occupied during the games.    We have commented many times that he is a bundle of nerves, and that the only way he compensates is through jaw action.

But his expectoration habit allows me to jump to the related issue which is far more serious.   I am really, really bothered by the use of chewing tobacco by professional baseball players.    It is rare to find a player who does not chew and spit throughout a televised game.   The camera operators who try to avoid showing the expectoration are frustrated and fight a losing battle.  The habit is rampant.

Not only is it an ugly, offensive habit with all kinds of sanitary ramifications, but demonstrating the use of chewing tobacco and its related products is an act of establishing a norm for children who are watching the game.   Little kids develop baseball heroes, and will copy the way they wear their hat, strike a pose, or scratch themselves.   And, thanks to gum products building upon that understanding, they also begin to chew at a very early age, working hard to perfect their spit line.  It is only a matter of a thin line before the chewing gum is replaced by chewing tobacco.

A friend of mine who chews occasionally shared with me that there is a little “zing” accompanied with chewing real tobacco.  He says it fills his mouth with a sensation like a small electric shock every time he chews down.  I had never heard that, and it didn’t convince me of the appropriateness of chewing tobacco.    Another friend, a singer/songwriter of some renown, had to keep a coffee cup next to his guitar on stage in order to be able to spit with frequency.  Disgusting!

But the primary objection to chewing tobacco (and spitting) is the high incidence of cancer related to chewing.  Story after story about people who have lost their tongue, lips, and sometimes half their face as a result of using chewing tobacco doesn’t seem to phase these young men (primarily) who are drawn to the habit.   Their heroes on the field are doing it, so it must be okay.  But listen to those baseball players who have stopped (or never started) chewing, and you will hear the other side of the story.

I’m not big on social regulation, but when it comes to this topic, I’m all for a regulation that forbids the chewing of tobacco and tobacco products  prior to, during, or after a game, especially if it is televised. (Even when not televised, there are youngsters in the stands watching very closely.)  I don’t, however, think the legislation should come from the government.  It should come from the baseball industry itself, at the various levels of play.  It’s not hard for Little League and youth leagues to set the standard.  It’s actually illegal for kids that age to purchase tobacco products.    But it gets much harder when you are talking about adult men who pull down multi-million dollar salaries.   It can’t be an individual thing promoted by an individual team or coach; it has to be industry-wide.

Just as the movie industry has become sensitive to the issue of smoking, limiting it for the most part to historic depictions, the need for removing the chewing of tobacco and its resultant expectoration should be next on the list.

Photo Credit: Stan Grosfeld

I’m disappointed, discouraged, and crestfallen (see yesterday’s blog.)  The Red Sox came sooooo close to pulling off a victory over the Orioles last night and working their way into the playoffs.  It came down to one pitch in the bottom of the 12th inning.  Unfortunately (for the Red Sox and their fans) it didn’t go the right way, and today the Tampa Bay  team earns their way into the playoffs instead.

Nuts!   That’s my comment.  Maybe it sounds like a fairly passive response from someone who has watched almost every game this year, gone to Fenway even when he wasn’t feeling well, and having endured the abuse of my Yankee friends.   But that’s what my emotional level is today.  Nuts!

In language terms Nuts! is an interjection, a phrase thrown into a conversation to express an emotion.   It is an expletive  which doesn’t always carry the negative characteristic of a four-letter word, but sometimes it can be downright foul.  In the great scheme of things, Nuts! is fairly mild, showing exasperation and frustration, but signaling that it’s not the end of the world.  Kind of the word one might use if putting a screen door together and losing a screw down a drain.

I’m troubled by those who have been quick to say such things as “Papelbon lost the game”  or “It was  Carl Crawford’s failure to catch the hit to left field that spelled doom for the Sox.”   There is no question that these factors added to the eventual loss.  But the game happened over several hours.  There were great moments on the part of the Red Sox and there were awful moments when faulty base stealing and poor pitches contributed to the general failure of the team to catch a Win.

Baseball is a team sport.  Everyone contributes something to the game, and everyone affects the outcome by failure to contribute.   And then, of course, there is the fact that the other team doesn’t make the same mistakes, or capitalizes on a moment.     It’s all part of the mix.

It’s too bad that there won’t be any more Fenway trips this year.   It’s hard to come this close and lose it.   But it’s not the end of the world.

This year the Sox gave their fans a lot to cheer about.   Jacoby Ellsbury, Dustin Pedroia, Jon Papelbon, Marco Scutaro,  Josh Beckett…the list could go on and on of athletes that made my summer more enjoyable.  I have no regrets for having made a fool of myself over and over about “my Red Sox.”   I’ll do it again next year.

In the meantime I’ll launder and store my Red Sox gear and get out my NCAA gear in preparation for a season of great basketball.  There’s some craziness taking place about Conferences and alliances, but that’ll sort itself out.

So, thank you, Red Sox, for the pleasure you gave me this year.  All I can say this morning is “Nuts!”

Photo Credit: Red Sox

Beards, mustaches, and other facial hair manifestations have been in and out of fashion for as long as I can remember.  I would have said that it was the current fashion, but I read in the news the other day that the facial hair phenomenon is fading.  I haven’t seen signs of it myself.

The technical term for hairiness, especially when it is carried to an extreme, is hirsute, from the Latin word horrere, which means “to bristle.”  Its true meaning is to be covered with hair, as in an unrestricted growth of hair on the body.  I think those who used the word in previous eras probably had a mountain man picture in their minds.

However, it’s a fun word to use in this age when there seems to be a lot of experimentation with facial hair among men.

I’m amused by the way in which baseball players (in particular) seem to spend a lot of time growing beards of varying sizes and shapes, only to cut them off and try again with another design.   Dustin Pedroia, my favorite Red Sox second baseman, has to be the most prolific facial hair grower I have ever seen.   He shaves it all off every now and then, and within a couple of days is sporting a growth that would take most men weeks to develop.

I assumed that there was some meaning to the timing of his beard growth, its style, or its abundance.  Most baseball players, I’m told, are very superstitious.  It would have made sense to discover that Pedroia shaved before a particular series and would then vow not to shave until the series was over.   But that myth was dispelled in a recent article which said that he doesn’t have a superstitious bone in his body.  His beard choices are strictly based upon his whim at any particular time.

What amuses me even more about Pedroia is that he is the liveliest, most vibrant player on the team.  He bounces around the infield like a water bug on a pond.  He chases down balls and players with energy, many times rolling on the ground to make unbelievable catches and throws to first base.  Consequently, he is consistently covered with dirt.   Put that together with his beard, and he comes out (to me) as the embodiment of the character  Pigpen from the Peanuts cartoon series.  No matter how he tries, Pigpen attracts dirt, dust, and soil. But he is lovable despite his unseemly appearance.  Just like Pedroia.

I’m not sure what it is that attracts baseball players to the pursuit of hirsute.  Maybe it’s the downtime between games, the realization that they are going to be featured in closeup TV shots on a regular basis, or just plain boredom.   Not all teams demonstrate the quality or quantity of hirsute behavior demonstrated by the Red Sox.  For the most part, for instance, the Yankees are clean-shaven, well coiffed, and almost metropolitan in their appearance.  Duh!  They’re from New York City, the hometown of the Metrosexual phenomenon in which men pay a lot of attention to their grooming.  Boston men have weather to contend with, and dwell among others who are independent, free-spirited, and casual.   Jeans and a team sweatshirt are normal attire for New Englanders.   Beards and longish hair are part of the scene.  It just might be hirsute heaven.

Photo Credit: Pedroia

It has taken me several years to admit that I didn’t know what Don Orsillo and Jerry Remy were talking about when they broadcast the Red Sox baseball games.  As the play-by-play and color announcers they were regularly speaking about the fact that a particular baseball player was scheduled to have Tommy John. The gist of the conversation was such that I was clear that the player was going to have some kind of surgery.  But for the life of me, I could not identify what the term “Tommy John” meant.  So as to protect myself from seeming to be totally ignorant, I never asked anyone; it was clear that I was the only person in the world who didn’t know what the term meant.

Finally, however, the suspense was too much.  So I looked it up on the Web and discovered that it has to do with repairing the ligaments which have been torn in a player’s elbow.  Usually the players who are afflicted with the condition are pitchers.  That makes sense.    The official definition of the condition and its related surgery is pretty clear:

a surgical procedure in which a ligament in the medial elbow is replaced with a tendon from elsewhere in the body (often from the forearm, hamstring, knee, or foot of the patient).

It doesn’t sound like a pleasant kind of thing to have to endure, but from the commentaries I have heard, it is fairly commonplace and the recovery period is short.  Having just completed a knee replacement (6 months ago) and knowing what I have experienced over that period, I grimace at the thought of the physical therapy that is required to get a pitcher back on the mound quickly.

The procedure is named after a baseball player, Tommy John, who was injured in 1947.  Such surgery was revolutionary at the time, but is part of fairly common set of athletic surgeries undertaken today.

It amazes me how quickly professional athletes recover from what I would consider major surgery.  My favorite Red Sox player, Dustin Pedroia, injured his foot toward the end of the season in 2010 and underwent surgery which placed a screw in his foot.  He worked on it all winter and by Spring Training this year was back on second base.  He is having a phenomenal year; you’d never know he had the surgery.   I’m told that players tend to “play down” their discomfort in order to get back on the field again quickly.  There is some speculation that Pedroia’s foot may hurt him more than he says, but it certainly doesn’t show up in his day-to-day playing.

It must be quite an honor for someone like a Tommy John to have a surgical procedure named after him.  Although he was a good player in the late 70′s and holds some significant statistics, his reputation is primarily as the first one to have this game-changing surgery.  The same  could be said of Lew Gehrig’s Disease (ALS), although Gehrig’s history on the field is sufficient to make his name known widely as one of the great players of professional baseball history.

It’s so complicated becoming a baseball fan.   But the lesson for me here is to avoid waiting two or three years before researching the meaning of a commonly-used term.    I guess it’s time to look up “infield fly rule.”

Graphic Credit: http://razzball.com

Tentpegging is an ancient sport in which a rider on a game horse uses a sword or long pole to attempt to split or lift a small object placed on or in the ground while charging down a field.

However, one of its origins is Asian, in which a rider attempts to place the sharp point of a pole between the toes of an elephant engaged by the enemy as a weapon, causing it to rear up, discharge its rider, and rampage throughout the troops engaged in battle.    In more recent times it has been adopted as an equestrian game without the cruel use of elephants.

I was struck by the word tentpegging when thinking about contemporary military exercises, particularly those being employed in Libya.  While the civil war elements are being fought on the ground between Qaddafi’s forces and the revolutionaries, the United Nations forces have entered the fray, relying specifically on air attacks.    Highly-developed  fighter planes, including some unmanned planes, swoop in over the Qaddafi troops and attempt to place their weapons in tiny, specific locations where aircraft, tanks, and other vehicles are sighted by surveillance planes.  The targets are small, sometimes tiny from the altitude of the planes.

Part of the purpose is to destroy the equipment, interrupting the deadly air war Qaddafi has been attempting to utilize to destroy the revolutionaries and anyone near them.   But there is another purpose, to disrupt the operation and cause chaos.   That chaos is, perhaps, the most destructive element of the war.  It prevents Qaddafi from having stability, and his forces are constantly having to change strategies to avoid the strikes from the deadly UN forces.  I couldn’t help but recognize the similarity between this modern-day tactic and that of ancient tentpegging.

Obviously, tentpegging is not sufficient to complete the plan to destroy Qaddafi and his administration; it is only one tactic, but a very efficient one.  When combined with other military strategies, the UN forces are clearly in a position to overwhelm Qaddafi and achieve victory.   From where I sit, given the information made available to us, it would seem that it is only a matter of time before the decades-long reign of Qaddafi ends.  The question is “how long?” and “with what losses?”   Nobody wants this to be a long, drawn-out affair, and the loss of innocent civilian lives is something the UN forces are attempting to avoid as much as possible.

Maybe then tentpegging can go back to being an equestrian sport, leaving behind its deadly implications for war.

Photo Credit: tentpegging

We’ve just returned from a collegiate rugby match at Providence College, where a young cousin, John, puts his body in jeopardy as a member of the Providence College Rugby Club.   We saw some rugby in Australia and New Zealand, and I can remember being taught the game when I was a junior in High School.   But, as a typical American, I can’t for the life of me figure out what they’re doing out there.

I knew enough to applaud when the PC team carried the ball across the goal line.  And it was clear from time to time that the PC team had gained control of the ball against great odds.   How that happened, and what deemed it a “possession” escapes me, however.    It took me half the game, and a question from my wife, to clarify that you have to throw the ball backwards, and you can kick it forward.   Just learning that makes me feel like I accomplished a great deal.

It was so cold out that my body froze in place.  Consequently, whenever the players were slammed to the ground (quite frequently, it seemed) my body shook with pain. When John (6’2″ and 220 lbs.) landed on the bottom of a “scrum” I quickly turned to his parents to see if they were still conscious.  They were unmoved, having seen more than their share of John’s rugby matches.  I was horrified, but he stood up (gingerly) and trotted back to the action, only to be grounded several times throughout the rest of the game.  He was still smiling at the end of the game, which PC won, 10-0.   I was shocked to learn that this was a tournament, and that they would return in the afternoon for the second match they would play today.  Cold and numbed by the weather and the violent match, we decided to leave for other appointments, and knowing that we would see John’s parents for dinner later.

One of the reasons John chose PC was because it had rugby. I can see now that if you’re going to be a rugby player you’d better have that  passion.  There would be little sense to play otherwise. It’s rough and tumble.   I was told that players aren’t even allowed to wear an athletic supporter, as it is considered a “weapon.”   One young man from the opposite team demonstrated the risk of that, but was able to limp back into the game eventually.   What a strange rule!

There is an international flair to the game, the rules being the same no matter what country you visit.  I didn’t ask him, but I’ll bet John at least saw a rugby match on a recent visit to Ireland.

I doubt that I’ll ever master the rules of the game.   My wife said she’s going to look it up on the Internet and brush up on the rules before we see another match.  I probably won’t go that far, but I suspect we’ll go to another rugby match … but only if the weather changes.

Photo Credit: Paul Gallen

Lent, the period of weeks preceding Easter,  is normally characterized as a time of introspection, sacrifice, and engaging in solemn practices of devotion.  Christians are encouraged to remove the frills  from their lives and to practice a more “stripped down” period of life during which they can focus on their spiritual lives without distraction.   It’s a powerful and meaningful season, made all the more so by its corporate nature. People are not asked to take on Lenten Disciplines alone: whole congregations and denominations join hands of encouragement.

The ultimate goal of the Lenten period is a sense of preparation to experience vicariously the disappointment, pain, and agony that Jesus experienced in his denial by close friends, rejection by important leaders, his arrest, punishment, and eventual death upon a cross on trumped up charges.  It may be a vicarious experiment, but devout Christians take it seriously, some actually feeling the pain and suffering.

Hidden beneath the obvious Lenten plan is a desire which pervades the entire of Christian thought:  Christians should strive to achieve a Christian joy in believing and in relating to Jesus, the Messiah.  Nothing should get in the way of the goal of finding that joy and letting it be the foundation of one’s christian journey.

It’s an oxymoron when you put this Lenten practice of self-denial next to the search for Christian joy.

I’ve never taken the joy thing seriously before, always overwhelmed by the seriousness of Lent.  I’m not the best person at self-denial and self-flagellation, but on the surface I have worked at dietary practices, attendance at group events for somber Lenten music, and talks about the embracing of Christian ideals.  My reading during Lent has usually been of a more serious nature.

But this year is different.  Having experience an extended period of introspection, difficult analysis, limited experiences of happiness and pleasure, and ending with a difficult hospitalization and rehab, I have chosen to pursue that other quality of subterranean Christian practice:  I’m seeking what it means to experience joy in Lent.  It isn’t easy.   All around me are signs reminding me that I need to dig out a black shroud, put away my colorful shirts, and stop yearning for a candy bar or a fancy dessert. I don’t want to throw away the baby with the bath water, so I’m taking a different tack.

Today I’m in Florida in a beach-side facility enjoying the beauty of the Gulf of Mexico.   I sitting in the sun reading Kim Edwards’ latest novel, The Lake of Dreams. Kim is a friend for former days who inspired me with The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. I couldn’t wait for her next novel.  It’s my Lenten reading; it’s hardly a tome on spiritual exercises, but it is turning out to be a fitting exploration of the inner self and one’s search for personal truth.  I’m experiencing joy in reading it.

Having struggled physically and mentally through this hospitalization and subsequent period of rehabilitation, I’m appreciating the day-to-day recovery, allowing me to get out of the house, breath fresh air (even warm Gulf air), go to restaurants…and … yes … to go to Bradenton, Florida, today for a Spring Training game between the Red Sox and the Pirates.  I’ll be wearing shorts and a tee shirt, rejecting my winter clothes.   I’ll even be wearing sun glasses, having dusted them off after a dark, snowy winter.  We’ll be eating in restaurants, and maybe even having a drink.  Last night’s steak house was hardly a Lenten exercise, but it brought real personal joy, maybe a foretaste of that joy I’m seeking in Lent.

My goal is to be open to the joy of Easter, when Christians vicariously join in the Resurrection, celebrating release from the darkness and dreariness of punishment and death at the hands of terrorists.  Sometimes the somberness of Lent is so ingrained in me that I fail to move to the joy of Easter as easily as I’d like.

I suppose all of this talk of Lenten Joy could be seen as a rationalization, or I could identify it as an experiment.   Perhaps those are reasonable evaluations.   But somehow it all feels right.

It will be good to be back in the company of the Red Sox this afternoon.  Maybe I’ll utter a little prayer for their success, but probably not; it’s not part of my theology that there is a divine plan for baseball wins and losses.  It’s entirely up to those guys in red hats and red sox out there.   Maybe my love for them as a group is a good sign of Christian charity.

But, in reality, I’m just hoping for a pleasant afternoon with my wife in a sunny ball park, enjoying watching my Red Sox warm up for the real stuff that begins in a few weeks…a few weeks after Lent.