Patterns On The Foosball

I spend very little time shouting to the heavens myself as a man of the Christian faith. That's just how I try to handle it.

But it is a core component of who I am and is an important aspect of what defines me as a person in this world.

I say this to warn you that 1.) I'm going to talk about Jesus and the Bible, 2.) 'm going to talk about homosexuals (a.k.a. "gays," "homos," "queers," "sodomites," "fags") and 3.) I find myself precluded from condemning those in the faith who disagree with me.

If you've made it this far, I have an experience today I'd like to share with you.

One that bespeaks not only of the wisdom we should seek from children but of understanding the differences between us and the differences in things -- particularly, in this case, a difference in what makes a small, plastic ball what it is.

In short, I think we've got a lot we can learn from children and about how we go about creating enemies that don't exist (as noted in my favorite passage in the Bible from Luke chapter 9):

46 Then there arose a reasoning among them, which of them should be greatest.

47 And Jesus, perceiving the thought of their heart, took a child, and set him by him,

48 And said unto them, Whosoever shall receive this child in my name receiveth me: and whosoever shall receive me receiveth him that sent me: for he that is least among you all, the same shall be great.

49 And John answered and said, Master, we saw one casting out devils in thy name; and we forbad him, because he followeth not with us.

50 And Jesus said unto him, Forbid him not: for he that is not against us is for us.

***

So ...

A group of guys get together at lunchtime twice a week to play pick-up basketball. We play at an Episcopal church, one that I don't attend but am involved in because they're depending on me to coach my son's basketball team through their church.

I attend another Episcopal church that has no gym and, as far as I can tell, no one who remotely cares to play sports.

We Episcopalians are but one sect of the larger Anglican Church. Among Anglicans, the issue of gay marriage is divisive. And so it is locally, too. The Episcopals in New Hampshire have elected a gay bishop. My church doesn't have as big of a problem with the issue as the church whose gym we play basketball in.

In fact, the larger church with the gym has decided not to give money to the association we share, the Diocese, in protest of the election of the gay bishop. That makes us not so kindred after all. But, as always, we're working through it.

The group of guys we have to play basketball is, for the most part, decidedly conservative. A number of them attended Bob Jones University. And, for the most part, we don't really tackle any issues (other than whether a ball hitting the top of the backboard is out or if it actually has to cross behind it).

***

There is one of my comrades, however, who shares my penchant for intellectual discussion of theological issues. He is a graduate of Bob Jones.

On Tuesday, I explained to him that the church he was sitting in was part of a larger Church that has pioneered the unchartered waters of gay marriage. This makes him a bit uncomfortable. I explain to him that, like a number of other members of the Anglican communion, this church does not agree with that adventure.

"Good for them," he tells me.

"I'm sure you think that," I say.

We discuss the nature of homosexuality as it relates to Christianity. We do this while naked men take showers to get themselves ready to head back to work. My position is not a particularly comfortable one, particularly in the overall setting I find myself in.

We discuss our Bible.

I explain that I think the words of St. Paul have been misinterpreted in regards to his letters to the Corinthians. That the commonly referred to condemnation of homosexuality is anything but. In fact, I say, his letter is absent the sexual neurosis we suffer from today and is more an instruction on how to best clear your mind to understand God.I point out that Paul was a revolutionary in his rejection of Jewish custom and his elemental doctrine that love comes first above things like, say, circumcision.

He tells me it says what it says.

I tell him the original Greek rendering isn't so conclusive as the later translations that are colored by the onset of homophobia in the Church. I tell him that central to my argument is that we don't always know what something means, because we value first the perceptions that come naturally to us.

He tells me about "hermeneutics" and "epistomology" and how to be a Christian you have to believe what the Bible says and that there is a standard for that.

I tell him how I agree, but that our understanding of what the Bible is actually telling us is inadequate because of our nature.

We talk about Greek terms like "arsenokoitai" and how we disagree about whether St. Paul lists the practice of homosexual intercourse as wrong or whether he's talking about the use of sex as an agent to exert power over another human being (ie. the boy prostitutues in the temples). I argue that sexual identity as a concept as we know it today wasn't a concept as such back then.

He tells me I'm being intellectually dishonest.

I tell him he's a fundamentalist, and that there's no use in trying to tell a fundamentalist there might be another, more-sophisticated intepretation of the Bible. And I ask him what possible personal motivation I would have to take such an unpopular position, particularly among a collection of sweaty, manly guys who generally espouse values that don't coincide with an acceptance of gay union.

He tells me it's easy to dismiss an argument by calling someone a fundamentalist.

I tell him agree.

I also tell him it's presumptuous and destructive to assume that I'm intellectually dishonest because I don't accept the notion that the Bible can only be interpreted one way. I tell him the Bible is not a dead document. It's wisdom is revealed to us over time.

He agrees.

I tell him subjugation based on race was not long ago justified through the Bible similarly to how persecution of homosexual identity is today -- a state of being that, quintessentially, is irrelevant to the Christian faith.

He argues, intelligently, that the Bible is explicit on this matter, but at no point were the human failings of racial subjugation based on race an accurate interpretation of the Bible by the parties involved.

I tell him that he and I suffer from an inability to agree that the Bible is open to interpretation by the same standard as so many other instances, like race, where politics and greed and hatred strong-armed their way to form new words and new conventional wisdom.

I tell him there is room for more understanding, particularly from an apostle who was known for his allusive, indirect method of communicating his points.

He tells me that, in this case, there isn't.

He tells me to prove that the concept of a loving, monogamous homosexual relationship wasn't a concept back then. I tell him to prove to me that it was. He reminds me of a statement I made to him the last time we discussed this. That "I'm not going to do your homework for you."

Notwithstanding the inherent flaw in trying to prove a negative, I accepted the challenge to re-introduce myself to all of the literature that I studied a couple of years ago to come to terms with this contentious issue.

And we both agreed we would see each other on Thursday, to play some ball.

***

And show up today we did.

Neither of us, however, were really in the mood to discuss the theological ramifications of sexual orientation.

My 7-year-old son came with me as part of a morning-with-Dad-at-work thing. He had played basketball there at the gym during the winter basketball season. One of the problems I had as a coach was getting the little kids to quit playing at the foosball table and to come learn how to play basketball instead.

I'm glad my son was there. It afforded me the opportunity reconnect myself with the core of what makes me a man of the Christian faith. A large part of it being the wisdom of children and the inherent truth that the least are the greatest.

My son enters the lockerroom as my friend and I are changing to go play.

He holds up a small, bubblegum-sized ball with a pattern that resembles a soccer ball.

"Look what I've got," my son says.

"You've got a soccer ball," my friend says.

"No," my son says.

"Oh, you've got a basketball?" my friend says. "Because you like basketball, right? Do you shoot that basketball?"

"No," my son says.

"That's because it's a soccer ball," my friend says.

"No," my son says. "It's a foosball."

I get the last bit of my battle armor on and head out the door.

And as I walk out, I can't help but say, "Yeah. That's just one of those things that's left to interpretation."