The Celtics, Confucius, and Christ

My wife and I went to a Celtics game the other night. I always feel a little ambivalent supporting the Celtics. Usually this is for two reasons: 1) they are awful; 2) I grew up a Lakers fan. The other night I found an additional reason in the form of the the Charlotte Bobcats. Though the Bobcats as a team are actually worse than the Celtics, watching one of their games afforded me the opportunity to see several players whom I like: Kareem Rush, from my alma mater, the University of Missouri, and Sean May and Raymond Felton--both from my favorite college team, UNC.

Most of the game was about as exciting as watching the leaves on a tree fall. I was poised to leave, like at so many other Celtics games, at the end of the third quarter. My wife forced me to stay, however, and I am glad I did. The fourth quarter represented supreme disappointment to the Celtics fans on hand. The Cs had squandered the lead they had held the entire game with lackluster play during the stretch when the game mattered most. Were the game not as close as it was, I'm sure most people would have left already. As it was, my wife and I were standing in the exit, ready to dart out so as to beat the crowd.

With 5 seconds to go and the Bobcats up by one, though, the crowd (and we as well) started to awaken. The Celtics controlled the jump ball in the center of the court and immediately called a time out, so they could set up an out-of-bounds play by their basket. By now the crowd was on its feet, and we were drawn closer to the court. Raef Lafrentz handled the ball on the sideline, the ref blew the whistle, Paul Pierce flashed to the top of the key, where Raef dished him the ball. (The crowd grew suddenly silent in anticipation.) Lafrentz stepped inbounds following his pass and set a screen for Pierce. Pierce dribbled forward, pulled up long enough to get his defender off balance, and then blew right down the middle of the lane. The ball left his hand on the layup, kissed the back of the glass, and fell cleanly through the net as the buzzer sounded. At that, the crowd raised its voice as one, and the roar swelled to Garden levels. All the humdrum of previous 89 minutes was forgotten; all that mattered was the glory-defining heroics of the last 5 seconds. All seemed to leave changed by what they had witnessed.

Reflecting on the game afterwards, I was struck by just how dramatic was the crowds change in demeanor after witnessing the Celtics' last second revival. For some reason this game, and especially the crowd’s reaction to it, reminded me of a shirt I once had. It was given to all the team members of a particular Christian organization that was going overseas for missionary work. The shirt had a nifty design on front, but it was the back which was meant to draw attention. The back was white except for two brief quotations, one on top of the other, the first from Confucius and the second from Jesus. “He who dies the day he finds the way has not lived in vain,” remarked the Asian sage. “I am the Way,” said Jesus in reply.

Judging from the sponsoring organization and the purpose of our trip, it is clear that the intent of the shirt was to emphasize the importance of winning souls to Christ. To be converted, even on one’s deathbed, is of the utmost importance. At the time I agreed whole-heartedly with this sentiment. But recently, while not suggesting that the necessity of conversion be downplayed, I have come to put more emphasis on living rightly in God’s kingdom, in the hope that I and those near me my recognize that God’s rule right here and now. As it is, I/we are too accustomed to reducing the Christian walk to considerations about the afterlife and about one-time decisions to believe in Jesus’ one-time act of death and resurrection.

This having been said, though, in our judicious concern for what a Jesus-directed life looks like, it’s important that we not lose sight of Jesus as we’re concentrating on the life. This is increasingly difficult. I’m very much an advocate of taking stock of the contextual factors—biological, social, cultural—that constrain our ability to arrive at objective knowledge of any subject matter, not to mention God. (Being aware of such limitations facilitates humility and, ultimately, healthier relationships with those with whom we differ on occasion—who are nonetheless our fellow pilgrims.) But most times I don’t need to be reminded of my limitations; I think of them naturally, almost obsessively, and in the process sometimes lose sight of the person whose life guides and gives meaning to my own.

Colossians and Hebrews speak of Christ and the image and representation of God. Jesus’ whole life—birth to death to resurrection—revealed God. Not only did his sacrificial act of God-love anchor us to God’s promises, as Hebrews also states, but his life fleshes out what it means to be faithful to who God is. He is indeed the Way.

A family friend and secretary of C.S. Lewis observed something significant about the British thinker. When Lewis finally became fully focused on God’s revelation in Christ, his work began to bear fruit. This happened, says the friend, only when he lost interest in himself—what he believed, his advancement, his acceptance in the academic community, etc.

The Christian life is about more than making the right decision and going to the right place when one dies. It’s about the life—Christ—embraced and lived out in each one of his followers. It is transformative, as Lewis found. Beyond a mere intellectual point of belief, once grasped, this life unavoidably works change in those searching for the Way.