The time has come

Tomorrow is the Third Saturday in October, a traditional, though not consistent date, between the Deep South's most traditional football rivals. It is a date, that has, in recent years, prompted me to submit an annual plea to the faithful followers of the Crimson Tide to answer the call to celebrate the game and to cast aside revisionist history that demotes this game to a second tier behind other in state rivalries. 

Because recent history in Alabama football has been turbulent to say the least, I was forced to utilize various metaphors and literary techniques that sought to promote an emotive response by those who have been oppressed by an tyranny of orange. One year, I simply asked that fans exercise a prophetic hope by purchasing a cigar that would become the spoils of the victor.  Another year, I appealed to Condaleeza Rice, and the year that American's were reporting to war, I announced that Alabama fan's were reporting to their duty against the Knoxville jihadists. 

When I think about each of those treatises, I recognize that  the game was not the only influence on my thinking, clearly I was shaped by external factors, such as the weather, the records and rankings of the teams, or the geo-political climate.

This year is no different. But now I find myself, on the eve of possible apocalypse, still having no real inspiration, no real clarity of thought. The reality is that my week has sucked and the weather has mocked my adversities spewing forth its rain and clouds and cold. Tomorrow, I must face the sports beast that continually haunts me with the burden of responsibilities weighing upon me and the stress of running out time plaguing me.

Ah, time, that precious, ephemeral commodity.  With time, comes deadlines, those insatiable points of accountability, always demanding and never grateful.  This week is a preaching week for me and "time" always becomes more egregious on those weeks.  In less than 48 hours, I must stand before my community of faith and attempt to lead them in a theological reflection of anthropology. I am not ready and I am running out of time.  How am I to figure out what I believe regarding the nature of humanity in two short days, much less craft those thoughts into a 20 minute homily accessible to those who have not wrestled as much with such issues? How am I do it when I know that several hours of my Saturday will be stolen something as inhumane as that orange hue that will hang over Knoxville like a radioactive cloud? 

This pressure is compounded with the nagging questions that surround a theological exploration of humanity.  Questions such as original sin, free will and the implication and meanings of Imago Dei. You see it is just all so confusing. 

How do you legitimately doubt original sin, when you see the debauchery that is "ut."  Much of original sin is based on the understanding that a state of falleness is passed on genetically, one generation to another.  Can anyone doubt that the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was anything other than an orange, sending the world into a state of lostness.  And that the genetic line of sin has been kept at it most pure by a group of volunteers willing to stay within their own family tree. 

Then there are the problems of free will inherent in the exploration of the nature of humanity, an idea that I want to embrace, but how can one accept free will in light of this?

This can not be free will.  Surely this is the result of something sinister, some type of demonic compulsion. How can one speak a word of hope to their congregation, in light of such evil automatons?

And if part of the concept of Imago Dei (the image of God) conveys a sense of rationality?  How does one explain anything that is tennessee? How  can one rationally marvel at the beauty of the Smoky Mountains, knowing that really that is noting more than a sulphuric excrement rising from the pit that is knoxville.

The reality is that I am running out of time to find answers to those questions.  But while I am running out of time, I am not out of hope. Hope that a third Saturday gives way to a third Sunday.  That death will give way to new life, that work will yield itself to a Sabbath rest.  As one famous preacher once said, "It's Friday now, but Sunday is a coming!" That well know refrain spoken as the season of Lent gave way to Eastertide. 

It does seem appropriate, does it not, that this is the season of Halloween with its ghoulish orange and frightening possibilities.  But we must not be afraid, but rather continue to work, watch and pray, that "time" while it may appear ominous, will actually yield victory.  That come Saturday evening, we can finally relax in confident hope that the orange of this evil season will be washed away in a crimson flood, that will takes away all the sin of the world, or at least in east tennessee.

RTR!

Comments

[greg]

A little excessive, Scott. I favor contextualized theology - but this???

Since my son chose several years ago to be a VOL and he gets to choose one game a season to see in Neyland Stadium . . . we were there Saturday to participate in the blessed event.

Pax Voldom