The Liturgy of Football
My first real encounter with liturgical worship was on my first day at Church of the Resurrection. I had been to Roman Catholic weddings, which left little impression upon me, and to some semi-liturgical churches. But my first experience of liturgy happened much earlier, at Snyder Family Memorial Stadium in Manhattan, KS.
George Marsden, in The Soul of the American University, documented how sports came to fill the spiritual void left by secularism at the center of institutions of higher education. Although named by the John Templeton Foundation to its selective list of "colleges that build moral character," Kansas State University ("K-State") was like any other major university when it came to the role of athletics. The campus was divided over religion (Christianity vs. Islam vs. Atheism vs. Who Cares?), politics, urban vs. rural origins, and whose major was hardest (chemical engineering, of course). But there was one thing that united us all: Wildcat Football.
Seven Saturdays each fall, almost 55,000 people - most wearing purple and white - gather together for "The Greatest Show in Kansas." A set playlist begins blaring more than an hour before kickoff. But as the clock counts down and the seats fill in, the action becomes more interesting and the tension builds. By the time the marching band is lined up at the north end zone, the anticipation is at the bursting point. After their standard set, the singing of the "Alma Mater," a brief reading from the Declaration of Independence, and a recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance, a hush falls over crowd as Willie the Wildcat stands in center of the field. He sticks out one arm and one leg to form the letter K, and a wall of sound nearly knocks you backwards as 55,000 fans yell "K!" in unison. He does the same - and they respond the same way - for "S" and "U." And when the team finally runs onto the field, the air feels as if lightning is about to strike.
The call-and-response continues throughout the game. Every 10 yards, the announcer declares, "...good for another Wildcat" - and the crowd responds, "First down!" while making the corresponding referee signal. There are responses to touchdowns (crowd surfing in the student section), field goals, interceptions, sacks, great catches, thrilling rushes, and failed plays. You don't go to the game to watch the game - you could do that at home - you go to participate. You may not be on hallowed ground - i.e. The Field - but the moment you step through the gate you are in a sacred space, and from kick-off to the end of the fourth quarter is all sacred time.
Week after week, year after year, we sang the same songs, did the same actions, and shouted the same responses. The experience varied from game to game, occasionally there was a special ceremony of some sort, and some of the elements changed each time (such as the skit in which our mascot mocked the opposing team's mascot) but everything essential was still there in the same order.
And not once, in all that time, did anyone seem to be "going through the motions." The passion of the fans did not wane one iota over 5 years. No one questioned why we had to dance to "The Wabash Cannonball" every single time, or whether it was truly necessary for Willie the Wildcat to do all those pushups after each touchdown. College students and elderly alumni responded in different ways to what happened on the field, but everybody cheered together and celebrated together, and when the team lost we were all dejected together. The same people who wouldn't think of baptizing their infants never questioned putting them into K-State apparel; apparently some things are far too important to be left entirely to your children's own decision. The same people who weren't sure if it mattered whether you went to church or "experienced God on your own" would have thought it heretical if you suggested their attendance at a game did not matter.
Our traditions didn't bind us, they united us. The liturgy of football didn't constrain our passion, it channeled it.
If an alien anthropologist visited Kansas (or any state in the Midwest or South) they would probably conclude that although many people believe Jesus rose from the dead, and think it matters to their lives, it wasn't remotely as important as when K-State defeated Nebraska in football in 1998.
The first time I ever saw people get more excited about Jesus rising from the dead, than about a big win, was at the 2011 Easter Vigil. The artistry, the tradition, the music and dance and drama, the carefully planned liturgy - it all led up to a moment of unrestrained exuberance in which it was unmistakably clear that the resurrection of Jesus was the most important thing that ever happened in history. Not everyone danced, and some preferred the hymns over the contemporary songs, but we all celebrated together... in the same way that our predecessors have for nearly 2000 years.
Because Jesus defeating death is even better than a national championship every year.
George Marsden, in The Soul of the American University, documented how sports came to fill the spiritual void left by secularism at the center of institutions of higher education. Although named by the John Templeton Foundation to its selective list of "colleges that build moral character," Kansas State University ("K-State") was like any other major university when it came to the role of athletics. The campus was divided over religion (Christianity vs. Islam vs. Atheism vs. Who Cares?), politics, urban vs. rural origins, and whose major was hardest (chemical engineering, of course). But there was one thing that united us all: Wildcat Football.
Seven Saturdays each fall, almost 55,000 people - most wearing purple and white - gather together for "The Greatest Show in Kansas." A set playlist begins blaring more than an hour before kickoff. But as the clock counts down and the seats fill in, the action becomes more interesting and the tension builds. By the time the marching band is lined up at the north end zone, the anticipation is at the bursting point. After their standard set, the singing of the "Alma Mater," a brief reading from the Declaration of Independence, and a recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance, a hush falls over crowd as Willie the Wildcat stands in center of the field. He sticks out one arm and one leg to form the letter K, and a wall of sound nearly knocks you backwards as 55,000 fans yell "K!" in unison. He does the same - and they respond the same way - for "S" and "U." And when the team finally runs onto the field, the air feels as if lightning is about to strike.
The call-and-response continues throughout the game. Every 10 yards, the announcer declares, "...good for another Wildcat" - and the crowd responds, "First down!" while making the corresponding referee signal. There are responses to touchdowns (crowd surfing in the student section), field goals, interceptions, sacks, great catches, thrilling rushes, and failed plays. You don't go to the game to watch the game - you could do that at home - you go to participate. You may not be on hallowed ground - i.e. The Field - but the moment you step through the gate you are in a sacred space, and from kick-off to the end of the fourth quarter is all sacred time.
Week after week, year after year, we sang the same songs, did the same actions, and shouted the same responses. The experience varied from game to game, occasionally there was a special ceremony of some sort, and some of the elements changed each time (such as the skit in which our mascot mocked the opposing team's mascot) but everything essential was still there in the same order.
And not once, in all that time, did anyone seem to be "going through the motions." The passion of the fans did not wane one iota over 5 years. No one questioned why we had to dance to "The Wabash Cannonball" every single time, or whether it was truly necessary for Willie the Wildcat to do all those pushups after each touchdown. College students and elderly alumni responded in different ways to what happened on the field, but everybody cheered together and celebrated together, and when the team lost we were all dejected together. The same people who wouldn't think of baptizing their infants never questioned putting them into K-State apparel; apparently some things are far too important to be left entirely to your children's own decision. The same people who weren't sure if it mattered whether you went to church or "experienced God on your own" would have thought it heretical if you suggested their attendance at a game did not matter.
Our traditions didn't bind us, they united us. The liturgy of football didn't constrain our passion, it channeled it.
If an alien anthropologist visited Kansas (or any state in the Midwest or South) they would probably conclude that although many people believe Jesus rose from the dead, and think it matters to their lives, it wasn't remotely as important as when K-State defeated Nebraska in football in 1998.
The first time I ever saw people get more excited about Jesus rising from the dead, than about a big win, was at the 2011 Easter Vigil. The artistry, the tradition, the music and dance and drama, the carefully planned liturgy - it all led up to a moment of unrestrained exuberance in which it was unmistakably clear that the resurrection of Jesus was the most important thing that ever happened in history. Not everyone danced, and some preferred the hymns over the contemporary songs, but we all celebrated together... in the same way that our predecessors have for nearly 2000 years.
Because Jesus defeating death is even better than a national championship every year.
posted by Scott M Roney | 11:34 AM
2 Comments:
that's so good! and Jesus certainly leaves more of a lasting impression and has a daily impact on our lives... versus a championship that we may only remember from time to time.
i'm glad you're so smart and are my brother!!!
I agree with Tiffany!
.... except insert [son] for brother -- extremely proud of you!
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