An Altercation Alteration

Don’t you hate hindsight?

Tomorrow is Saturday. Last Saturday, I was watching my boys play flag football. Our team was playing a team we had played before, three years in a row to be exact. The coach of the other team has quite the league reputation, and each year as we have played against his team, there has been some sort of angry incident instigated by this man. Wait until I tell you about Saturday.

We have one very tall kid, named Andrew, on our team. He falls well within the league age limits, but you know how kids all grow at different rates and at different times. The other team has a very short boy on it, and I suspect that his family affectionately calls him, “Niblet,” when no one else is around.

Naturally, and quite innocently, Andrew the Giant faced Niblet for one play, and Niblet fell down - unhurt.

The friendly neighborhood fighterman marched on to the field, chest out, buttocks tight, lips snarled, ready to rumble. The referee was a young college-aged guy who planted his feet in the turf in preparation, and the rest of us held our mutual breath.

Out of respect for Howard Cosell, I cannot even begin to give you play by play, so I’ll skip to the end. We watched in disbelief as both men landed on the ground, and repeatedly and aggressively “demonstrated” the previous clash between the Giant and Niblet. Loud voices, pushing, angry words and boat loads of testosterone permeated the field as the kids all stood watching. Our team coach, who happens to be my husband, ran onto the scene like a U.N. peacekeeper – not sure if he needed to use reason or force.

Just as everything calmed down on the field, things inside my gut were ramping up. I have a FAQ in these moments: “What does it mean to be a Christian right now?” God and I silently discussed it and we quickly ruled out several possibilities. I saw the merits of getting equally angry, but God didn’t feel like that was the best approach this time. He suggested over-the-top undeserved grace, but I was already riled up. What to do, what to do…

After the game, I approached the other coach. I asked him if we could speak privately and then I expressed how concerned I was about what had happened in front of the children on the field. I told him that I was uncomfortable about the whole thing, and I wondered if there was some way that he could help me understand what he was experiencing in these moments.

You can probably guess that it did not go over very well, and even though I used my potty mouth in a post earlier this week, I am uncomfortable typing his exact words in public.

As I reflect on the altercation, I wonder how I should have altered my response. What does it mean to be a Christian right now? Does grace mean say and/or do nothing? Does defending Giant and Niblet, and all the other kids that were staring at these out-of-control men in authority, constitute sticking my nose in places I don’t belong? Do I complain to the director of the league, behind the man’s back, and let him take care of it? Do I just hope and pray that someone else stands up for what’s right? For that matter, what is right?

I am well aware that asking what it means to be a Christian on the flag football field seems trite in the face of AIDS orphans, China quake victims, and Darfur. Yet, somehow I suspect that if we can start to think about being like Christ in the everyday places where ego and competition and our reputations are at stake, we just may see the other stuff differently too. Maybe it’s not the magnitude of the problem, but the bent of the heart.