When you go to war against your enemies and see horses and chariots and an army greater than yours, do not be afraid of them, because the Lord your God, who brought you up out of Egypt, will be with you. When you are about to go into battle, the priest shall come forward and address the army. He shall say: “Hear, Israel: Today you are going into battle against your enemies. Do not be fainthearted or afraid; do not panic or be terrified by them. For the Lord your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies to give you victory.”
—deuteronomy 20:1–4
It was forty degrees with a stiff wind blowing off Lake Michigan when the Tampa Bay Buccaneers kicked off to the Chicago Bears at Soldier Field on November 19, 1989.
The Bucs were 3-7 and suffering like most years in the 1980s, while the Bears, 6-4, just four seasons removed from their Super Bowl victory, were on the precipice of a six-game losing streak that would send them toward the bottom of their division.
As the game neared the end of the opening quarter, Tampa Bay had the ball first-and-10 on its own 32-yard line when Bucs’ quarterback Vinny Testaverde dropped back to pass.
Running back Sylvester Stamps, a sixth-year player out of Jackson State, ran a short pass pattern across the middle and had turned back to make eye contact with Testaverde when—
He never saw it coming.
Chicago Bears middle linebacker Mike Singletary, one of the most ferocious hitters to ever play the position, had spotted the receiver out of the corner of his eye and was running at a dead sprint when Stamps turned back to spot the ball. The collision was brutal. The hit turned Stamps into a crumpled, motionless mass. It was one of those “ooh-ahh” hits that builds a legacy and, in time, sends a man to the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
“His eyes rolled back into his head,” Singletary remembers. “His tongue fell out of his mouth. He didn’t move.”
Singletary was scared. He’d watched hundreds of opponents return to the huddle glassy-eyed, unable to recall their name or the team they played for. But this time was different. He was afraid he might have done real damage.
The linebacker took a knee and began praying.
“No one knew what to say,” Singletary says. “It looked bad. And I thought to myself, What am I doing? Something is wrong with this. I waited and watched until it looked like he was going to be OK, and then I refocused on my job. We never spoke.”
FEAR, PARALYSIS, DEATH
Singletary’s hit on Stamps wasn’t unique by any means. Hundreds of players have similar collisions every week in the NFL. The league has tried to reduce the number of injuries by changing its rules to protect quarterbacks, defenseless receivers, even members of the kickoff and return teams. But it’s a violent game, and these are the risks the players accept.
The NFL is littered with examples of guys who were paralyzed or nearly killed by hard hits. Oakland Raiders safety Jack Tatum, nicknamed “The Assassin,” hit New England Patriots receiver Darryl Stingley during an exhibition game at the Oakland Coliseum in 1978 that severed two vertebrae, leaving the receiver paralyzed and in a wheelchair until his death in 2007 at the age of fifty-five. Tatum, who died in 2010 at sixty-one, never apologized because he said it was a clean hit.
A generation later, Buffalo Bills tight end Kevin Everett fell to the ground after tackling Denver Broncos returner Domenik Hixon on a kickoff in September 2007. The helmet-to-helmet collision caused a fracture dislocation of the third and fourth vertebrae and compression of the spinal cord. Initially paralyzed from the neck down, Everett eventually recovered and was able to walk again.
Now that players of Singletary’s era are beginning to age, even those who finished their careers relatively healthy need joint replacements and have begun showing signs of brain damage and early-stage dementia—though that hasn’t been conclusively linked to football.
Baseball, basketball, hockey, soccer—no other sport seems to have as many religious players practicing their faith as in the NFL, chaplains and coaches report.
Many believe that the violent nature of the game and the nonguaranteed contracts are two of the primary reasons players seek a relationship with God more in the NFL than in other professional sports.
The high injury rate and punishing blows players deliver and receive every week pose important questions for Christian football players and their families from the high school level to the pros. And they are the same questions today that Singletary faced two decades ago.
How can one say he is a man of Christ and still happily participate in one of the most violent games our society has ever known? What’s more, how can millions of Christians the world over claim to love it so much? Is it not against God and all that He represents to hit a man so violently that his brain rattles inside his skull and he can no longer function as a human being?
The first month of the 2011 NFL season was a busy time for team doctors. Indianapolis Colts quarterback Kerry Collins and Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Michael Vick suffered concussions, and New York Giants wide receiver Domenik Hixon was lost for the year after tearing the anterior cruciate ligament in his right knee.
It continued into October, when the Oakland Raiders lost quarterback Jason Campbell with a broken collarbone, Buffalo Bills linebacker Shawne Merriman tore his right Achilles tendon, and Houston Texans linebacker Mario Williams tore a pectoral muscle.
In November, Chicago Bears quarterback Jay Cutler (broken thumb) and Kansas City Chiefs quarterback Matt Cassel (hand surgery) were knocked out for the remainder of the season.
And in December, New York Jets safety Jim Leonhard (torn patellar tendon), Dallas Cowboys standout rookie running back DeMarco Murray (broken ankle), and Cleveland Browns quarterback Colt McCoy (concussion) each suffered a serious injury.
By the end of the regular season, 443 players had been placed on injured reserve, according to the NFL union, meaning their injuries were so severe that they couldn’t play for the remainder of the season. Almost no player survives an entire sixteen-game regular season without visiting a trainer for some ailment, teams say. It is the nature of the game. And as players get bigger and faster with each successive generation, injuries will probably only increase in number and severity.
No doubt, it’s a violent game. But is it ungodly violent? Is it against God’s wishes to hit an opponent so hard that he has a neurological malfunction? Is it unchristian to celebrate that hit with a teammate and eighty thousand screaming fans? Is it morally wrong for a fan to leap from the couch and high-five her brother or to laugh at a player who stumbles toward the wrong sideline?
These questions, some of which Singletary asked himself in the late 1980s, speak directly to the competitive nature of all Christian men and women. It doesn’t matter whether a Christian is chasing a quarterback, negotiating a contract with an inexperienced opponent, or closing a sale at a pharmaceuticals convention. The question is this: As competitors, can we go for the jugular and still be Christlike? And can our supporters cheer our success, knowing that it comes at the expense of one of God’s children?
Years after he sent running backs sprawling on their backsides and returning to their huddle babbling incoherently, Singletary found himself at a crossroads: Could he be the Christian he aspired to be and still play the game he loved?
“I was really wrestling over whether I wanted to continue playing the game,” Singletary says. “I was thinking, Lord, I love You so much, and I’m out here hurting people, and I don’t want to do that. Am I wrong in what I’m doing? Is this sending the wrong message?
“I was at a moment in my career where a lot of people were questioning the way I was playing the game. ‘This guy is hurting people,’ they were saying. I was knocking guys out, and guys were lying on the ground not getting up. And I was like, ‘Well, wait a minute, let me think about this.’”
Singletary met privately with friends in the ministry and spent a great deal of time in prayer. He could see in his mind the faces of the countless players he’d taken out over the years. And he knew they were someone’s father, someone’s husband, someone’s son. There was a family out there praying that God would protect their loved one from . . . Mike Singletary.
There was a family that clasped hands in front of a television set, who paced outside a doctor’s office, who knelt in prayer asking God to fix the damage that Singletary had done. Was he doing his job or acting in defiance of God’s wishes for us to love one another?
In the end, he decided that it was his responsibility to God to play as hard as he could and make the best of the talents the Lord had given him. And that it’s OK for the rest of us to do the same in our non-football endeavors, as long as we play by the rules and with an honest heart.
“I’m going to do the best that I can with every opportunity I get,” Singletary says. “Sometimes it means walking away from something that appears to be very good. There are some things I don’t want to win because the price is too high, and I have to know many years from now that I didn’t compromise. That’s the most important thing. When I go to bed at night, did I compromise today? Did I cheat anybody? Did I lie? Did I manipulate? It’s like David said, ‘Lord, search my heart and see if there is anything hidden in me, expose it, because I want to be right with You.’”
Singletary was referring to Psalm 139:23. The entire psalm reads:
You have searched me, LORD,
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you, LORD, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I f lee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.
If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.
Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
I have nothing but hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.
Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.
“I want the Lord, not just that day when I have to stand in judgment,” Singletary says. “But I want the Lord to be able to accept my prayers and say, ‘Well done, son.’ That’s important to me.”
Singletary isn’t alone. Players like New York Giants Pro Bowl defensive end Justin Tuck, former Pro Bowl Denver Broncos offensive lineman Mark Schlereth, Washington Redskins safety Oshiomogho Atogwe, and others share the same religious goals and career aspirations. And it’s just as violent a game today as it was twenty years ago.
Perhaps no one can attest to that as strongly as Schlereth, now an analyst for ESPN.
The former Idaho offensive lineman had seven surgeries before he got out of college. It was so bad, the school “retired” him after his junior season and would only let him back on the field his senior year after he begged. And even then, he had to sign a waiver releasing the school of any legal liability for the damage he was inflicting on his body.
The pro scouts took notice of his talent, but even though he had the size, quickness, and other physical attributes, his long list of injuries drove them away.
Instead of quitting, he cooked up a scheme with a teammate who was getting some looks. Marvin Washington, a defensive end for the University of Idaho, would call Schlereth whenever a scout would come to work him out, and Schlereth would show up and beg them to work him out too. The trickery was apparently successful because he was selected by the Washington Redskins in the tenth round of the 1989 draft. Schlereth worked his way into the starting lineup in no time, eventually earning two Pro Bowl invitations and playing in three Super Bowls: one with the Washington Redskins and two with the Denver Broncos.
Schlereth epitomized toughness and competitiveness for twelve NFL seasons. By the time he retired after the 2000 season, he’d undergone twenty-nine surgeries, including twenty on his knees.
“It’s a violent game and people marvel at how I was able to play hurt. But this is what I was called to,” says Schlereth, who hosted the Broncos Bible study at his home for six seasons.
It’s hard not to laugh when Schlereth says he knew football was his calling. Most would have assumed it was a wrong number and hung up after the first seven surgeries. But the little voices in his head kept saying: All’s clear ahead.
Schlereth’s stories were legendary. One season, he developed a kidney stone and awoke writhing in pain the day before a Monday Night Football game against the Broncos’ AFC West rival Oakland Raiders.
He waited for his wife to wake up at 7:00 a.m. to take him to the hospital where he spent most of the day on morphine and an IV drip waiting for the stone to pass. No luck.
At 9:30 p.m., doctors surgically removed the stone, and when Schlereth woke up the following morning, he needed morphine to staunch the pain of urinating. To the surprise of most everyone, Schlereth checked himself out of the hospital at 11:00 a.m., drove himself to the team’s pregame meal, and started that night.
Another time, Schlereth was driven to practice after having an early-morning arthroscopic surgery to clean loose bodies out of the knee. He was sitting at his locker, bandages still wrapped around his knee, blood stains from where the incisions had been made hours earlier, when Pro Bowl wide receiver Rod Smith came strolling by on his way to the training room.
“Oh, shoot,” Smith said, staring at Schlereth’s knee.
“What?” said Schlereth.
“They gave me the day off [practice] because my hamstring is sore . . . You’re going out there? [Long pause, heaves a deep breath out] OK, then I can’t miss,” he said.
Schlereth’s tribulations were almost biblical. In the end, it was his unwillingness to quit and his resolve in the face of unending pain and adversity that earned him the respect of his teammates, coaches, and fans.
“There were times when I was incredibly disappointed and would pray to God and be like, ‘Really? I have to have another surgery? Err, Lord, really? This is what You have for me right now?’” Schlereth says.
He’s lived a blessed life, but there were moments when he felt a little like Job. Many are surprised to learn it wasn’t a torn ligament or broken bone that nearly ended Schlereth’s career.
He was stricken with Guillain-Barre syndrome—a disorder in which the body’s immune system attacks its nerves, eventually causing paralysis—and missed most of the 1993 season after losing the feeling in his arms and legs. After so many surgeries, he must have thought the only things missing were the boils and perhaps a swarm of locusts. He was told that his career was over. Naturally, Schlereth ignored the doctors, prayed to the Lord, and rekindled his inner fire. When he showed up for training camp the following summer, it only made his legend grow.
Schlereth says his football celebrity gave him a voice and stature that allowed him to serve God’s purpose in many ways.
“When I came to Denver and hosted a Bible study at my house, I saw a lot of men during that time give their life to Christ,” he recalls. “I had a chance to minister to kids [after the shootings] at Columbine High School. I got to spend time with the victims and their families, and I was afforded the opportunity to hopefully bring comfort and to share the peace of Christ with them. I felt that’s what I was being told to do.”
It helped that he was 6-foot-3, 282 pounds and had a reputation for dealing with pain. When he reached out to love others in need, or to provide a shoulder to cry on, he was like a magnet, drawing people in to hear more. It’s one of those ironies in life. When a big, powerful man acts big and powerful, he can seem brutish, distant, even feared. But when a powerful man is gentle and caring and loving, he becomes all the more powerful because he is loved back; he is admired for the control he has of that strength rather than feared for it.
Yet in the locker room where players are constantly looking for an advantage, he saw that his faith was sometimes perceived as a mark of weakness rather than a sign of strength. It’s something you hear over and over from players of faith regardless of the generation in which they played.
What is it about people’s perception of Christianity that makes it hard for them to understand that a man can lead a Bible study, love a grief-stricken kid, comfort an elderly neighbor, and still get up in an opponent’s face on Sunday afternoon?
“For me,” Schlereth shares, “it was important to be a child of Christ, but that doesn’t mean I’m not one tough son of a gun. You know? Right? A lot of times there is this feeling of, ‘Oh, there is the Bible-thumper of the team. Those guys are soft.’ What? Because I try to love people and care for people, that makes me less of a football player? Not true.
“Go to the second chapter of Philippians where Paul is writing to the church of Philippi from prison and he’s talking about how you should treat one another, how you should love one another, and be of the same mind, body, and spirit and treat others as more important than yourself. That was a big part of what I felt like I was doing.”
Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being likeminded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others.
In your relationships with one another, have the same mind-set as Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature of God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!
Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:1–11)
“That scripture still inspires me on a daily basis,” Schlereth continues. “How am I loving people? Am I living out that particular scripture and regarding others as more important than myself? It was important to me to display that aspect of my life to the people around me including to my teammates.”
GLADIATORS
Washington Redskins safety Oshiomogho Atogwe grew up in Windsor, Ontario, just across the river from Detroit. His father, Aigbomoidi, who emigrated from Nigeria in 1974, worked at the Ford Motor Company as a mechanic and is retired. His mother, Babianna, still cleans rooms at a local hospital.
Atogwe’s parents introduced their son to the concept of God as a child—the notion that there was a creator and protector, and that Oshiomogho (oh-SHIM-ago) would be held responsible for his actions. That was about the extent of his faith. He didn’t go to church, he didn’t know many people in his neighborhood who did, and his understanding of the Bible was limited to the Christmas story of the baby Jesus.
“The way I grew up, the norm was to play sports, run around chasing girls, hang out with friends, and you believed that was the way you were supposed to grow up,” Atogwe explains. “You stayed out of trouble and didn’t do anything against the law, but anything short of breaking the law was fine to do.”
It wasn’t until his freshman year at Stanford University, where he earned a degree in biological sciences and planned to enroll in medical school, that Oshiomogho became involved in the church.
There was a group that met monthly called Cardinal Life, which was basically a Christian athlete ministry for all the sports teams at Stanford. It was run by former NFL quarterback Steve Stenstrom and longtime Stanford religious counselor Jim Stump. Atogwe heard about the meetings from his Stanford teammates and committed his life to Christ in the spring semester of his freshman year.
“There were some older guys on the team who I looked up to that attended the meetings,” Atogwe says. “I liked the way they carried themselves, their demeanor. They had something that was really different about them. It was a draw for me. And it changed my life drastically.
“I saw that there was another way to live my life. There were people saying that I wasn’t supposed to be treating others or acting in the way that I was. Up to that point, I didn’t know better. I just took it as, ‘This is the way guys are supposed to be.’ But then I saw there was a better way to live.”
As Atogwe grew in his faith, he prospered on the field and was selected by the St. Louis Rams in the third round of the 2005 NFL draft. He quickly developed a reputation for consistency, intercepting 22 passes, forcing 16 fumbles, and amassing nearly 340 tackles in six seasons with the team.
In the summer of 2011, Atogwe had his best off-season ever. He signed a free agent contract with the Washington Redskins and married Jill Singletary, the daughter of former Bears linebacker Mike Singletary.
Two big goals in his life are to be the best husband he can be to his new bride and to be one of the hardest-hitting, most tenacious safeties the NFL has ever known.
Like Singletary and Schlereth, he is an example of a Christian who understands that he can be loving and caring and still compete at the highest level.
Atogwe says the time when he separates the loving husband from the aggressive, even violent, defender takes place in front of his locker. Perhaps like a lawyer standing quietly in a hallway before entering the courtroom to cross-examine a witness, or a surgeon scrubbing before entering the operating room, Atogwe also undergoes an emotional and physical metamorphosis where he leaves the troubles and distractions of the world behind and begins to focus on the man he must become and the task he must perform.
He says there is a “Gladiator/Spartacus” feel as he dresses in his armor, marches through the tunnel, and rushes the field to the sound of music, chanting, and sometimes smoke and fireworks.
“It’s like you are going into battle,” he says. “You put in your pads. You put on your pants. You pull on your shoulder pads, your cleats, and it’s like you are armoring up. You are going to do battle against another team where the players are putting on their armor, too, and then you are going to meet in the middle of the arena to go at it. Praise God it’s not for life and death.”
Atogwe points out that while the game is violent, all the players on the field know the rules and agree to share the risks equally. As long as there is no malicious intent to harm one another, he believes the hardest of hits are OK in God’s eyes. Most players share this belief.
Atogwe was once asked: If a receiver is looking the other way and you have him dead to rights, do you pull up and just make the tackle, or do you run through him even if the blow could cause him harm?
“You are going to lay him out,” Atogwe replied quickly and without emotion. “As long as I’m playing by the rules I’m governed by, then God will be pleased by me. As long as I’m hitting them where I’m allowed to hit them, it’s fair game. Everybody agreed to the rules. If he is hurt, you pray for him. He’s in God’s hands. You don’t want to seriously harm anybody. I don’t believe that is in the heart of a Christian. We are here to love each other and build them up. God wouldn’t be OK with me trying to harm someone because we are putting the sport above the lives of the people He created. But He has called us to play this game 100 percent without fear or hesitation to His glory, and as long as we do that within the rules, I believe that in His eyes He is pleased with what we are doing.”
New York Giants defensive captain and two-time Pro Bowl defensive end Justin Tuck shares Atogwe’s beliefs, even during a year in which he was slowed by a series of injuries.
Tuck is a menace for quarterbacks. He’s quick off the ball and bull-strong. He set Notre Dame’s career sack record at 24.5 before graduating with a degree in management, and he had two quarterback sacks and three quarterback hurries to help lead the Giants to a 17–14 victory over the New England Patriots in Super Bowl XLII.
He got better with each successive season and seemed on the verge of establishing himself as one of the NFL’s most dominant pass rushers after registering 11.5 sacks and being named to the Pro Bowl in 2010.
Then things fell apart.
In August 2011, the Giants were playing the New York Jets in their final preseason game. Late in the fourth quarter, the Jets ran a running play toward Tuck, who wasn’t directly involved in the tackle. As the play came to a close, Tuck eased up, and that’s when he got knocked over, creating a whiplash effect on his head. The incident caused inflammation, soreness, and muscle tension in his neck for weeks. It was a nagging injury that just wouldn’t go away. And there were other nagging injuries too. At one point late in the 2011 season, Tuck was being treated by the team trainer for five different medical issues at the same time.
Tuck is a reminder that it’s not just the offensive players who experience the pain and violence of the game. Careers are ended just as easily for the biggest and strongest defensive players on NFL Sundays.
So much is at stake for the player and his family, as evidenced by the series of events that take place when the player is being carted off the field and the television announcers tell us they are going to break for a commercial.
The team’s doctors and trainers check the injury to see how quickly the player can be repaired and returned to the game.
The backup and his family quietly celebrate the unexpected opportunity to break into the lineup and show what he’s got. (The wife shushes the kids in the stands, watching her husband’s every move.
“Come on, baby, do something big,” she whispers, a few feet from the starter’s wife.)
Agents for unemployed veterans still hoping for one more paycheck make plans to call the team for a workout.
Practice-squad players hope they’ll get moved up to the fifty-three-man roster.
The general manager wants the injured star back on the field, but he also knows the injury will affect the player’s value in the next contract negotiation. He’s got leverage.
The injured player and his family are concerned about his health and how it could affect his career. They watch as his teammates pat the replacement on the butt in encouragement.
The vultures are circling.
“You come in and work out all off-season and set yourself up to have another great year, and then you get hurt. I don’t think it was intentional. It happens. So how do you look at that?” Tuck asks.
As former Vikings coach Brad Childress says in chapter 1, “faith guys” believe that the injury is part of God’s plan for their lives and expect something good to come out of it. What else is there to do, but treat the injury, endure the pain of rehabilitation, and return as quickly as possible? Having a good attitude and an understanding that God has something special in store for you is half the battle.
“I realize that you really don’t have a testimony if you don’t have some test,” Tuck says. “Just because you are a Christian doesn’t mean you are always going to have sunny days and the sky is always going to be blue.”
Tuck harkens back to Job’s trials in the Bible and says that it’s the difficult times that make our faith grow. That’s when we realize God hasn’t left us.
“A lot of people like to say, ‘Where is your God now?’” continues Tuck. “But He hasn’t left me. You know He’s teaching me something right now. What that is, hasn’t been revealed to me yet. But you just have to be patient and keep doing what you can do. Me complaining about it isn’t going to help the situation. You go get your treatment, do your work, and continue to go.”
Tuck is convinced God has a unique plan for each of us, regardless of our career choice, wealth, looks, or social standing. And while it might seem that He’s given some of us a greater share of these gifts, we must have faith that it is part of His plan.
One of Tuck’s favorite passages is the parable in Matthew 25:14–30:
It will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted his wealth to them. To one he gave five bags of gold, to another two bags, and to another one bag, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey. The man who had received five bags of gold went at once and put his money to work and gained five bags more. So also, the one with two bags of gold gained two more. But the man who had received one bag went off, dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money.
After a long time the master of those servants returned and settled accounts with them. The man who had received five bags of gold brought the other five. “Master,” he said, “you entrusted me with five bags of gold. See, I have gained five more.”
His master replied, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”
The man with two bags of gold also came. “Master,” he said, “you entrusted me with two bags of gold; see, I have gained two more.”
His master replied, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”
Then the man who had received one bag of gold came. “Master,” he said, “I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your gold in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.”
His master replied, “You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest.
“So take the bag of gold from him and give it to the one who has ten bags. For whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. And throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
“He’s saying that we should do the best we can with the gifts we are given,” Tuck explains. “Whether you are a lawyer, a football player, or an author. Whenever you have a talent, you are required to maximize it.”
Like Singletary, Schlereth, Atogwe, and thousands of other current and former Christian football players, Tuck has also come to the conclusion that as violent as the game might be, God calls on us to play as hard as we can. Anything less would dishonor the Lord and the gifts He has bestowed upon us—whether they be athletic abilities, a musical ear, mathematical genius, or a sculptor’s imagination.
“I don’t think He wants us to pull up. You can be dominant and be humble about it,” Tuck says. “You are able to be dominant in your field because God has given you that grace and allowed you to step into those avenues where perhaps other people can’t. You have an obligation to give it your all.”
WHAT MAKES YOU UNIQUE?
God-given talent. What is that talent for each of us? Is it to sell or negotiate or build? Is it to nurture or cure or treat? Mike Singletary isn’t going to cure cancer. He’s not going to uncover a secret fuel source. He’s not going to design an underwater city.
Football is Singletary’s gift. Sure, he could be successful in other professions, but this is clearly the one he was designed for. Singletary, who later went on to coach the San Francisco 49ers and is now an assistant coach for the Minnesota Vikings, was fifty-three at the start of the 2011 NFL season.
His neck is still thick, his shoulders wide and powerful. The intensity is still there in his eyes and in his heart. A man thirty years younger and a head taller would be ill-advised to challenge Mike Singletary today. These athletes truly are different. We pay good money to see them in their prime, but they are still athletes very late into their lives.
What they do with the fame those abilities permit them is up to them. For some, it’s just about playing a game. For others, it’s a platform to be used to bring attention to Christ.
“What it came down to,” he says, “is that this is my gift. And the Lord is more concerned with my heart. The Lord is concerned more about my intent and why I am doing what I am doing. I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I was playing the game as hard as I could play it to honor Him.”
More than any other team sport, football is a game where the players put their health and livelihood on the line each time they take the field. The players have a tremendous respect for one another because they understand that. “I am out here in my armor, ready to go to war. Who knows if I will be able to walk off the field? Who knows if I am walking on it for the last time?” Singletary points out.
“People say, ‘How can you be a Christian and go out there and play such a violent sport?’ I would say, ‘How can you go out there and play such a violent sport and not be a man of faith?’
“One of the greatest things I had going for me as a player is that every time I walked on the field I always knew that God was with me.”
Singletary retired after the 1992 season. Within his twelve NFL seasons, he went to the Pro Bowl ten consecutive times and was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1998.
The image most fans outside Chicago have of Mike Singletary came from the lens of the television camera. It loved him. He would squat and lean forward, ready to drive runners backward. And his eyes, focused intently on the quarterback, were wide and large. On cold Chicago days, when his breath turned to vapor, he was a made-for-TV star.
Singletary says that was just a side effect of a growing media, hungry for tough characters they could promote for their Sunday matinee. In his heart and mind, every snap of the ball was an opportunity to praise the Lord.
“I always said, ‘Lord, every play I’m going to give You everything I have. From the bottom of my feet all the way to the top of my head, I’m going to give everything I’ve got, every tackle, every block.’ If the ball was thrown a hundred yards away, I was going to run as hard as I could run to get there,” he says. “I thought about one thing, and that’s giving God what Jesus Christ gave for me on the cross—and that’s everything. That’s how I was going to play. And I was at peace with that.”
CHRISTIAN LEADERSHIP
Singletary was a player who led by example on and off the field. A father of seven, he was a Pro Bowl player who didn’t play the field or party or gamble, and he didn’t associate with those who did.
He was a leader who commanded the respect of his teammates first and foremost because he was a tenacious, fearless, unrelenting linebacker who was, above all, successful at his craft.
And that gave him a voice off the field, to speak and be heard about the Word of God. So it’s fair to ask: Would Singletary have been the Christian example that he was to his teammates had he been a benchwarmer? Or was it the mastery of his craft that gave him a voice to share the Word?
The same question holds for corporate America, where it’s often said that companies are a reflection of the man or woman at the top.
If the CEO is a risk-taking swashbuckler, a real playboy who made a fortune with borrowed money, his junior executives are more likely to emulate the great success of their leader and adopt a “go for broke” approach to business. No risk, no reward, right? Look what it did for the boss.
If the CEO is a conservative leader, who goes to great lengths to eliminate risk, and is willing to accept a smaller return if it ensures the safety of the company’s investment . . . well, his charges probably know the fastest way to the executive washroom will require a different path. No reason to be foolish and risk the house, right? Look what it did for the boss.
But regardless which CEO is yours, it’s unlikely that you’ll seek out the advice of the mail room clerk, the loading dock manager, or the night watchman. If that’s the highest he has climbed the corporate ladder, he must not be very wise.
Matt Hasselbeck came to understand this when he was selected by the Green Bay Packers in the sixth round of the 1998 NFL draft out of Boston College. That season he was cut and re-signed to the practice squad, where he could watch and learn from Pro Bowl quarterback Brett Favre and backup Doug Pederson.
The Packers had one of the most religious teams in the NFL at the time, but also one of its toughest. They were coming off back-to-back Super Bowl appearances with a 35–21 victory over the New England Patriots in Super Bowl XXXI and a 31–24 loss to the Denver Broncos in Super Bowl XXXII. And the locker room was jam-packed with genuine Christians like defensive lineman Reggie White, wide receiver Robert Brooks, and kicker Ryan Longwell.
“They were strong Christian guys who were consistent about their faith, and everyone would hang on every word they said because they were so good at their jobs,” Hasselbeck recalls. “They had instant respect, and that really opened my eyes to things.”
These same guys were the first to invite players over to their homes for dinner or to hang out. Friendships with Christian teammates were easy to come by. And Bible study was well attended.
Hasselbeck said that aside from his father—Don Hasselbeck, a former tight end for the New England Patriots, Minnesota Vikings, New York Giants, and Los Angeles Raiders during a nine-year NFL career—he hadn’t been around many Christians who were really good, hard-nosed football players. In fact, most Christian players at the time had a bad reputation.
“A lot of times in the locker room, you’d hear players or coaches say, ‘Oh, he’s a Christian.’ What they meant is that the player was soft. That used to really bother me because I never ever, ever wanted to be soft or wimpy.”
In Green Bay, Hasselbeck saw that the notion of a soft Christian was a misnomer. Overnight, he had role models who showed him that a Christian can be competitive—going for the jugular if you will—yet still love their opponents when the whistle blew.
“I see these guys that are bad dudes, like Reggie White and [offensive lineman] Adam Timmerman, and I mean they are really bad dudes. They are just blowing people up. They are the best in the world at what they do, and yet, they are the nicest guys and great Christians.
“You’d see Reggie knock a guy on his back, totally break his spirit, and then reach out a hand to help him up off the ground. Adam Timmerman was the same way. He had a little nasty streak to him on the field. He’s what you’d call a real man’s man. But on his off day, he’d be hunting or building something in his garage. We had guys like that every year.”
The image of the “weak” or “soft” Christian had been around for years. And although players like Singletary and Reggie White did their best to dispel the notion, it took a while for players and coaches to accept the idea that Christians could be as vicious as the next guy. And . . . that it was OK.
“BIBLE BANGERS”
When the Philadelphia Eagles hired Andy Reid in January 1999, the team was lousy. It had finished 3-13 the previous year and hadn’t had a winning season in three years. What’s worse, the players had a reputation for being pushovers.
“When I started this job,” Reid shares, “this team was known as a soft football team of ‘Bible Bangers.’ That was what I was told. Literally. ‘Bible Bangers.’ So in my first meeting with the players, I said, ‘Listen, I went to a religious institution. I played with returning missionaries who had tremendous faith. But when we went to play the game, we played at 110 miles an hour and it was like, “We are going to rip your head off.” That’s how we roll.’”
Reid, an offensive lineman at Brigham Young University, studies the Scriptures each morning, attends Bible study, and makes a pastor available to his players. Like Singletary, he thinks if Jesus lived on earth today, He’d be the sort of person who would go all out.
“I firmly believe if Christ came back today and decided He wanted to play this game, He’d be our middle linebacker. He’d be the toughest guy on the field. So I don’t buy that ‘Bible Banger’ image. I told them, ‘You guys keep studying the Scriptures and doing your thing. I’m not changing that. I’m encouraging you to do it. But that doesn’t take away from your toughness on the football field. In fact, it should carry over to the football field.’”
The Eagles would eventually become known as one of the most aggressive, punch-you-in-the-nose teams in the NFL. Former defensive coordinator Jim Johnson, who passed away from skin cancer in 2009, was the architect of the defense, and the Eagles were known for blitzing, stunting, attacking defenses. But it didn’t happen all at once, and Reid, like most employees who are new to a job and want to make a big splash, suffered during the early setbacks and learning curve.
“I remember my first year,” he says. “We were getting destroyed. We were terrible, absolutely terrible. And I remember sitting there thinking through it, and I’m normally very optimistic. But I was feeling sorry for myself, and I was sitting there in the bottom of the Vet, the basement man, in this tiny little office, with beer dripping down the side of the walls [from the tap rooms above], and it’s got to be one o’clock in the morning, and I’m pouting and feeling sorry for myself and then it hits me. ‘You are a big sissy. Here is Christ, who sat there in the Garden of Gethsemane, bleeding from every pore, and you are sitting here moaning about football games and fans and all these things you have racing through your head. You have to get off your butt and you gotta roll, man. You gotta go and not worry about all that stuff.’”
That’s how Andy Reid tries to live his life whether he’s fighting through a bad season or lending support to a family member. But as strong as his own faith is, he says there is a terrible risk to pushing his own beliefs on others.
“I think there are certain things that have caused wars and strife throughout history,” Reid admits. “Money, religion, and women are three prominent ones, and politics probably fits in there somewhere too. So I told the team, ‘I don’t want players preaching their beliefs to other players unless they are asked. We are together for too many hours. If somebody comes to you and wants to talk, that’s cool— share your faith, but I don’t want any arguments over it.’
“I’ve said before that a lot of the things you go through in life, and how you pull through them, come down to what sort of foundation you’ve built and that you can fall back on. Our faith is that foundation, and it dictates a lot about how we’ve handled things both in the good times and the bad. Is life going to be perfect? No. Is football going to be perfect? No. Is your faith going to be perfect? Well, the heavenly Father’s plan is perfect, but we’ve all got our weaknesses trying to follow that plan. So you need something to fall back on, a structure in your life with some rules and guidance. That’s why I think it’s great for players to be exposed to faith through their peers, as long as it’s not forced on them. Not everyone is a believer.”
Reid sticks to his guns on that. While former Indianapolis coach Tony Dungy and former Minnesota Vikings coach Brad Childress talked to their players about God in the locker room, Reid says he won’t do that. He sees to it that team chaplain Herb Lusk holds a Bible study every Thursday and there is a chapel service the morning of the game. No wives, no families, just the team.
He says that his own prayers are kept short and that he never prays to win. “I have a feeling God probably looks at both teams,” he says with a chuckle. “And He probably has some bigger issues than whether the Eagles win Sunday.” Instead, Reid prays that God gives him the guidance to make the right decisions, that the minds of his assistants stay clear and strong, that the players avoid injury, and that everyone performs to the best of his God-given ability. “Boom,” he says. “That’s it. Go play.”
Reid’s approach to many things in life is short and crisp. He’s personable, but there’s not a lot of wasted chitchat. He believes in structure, planning, practice, execution, and ultimately he believes there is a God in heaven who has a plan for us. And while Reid might get frustrated and disappointed in himself and others, there is no going back in life. He worries only about the “now.” So no matter where he finds himself, he develops a plan, pushes aside his personal fears, and attacks. He believes that this philosophy originates from his faith and that the best way to lead his team, his family, and his community is to let them see him living that faith every day.
“The heavenly Father has given me an opportunity to be here, and what an opportunity it is. One out of thirty-two guys in the world has the opportunity He has given me, and I’m going to take advantage of it. I love it and I give it everything I have every day and I let the chips fall where they may.
“In all parts of your life, you are going to be given obstacles. Our earth life is just a trial so we can return to the heavenly Father. The question is how you as an individual are going to sort that out. Everyone does it a little different. I’m going to attack. I’m coming at it. If it’s a problem, I’m attacking the problem. I don’t sit here and fear anything. That’s not what I do.”