To Tebow or to TiVo … THAT is the Question

It was Saturday afternoon. Most of the people in the country were already putting themselves in position. Grills were getting fresh tanks of propane. Beverages, both adult and otherwise, were starting their slow, steady chill in coolers of ice. Best friends were arguing over whose house would be the rallying point for watching the game—based on the square footage of their HDTV’s. Tim Tebow, ESPN’s new advertising revenue darling, and his Broncos were facing one of the biggest bullies in the NFL. The outcome would determine who would move to the next rung in the playoff ladder. But this wasn’t about the Bronco’s or the Patriots; it was a game about Tim Tebow. Unfortunately, because of some well-intended but possibly misguided enthusiasm by fellow Christians, it was also about whether or not God could actually win a football game. Note to the WORLD: God WINS! All the time! Every time! This game was never about GOD and His ability to win. Unfortunately, too many people made the outcome of the game a credibility test for the power of God, or, at least, a litmus test of Tim’s personal faith capacity, instead of the skill and resolve of Tim Tebow and his fellow Broncos. I already knew where I was going to watch the game: upstairs, on the huge HD screen, with full stadium effects and my sweet, wonderful soul mate by my side. It was when I mentioned about wanting to run out on the patio to pre-heat the grill that Darcy reminded me that we were going to an elegant dinner party/fundraiser that evening. Me: “What?! No way, the Bronco’s and Patriots are on tonight. This is a HUGE game. It’s going to eclipse the Superbowl. I’ll just send the folks sponsoring the dinner a check.” Her: “Wear your black marrying-and-burying suit with the vest.” Me: “I don’t think you heard what I just said. The world is watching Tim Tebow tonight.” Her: “Good for them. I’m sure they’ll have a nice time. Meanwhile you and I are going to be having a nice dinner with friends. Make sure you put on the powder blue tie with that suit. It won’t contrast with my dress.” Me: “It’s TEBOW!” Her: “No, it’s TiVo.” I spent Saturday night in a banquet hall filled with perky, laughing, dressed-to-the-nines women and a whole lot of depressed husbands. I think some gal in charge of the evening had figured out that if there was a television anywhere near the event all the lovely ladies would have no one to dance with. There wasn’t a TV anywhere in the building. I know. Me and several other guys searched … as soon as we got there.. Fortunately, the person in charge of the event hadn’t anticipated the beautiful piece of technology I carry around in my pocket. Smart phone: 1, Fundraiser: 0. But, when I started to tune into the game during the serving of the salad, the Minister of Internal Affairs of the Kimmel home gave me one of those looks that made my phone feel like I had a red hot coal in my hand. I was afraid she was going to turn into my 3^rd grade teacher and insist that I surrender it over to her. Its immediate disappearance in my suit pocket spared me the confiscation. I went back to eating and small-talking with the total stranger sitting next to me. But once all the ladies got up to make their collective visit to the ladies room, I turned my smart phone into part of my evening ensemble. For such a nice affair, I was surprised how many of the men who showed up carried dumb phones in their suits. They followed me around like bratty little kids behind the ice cream truck. But between being pulled over to meet someone by my wife or dragged by her out to the dance floor, it was real intermittent NFL experience. The music was supplied by Michael Bolton and his backup band. Guys, you tell me? Tebow … Bolton? If you have to think, even for a second, which way to choose, then I’d say, “I’m picking up dangerously high levels of estrogen, Captain! Set Tasers for ‘de-wussify’!” At one point, I thought of crawling under one of the banquet tables and just hiding out there, by myself, with the game on my phone until the final score. But I was afraid a bunch of the brat pack that had been stalking me would try to join me. THAT, was NOT going to happen. So, the whole question of can he, or can he not … did they, or did they not … (and worst) would God, or would He not, was left for late that night when I finally got home and hit the TiVo button. My attraction to the game was different than a lot of other people’s. I was not convinced as so many seem to be that Jesus was personally suiting up with the Broncos. After all, there were men on the Patriots who also bowed their knees to Jesus, just not so much in public. And there were players on the Broncos who thumbed their nose at Him. Tim Tebow is, without doubt, a marvelous young man, with a well-developed skill at football. And I’ve been convinced from the beginning that his courageous and humble manner of living out his faith is as much (if not more) the result of his wonderful parents teaming with God to raise an outwardly-focused son who lives his life for something bigger than himself (and football). But I’ve never felt that God’s reputation was on the line when it comes down to the final score of the game. Regardless of how many of my, perhaps, over-zealous fellow believers reacted to the outcome, or what conclusion the seekers of God would come to based on the misguided attachment of God’s power to the final score, I was glad when I could finally sit down on the couch and take it all in start-to-finish as I originally planned. The fetching Mrs. Kimmel slipped off her heels, snuggled in next to me, and put her feet up on the hassock next to mine. She gave me a little peck on my neck and said, “Thanks for the great evening. You’ve really improved as a dancer.” She was asleep on my shoulder well before the first penalty flag was thrown… and I was asleep by the time they threw the second.

Copyright 2012 Dr. Tim Kimmel all rights reserved