WHAT TEBOW TELLS US ABOUT OUR RELIGIOUS SELVES

PDFs or public displays of faith have long been a staple of American sports, particularly in baseball, where players are often seen crossing themselves while stepping up to the plate. And now the PDF discussion is taking center stage as the Denver Broncos starting quarterback, Tim Tebow, has achieved a modicum of stardom while unabashedly vocal about his faith. His unique style of thanking God is to kneel on one knee and bow his head. He may recite a prayer, I don’t know, but he clearly assumes a prayerful position for a few seconds. In fact, the action has been dubbed “tebowing,” and is increasingly imitated by other athletes and Christians. Tebow also typically begins his postgame interviews by thanking "my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." And with the interview’s conclusion, he will be sure to say, "God Bless."

Tebow was born in the Philippines to parents who were Baptist missionaries. He obviously learned his religious lessons well. And so here he is, playing in the NFL, responsible for turning the Broncos’ dismal record around, visibly religious, and for some, even die-hard football fans who can well-appreciate his skills, his religiosity generates a good deal of discomfort.

The real question here is what is it about Tebow’s religiosity that makes us uncomfortable? He is not asking us to thank God with him. He is not, at that moment, asking us to be Christian. His kneeling on the field is no more ritualistic than the touchdown dance of his teammates. What is bugging us about Tebow?

America is committed to freedom of religion and as such, our government has always been careful to never show any favoritism toward or mandate as official, any one religion. Decades of constitutional debate have lead us to consistently remove prayers, benedictions, invocations, and expressions of faith from public gatherings. In barring all, we have shown favoritism to none. But I wonder if the rule of unintended consequences has not kicked in.

Having succeeded in not showing favoritism to any one religion, we have perhaps inadvertently created an environment that is suspicious or even hostile to religious expression. Instead of allowing an atmosphere in which faith communities can hear each other’s prayers and respect each other for those varied expressions, we have demanded that our commonality rest on the absence, rather than the presence, of God. In ridding these beautiful expressions of religiosity from public view, we miss countless opportunities to develop an appreciation and respect for each other’s traditions. I, of course, do not believe in Jesus as the messiah, but I am moved by those whose faith, however shaped, has influenced them to think deeply about life, morality, goodness, and a host of other issues that are deserving of our attention, and much more of it than they ever receive.

I think Tim Tebow deserves our respect for his religious faith, as do all our friends in faith communities who seek a relationship with God. Now lest you think I believe that Tim Tebow’s faith has moved God to support his team over any other, that’s not possible. As we all know, God is a Minnesota Vikings fan. But that’s a whole other discussion. In the meantime, let’s turn to Tim and say “Go Tebow,” and God bless.

JACOB AND FANTASY PROBLEMS

My mother would have referred to Jacob as a nervous choleria—which would be Yiddish for a nervous wreck. All right, can you blame him? He’s been away from his brother Esau for 20 years and the last time they were together, Jacob had visions of Esau chasing him around the wilderness with a butcher’s knife raised above his head. Well, not exactly, but suffice to say that Esau was prepared to murder his brother over the stolen birthright. And now the time has come to return home, to face his brother, and perhaps the consequences. Oy—what to do?

 

So this is what Jacob does. He first sends messengers to Esau saying that while in Haran, he had become exceedingly wealthy, implying thereby that some gifts would be forthcoming. The messengers come back saying that Esau is on his way to meet Jacob accompanied by 400 men. 400 men? That doesn’t sound like the Rockettes, even if they were dressed in tights—which they weren’t—so Jacob’s anxiety deepens. He divides his camp into two, thinking that if Esau attacks the one, the other may escape. Then he prays to God. Then he sets aside a gift to Esau fit for an unrepentant and venal Wall Street capitalist—200 she goats, 20 he-goats, 200 ewes, 20 rams, 30 camels and their colts, 40 cows, ten bulls, 20 she donkeys and ten he-donkeys. It was like giving Esau the Bronx Zoo. Did that set Jacob’s mind at ease? No—he was up all night, wrestling with an angel, and with the break of dawn, walked away in need of a hip replacement. Finally, he divided his family into thirds. The front guard consisted of the maids and their children, next Leah and her children, and last Rachel and Joseph, placing the family dearest to him in the rear guard, hoping that they, at least, would survive the inevitable slaughter.

Jacob is a man in need of xanax. And then the moment of truth arrives: Esau and his band of 400 non-Rockette types. So what happens? Esau runs to greet Jacob, embraces his brother, kisses him, and there are tears, even flowing from “I’m-Going-To-Rip-Your-Head-Off” Esau. Esau initially refuses the gifts, though Jacob prevails upon him to accept, and then Esau offers that the two brothers travel home together, though this plan does not come to fruition for good reasons. As for the birthright—not a word about the theft is spoken: not a single word. So much worry for so little. What is the Torah trying to teach us here?

You know—you can’t predict the future. We would like to be able to predict the future, but we can’t. Some of us are worriers. Wait—if you’re Jewish, then by definition, you’re a worrier. But many of the problems that occupy our days and our nights are what I like to refer to as fantasy problems. They are the problems that we don’t have right now, but they are the problems that we think we’re going to have tomorrow. And we base many of our decisions not on the problems that we face directly, but on the problems we think we’re going to face tomorrow, or at some future date, which brings me back to a fact of life—no one can predict the future.

We get ourselves crazy over fantasy problems. We think we know what we will face tomorrow, even though such an idea defies all reason. The Torah forbids anyone from acting as a fortune teller (Deuteronomy 18:10-12). Since no one can predict the future, it is a dishonest business. And to consult such people is to waste your money. James Russell Lowell, the American poet, critic and diplomat, wrote: “Let us be of good cheer, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those that will never happen.” So true. Jacob could have used a good dose of Lowell, but the point is, we all could!

THE HEAVEN WITHIN

Jacob’s ladder has become a very popular theme among Jewish artistic works as it forms a kind of bridge between a tired biblical story and a mystical landscape that moderns are leery to cross. The imagery is vivid. The ladder rest on earth, its top pierces the heavens and angels ascend and descend, just as the biblical narrative describes. But since it was a dream, and since angels, equipped as they are with wings, need no ladders to either ascend to heaven or descend to earth, Jacob’s ladder need not be understood as a literal stairway to heaven. One might better understand it as a pathway down into Jacob’s soul. Jacob’s ascent is not really a going up into heaven, but a reaching inward to the depths of his soul. The further he explores that which already resides within his heart or soul, the “higher” he is on his metaphorical ladder. The angels ascending and descending are really a mirror image of what is going on. The angels are like a spiritual energy that goes deeper and deeper into the subconscious, probing for answers about who Jacob is and what is his purpose on earth. Facing such questions would be a true ascent or going up. And then once Jacob has explored the depths of his soul for the answers he seeks, the angels, the spiritual energy reverts to the conscious level, and that would be the descent—the return to reality. Jacob’s dream need not be about the heaven above, but the heaven within, and each of us is blessed with this internal heaven.

Jacob, guilty for having taken his brother’s blessing, fearful that his brother Esau may murder him in revenge, and now running to a land he has never visited, must be very scared. This is our ancestor—the future father of the Children of Israel? And yet, in the dream, we catch a glimpse of Jacob’s greatness. In spite of all his problems, he is not a failure. His greatness rises to the surface as the voice of God assures him of wealth, children, esteem and an eventual return to the land he loves. This is the voice of God not in the heavens above, but in the depths of his soul. The voice of God in the heavens is a commanding voice, but the voice of God within us is a guiding voice. For Jacob, it is the voice that says your life is not over for there is brilliant future awaiting you. Your next great step is to look to the future with hope, and not get mired in the complexities of the past.

The voice of God within Jacob is not an anomaly, but a reality. We are each blessed with the voice of God within us. It urges us to make decisions at every point in time that are healthy, reasonable, sometimes daring or bold, always ethical and sensitive, and always life-affirming. The future belongs to the people who believe in it. In order to get from here to there, you will not necessarily need a ladder, only a dream.