To the Delta Fan in Front of Me at the Delaware County Boys Basketball Tourney

or…When Our Own Sin Startles Us

Sin doesn’t always have the effect that it should. Sometimes our callous hearts are oblivious to our transgressions and we go on with our day, impenitent. This is especially true in our sins of omission versus our sins of commission—that is, when we don’t do what we should rather as opposed to doing what we should not. But even in the latter cases, we often blunt our consciences, convincing ourselves that it wasn’t a big deal.

So when our sin startles us, that is a grace.

I’ve been reading Fully Alive by Elizabeth Oldfield. In it, she says, “Sin, theologically understood, has nothing to do with enjoying sensual pleasure. It is a relationship concept, about the threads between us and others, us and the natural world, and yes, us and God.” Sometimes my own “private” sins don’t hit me that way. When I entertain an angry and vindictive thought, it is difficult to see how that is a breach of relationship. When I actually open my mouth, it becomes more clear—unless I’m in my car talking “to” the driver in front of me; then it still seems pretty harmless. But eventually, my unchecked irritations do make their way into the atmosphere and infect the air that others are breathing.

Allow me to set the stage.

This past weekend I was at my son’s basketball game. He’s a senior at Yorktown High School. The game was the county tournament final: Yorktown vs. Wapahani. As always, the county tournament was hosted by Yorktown’s cross-town rival, Delta High School. The girls’ final game, between Delta and Wapahani, preceded the boys’ game, so when I arrived, the bleachers on all sides were already filled with Wapahani fans (they are legion). The only area that was clearing out a bit was the Delta section, since they were not playing in the boys’ final. I found a few seats together there so that I could save them for friends that were joining me.

The gentleman in front of me—a Delta fan in his forties—informed me that these were Delta’s seats and strongly suggested that I should sit on the other side of the gym. Again, Delta’s game was over and they were not playing in the boys’ final. The Delta section was filled with Wapahani fans. The section across the way was indeed where most, but certainly not all, of the Yorktown fans were seated, and it was jam-packed due to the fact that Wapahani fans had filled nearly half of that side as well, long before Yorktown entered the building. All I’m saying is that seating for Yorktown, nosebleeds excepted, was in short supply.

I tried to point this out, but I didn’t care enough at the time to have a conversation with the Delta fan in front of me. In fact, I didn’t care enough about much of anything that evening. I was exhausted.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve allowed a variety of burdens to stack up, convincing myself that if I muscle through this rough stretch, everything will be fine. I’ve felt like a pack-mule trudging up a stony mountain pass, one side pressed hard against the mountain, the other treacherously close to the edge of nothing. My feet began slipping miles ago, and my master has told me to rest, but I have stubbornly kept going.

I’m not boasting about my perseverance. I’m confessing my pride.

There are a lot of people to whom I’m accountable. My family, my church, the Alcuin community, the list goes on. Putting myself at risk just to prove to myself that I can make it is foolishness. There have been signs. Slips of my mind or tongue, like the slips of the mules feet, that have threatened to send me falling. No big deal I thought. I can handle this I thought.

Back to the game. My friends found me and grabbed their seats. I wasn’t very good company. Truth be told, I didn’t want to be there at all. But there I was, so I tried to just do my normal basketball dad thing: cheer loudly for my son and his team. I have a voice that carries. Most of Yorktown High School knows me as the “LET’S GO YORKTOWN!” guy. I’m the only voice other than the announcers that you can hear clearly on the radio broadcasts of the games. I don’t blend in well.

So I did my usual “LET’S GO YORKTOWN!” thing at the start of the game. I could tell it annoyed the Delta fan in front me. Something in me—an old something that lays dormant, waiting for unguarded times like these to rear its ugly head—was a bit tickled by his annoyance. As the game continued, I yelled a bit more often than I usually do. I’d like to think that I did so because it was the county championship, an important game. But in hindsight I think I was cheering more often because it felt good to let off some steam—like each cheer was somehow an exhale of the weight I’d been carrying. It felt therapeutic.

I was in my own little yelling world, not paying any attention to the friends who had come to support my son or the Delta fan in front of me—until the Delta fan stood up and asked me to limit my cheering or move to the Yorktown side of the gym.

I’m not sure the best way to describe our interaction, because I’m sure that I don’t remember it as it really happened. I do remember thinking, ever-so-briefly “I can understand why you’re annoyed. I know how loud I can be, and yours is a reasonable request.” But the comment about moving seats is what got stuck in my craw. The only thing I remember saying clearly was “Do you have a kid in the game?” knowing that he didn’t and implying that he was the one who should move.

In short, I had become that beast of burden. I was an ass. I wasn’t in my right mind. I hadn’t been in a good place for weeks, but it wasn’t until this slip, one that nearly sent me over the edge, that I realized it. I was startled and embarrassed by my actions but I was still too prideful to admit it in real time. However, conviction began to simmer ever so slowly.

For the remainder of the game, I yelled a bit less, and tried to step away from him a few steps before doing so. But I wasn’t having any fun. He probably wasn’t either. To make matters worse, I noticed some college students a few rows in front of us—Wapahani fans I think—who are members of one of the campus ministries at Ball State and have visited Alcuin on occasion. I wondered if they witnessed my folly. Then I realized that earlier in the evening, when my friends first arrived, we discussed the fact that each of us would be preaching at different churches within the couple of weeks. In fact, my Delta friend undoubtedly overheard that I was invited to be a guest preacher at a nearby church and would be delivering the sermon the very next morning.

After the game I went home to run through my sermon one last time before going to sleep. It was on Psalm 73. In that psalm, Asaph, a priest and worship leader of Israel, is confessing that he had lost his vision of God and was tempted to act as the wicked do. At one point, Asaph makes the observation that the wicked think that they can do whatever they want and that God doesn’t see or know. He admits that he is sometimes tempted to do the same, but then checks himself:

Psalm 73:15

If I had said, “I will speak thus,”
I would have betrayed the generation of your children.

–Asaph

“If I talk like they do,” he says, “I would have betrayed the generation of your children.” Asaph understood his responsibility to his community. He understood his role as an ambassador for God to the world around him. These things kept him in check.

As I worked through my sermon that night, wave after wave of conviction leveled me. I barely slept. In the morning, before going to church, I wrote to Delta’s athletic director with an apology for the Delta fan who sat in front of me. I don’t know this fan’s name, so I can only hope that he might complain to the AD about the “LET’S GO YORKTOWN!” guy, giving the AD a chance to show him my apology. I copied Yorktown’s AD as well and apologized for not better representing our school.

Before delivering the message that morning, I confessed to the congregation. This was not my own church, but many of them know me well. After the service, some of them prayed with me that I might have the opportunity to see the Delta fan again and be reconciled with him.

Fittingly, we are beginning our study of Augustine’s confessions this week. Another reminder of the necessity to be on guard, to flee temptation, and to confess my sin.

What was my sin?

It was my failure to obey the fourth commandment, to observe Sabbath rest. It was my failure to recognize that those who labor do so in vain if the Lord is not building the house. It was putting my fingers in my ears when my Master told me to stop, rest, and turn my burdens over to Him. But none of these got my attention.

Proverbs 12:18

There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.

It was the violence of my tongue that startled me. And that startling was a grace.

I know I shouldn’t wait for the startling. I should take stock regularly, confess my sin regularly. As Oldfield puts it, “A regular practice of confession acts like a medical checkup, catching problems early…the sooner I get conscious of something the sooner I can do something about it. It’s the shame and hiding that can feel like it’s rotting me. Saying I’m sorry is good for my soul.”

Indeed it is.

Dear Delta Fan in Front of Me,

I am sorry.

I hope this reaches you. I was less than kind—certainly not loving, and my sin severed the few thin threads that existed between us. I ask your forgiveness. I pray that our paths will cross again, that I may ask it in person.