Distance

For Evan and Elle.
by CWK

You said you wanted to distance yourself from things.                                                

And, I knew that, by the short conversations,                                                                 

the perforation of my heart, the lack of observation,                                                      

and verbal stings.

When I told you what mattered to me,                                                                             

you acted like it didn’t matter at all.                                                            

You didn’t return my call,                                                                                               

or stand next to me in the hall,                                                                                       

or speak gently.

Its freezing being so far away                                                                                        

from you: the warm Spring Sun;                                                                             

and all we’d begun;                                              

coquettish verbal puns;                                                                                          

and, your face.

I have felt less distance                                                                                           

when we weren’t even talking;                                                                  

when, in our minds, together walking                                                                                

along the memory of when we slow danced,                                          

and held hands.

Is this distance far enough?                                                                           

Light years between our hearts:                                                                                        

like two cold stars, galaxies of bitterness apart,                               

never to touch.

The Stoic and The Poet

by CWK

Empyrean, in majesty, above
is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

The soil is in love
with rain;
The stars in like with shining;
The tide is in love
with moon;
The eagle in like with flying.

Empyrean, in majesty, above
is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

I have often heard it said in passing
that this or that thing loves to happen.
With love, the world was fashioned,
and by love the world's sustained.
In love, the world conducts all matters.
To love, toward love, the world remains.

Now, if all creation loves by nature,
who am I to live by hatred?
Shall I roll the universe into a ball,
and fling it back upon it's maker?
Shall I shrink smaller than the ant
who marches timely without complaint?
Should I grow larger than the moon
who appears nightly without restraint?

I should know
to love, love knowing.
For with a seed I have conversed,
and he is in love with growing.
I should live
to love, love showing.
For with a crow I have conversed,
and he is in love with crowing.
I should sow
in love, love sowing.
For, I know a lightning bug,
and he is in love with glowing.

I should move
with love, in motion,
like a wheel inside a wheel.
For I've beheld the high Sun kneel,
his face afire with blushing,
and kiss the wide blue ocean.

I should heed in love, love hearing.
For, I've beheld the strong Sun
stride across the cloudy clearing.
He rises bright, upon command,
without the need of warning,
upon each and every early morning.
Then, moves musically, like a runner,
at a steady stolid pace
to finish each day's race;
Then, stands down without remand,
upon each and every starry evening.
Now, can I be brighter than the Sun
who shines in love, love feeling?

I answer then to the universe:
I love as you love;
your hand is my glove.
I shall do my best, when at my worst,
to compose my heart in mirth.
I shall heed the singing stone,
and sing a lay, a psalm, or song.
For, the whole creation is smitten
with love: like a maid betrothed.
The whole creation's in joy clothed
at the pounce of a kitten,
and the leap of the toad.

I should repent, and surely grow,
and against reasonable love relent
as against a friendly foe.
I should know.
I should know better than most men --
for, I conversed with Empyrian above,
and he is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

The Sea

by CWK

It hardly profits that a weary mind

in this dark night should peer past

human knowledge into God’s to find

the truth of things untrue. Lying

sleepless upon a battered mast,

whilst floating lonely in a starless,

stormy, sea, I see: knowing, I know less.

Finding, I have less, not more;

searching, I am never nearer shore.

Sea upon sea sprawls before me

in vast recess, with mystery e’r stored.

Sight in hind, sight declines most

when ‘pon past miseries trained;

for miseries o’rwhelm life and love,

and cover the good disclosed:

like frost upon the rose.

Yet, I sift ‘mong the memories. I hunt

for slivers of light in shade:

Convinced, there lives

in shadows, brighter days. Sane

I may not be, and dancing shadows give

little light; but what light I have,

I cherish – lest at last my last light perish,

and my last hope be undone.

‘Cross long travels and dreary distances

I recall only a single season of repose.

It was a long time ago, perhaps fancy,

and nothing more, when I was happy

in a place not so unlike a home.

Some seven suns ago, upon the Isle

of Numenor, I capsized and spent

a summer drinking Miruvor in mild

sunshine.  The women deemed me wild,

but harmless all the same. The men

deemed me wise, and to a man, a friend.

By all I was beloved; by all, esteemed.

But summer hasted onward, and unrest

began to grow.  For, the Island’s absent king

imposed a tax for past protection.

A demand, it seemed to me, in keeping

with proper fealty of subjection.

But, the men of the Isle were incensed,

and felt their honor sore offended.

For my part, I reckoned the hostility

a nuisance: a distraction soonly ended.

As mad men planned revolt; I laughed,

objected mildly, and scarcely dreamed of war.

Scarcely, but battle plans belied me,

and the Isle grew louder, crueler, bored;

for blood they were restless, and for

freedom of a sort denied to mortal men.

The king threatened; still, the fools boasted more,

and more. At last, the king's anger 

above his mercy soared,

and he grew wroth to settle scores.

I suppressed fear, but feared more;

I protested betimes contention, and hoped –

in folly – that peace would be restored.

 I declined to a kind of idle foolish ease,

and ignored all signs of certain strife

—until, on the day the first bite of Fall fell,

I woke a month into the war

to the sound of siege alarm, and the smell

of blood on blade,

and the cries of widows made.

I emerged, sleepy, dazed –

fires raged, and the stench of death

filled my heart, and cursed my far

flung dream of a home upon this sea.

I beheld men and women fleeing toward,

and away from, war. In the city center,

savaged, I beheld an infant standing,

famished, before a dessicated fountain.

I wept for orphans walking, lonely,

toward the citadel in the mountain.

For, by then, the mountain was no more.

I crawled across carnage to my little ship

as the Isle sank, and with luck, escaped – I only.

The Internal Is Infernal

by CK

I washed my hands before I ate;

took 6 baths the last two weeks;

kept clear of lepers in the street;

and cleansed the outside of the plate.

I was right in all my rites

and circumspect in all the prayers.

I pay supererogative tithes

and scrub the bowls with care. 

-- but somewhere, something’s wrong

with the inside of the bowl.

Something festers in my soul,

and brings down shame upon my songs:

my mouth can lift no praise,

and my tongue is dumb and lame.

I cannot raise my hands,

and I fear to speak that Name.

I can’t perceive what defiles me

since my heart I have exempted.

There, green envies still beguile me,

and murders linger, unattempted.                               

Alas, I will peer inside the bowl.

Do I dare stare in there?

There, darkness grows, unattended.

There, pride hides, unsurrendered.

The internal is infernal

for I have kept the law external;

I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

but I have not cried,

and I have not obeyed.

I have seldom took thought

of justice or mercy,

and I have passed many beggars 

who were cold and thirsty.

And worst of all, I have thought

that I was better than the worst;

I have looked on the toll-collector

and denounced his crimes 

-- then greedily snatched the widow’s last dime

The internal is infernal:

my heart is hard, and it is cold.

It is stingy, and rapacious,

and as icy as a glacier.   

I do not know if I can assemble

a heart so conflicted with dissent.

But I will journey to the Temple

for I hear a Psalm of Ascent.

It is a song of life, I think, and so even I will stand.

My voice is hoarse,

and my heart is coarse;

but I will sing my part, 

and I will rend this heart,

and I will try to lift my hands.

Originality and Personality

From C.S. Lewis, Membership:

I have wanted to try to expel that quite un-christian worship of the human individual simply as such which is so rampant in modern thought side by side with our collectivism; for one error begets the opposite error and, far from neutralizing, they aggravate each other. I mean the pestilent notion (one sees it in literary criticism) that each of us starts with a treasure called 'personality' locked up inside him, and that to expand and express this, to guard it from interference, to be 'original', is the main end of life. This is Pelagian, or worse, and it defeats even itself. No man who values originality will ever be original. But try to tell the truth as you see it, try to do any bit of work as well as it can
be done for the work's sake, and what men call originality will come unsought. Even on that level, the submission of the individual to the function is already beginning to bring true personality to birth. 

Not Afraid

by CK

I am not afraid

of anything that breathes: 

of the spiders,

or the mountains

that tumble into the seas.

I have learned to lean

on He Who lives forever,

on the God of Abraham,

the God of grace and glory:

Who is the great I AM.

Looking in the rearview, looking straight ahead:

looking for a clear view

of the rhythm in my head.

The music rises slowly into a symphony;

I will dance and I will sing

with stars, and hills, and trees.

I am dancing into darkness, but dancing I will go --

for my Father holds my hand;

my Father holds my hand; 

Abba Father holds my hand. 

Now to the King Eternal, 

be glory through the ages,

and may He write his glory

across these tattered pages.

Goodness

by CK

I was once in a long slumber,

feebly hearing voices feeble,

and struggling to awake --

til tonight, mind alight, in a quaint coffee shop,

I tasted heaven in a slice of cake.

I walked outside, a man at last alive,

and trod down mainstreet

across brick and concrete

past tall buildings

and a rocky river

and peoples of all

sizes, shapes, beliefs.

And I saw the Giver,

and his hands underneath.

The concrete beneath my feet

was good.

And the river that meandered

was good.

And the people who passed

were very good.

On the supposition (credo

quia absurdum)

that men are responsible for their philosophies,

I defy Plato.

For, I saw goodness as sign,
and goodness by design a taste of heaven.

Goodness, at last!
Goodness, near, within my grasp:
goodness in a slice of cake,

goodness in a blade of grass,
goodness, 'pon all things cast.

A Humble Man Walks In A Room

by CK

If you are like me, one of your great struggles is an abiding self-consciousness that you are on the outside looking in: an uninvited and unwanted guest at a private party. To varying degrees, we all feel like an outsider. In that sense, we are all insiders. We are all inside the club of people who feel like outsiders. This knowledge alone is some comfort for the abiding inferiority complex that dogs each one of us. We are never nearly so outside as we think; when we feel most outside, we are just like everyone else. 

Yet, the feeling of being on the fringe, an unwelcome guest, is one of the most painful realities of our internal lives. We see a group of people laughing, and wish desperately to be among them. We see -- at work or school -- a clique of close friends, and long to be invited to their reveries. We hear about various social gatherings, and note with distress, that we are not included. 

This sense of being on the outside can, if we are not careful, come to dominate our lives.

My goal is to explore it more thoroughly, and unmask it's secret power: sinful pride. I think this impulse of feeling like an outsider is the consequence of pride in our hearts. Yes, pride. 

It seems like humility, but on further examination, it's false humility.

We usually think of the proud man as the one, head held high, who focuses on himself when he walks in the room, and feels sure everyone is looking at him. He knows he is an insider; he can read the minds of everyone present and they are all thinking about him: thinking how graced they are by his mere presence -- hoping, desperately to spend a moment in his light. This he thinks, and he is proud indeed. And wrong. The truth is: no one else in the room thinks about him as much as he thinks about himself. 

Compare this character with the seemingly humble man. He walks in a room, head drooping. He feels sure everyone is looking at him askance. He knows he is an outsider. He looks into the minds of the gathered guests, and reads them at once: they don't want me here. They are all thinking about me, and thinking how unwelcome I am. My mere presence is a burden to them, and they are hoping, desperately, not to waste a moment in my darkness. This he thinks, but he is also wrong. The truth is: no one else in the room thinks about him as mush as he thinks about himself. This seemingly humble man is just as proud as his counterpart. Both men are concerned primarily with themselves, and thinking others are primarily concerned with them. Sure, one thinks their concerns are benevolent, and the other thinks their concerns are malevolent. Either way, they are lost in themselves in an unhealthy way. 

Which brings me to the question -- what does the truly humble man do? He walks into a room, head on a swivel. He is looking around at everyone else, not thinking much about himself. He is not self-conscious because he is so other-conscious. He's forgotten himself. He notices the colors of things, the accents in the room, the man in the corner who is nursing a broken heart, the woman in the corner who is fidgeting nervously. He moves to care for these people. He is too busy caring about others to care, or even notice, if anyone notices him. 

By the way, my own prideful tendencies have varied over the years. During my season of success, I'm sure everyone is waiting to stand in my light; during my seasons of struggle, I'm sure no one can stand my darkness. 

"Alice was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie down on her face like the three gardeners, but she could not remember every having heard of such a rule at processions; `and besides, what would be the use of a procession,’ thought she, `if people had all to lie down upon their faces, so that they couldn’t see it?’ So she stood still where she was, and waited (Alice in Wonderland, chapter 8)." 

Done and Perfect

Writers often stagnate in the "finishing" phase; they have done good work, but they just can't bring it to completion. In such times, it's wise to remember:

I have several friends that are incredibly talented. They will start on projects but rarely follow through. They get bored or distracted or discouraged that it's not "perfect" and give up. Following through and finishing things is one of the most important things you can learn.

One of my favorite quotes is "Done is better than perfect." That doesn't mean making crap – I believe you should always strive for the highest quality you can – but you have to finish. I think a lot of my friends in this situation don't realize how in-demand their skills are. I think if you follow through on projects and just put the tiniest little effort into promoting yourself and have the tiniest bit of self-confidence, you can get the job you want.

Answering Charles P. Pierce's Tebow Rant and Merril Hoge's Tebow Cant

by CWK

In Response to Charles P. Pierce's muddled criticism of Tebow...

First, a quote from Tim Keller:

...the minute one says, ‘All religions only see part of the truth,’ you are claiming the very knowledge you say no one else has. And they are demonstrating the same spiritual arrogance they so often accuse Christians of. In other words, to say all is relative, is itself a truth statement but dangerous because it uses smoke and mirrors to make itself sound more tolerant than the rest. Most folks who hold this view think they are more enlightened than those who hold to absolutes when in fact they are really just as strong in their belief system as everyone else. I do not think most of these folks are purposefully using trickery or bad motives. This is because they seem to have even convinced themselves of the “truth” of their position, even though they claim “truth” does not exist or at least can’t be known. Ironic isn’t it? The position is intellectually inconsistent...Ultimately, if you judge your doubts the same way you judge other peoples' religion, then you find yourself hoisted on your own petard. Right? Yes. It's just as arrogant to claim relativism, as it is to claim religious truth.

Second, a quote from Samuel Johnson:

The original and predominant error of (Mr. Charles P. Pierce’s) commentary is acquiescence in his first thoughts; that precipitation which is produced by consciousness of quick discernment; and that confidence which presumes to do, by surveying the surface, what labor only can perform, by penetrating the bottom.

                                                -------------------------------

I. Charles P. Pierce: the Missionary

Charles PP's article was so full of ignorant ideology that I can only say, to quote him, "This is childish. It is silly. And it also makes my head hurt." PP makes all the predictable errors of a man enslaved to postmodern thinking:  he condemns exclusive claims, but rather exclusively; he is critical, but not self-critical.

First, he condemns Tebow's allegiance to "(an) only true message," and fails to realize that he is also postulating an "only true message" of his own. He's just as much a bigot as he thinks Tebow is. After all, if we shouldn't condemn other's religious expression -- then why should he take the time to condemn Tebow's? If he really believed that we should just let other's espouse their religion openly, and without criticism -- well then, he'd take no notice of Tebow, and defer criticism. PP is arguing that Tebow is WRONG for arguing that others are WRONG, i.e. his own argument defeats his position: it is self-contradictory. It seems humble; it is the height of arrogance. It seems inclusive; it is the height of exclusivity. 

PP pretends to be against religious exclusivism, and he argues as much with the old song, "religious exclusivism starts wars." He fails to note that his own position is rather, umm, exclusive. In truth, it's not so much that PP is against espousing an exclusive religious perspective in public (he blatantly does this in his article). Rather, he is against Tebow espousing his exclusive religious perspective in public. 

PP pictures Tebow in the religious fray, and himself standing above it all: like a cool god, condemning 'poor' Tebow who just doesn't get it — but, actually, it is Pierce who doesn't get it. He's blind to his own presuppositions. He's right down in the fray with ‘poor’ Tebow clinging to his own little god, and preaching just as vehemently as Tebow preaches. He's miffed that Tebow publicly trumpets his views on religion. Yet PP does exactly the same thing; he isn't minding his own religious business; he publicly trumpets his views on religion at grantland.com. The difference? Tebow trumpets his views with grace, humor, and true humility; PP trumpets his with bitterness, sarcasm, and false humility. Both men have a trumpet. PP is trying to blow his more loudly while, at the same time, complaining that Tebow has a trumpet at all.

PP has a gospel; it is a sad one, and it's not really good news, but he has a perspective, and he is trying to evangelize the masses with his light. He’s every bit as much a missionary as Tebow. He is a secular missionary who condemns missionaries outside his ilk, and preachers outside his faith. At least Tebow embraces his calling as a preacher; in that, he is surely more sincere than PP. 

Now, if PP should happen to read this, let me be clear: Christianity, as set forth in the scripture, is TRUE: the true path to the true God. All other religions are, to one degree or another, FALSE: false and misleading paths away from the true God. If I could think of a more exclusivist way to put this, I would. Jesus did: I am THE way, THE truth, and THE life. So, I’m trying, as hard as I can, to say that Christianity is truly the truth: the one and only all-inclusive, exclusive, genuine, honest-to-goodness TRUTH. Yep, I said it. I wonder if PP would dare to contradict my statement. He can't win if he does. If he actually believes that no one should dare make exclusive statements about what is true/false in religion then he'll have to sit silently, and bite his tongue. If, on the other hand, he believes that HIS PERSPECTIVE is true... you guessed it: he's just like me, and he’s just like Tim Tebow. 

                                               -------------------------------

II. Search the Scriptures

If you read PP’s article carefully, you'll also see that he makes a curious misapplication of scripture. He refers to Mk. 1.35-38 as proof that "everyone gets tired of their own hype." For reals? That's what he thinks that passage means? I wonder how he'd feel if I freely interpreted his article -- as he does scripture -- to score a trite point. 

If he read Mk. 1.35-38 carefully, or even half-awake, he'd see that it actually commends the importance of PREACHING. Preaching. That is, the public proclamation of the word of Christ. 

³⁵  there he prayed. ³⁶ And Simon and those who were with him searched for him, ³⁷ and they found him and said to him, “Everyone is looking for you.” ³⁸ And he said to them, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also, for that is why I came out.” 

Hmmm. Pierce's reference to scripture would be ironic if it weren't sooooo ironic as to belie the bounds of simple irony. Nah. Something more than irony is at work. Justice has come down on PP from his own hand. He thoughtlessly quotes a passage of scripture, as a proof-text, to buffer his argument, and maybe show that he also knows a thing or two about the Bible. Yet, that very passage contradicts the major premise of his article, and shows he knows nothing about the Bible. 

PP tries to use scripture (as an authority?) to deride Tebow's public preaching; meanwhile, that very passage of scripture extols the importance of public preaching. Yikes. PP does this interpretive slight of hand assuming, apparently, that the Holy Bible agrees with his bitterly skeptical perspective. His assumption is the fruit of prejudice. His prejudice is such that the world must agree with him. The whole world must bow to his perspective. In Pierce's cosmology, the cosmos sees things as he sees the cosmos; even God, in holy scripture, sees the cosmos as he sees the cosmos. Thus, it is fitting that he quotes a passage of scripture that so profoundly disagrees with him. How fitting. He calls God as his witness; God arrives as his Judge.

                                               -----------------------------------

 III. Football and Theology

"We're all too smart for God these days, and to believe in Tim Tebow is to believe in God in a world that tells us that both are an impossibility. Well, screw the world. We need some new heroes. "

-- Nate Jackson, Tim Tebow Is The Football Establishment's Worst Nightmare

It shouldn't surprise us that Nate Jackson comes to theology. It shouldn't surprise us: everything is theological. Everything is theological: reading, writing, politics, wars, culture, music, AND SPORTS. Pierce is miffed because he believes religion causes some wars; he doesn't understand that religion causes all wars. Pierce is miffed that Tebow introduces Christian theology into the sports arena; he doesn't know that theology resides in every arena.

What you believe about God will shape everything that you do; what a culture believes about God influences every aspect of that culture, including sports: including football. PP has hit on the "main thing" about Tebow's place in the arena of Football, and the arena American culture: his beliefs about God. However, we shouldn't take this to mean that PP's approach is novel, or even surprising. By addressing Tebow's faith he is taking on what has been, all along, the main thing.

In addressing Tebow's theology, PP fancies himself bold, and innovative. He finds theology shocking because he generally sees God nowhere, and then — suddenly — sees God somewhere. Meanwhile, the Christian yawns; they see God everywhere. It’s not bold to proclaim, "God is somewhere"—  not bold at all when, in fact, God is everywhere.

Pierce's blindness to divine realities is well summarized in his opening creed. Note, he does have a creed: a standard he adheres to. His creed? "(Nothing) is sacred." He cites this creed to prove that Tebow's religious views are not sacred; they are, like everything else in his purview, open to questioning, and even mockery. Thus, nothing is sacred. Gotcha. Well, it stands to reason then, if nothing is sacred, that everything is profane. If so, then such a pronouncement says too much. If nothing is sacred, what's the point of saying, "Nothing is sacred?" Why even have a concept of "the sacred?" PP tears up his own creed even as he writes it. Some creed.

                                           ----------------------------------------

IV. The Great Divide

It's worth contemplating: why do critics like Charles P. Pierce and Merril Hodge have such an emotional response to Tebow? Read the Tebow critics and you'll note among many — not just objective critiques — but an undercurrent of bitterness. Among such critics, Merril Hoge leads the way with a passive-aggressive style of irritable irrationality and veiled vitriol.

Mr. Hoge has pulled narry a punch (including low-blows) in attacking Tebow. Hoge is a man who makes small things big. He sports gigantic tie loops on ESPN's Sports Center. He also sports gigantic verbage to condemn Tim Tebow, the sportsman. Every small mistake of Tebow is a fatal flaw: every interception, the worst in history; every stumble, an irrevocable fall. For Hoge, every pass — even a touchdown pass — is proof that Tebow can't throw a touchdown pass. For Hoge, every win is proof that Tebow can't win. Hoge is an examplar of how prejudice can cloud analysis. He is similar to Pierce in this regard. Both men have blinding prejudice which disables them from correctly seeing Tim Tebow.

Before the start of the 2011 season, Hoge proclaimed to the world via Twitter: "Sitting watching tape off bronco offense from last year! Orton or Tebow? It's embarrassing to think the broncos could win with tebow!!" 

Recently, Hoge was faced with the daunting reality of Tebow's impressive first full season as a starter. No longer able to plausibly attack Tebow's arm, he turned to Tebow's mind. 

Hoge asserted: “The more I studied him in an NFL setting, the more disturbed I was that he has no clue what he’s looking at... His IQ as a football player is not very good. That is why they have to come down and make it some of a college-form system that he’s comfortable with in Florida. He can’t execute, from a cerebral aspect, a pro-style system.” 

Wow. Is it possible to say anything more personal, more bitter, or more vicious than this? And what’s with the dramatics? “I was disturbed.” Make no mistake. Meril Hoge is labeling Tim Tebow, in the immortal words of pop-psychologist Charlie Murphy, "a functioning retard." How can Hoge speak like this of another human being? Even if Tebow were the worst possible football player in history, it would still be detestable to say this. If Hoge said this about any other athlete, he'd be in hot water with ESPN. What if he'd said this about a respected coach? Or, a commissioner? Good grief. ESPN suspended Scott Van Pelt for questioning Bud Selig's pay check. 

Admit it, Mr. Hoge. You. Just. Don't. Like. Tim. Tebow. Ya kinda despise him, dontcha? If attacking his mind doesn't work -- what next? I guess you will have to address his soul. Fear not, for I am about to address yours. The reason you don't care for Tebow has nothing to do with mechanics, or mental abilities, or skill. It is a spiritual issue. 

To Mr. Hoge, and Mr. Pierce, and to all the irrational and bitter critiques of Tebow, this I say.

Methinks the critics protest too much. Methinks they despise — not just Tebow — but the God he serves. It’s no good to say, as some critics do, “I am separating the man from the athlete.” You can’t do that. You can't separate Tebow the Christian from Tebow the athlete. He doesn't morph into a separate person when he puts on, or takes off, a football uniform. You can't splice a man apart like that. Tebow is many different things in one man; he is not one thing in many men. 

For my part, I admit it: I pull for Tim Tebow especially because he is a Christian. So what? Does this mean I can't evaluate his play on the field with impartiality? Maybe. Maybe not. At least I'm aware of my prior commitment, and such an admission enables me to more fairly evaluate his play: much more fairly than a supposed objective commentator who conceives of himself as a an impartial judge floating coldly through the world.

I'm tempted to go even a step further and say that "belief" in Tebow is connected to belief in God. I'm not just tempted; I will go a step further and say that, in the end, your disposition toward Tebow is inextricably related to your disposition toward the God he serves. Or, we might say, "If you believe in the true God, then you will likely to be favorable to Tebow." I know this won't be a popular position, but by now I have listened to hours and hours of commentary on Tebow, and I always walk away feeling like those who approach him positively are more friendly to Christianity. And — as for those who approach him the most negatively — to a man, they also slight his Christian profession. This trend surprised me. 

I was once naive enough to believe that sports commentators only cared about sports; they distance their religious personality from their profession, and then their profession from persons. Merill Hoge, for example, has vehemently professed it's nothing personal with Tebow. One blogger examined Hoge's Tweets on Tebow, and observed: 

Also, it needs to be said that the air of condescension is heavy within what Hoge said above. By capitalizing "FOOTBALL"  has he did, Hoge was trying to stress (perhaps hide behind) the assumption that his criticisms are football related. It's one thing to say it, but to unwaveringly cling to his position - relish it - as he did, that's when it becomes personal and not just about football. Even in text form, his tweets were sopping with that "passion" (remember all those exclamation points?).

I once believed sports commentators had nothing personal against Tebow because, in a myriad different ways, these men vowed thus. Then, I came to believe they did have something personal against Tebow. Now, I'm convinced that their perspective is even more personal — not so much with Tebow, as with his (and my) God. You can't separate a man from his God. In short, if you love Jesus, you will love his followers, and Tim Tebow is one of his followers (John 13.34-35; John 15:18). I don't mean "love" in the sense of, a) You will become a football fan, b) You will become a Denver Broncos fan, c) You will be convinced that Tim Tebow is the best quarterback in the NFL. Rather, by "love," I mean you will be favorably disposed toward — and long for the well-being of — Tim Tebow (and all other Christians). 

Yep, I said it. I said that The Sport’s World’s (and this culture's) disposition toward Tim Tebow is, in reality, a divide between Christians and Pagans. That's why Tebow has inspired, on the one hand, such affection, and on the other hand, such irrational bitterness. I know this will be among the most unpopular things I've ever written. I know, and I don't care. 

Nate Jackson put it well:

"We're all too smart for God these days, and to believe in Tim Tebow is to believe in God in a world that tells us that both are an impossibility. Well, (forget) the world. We need some new heroes."

Note to reader in the interest of blog integrity: I appropriated sections of this post in a longer post dealing specifically with Merril Hoge's disposition toward Tebow.