Running Back

Even though it’s only the preseason for the NFL, I rejoice that the familiar drum and horn blast that we grew up with and can recognize in 2 notes or less will soon signal the arrival of Monday Night Football. “Don don danta, danta don dadum!” You’re with me, right? If you’re close to my age, visions of Howard Cossell, Frank Gifford and Dandy Don Meredith have already filled your head. And it was on a Monday night a couple of weeks ago that Ricky Williams stepped back on to the playing field, sporting the familiar turquoise uniform of the Miami Dolphins. As we all know, sports fan or not, Ricky had some issues (to put it mildly), and took a sabbatical from the NFL. But now, he’s back, and reporters have been trying to pull a story out of him.

In an article by Barry Wilner, AP Football Writer, Ricky apparently was wondering what all the fuss surrounding him is about. Wilner writes that in his interview, Williams made it sound as if he never left football. “It doesn’t seem like I was gone, not even a week,” the former NFL rushing king said. “Everywhere I go, I hear ‘Welcome back.’ But everywhere I have been, I have always been with myself. I’m with myself now more than ever.”

As I read that bit about “everywhere I have been, I have always been with myself,” I caught myself thinking, “What’d he just say? Is he still on the weed?” I mean, to borrow a line from one of my favorite movies, “that don’t make no sense!” I even called a buddy, read him the blurb, and we both laughed about it. I’m pretty good at mocking people, and Ricky was my target of the day.

Then I turned to page 111 of Rob Bell’s book Velvet Elvis, and I read these words: “There is a great saying in the recovery movement: ‘Wherever you go, there you are.’” So maybe, just maybe, in his interview, Ricky was giving us a coded answer that shows he is trying to get some help with his “issues.” Instead of cutting him down, I tried to remember some things about the dreadlocked running back from Texas. Oh ya, one of the reasons he had trouble in New Orleans was because of a fear of crowds. Hmmm. I bet he sees his share of those, right? And maybe he found temporary reprieve in burning a spliff. So maybe he was running from accumulated issues in his life, bailed on the NFL gig, and perhaps finally sought help and is trying to get his life back on track. And maybe I’m being too generous in my “maybes.” Who knows? Only Ricky, and we may never figure that cat out.

But as I played out this little scenario in my head, I couldn’t help but connect the ideas of a person with real problems, getting to the end of their rope, seeing that there was no way to go but back, and taking those first tentative steps home, to the story that is usually known as The Parable of the Prodigal Son. If you’ve ever been to church, you’ve heard this story, usually from a couple of sides – us as the wayward son, or less often, us as the jealous brother, and always with God as the forgiving father. I love how Eugene Peterson in The Message translation describes the homecoming: “When he (the lost son) was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him.”

In commenting on this story, Bell describes for us a truth that we simply will not allow ourselves to believe or live out. Those of us who have been met in our lives by the Father with his heart pounding in his chest, wherever that took place, are “saints” and through mysteries that too many think they have a handle on, are placed “in Christ.” And we’re there because we have God’s favor, which was given after no effort on our part. Way better than me, Rob writes, “We cannot earn what we have always had. What we can do is trust that what God keeps insisting is true about us is actually true.” What is true? We are loved. WE ARE LOVED!

A gifted friend of mine used to lead in a song of worship where we sang, “You are loved by God, and nothing else matters.” Still today, that song resonates within me, and I think it’s because I struggle so much with the knowledge that I know I am not as “good” as most think I am, and usually would expect me to be. But in spite of that, I am loved by God, and nothing – not my efforts, my lack of efforts, my successes, nor my failures – nothing – nothing else matters.

So to Ricky, I’d like to say, “Glad you’re back!” I’m typing this with the hope that my “maybes” from above are at least a little close to the truth, and Ricky is getting his life turned around. If so, he sure sounds a lot like me.