I stopped praying for football miracles just before my team, the Seahawks, entered the NFL post-season. During the regular season, I witnessed what I considered answers to my spiritual calls: cornerback Jordan Babineaux’s interception of the Cowboy’s Drew Bledsoe in the final 8 seconds of the game, setting up a winning field goal, and A. J. Feely’s three missed field goals as the Seahawks toppled the Giants at Qwest Field. Each of those times I prayed for a miracle, and via Seahawks success I began my spiritual journey.
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But as the Christian faith teaches, a believer may be tested.
The birth of my son, Grant, demanded that I focus my attention, my prayers, and miracle requests elsewhere. Born without a heart beat on December 30th, he entered Seattle’s post-season as the biggest under-dog. Kicking his mom’s stomach like Josh Brown through the regular season indicated a strong leg, but we didn’t expect Grant to boot his umbilical cord past the end-zone the moment my wife’s water broke. In medical terms, it’s known as a prolapsed cord.
The first two weeks of January became one-day-at-a-time blurs. Building a prayer network consisting of hundreds of friends, family, and a few churches, Grant’s mom and I did what we could to effect another miracle. Doctors and nurses in our local Children’s Hospital replaced “Big Play Babs” and Matt Hasselbeck in our spiritual transformation. Seattle lost to Green Bay in their regular-season closer as we substituted family members in at Grant’s crib-side.
Once again, a miracle occurred before us as Grant healed and was released from the hospital during Seattle’s post-season bye, with good MRI and EEG results.
Looking back, I don’t think I was tested as much as I was placed in a situation where my only course of action was to pray. What else could I have done? What else could anyone have done? I was a parent, not a doctor. But the foundation of faith had been laid with a Seahawks win over the Cowboys in the original miracle of John Montonye’s 2005 Almanac, and I am convinced it was God’s work to bring me and several family members to a closer relation with Him through our tribulation with Grant.
The real “test” didn’t arrive until weeks later, with Super Bowl Sunday.
By the time it had arrived, I had resumed following my Hawks. With a baby boy appareled in full Seahawks regalia made for an infant, I felt like I now had a formidable fan club under my own roof. John and Grant Montonye – the formidable duo fighting for all things in support of a nationally pronounced under-dog, the Seattle Seahawks. Grant had really “been there,” and as much as I know he has no clue what football is, I liked pretending (and almost brought myself to believe) that he “knew” something about the Seahawks’ destiny. He slept through the Skins’ and the Panther’s contentions as if there was nothing to worry about. Formidable indeed, this Seattle Super fan that I considered myself lucky to call my buddy.
Though I had pronounced to God upon my son’s birth that I would ask for no more “Seahawks miracles,” and that the only miracle I wished for was for my son’s health, I continued with “Seahawk prayers.” Instead of asking for the “miracles,” placing real faith in a being so great that He could effect anything – even the full recovery of a baby without a heart beat, or a Seahawk appearance in the Super Bowl – I prayed for individual Seahawk play, and always was prepared to accept a loss to end our season if that was God’s will. If that might be his test.
In short, though I expected that my team could beat the Steelers in the Super Bowl, I also vowed not to stray from God should we lose. If somewhere in my spiritual journey the miracles and the successes should end, I would stay strong. I was prepared to lose. A loss wouldn’t even be a “test” of my relation with God.
On Sunday morning, as I prepared my spirit in church, with the big game looming in the back of my head, our pastor addressed the congregation in a sermon that spoke directly to me. I guess you might say I was forewarned by her as she stated that Christians should revel in despair. Eloquently and with conviction, she described that despair serves as a playing field for God to work on us. As I remembered those days in the hospital, despairing over Grant and building my relation with God, I was brought to tears. But knowing that this sermon was not delivered as a reflection on the past, I was evermore prepared to accept defeat that evening as the team that started my spiritual journey faced the national favorites.
Praying faithfully through the third quarter of the game, I felt like Seattle was going to take the lead after a prayer answer in what appeared a scoring drive. Putting the prayers aside for a second, I dared a Red Hook IPA in one hand as I cradled Seattle’s #1 fan in the other. Long pass completion to Jeramy Stevens at the Pittsburgh 1 yard line – Yes! Then the “yellow flag” thrown like a penalty on me for mixing booze with religion.
Pittsburgh 21. Seattle 10. Final score.
Time to move on – be a strong Christian. I was prepared, right?
Not as much as I thought. Sure, I’d been willing to accept defeat. But were my Seahawks really beat? I mean were they BEAT?!?! Recalling the “yellow flags” – the botched “blocking” call against a tackling Hasselbeck, the holding call against Sean Locklear’s brushing right arm, Darryl Jackson’s touchdown-receiving brush on Steeler defender Chris Hope, the flags falling late after the completion of big Seattle plays. Was this really a loss in God’s eyes?
Eleven points lost, only to lose by the same amount. Along with the rest of the 12th Man, I was sick. Sure we could have done some things better. Only problem is that even then, we were better! Did we ever really have the opportunities to succeed in that game?
Pounding away on the Seahawk blogs, I found comfort in miserable company. I signed an electronic petition. I “sounded off” in the PI. I began planning a personal crusade in the name of changing the NFL and the national media – their concocted sob stories about opposing players setting the nation and the referees against us.
In the midst of this, regaining my composure as a proud Seahawk supporter and on a mission to screw Big Company NFL, Big Money Media, and Big Brother Paul Tagliabue.
And until now, forgetting one thing.
Yes, I sure was tested.
Dear Lord …
… Congratulations Pittsburgh. You earned it. I pray that we meet again next year.
