Splash. A flawless arc draws my gaze away from the rim to glance at my surroundings. Searching for recognition, my eyes explore the world around me. The colorful neighborhood warmed by the late winter sun resembles a ghost town. The dust residue on my palms and fingertips, left behind by the gripless worn basketball, reflects the loneliness. The court sits alone, overseen by a pair of old hoops, their rims divorcing the tangled cords that once clung so intimately.
My shoulders slouch and my smile, mirroring the perfect shot, falls. My only audience is the soulless bodies of compressed cans and shattered glass bottles that lay sprawled out in the grass surrounding me.
Turning to find the old ball rolling away, my eyes glimpse two figures. The smiling faces of a Nepali grandfather with his grandson are familiar. Knowing full well that words will fall flat, my hand raises to a wave.
Weeks before, an elderly man had walked up to the court, a young boy by his side. The child had a ball in his arms. The thing was half the size of his body and it dropped to the grass as he ran to me, his gait resembling a penguin.
Reaching the court, he had stood uncomfortably close, his arms stretching upward with his open hands. His head was level with the middle of my thigh, which made me feel much larger. His beaming smile reflected his childish confidence.
I smiled back and handed him my ball, which he eagerly grasped. He hobbled a couple of steps away before turning back, the smile on his face growing. He had yelled something in Nepali, leaving me confused. The closest language known to me was Hindi, and even that was all but forgotten.
I mustered a questioning “huh?” followed by an exaggerated shrug. He smiled again and mimicked my movement, repeating my answer, only louder. He searched my face for recognition of his achievement. Smiling at him, I displayed my approval and our friendship had begun.
My now awkwardly waving hand drops as my familiar young friend runs up to me. This time he has a proportionally small rubber basketball of his own which he lifts to his face and with verve, exclaims “Oh my goodness!”, words he had learned from me. His smile exhibits his pride. He’s like me now…
Very often we complicate our faith into a mechanical and empty thing. We direct our attention toward rules and assemble theologies that scare off those seeking hope. We begin worshiping religion and leave behind the very simplicity of the gospel, leading many to ask the question, “What is a Christian?” The title Christian comes from the Greek word, Christianos (Χριστιανός), and refers to a follower of Christ. Crazy… The obvious aside, a follower of Christianity is not a Christian, just someone tagging behind religion. Picture a boy or girl molding themselves to be like the one they adore, seeking to be like them. A little boy idolizing someone playing basketball doesn’t worship basketball, he adores the someone. In doing so he attempts to bounce a ball, yes, but the sport isn’t the point. The idea is to be like the player.
The desire to be as that which is adored does not belong exclusively to children. It is the nature of every person. Everyone is like an adoring child. We are all inherently worship-type creatures; beings who place something on a pedestal and base our very lives on it. Some money, some fame, and still others love. Stuff, ideas, religion, and people. These are all things we beings often worship. The only thing that separates the Christian is the subject of worship. But being a Christ follower is almost confusingly simple. It is someone who loves Jesus.
If you know that he is righteous, you know that everyone who does what is right has been born of him. How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself, just as he is pure.
1 John 2:29-3:3
This is one of my favourite blogs you've written :) Well done.