I had the privilege of attending what many are calling the greatest Monday Night Football game in the program’s 40-year history. For those who don’t get into sports, or don’t have a TV, or have been living under a rock(!), the contest in Minneapolis featured newly acquired signal-caller Brett Favre and the Minnesota Vikings, lining up opposite the Green Bay Packers—Favre’s former team of 16 years and the Vikings’ much-maligned border-state rival of three times that duration. The game, no, the experience, was unbelievable—truly a sports fan’s dream, what with all the pregame hype and the game actually living up to, if not surpassing, its heightened billing. But however odd to some, amidst all the fanfare and glam, what stood out most against the backdrop of such sports history, what outshone the simultaneous flashes of the 10,000 or more digital cameras and even rose above the almost deafening shouts of the crazed crowd, was a simple, yet poignant sight: a handful of players, Vikings players, just moments before kickoff, before what had to be one of the most anticipated games of their collective careers, individually kneeling in the corner of an endzone, praying.
Yes, as an avid spectator of sports, I’m familiar with players, even from opposing teams, huddling for prayer, but this normally occurs postgame, after the action, not necessarily as an afterthought, but definitely not right before the whistle sounds the start of the action. You see, in these precious preceding moments players are generally more concerned with the here-and-now: getting loose, going over last-minute game preparations, with football, upping their adrenaline with a team huddle and perhaps sharpening their focus with the aid of smelling salts. So quite frankly, it struck me. These few, again, just minutes before kickoff of the most-watched game in Monday Night Football history, had the perspective (the prompting?) to drop everything and lift prayers. And while it might not appear earth-shattering to some—after all, it’s not like they left their jobs and joined the Peace Corps or decided to ditch the Dome for a downtown soup-kitchen—it made a statement. At least to me. I couldn’t help but think of the chorus to the old church hymn, I Surrender All:
I surrender all
I surrender all
All to Jesus,
My blessed Savior,
I surrender all
What I saw Monday night was a handful of [Vikings] football players unhesitatingly and unabashedly laying everything, even the most important of worldly things (at least from a sports standpoint), at the feet of Jesus. And, no, I don’t know what they prayed, but it doesn’t matter. While everyone else in the building, all 64,000 of them, narrowed their focus on the upcoming clash of epic proportions, there were a godly few who attended to far less trivial matters and faithfully praised and petitioned their King. It was, for me, a memorable display, far more so than the hat-trick of touchdown passes thrown by a future hall of famer.
It begs the question: Would I do likewise? Or do I? When the world and its matters clamor loudest for my undivided attention, am I willing, like these particular players were, to surrender them before God, to lay them at His feet, and in doing so, lay up for myself treasures in heaven? Better yet, how do I really surrender all to God? Is this even necessary, much less doable? Yes…and yes. But only if a transaction takes place.
In order to be a true follower of Jesus Christ, and in order to even be able to surrender my earthly life, along with its fleeting cares and concerns, at His feet, I must pick something (someone) up in exchange for that which I lay down. And that is, namely, Jesus Himself.
Indeed, it is only if and when Christ becomes my all in all, that I can truly, and faithfully, surrender all.
