Growing up in suburban Detroit, I never had to wrestle with the question “Is it okay for me to pray for my team to win the Super Bowl?”

As a basketball player turned minister, I’ve observed that sport and religion have one interesting thing in common: both tend to bring out the best and worst in us. Especially in America.

Sport has given us Jackie Robinson and Pat Summitt. Sport has also given us steroid abuse, and Ron Artest versus the world in the Malice at the Palace (Pacer-Piston NBA Brawl).

Religion has given us Martin Luther King, Jr. and Mother Teresa. Religion has also given us witch hunts, the Middle Passage, unethical T.V. preachers who prey on the naive, and the mistreatment of minorities.

Both bring out the worst in us. Both bring out the best. I’ve learned to embrace the paradox.

On November 28, 2010, Steven Johnson lined up as a wide receiver for the Buffalo Bills. On November 28, the Bills were playing the Pittsburgh Steelers and they ultimately lost the game because Johnson dropped a pass late in the game, in the end zone. After the game, Johnson tweeted, “I praise you 24/7!!! And this is how you do me!!! You expect me to learn from this??? How??? I’ll never forget this!! Ever!!”

Johnson praised God 24/7, but what kind of God was he praising? It was a kind of religious transaction where he gives God the glory and God gives touchdowns. Or victories. Or Super Bowls. A fair exchange?

God ends up becoming a cosmic vending machine.

Everything is well and good until Jesus makes you fumble. But this isn’t just Johnson’s problem. This way of approaching God shows up often and the best name for it is religion. And notice who is really in charge of this arrangement. You and me. Not God.

This year, Tim Tebow became a household name because Americans (in Red States and Blue States) have differing opinions on the role of prayer in the outcome of sporting events. After learning that Tom Brady’s super-model wife (Gisele) sent a personal e-mail to friends and family asking for prayers “for Tommy” some tweeters had a field day. My favorite tweet went something like this: It’s fine for people to pray for Tom Brady. But ever since Tom Brady threw six touchdowns against Tim Tebow’s Denver Broncos, Tim Tebow—4th member of the trinity— is no longer answering Tom’s prayers. Tebow took the wheel.

Or how about this anecdote that surfaced recently?

Tom Brady dies (he is mortal after all) and goes to heaven. St. Peter is waiting at the gate. “Tom, I’m here to show you around heaven and where you’ll be living for eternity.” After showing Brady the ins and outs of heaven, the perks and works, St. Pete takes Brady to his heavenly digs. Patriot red white, and blue are everywhere.

As the odd couple approach Brady’s home, he is thankful until he notices a huge mansion on a large hill above his home with Denver Broncos regalia, signage, and decoration. Orange and Blue everywhere. The house is three times the size of his.

Brady looks at St. Pete. “Let me understand this . . . I win multiple championships, MVP awards . . . this is the house I get while Tim Tebow—a great guy—has his first season in the NFL . . . and he gets that mansion? And I get this? How does that work?”

“Tom. Um. Well . . . Mr. Brady . . . that’s not Tim Tebow’s house. That house belongs to God.”

We love to think God takes our side. Roots for our teams. It’s part of our American DNA.

To paraphrase Anne Lamott: You know you’ve created God in your own image when God roots for all the same teams you root for (I’m looking at you Yankee and Cowboy fans).

Here’s my short answer. Based on Christian scripture and practical experience, the purpose of prayer is for God to win. Not for you to win. Or your favorite team. Even if you are from Cleveland—though if anyone has a shot, God just might be rooting for you, Cleveland.

Millions of people all over the world will tune into the Super Bowl tonight.

God’s probably not concerned with who wins the Super Bowl. God’s consumed by working on behalf of the usher who can’t figure out how to pay his chemo bill. Or the player going through a divorce. Or the assistant coach who lost his son to suicide. Or the trainer wrestling a gambling addiction. Or the recent immigrant, trying to pay one more bill by cleaning up the confetti that falls in Lucas Oil stadium.

God sees the whole stadium, not the final score.

God’s probably groaning for street kids in Nairobi, Kenya. God’s plotting for an end to Joseph Koney’s abduction and abuse of child soldiers in East Africa. God’s probably orchestrating hope for farmers in the Ulpan Valley, Guatemala.

God’s probably among homeless vets in Cass Park, Detroit. God’s probably grieving children victimized by abusers.

God’s celebrating the new adventure a retiree is setting out on.

God’s smiling as God sees a new mother hold her infant son for the first time.

God’s dancing at our parties.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy this game or any other game.

It also doesn’t mean you can’t pray for your team. Because God is a father, God likes to hear from us—whatever the reason, even if our prayers might be childlike in nature.

Just don’t fall into the trap of assuming that your prayers are God’s prayers. Even if that’s your heart’s desire.

Josh Graves is a pastor and author of “The Feast” who loves theology and sports. His next book—”Heaven on Earth” (Abingdon) comes out later this year. Visit him on his website: www.joshuagraves.com. Follow him on Twitter: @joshgraves.

Read more: http://www.foxnews.com/opinion/2012/02/05/is-it-ok-to-pray-for-your-team-to-win-super-bowl-2012/#content#ixzz1lT9ZpZ1R

I’m writing this from my gut. I don’t care if there’s a misspelled word or comma splice. From the gut. No editing.

I watched, with great interest, the recent ESPN Fab Five documentary that aired Sunday evening after the NCAA selection show. If you look back at the chronology of my life (and my family’s love of sports)–it’s not hard to see that it was inevitable I’d become a basketball junky. Right after the Graves family moved from Wichita to Michigan (where I was born; suburban Detroit) the Jayhawks, led by Danny Manning, had just won an NCAA championship. The KU bug was already in me.

The Detroit Pistons, the only NBA team I’ll ever root for, played in three NBA championships from 1988 to 1991 winning two in ‘89 and ‘90 (and a third in 2004 against the Lakers). The University of Michigan won the NCAA championship in 1989 (Glen Rice the reincarnate Danny Manning) which paved the way a few short years later for the emergence of the Fab Five–the first ever all-freshmen-led team in the modern era to storm the college scene.

Basketball and me–it was in the cards. It just happened that I was tall (for a guard, 6′3) and could shoot well (truth-telling: I was slow and couldn’t jump). Even if the former wasn’t true, I’d still be a basketball nut. My dad made it a priority that my brother and I experience basketball in all its richness: letting us play all over the city; constructing a huge spotlight on our driveway allowing us to play into all hours of the night, taking us to watch Detroit’s best players when we were in middle and early high school.

The Fab 5 came on the scene just as hip-hop was rising as an important voice in American culture. I certainly don’t desire to be the defender of all facets o fhip-hop. However, one should note the role hip-hop plays. Hip-hop is partially a prophetic cry against poverty, disillusionment, and rage. If you are not convinced, read Jay-Z’s recent book. Pure truth-telling. Hip-hop is to the urban areas of America what country is to rural–it’s the narrative that most accurately names your experiences, hopes, passions, hypocrisy, and zest for life.

The same reason LeBron and Chris Bosh joined D-Wade in Miami is the same reason the Fab 5 all chose Michigan–they were hungry. You couldn’t go to the pros from high school–it was all about winning (which is why the only reason anyone should have a bad taste toward LeBron is not “what he did” but “how he did it”–the press conference surprise was weak; his PR team should be excommunicated from the U.S.).

As a student in jr. high/middle school . . . I was immediately transfixed by the Fab 5 because of their chemistry and hunger to win. Of course, the shorts, black socks, swagger, etc. were part of their appeal but the root of who they were–the same root as the great teams in NCAA history like Kentucky, Kansas, Duke, North Carolina–the root of their success was chemistry and hunger. That much of White America couldn’t see past the the flamboyant energy (as if Joe Namath and Pistol Pete had not existed) says more about White America than the Fab 5. Eminem, hoping not to digress too much, is bridging worlds very few have/can. BTW–Larry Bird is one of the best trash-talkers who ever lived and you never hear a word about this facet–it’s a double standard that’s absurd. Of course the Fab 5 talked trash, every great team/player (save John Stockton maybe) understands the role of trash-talking.

I personally loved the documentary because it was raw, honest, and truthful. It showed the best and the worst. I was particularly taken with Jalen Rose’s dead-on observations, confession, and leadership. While I wholeheartedly think he underestimates Duke (can’t believe I’m defending Duke, but Coach K is the real deal)–his comments about “inner-city Blacks” and “Uncle Tom Blacks” reminds us that perception is reality–whether we like it or not.

I loved Jalen’s swagger, Chris’s raw talent (still one of the most talented big men of the modern era in the NBA), Juwan’s skill (my dad said from the beginning that Juwan would play a long-time in the NBA because of his skill and basketball IQ), King’s energy, and Jackson’s versatility. I love how they fearlessly took on everything that came their way, kept fighting, kept playing. If you go back and watch their tapes, they were an amazingly unselfish team. That Bobby Knight still refuses to acknowledge this shows he can’t get past the fact that their shorts were long; their socks black. Knight’s like the preacher who won’t accept someone whose hair is too long, dress isn’t quite right. Knight, not Jalen, is the one who needs to get over himself.

I wish Webber would’ve seen this as an opportunity to move forward. I also think Mitch Albom was right–if Webber was getting paid while he played at Michigan he was the best pretender ever. Still, it’s time for Webber to move past the past and into a future as a leader in Detroit.

College basketball is about passion, chemistry, luck, and talent. The Fab 5 had a whole lot of all four. In the end, they didn’t have a championship to show for it (back-to-back championship appearances is a remarkable feat) but like many others (Pistol Pete, Charles Barkley, Ted Williams, Elgin Baylor, and Barry Sanders to name a few)–they forever changed the trajectory of the game. They were basketball artists. And it was an honor to grow up right in the middle of it.

The next time this happens is uncertain  . . . could be Chicago, or Atlanta or Dallas or Memphis or LA. But this time, God smiled on Detroit and gave us something to cherish and share for a long, long time.  This documentary was a hurricane of authenticity and we need more of it in our culture transfixed with appearances, hype, shallow PR, and denial.

And all of this from a Kansas Jayhawk fan who kept a scrapbook as a 12 year old because I knew I was witnessing something special.

So, let me hear your profound wisdom in the coming 4-5 days. Blow me away.

Peace,

Josh

Truth–You will be criticized. How are you going to handle it?

NOTE: If you have the gift of criticism and gossip, you should consider what this says about the state of your own emotional health and the toll others are paying for your anxiety, toxicity.

1. When you receive criticism, first remember to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world. This isn’t an indictment upon your worth as a human. Conflict is unavoidable. The more you avoid it, the more conflict you’ll have waiting for you once you decide to face it.

2. Don’t pay attention to anonymous criticism . If they don’t have the character to put their name to it, it doesn’t deserve your attention. Once, I received a threatening letter (telling me I’d better never mention race/racism in church again) but I couldn’t do anything with the accusation because it was anonymous. It took me about a week, but I finally realized I was allowing the person who crafted the note to have a power over me they had not earned.

3. When you receive criticism ask yourself this question: What might be true in their critique/complaint? What might I learn about myself?

4. Also, ask yourself if you might have hurt the person doing the criticizing in such a way that the thing they are complaining about is really about something else. If you are a leader in a public setting, they might come to you saying, “Your sermon/memo/speech really irked me” but what they really mean is “You didn’t come visit me in the hospital. You hurt me.”

5. Realize the theory/truth that people will take things out on you that are reserved for others.

6. Phone calls and in-person conversations are always superior to e-mail, blogging, texting. I think letter-writing needs to make a comeback because it slows us down, forces us to see our thoughts–and the thoughts of others–from a big picture perspective.

7. Have a trusted group of friends/mentors who can help you process criticism, especially if you are receiving consistent criticism around the same theme/focus. This has been huge for me in role as a public leader, speaker, writer, and thinker.

What (criticisms) would you add?

You know, so that when Lucas and Finn are teens I can say, “Look, your dad is chubby and bald but he used to have game.” Luckily my friend (and former rival, Dave Crosson) made a DVD copy and sent me the game I’d been searching for.

I’m 32 years old. In 1997 I was 18. A huge part of me (as Kara will attest) is still 18.

In March of 1997 I played one of the biggest games of my life (to that point)–against one of our biggest rivals. We were the two best teams on the East Side of the Metro Detroit Area. I watched the game over the weekend and remembered the smell of the gym, the vibe, the whistle’s reverberation, the names of faces in the crowd I’d long forgotten. It was a dramatic game with so many interesting twists and turns, it literally was a toss up who should have won that game. In fact, after watching the tape we didn’t so much win. We just happened to be in the lead when time expired. Had one more minute been added to the clock, we could have lost by 5 or 10. Easily

But something grabbed me this time. Something totally unexpected and unanticipated. And it had nothing to do with the game or basketball or sports in general.

Whoever filmed the tape for my rival’s school (yes–we won the game on the road) let the tape run after the game had ended. About 20 seconds after the game, I noticed a man moving from the top of the bleachers in the packed gym.

It was my dad. Watching the film, you only see the back of his head. But it’s my dad. For sure. When it’s your dad, you just know it. You know the way he moves, his posture.

My dad was running down to the court to hug me. It should be noted that my mother was probably already down there! But there’s something deep about the bond between father and son. Something mysterious. Something profound.

Sitting in my living room, almost 15 years later, it hit me that this moment was a parable of my life with my father. Not only was he always there, always present, he always ran to me.

I had to get stitches when I was 2 and 5. He was there. He came to me.

When I fell off my bike (the first of many) he was there.

When I lied he ran to me to confront and forgive.

How many times, did he get off work, take me to the park, rebound for me in the driveway?

When I was in high school he took me, every week, to breakfast to talk about life, sports.

When I was in college he made time, each week. Like clockwork, he never wavered.

When I lived in Nashville he came to me. Abilene, now Nashville again.

Always coming to me. Always running with love, body, speech, action.

I know some of you have no father or are enduring a poor relationship with your father. For that I’m truly sorry. I hope this doesn’t cause more pain for you. But, if you’ve been blessed with children, perhaps you get to rewrite the generational cycle.

When Jesus taught about the heart of God, he didn’t just talk about a God who showed up. He talked about a God who runs (Lk 15–which is, of course, a microcosm of exactly what Jesus was doing in his own life).  I don’t have to look up at the sky and wonder “What does that look like–for God to run?” I just look at my dad.

Who ran.

Who runs.

Who keeps coming. All the time. No matter what.

It looks like another typical scene. Packed high school gym, two thousand people. Half of them, happy. Half of them, upset.

But if you look closer, there’s a dad running. He’s running towards one of his sons.

And it’s beautiful.

–James Davison Hunter, author of To Change the World: The Irony, Tragedy, and Possibility of Christianity in the Late Modern World Oxford University