Two teams line up on culturally holy ground. The ball is thrown, hips make contact with rubber, blood vessels pop, bones are broken in fits of athleticism, and each team strives to be the victor. As the sun sets, the six-pound ball is heaved through the high, vertical hoop, and the game ends. The losing team captain resigns himself to his fate, a strange mix of honor and shame, and he is sacrificed to continue the cycles of games, fertility, blood, and battered bones.
What a brutal, horrible game.
In these epic matches, everything was taken rather seriously (the possibility of losing more than bragging rights does that to a person). More ritual than game, the ball court that housed this practice was generally connected to a temple. The game was played across South America, originated through pre-Columbian peoples, and was adapted by several next-door countries.
I imagine that the rush of hip hitting ball, near-wins, and in-game deaths was like lightning. Sometimes a dead participant’s head was thrown into the match as a substitute for a ball, bringing a whole new meaning to “keep your head in the game” (I’m not quite sure that this is what Troy Bolton meant).
Such high stakes imply a great deal of consequence. The type of dishonor brought upon the loser of the game is unheard of in our current context, but the concept of taking ourselves too seriously is not entirely a new one. When you take yourself too seriously, apart from not employing a healthy amount of humility, you open new and heightened avenues for shame.
Shame, contrary to our current culture’s message, has a role in the believer’s life. If not properly dealt with, it turns into a vicious, cyclical spiral—one that could have enormous consequences. The only way to resolve shame is not by quelling it and claiming it no longer has prevalence, not by seeking to atone for it on our own accords, not by playing elaborate ritualistic games, but by giving it to our Father. We are meant to turn to him with our burdens.
Psalm 23 speaks to a healthy engagement with shame. Asaph cries out, “Let them feel shame, that they may turn their faces towards you.” Shame, an indicator of something not right, a weight that does not belong, causes us to shift things around until the weight is either no longer as discernible or lifted. A right response is to give our shame to God. An extreme response is losing your life as a result of losing a ballgame, or suicide, or ritual combat, etcetera.
I used to feel a small twinge of shame when I fumbled a key movement in a dance recital, when I messed up on stage as I was twirling. I feel shame when I disappoint my parents. Sometimes I try and cover over that with ice cream or a long binge session of Lost (goodness gracious, that series never ends), but it never truly departs until I kneel before my God and say, “I am yours; I relinquish this weight. Right my heart, Father.”
When we take ourselves too seriously, we make a better platform for shame and weight. Simple games turn into self-made life-or-death realities. When we rightly align our expectations and standards with God’s, we make the hand off of shame to our Father a far easier one.
So, keep your head in the game (i.e., take what you do seriously), but don’t let the stakes or self-importance get to your head. Living in the tension of the now and not yet is difficult, but it is a worthwhile effort that requires constant humbling, diligent effort, and a willingness to offer our shame to one who knows how to best to resolve it.
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