Villanova’s Buzzer-Beater: A Place for Fundamentals and Coaching in Preparing the Play-Maker

Marcus Paige...and the game is tied!

Villanova’s Buzzer-Beater

This past Monday night, in the NCAA Division I Men’s Basketball Championship, the University of North Carolina trailed 74-71 until their guard Marcus Paige seemed to hang in mid-air, between two Villanova players, and hit an improbable, off-balance, double-clutch three-pointer to tie the game at 74 points apiece with 4.7 seconds remaining. It looked for a moment like we would be treated to five minutes of free basketball. But then, Villanova’s Kris Jenkins inbounded the ball to Ryan Arcidiacono (ARCH-ee-dee-AH-cuh-no) who drove up the court, drew two UNC defenders, and dished the ball back to Jenkins. For many children too young to practice Christian Laettner’s top-of-the-key turnaround jumper, it will be Jenkins’ shot and celebration that they will emulate as their game-winner, too. And so, it could be said, Jenkins’ shot not only brought such memorable recognition to himself, but it brought the 2016 National Championship to Villanova University, head coach Jay Wright, and the rest of his entire team.

It could be said that way, but before examining that perspective a little more closely, let me ask you a few questions about your own aspirations. Have you ever fantasized about being in the right place at the right time, able to do the right thing in order to make a heroic difference? Maybe your imaginary moment of fame brings you to home plate in the bottom of the ninth, trailing by a run with two outs and one on base, when you crush the pitch, sending it soaring into the stands. It could be, instead, that you see yourself valiantly responding to cries for help, diving into a flooded stream to pull a child to safety. Perhaps your aim is nothing more than finding the gallantry necessary to step outside your comfort-zone, approach an obviously distraught friend, and be willing to hear their full, honest answer when you ask, “Would it help to talk about it?”

No, not that Christian's heroics. Other Christians' heroics!

Christian Heroics

Knowing as many Christians as I have over the past three decades, there is one particular fantasy I have heard repeatedly. We picture ourselves actually engaging in conversation with a close friend, family member, coworker, or classmate. They comment on our relationship with Jesus Christ, and as the conversation continues we are privileged to hear their gratifying question, “How then shall I be saved?” Fortunately for many, this remains a fantasy. I say “fortunately” because most would find themselves utterly unprepared, not knowing what to say if that moment were to arise. (If you think you’re not one of those unprepared to answer your friend’s request to meet Jesus, then simply take the next few minutes to explain the gospel out loud. Okay? So, how did you do? Clear, concise, and compelling? Or complicated, confused, and incomplete?) Therefore, many Christians never need worry about answering such questions, because just having that conversation is too unlikely.

What if our heroic make-believe moment, though, required something less than a gospel presentation? What if the situation in which you see yourself allowed you to remain silent, to not even engage in conversation about something so “personal and private” as your own relationship with Jesus Christ? What if that moment in which you envision yourself rising to the occasion involved nothing more than simply saying no to temptation, and avoiding your favorite sin…just once? What if your ambitions only scale the heights of self-discipline so far as to actually leave the comfort of your bed, get showered and dressed, grab your Bible, and make it to church this Sunday? Does the bar still need lowered? Are you still only dreaming of one day picking up that Bible, opening it to a favorite passage, and praying about what the Holy Spirit says to you through God’s word?

Kris Jenkins - with the ball Arcidiacono just
passed him, during the play that
Jay Wright designed...etc.

Opportunity Meets Preparation

During the post-game interviews with victorious Villanova’s players this past Monday night, one reporter admitted their confusion about those final 4.7 seconds. There was a sense, according to the reporter, in which the game-winning shot was a result of a set play, orchestrated to produce the result it did. But there were also parts of what Jenkins and Arcidiacono had described that made it sound as though they were improvising on the spot. The two young men gave a reasonable-enough explanation, but not so much so that it prevented coach Jay Wright from being asked the same question just minutes later. In just a few brief sentences, Wright explained clearly and concisely what every coach seeks to do for his players (and what I believe many pastors seek to do for those they serve).

I remember there being three levels to Wright’s answer about that final shot. First, he explained that there were actually three end-of-game plays that his team had prepared. There was a play to run if there were more than twelve seconds left, another to run if there were between five and twelve seconds, and a third to run if there were less than five seconds. Therefore, the five young men on the court had only to look at the clock (4.7 seconds) to know which play they were going to run. The second part of Coach Wright’s answer, though, addressed the very point where the reporter had earlier found some confusion. In running the “under-five-second” play, it was still necessary to discern what the opposing team’s players were doing (double-teaming Arcidiacono, as it happened), and then make a decision about who would be open and available to take the final shot of the game. Jenkins, running to the right and doing so fast enough to get into Arcidiacono’s peripheral vision, was then tasked with the third element—making the shot—in what turned out to be a successful end to the game, the tournament, the season, and Jenkins’ career as a Villanova Wildcat.

More Than Meets the Eye

As above, then, “it could be said” that what CBS will forever label as one of their “One Shining Moment” moments, put Jenkins’ shot in an forever-unfading spotlight. Too, that shot, “it could be said,” brought Villanova their first National Championship since 1985, brought head coach Jay Wright to greater prominence (and potential job-changes), and so much more. But before we ascribe all that to the game’s final eight-tenths of one second (as the ball traveled to and through the basket) there needs to be a more careful, if concise, exploration of that “moment.”

Villanova Head Coach Jay Wright

Jenkins’ shot resulted from Arcidiacono’s decision. Arcidiacono’s decision was enabled by Wright’s play. Wright’s play was determined by the Wildcats’ circumstance. That circumstance had been rehearsed and the play had been practiced, and Jenkins’ preparation had included many such shots alone with a ball and a hoop throughout his young life. So, when the ball ended up in Jenkins’ hands Monday night, yes—the spotlight was, indeed, on him. But the endless drills, the foundational fundamentals, and the routine repetition of what to do when the opportunity presented itself, these elements on the part of a dozen young men, a coaching staff, an athletic department, a university, an athletic association, and a culture that values and supports the pursuit of excellence in sports, and probably dozens of other ingredients went into what many will remember as being the singular action of one individual player in that one shining moment.

The Opportunities Awaiting You

For every child who drives toward the hoop in their driveway, or sets their feet at the playground foul-line, or looks around to be sure they’re alone in the gym before saying to themselves, “to Jenkins…for the championship!” may there be at least one more of us who imagine ourselves heroically asking, answering, and acting on the question, “What would Jesus have me do today?” But let us also commit to fulfilling our own one-shining-moment, and passionately pursue the endless drills of the foundational fundamentals. May we remember that what may seem like only a routine repetition of the spiritual disciplines of scripture study, worship and prayer, fellowship and service, and the other habits of holiness, is the indispensable prerequisite to even being on the court during those critical moments. 

The Wonders of Two Moons

Sunday, September 27, 2015 - 7:43 p.m. PDT
(Brightened slightly to show detail.)

Sunday, September 27, 2015 – Some have said that the moon is thirty thousand miles closer than its usual average. Thirty thousand miles is actually a bit over the total difference between perigee (“super-moon” proximity) and apogee (when it appears smallest because it is farthest away). So, since the average is 238,900 miles, the moon was still over 225,000 miles away on Sunday night. By mid-month, it will again be more than 250,000 miles away.

For a photographer, the size difference is relatively insignificant. The greatest obstacle is still the same: the atmosphere, its pollutants, weather-related haze, or a small band of clouds may obscure every attempt at capturing “lunar events.” By that, especially this past week, is meant the total eclipse Sunday, and the full moon on the following night.

Seeing in the Dark – Part One

During the eclipse, I worked to get the right settings for the aperture, exposure, focus, and tripod. As the moon rose above the horizon, it also began to disappear as the shadow of the earth glided slowly up the familiar face of “the man in the moon.” Before long he was only barely visible to the naked eye, red with the effects of the light’s long trip through the curve of our atmosphere, still somewhat shaded by the smoke from smoldering forests near and far. The camera was doing a better job than I was of penetrating the haze and accumulating the light of several seconds at a time. But then, I noticed that my eye was doing a better job of something I had not anticipated.

Sunday, September 27, 2015 - 8:05 p.m. PDT
(Pretty much just as it was. Be sure to see it full-sized.)

Looking away from the moon, I realized I could see far many more stars than were usually apparent. I could even see a different kind of haze directly above me in the bright band of The Milky Way. The eclipsed moon being darkened, my eyes opened wider to admit a far greater spectrum. Even the distant lights of farms and ranches well across the Pit Valley and miles away down Dee Knoch Road stood out in sharper contrast to the blackness between them.

Looking at my photo of the more distant star-field, a friend commented that he didn’t recognize the constellations. I replied that neither did I, since the patterns were made up of stars we wouldn’t usually see and, given the very long lens I was using, they probably resided within other constellations we would usually be looking at, paying little attention to the stars of lesser magnitude within and around them.

Seeing in the Dark – Part Two

The following night was as near the exact opposite as possible in this super-moon event. I decided to contrast the challenge of capturing such a dimly lit face with the challenge of bringing out the details of the moon’s surface when my naked eye saw only the bright white circle against the otherwise, apparently black night sky. The same issues of aperture, exposure, and focus were again made easier by using the tripod, but it was less necessary than the night before. The length of the exposures was far shorter. Still, my attention was again centered on only the slightest few degrees in the vast reach of the night sky. At least, it was for a while.

Monday, September 28, 2015 - 8:54 p.m. PDT
(Darkened slightly to show detail.)

Before long, though, I began to notice other points of light. The moon reflected off the surface of the water flowing down the Pit River, but also on the partially-flooded rice paddies, and strangely off of other items at various points along the valley. The spray, the pipes, and the wheels of the wheel-lines on a ranch miles away were glittering. Metal roofed barns glowed. The white farmhouse closest to us reflected moonlight against the windshields of the trucks parked nearby. Again, as my eyes adjusted, more and more of the stands of trees, fence lines, and out buildings became apparent.

Shifting My Focus

The super-moon got top billing this past weekend. Rightly so, because it is rare to have the various elements coincide. But moon is just as dark once each month, for the entire night. And it is, if only slightly smaller, just as bright just as often. There have been times when I noticed the brightness of the night sky through the windows of my home. There were also times before the need for security lighting when I noticed that it seemed much darker than usual as I walked by braille from the door of my office to the door of my car. But I rarely stopped to look at the moon, much less at all the other things that it’s brightness or darkness made more visible.

Truth be told, I have to admit, sadly, that the same will probably continue to be my habit. Most of the time I don’t stop to smell the roses, much less gaze at the moon. And, as a photographer, I’m known for what and how I see things, too. But taking more time to relax and enjoy the scenery is not the lesson I took away from my sojourns on the deck these past two nights.

An Allegorical Application

The sense of God’s presence is rarely so absent as it was at times in the earliest years of my walk with Christ. It takes more to amaze me, too, at what He chooses to do in my life, whether miraculously or mundanely. But what I do find waxing and waning is my perception of whether He is accomplishing His purpose through me.

September 28, 2015 - 9:04 p.m. PDT
(Pretty much just as it was.
Also nice full-sized.)

The tangible results of pastoral ministry definitely ebb and flood. There are times when, if one were to judge from attendance, finances, conversions/baptisms, or signs of personal approval from those we love, that we would be convinced of our abject failure. These times are interspersed with moments that might otherwise affect us, making us feel like God’s best, most precious gift to those we are called to serve. Neither is an accurate estimation, of course. But it can feel that way, or both ways, sometimes within hours of each other.

I am in a particularly dark season at the moment. Some desperately want me to have the answer, or the resources, or whatever else would alleviate their circumstances, and I know of nothing that will change the way things are for them (other than a sovereign God’s answer to prayer, of course). There are others, however, whose needs I see, for whom I have clear answers and ample resources that three decades of experience tells me would be effective in their circumstances. But, as yet, they are still pursuing other remedies, other anxieties, other hopelessness, and other self-directed self-help strategies.

I have also known seasons of great brightness when I have celebrated with those who have seen life events of brilliant magnitude, miraculous interventions against impossible odds, and sudden reversals of long-held patterns of dysfunction or addiction. As you can imagine, I like these seasons better.

September 28, 2015 - 9:18 p.m. PDT (Pretty much just as it was. This one is worth seeing full-sized, too.)

But in either one, the question that the two moons raises for me is this: whether in the greatest possible brightness or the nearly invisible darkness, what else is there that I should be looking at? As regular readers may have noticed, I have been contemplating The Beatitudes quite a lot lately. In each, Jesus states an aspect of the human condition that most would evaluate as darkness: being poor in spirit, mourning, hungering and thirsting, and being persecuted, but also encountering the personal expense of being gently, merciful, pure in heart, or peacemakers. The shining brilliance of life is not just the opposite of these conditions, but they can be seen in the results of each condition, too. Those who embody these traits possess the kingdom of God, they are comforted, they inherit the earth, etc.

So, if not to the circumstances in which I find myself, not in the results and consequences that are promised to those The Beatitudes describe, where else could I look? Instead of my personal perspective on the brightness or darkness, I might be wiser to shift my focus, to see what else Jesus might show me if I overcome my preoccupation with everything that usually clamors for top-billing. It would be cliché to say that I need to look more intently at Jesus. It is still true. But that is only part of the challenge. To look at Jesus is to look at those He has called me to serve, and see, perhaps, something different in and about them than the brightness or darkness of any givenmoment.

After all, the brilliance that illuminated the entire landscape, the darkness that allowed innumerable stars to make themselves seen—both of these came from what only seemed to be two different moons.

The Impossibility of Anticipatory Sermon Preparation

On any given Sunday, you have no idea who may attend any given church.
And even if you do know a given parishioner will be in attendance,
you have no idea what kind of mood they're in, what kind of day they're having, etc.

“Twenty men crossing a bridge,

Into a village,

Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges,

Into twenty villages,

Or one man

Crossing a single bridge into a village.”

from “Metaphors of a Magnifico”

by Wallace Stevens

A friend phoned me one Sunday afternoon. “You’ve got to pray for us, Bill.” Her husband and mother-in-law had gone to the market. She was using the momentary calm to plead for any counsel on how to handle the irate reactions to the morning’s sermon. Her mother-in-law’s assumption was that I had been informed of her impending visit, and that I had tailored the sermon’s topic to specifically address her son and daughter-in-law’s concerns over her involvement with mediums (those who “channel” the spirits of the dead) and spiritists (those who channel other spirits), and especially those popularized by Shirley MacLaine in her book Out on a Limb.

Her reaction was not unwarranted. I had actually quoted MacLaine in the midst of a sermon on I John 4 in which I insisted, “Just because something is real, that doesn’t make it true. There are very real false spirits seeking to influence us any way they can. They are unlikely to decline an open invitation to do so.”

Her assumptions, however, were entirely unfounded. I had no idea she was planning to visit, much less attend services. And if I had, and my friends had warned me ahead of time, I would not have chosen to switch out the sermon for any other. Foremost among the many reasons for that obstinance on my part? Those responsible to hold me accountable to expository preaching (which, in my case, includes plodding along chapter-by-chapter and verse-by-verse through whole books of the Bible) would immediately notice that I had skipped the next passage.

But even among those who preach topically, those who prepare more situationally, or those friends who ascend the pulpit entirely unprepared in expectation of the Holy Spirit’s spontaneous utterance through them, no pastor can anticipate who will be in attendance at any given service. Neither can any of us anticipate the mental, emotional, social, physical, or spiritual conditions each individual may bring with them to that service.

Whatever number may cross the bridge into the sanctuary on a particular Sunday, they each bring unique experiences and expectations. And those experiences and expectations will likely be different from one service to the next. Andrew Blackwood’s Pastoral Leadership includes the admonition to consider that “pastoral visitation is sermon preparation. Knowing one’s congregation is indispensable. But preparing sermons on the basis of who may or may not be in attendance is inadvisable. Trying to imagine what distractions or disappointments, griefs or gratifications, rejoicings or regrets may be on their hearts and minds is, in a word, impossible.

What, then, are we to do, if not to tailor the presentation of our study, structure, and semantics to what we (think that we) know of our congregation’s participants and their perspectives? Pray. We pursue our study, structure, and semantics in the faithful pursuit of presenting the message God seeks to deliver to a congregation of which we know far less than we imagine. I am tempted to guess at and prepare for “the average parishioner,” or “the lowest common denominator,” or any other fictional standard. But ultimately, it is my trust in the Holy Spirit to guide every aspect from the selection of a passage to the final sentences of a conclusion, and everything in between, that keeps me from the mental gridlock that guarantees I will guess wrong.

This also means that when I am congratulated by those who find a particular message especially meaningful, helpful, or convicting, I cannot take credit for anything more than practicing the prayerful craft of faithfully pursuing study, structure, and semantics that convey the truth of God’s word to those He chooses to include in any given gathering. That, too, is a good thing.