May the Best Underdog Win

I’m a little late at getting into the Olympics, I know. The hoopla about the opening ceremonies… the air pollution reports… the gold medal speculations: just a backround noise to me. But then last night my husband called me into the TV room with that tone of voice that told this non-TV-watcher there was no doubt that I should race to the screen.

Yep, volleyball. Can’t resist it. I couldn’t care less that the American duo looked strong against the Cuban team. I just love to watch the game. I’m there on the sand, making the moves, shifting in the direction of the dives, admiring the impossibly quick reflexes and the sharp vision that it takes to find the holes in your adversary’s offense. I was rooting for the losers so the game could go on longer. I always do.

But more than that: I’m a sucker for the underdogs. When NCAA basketball is all over the news, my ears only listen for the Gonzagas, George Masons, and Valparaisos. Even when the Red Sox were about to break their 86 year accursed streak, and I was thrilling for the moment the victory would be official, I still pulled for those Cardinals to at least come out with some dignity.

Yesterday I heard on the news that India had won its first ever Olympic gold. That got my heart beating faster than all the announcements of American gold probably will. Good for you, India. Go Underdogs!

Am I out in left field? Can anyone else relate to this? Or does the everyone-loves-a-winner philosophy totally dominate? I tend to think I’m not alone. Otherwise movies like Napoleon Dynamite and Nacho Libre would never have been made. Who doesn’t know the feeling of being a loser, the outsider, the one who shovels out mush to orphans while dreaming of being a hero in their eyes?

I get pretty agitated when people make the assumption that the winners of our world are God’s pals while the losers have been forgotten at best, are being punished at worst. I don’t pretend to have all the answers about why our world seems so unbalanced between winners and losers, but I know that my God hangs in the dust with the losers, loving them to pieces, somehow working good out of the awfulness of humanity’s self-serving choices.

And I know that when I’m at my lowest points of loserhood… I have two streams of thought warring against each other. Number One: God, what good are you anyway? Number Two: I know you’re here, God, and you’ll love me through this one, too.

In other words… when I’m most underdog-ish, I’m most in danger of rejecting faith… but at the same time, I’m most ready to receive God’s tender care and experience the power of faith like never before.

It’s Jesus who keeps me going, keeps me from being overpowered by "Number One" while I find my way to "Number Two". It’s Jesus who has shown and keeps showing me that God’s heart beats for the weak ones, the vulnerable ones, the ones on the edge about to fall. And this heart isn’t oozing out sappy enabling sympathy. It’s pouring out new life, new choices, new dignity for the loser who no longer is one.

Consider this. Jesus and his disciples encounter a bigtime loser, a loud and obnoxious screamer who keeps harping on them to heal her scary little demon-harassed girl. Jesus could have just doled out a cure, as easy as dropping some coins into a beggar’s cup. He opts for a complete faith-overhaul for everyone within shouting distance. But to do that he’s got to take a risk. He stops to talk to the freaky woman, confident that this underdog’s got something to teach the high-and-mighties around her.

Jesus spars with her, engaging her in a verbal match of wits that’s bound to draw in plenty of nosy people who’ve been itching to have someone shut her up. He starts with what looks like a typical put-down to push her away.

I’m just here for my own people, not for your kind. But he must have said it with a sparkle in his eye, because she takes it as an invitation. She stops demanding his attention and comes quietly closer. Lord, help me…

Jesus goes right on with the tongue-in-cheek goading, not as if she’s a pain he’s putting up with, but as a respected conversation partner he’s having fun with. It’s not right to take food from your own kids and throw it to the dogs. Her clever comeback, sticking with his metaphor: Yeah… but even the dogs under the table get some of the goods, right?

Such an exchange would have been the talk of the town already, but then Jesus tops it off by declaring her the winner of the jousting match. My dear woman, that’s some faith you’ve got there! I’ll give you whatever you want!

Not only does Jesus have time for the desperate loser, he delights in the interaction. He acknowledges her dignity. He graces the underdog with a gold medal for everyone to see. And there’s healing flowing out all over the place.

It flows right out of the Bible’s pages, all over little old me and all the other beggars hanging out under tables.

Jesus, bring me healing. Lift me up. Show me the underdogs who need me to hold out a hand of kindness and dignity. Open me up, to receive the welcome you offer, the faith I can hold onto. In your name I pray.

~Kari Henkelmann Keyl