February 4, 2000

Kurt Warner thanked Jesus after the St. Louis Rams won the NFC Championship. He thanked the only Son of God again when the Rams won the Super Bowl.

Athletes thanking the Lord for blessing them with victory is nothing new. What would be new is if folks in other professions started sharing their "testimony" after achieving success.

The chef after being complimented on the meal. "First off, I’d like to thank God for allowing me to blanch these baby carrots perfectly."

The salesman-of-the-quarter as he is presented with a set of golf clubs. "These really belong to the Man upstairs! Way to go Jesus!"

The airline captain over the intercom during heavy turbulence. "Don’t worry folks. My copilot is a Jewish carpenter."

To make this happen, we need to train people young. Jocks get tight with Jesus in high school with the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Why not have a Fellowship of Christian Chess Players? A Fellowship of Christian Metallurgists? A Fellowship of Christian Skate Punks? Or a Fellowship of Christian Muslims (so as not to exclude anyone from the fold)?

Kurt Warner insists on sharing his testimony at his place of work. At my place of work, one of the receptionists sings Gospel hymns to herself all day. This is quite distracting. Not because she sings about salvation, but because she sings period. But because she is an older woman and because she is, in fact, singing about God, I’ve been reluctant to say something. But the other day, it got to be too much. "Is someone over there singing about Jesus?" a client on the phone asked me incredulously. It was then that I knew I needed to take action.

Now I didn’t really have a rapport with this woman, so I thought the best way to handle the situation would be to email a friendly note to our office manager, asking her to politely tell the woman to try to find someplace else to sing.

That was the wrong thing to do.

The receptionist found out I was the one who complained. For the rest of the afternoon, when I would walk by her desk, she would mumble things like "The wicked always seek to stamp out righteousness," and "The Devil never attacks you head on."

"What did you just say?" I would ask.

"Oh nothing," she would reply in her Caribbean accent, as a disingenuous smile spread across her face. It was like a scene out of a movie.

Around five o’clock, I went to the bathroom. "Satan’s minions are everywhere," she spat quietly.

That did it. I walked up to the woman and told her that yes, I was the one who complained, that yes, I did go through the office manager because I thought (incorrectly) that it would cause the least amount of grief for all parties involved, and that no, I wasn’t Satan or one of his minions.

"I share the same faith you do, dear," I said as I took her aged hand and softened my voice, "but we can’t sing out to the savior at work. We just can’t. If you were singing a Bing Crosby song, I’d feel the same way. This is a place of business, not a house of worship or a recording studio."

I wasn’t unkind, but I was firm. To her credit, the woman told me that I was right and that she was glad I confronted her directly. "I know now that you are not evil. I’m sorry I judged you. One should never judge."

"Judge not," I replied, "lest ye be judged."

She nodded her head in agreement and apologized again. "No need for that," I said. "You were right, I should have talked to you directly. And I’d love to talk about the Bible with you sometime after work." She told me she’d like that. We parted, I’m happy to say, very amicably. We now exchange pleasantries as I pass by her desk. And I meant it when I told her that she was right; confronting someone directly is always the best.

I took that lesson from this bizarre encounter. The encounter also gave me insight into the whole Kurt Warner incident. I cringed when Kurt Warner thanked Jesus for his victory. But I wasn’t sure why I cringed. Something was definitely wrong, but what? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with loving God. But days later my encounter with the receptionist made me cognizant of the true issue. The grandstand at the Superbowl is not the Mount of Olives, and the stadium is not a house of worship, but a place of work. Except in Texas, football is a business, not a religion. And business is business and religion is religion and each, as Scripture tells us, has a season. And during the football season, these NFL evangelists should zip it. Just like everyone else should zip it while they’re on the job.

Unless of course, you don’t mind your boss raising his hands to thank God when he speaks at your next company picnic.

Broadway Jim Sosnicky