SOCCER SUNDAY

Written spring 2015
Soccer Sundays


He sat beside me seething.  His hands were tight balls; his face granite.  The negative energy flew off him.  He loathed me at that moment.  Steam was coming out of his ears.  If I turned into a pile of ash, he would be happy.  There was nothing I could do that would make it better, short of giving him what he wanted.  We had climbed a mountain together and I was willing to die on it.


He was in church, not on a soccer field with his teammates.


That weekend my son’s soccer team had a tournament with games late Saturday afternoon, Sunday morning and, if they won, late Sunday afternoon.  There was no option to get to Mass in the area unless we missed a game.  While I had no problem telling his coach he would be gone because of church (I felt it an evangelization moment), my son was not in agreement.   He had passed anger about 18 minutes earlier and was now in full fury in the pew.


I prayed for my boy that morning.  I prayed that one day he would understand.  I prayed that despite his outrage, some nugget from Our Lord would reach him.  I knew that at the Sign of Peace, he would pull away from my proffered hand but I prayed for peace for him.   


I love soccer.  With two boys playing, I sat through countless games.  Sometimes it snowed, sometimes (the worst times) it was cold rain, sometimes it was blazing hot.  I was willing to drive them to practices, games, scrimmages, tournaments.  I was willing to hold dinner until 7:30 pm or later and if necessary attend Mass at a different church.  I was willing to let our family life all but stop for the three month soccer season.


During World Cup summers (both men and women), we huddle around the computer streaming Univision listening to rapid fire Spanish speaking announcers, excited to hear them yell GOOOAAAALLLL in their trademark way.  We keep the tournament bracket on the fridge and though it is derpy for someone my age, I do sport a Messi jersey at times.   Soccer brings the world together.  It is the perfect sport.


I love soccer.


And I love God more.  While I was willing to make those concessions, I was not willing to skip Mass.  So on this particular Sunday morning I had a very unhappy 12 year old sitting next to me.  


Being the parent is hard.  And not just when the baby isn’t sleeping or the toddler is on an all day barf binge.  At those times my kids liked me.  I brought them comfort.  I was not the root of all things bad in their lives.  At this time, my son did not like me one tiny bit.  Sigh.  The weight of it was heavy. 


And even though he did not care, I explained it to him.  You are a gift from God.  My job, my duty is to do everything I can to get your sorry self to heaven.  I am not making you go to church because I want you to suffer.  I am not happy that you will miss your game.  I am trying to be the best mother I am able and I cannot, with a clear conscience, let you miss Mass for a soccer game.  He didn’t understand, nor did he want to understand.  He was 12.


But that’s why God gives kids parents.  He expects us to make the hard decisions; to go right when the world is pulling us left.  He expects us to keep pulling back when the culture is trying to push them forward. He expects us to drag everyone out of bed, argue about appropriate clothing choices and answer yet again, “Yes.  Yes we have to go to church this week.  No.  It doesn’t count that you went at school on Friday.”


While soccer is a great sport, the soccer culture, along with the Irish dance culture, club sports and many other kid activities is doing us no favors when it comes to being parents.  It convinces us that our children’s success rests on that tournament or competition.  It robs us of the things that will create joyful children: regular family dinner, unstructured time at home and weekly church attendance.  It provides opportunities that are valuable and important, but it is selfish.  It demands all the family time.  


We get sucked in thinking that it will pay off in the long run through placement on the high school varsity team and a college scholarship.   We lose sight of what we are really trying to do: raise faith filled children who are able to make a difference and who prioritize God over things of this world.   We don’t want to be that parent and our kids certainly don’t want us to be either.  We don’t want to be seen as religiously freaky.  We think one missed Mass is okay but that just makes it easier to miss another and another and soon we haven’t visited Jesus in a month and our family life is suffering.  Healthy families know that praying together is a must.


It would bring me great joy if our society made Sunday mornings off limits for sports. It wouldn’t solve all our problems, but it would be a step forward.  In the meantime, parents need to resolve to protect the Mass.  We have to be okay with missing a game and dealing with an irate child.  We have to teach our kids that God comes first.  Period.  No negotiations.   No exceptions. We have to be consistent and we have to support each other.  And most of all, we have to pray that God will give us what we need to handle it.  It will be hard but not impossible.
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My son entered the church that morning one angry dude.  He left with a smile.  Jesus touched him somehow.  The Lord answered my prayer, as he always does when we are praying for our children.  We were off to the game and all was ok.  I was grateful for the graces God gave me and the strength to make and stick to the decision to forgo a soccer game for church.  I was thankful that my son left Mass feeling good.  He may not have been able to articulate what happened but I know in my heart that the Lord came to him and softened his heart and squelched his anger.  God is so good!  Amen and alleluia!