Our Rector preached a little bit on Sunday about the total destruction of the great temple in first century Jerusalem. It’s an image that the Warhawks of Louisiana-Monroe probably savor, and a nightmare the Crimson Tide would like to forget.

Many folks say that college football is a religion in Alabama. There are lots of books written about it and many lives given completely over to it. If it is our state religion, it probably mimics the Christian faith, and there are then two main denominations, Alabama and Auburn. If football represents Christianity, then Judaism could be rugby (or maybe chess) soccer is probably Islam, golf maybe Buddhism, and Hinduism might be pro wrestling (for the surprises and fantastic characters).

The rest of the world, the remaining unchurched, both the faithful and the doubters, are trying to find themselves by freely surfing between the other minor faiths: baseball, basketball, hockey, pro bowling, cricket, or maybe even NASCAR (is driving an expensive race car really, really fast a “sport” or a space trip?). The exception might be the Cubs, an exclusive monastic cult that takes at least seven years just to apply (My father was only an apprentice when he died after 20 years of trying to be faithful to the Cubbies. He never made it to Wrigley.)

The fans of Alabama and Auburn understand in their hearts the faith, doubt and sacrifice required of them. They regularly visit hostile coliseums, loving sanctuaries, giant temples, Hell, Purgatory and the Wilderness. They have created and tailgated with patriarchs, disciples, emperors, false prophets, tax collectors, Judases and even their own Messiahs (nine have appeared since Moses was last here 25years ago). The football faithful in Alabama also mostly ignore the tithe requested by the alumni associations, write incoherent epistles to the most famous Pharisee, Paul Finnebaum, and throw the first stones when it is time to martyr the coaches. In one foreign stadium (purple and gold) they throw plastic whiskey bottles now, so maybe there is something new under the sun, after all.

Many of us are ambivalent or confused about the Pharisees like Finnebaum, but we all hate the Philistines, because that’s what we learned in Sunday school, beginning with David and Goliath. Matthew Arnold describes a Philistine as “a strong, dogged, unenlightened opponent of the children of the light.” Maybe so. All visiting teams who have been to a game in Baton Rouge have their own definitions.

There is now near complete agreement in our state that the Philistines of our bible-like football story live in Red Stick, conquerors of a ravaged coastal state and all those around it. They seem to have lived there for many years now, even creating the northern Trojan Horse at Louisiana-Monroe that sacked Tuscaloosa on Saturday. Just like in the bible, the football Philistines are a mobile, ravaging horde. Some years they reside at Rocky Top, other years, to the east in a land known as “The Swamp.” We are praying now that their Louisiana empire will collapse when their warlord, Miles, moves back to his home yurt in Michigan. In faith, we are glad that there will be a next season, and all things may be righted then, the Philistines vanquished by both teams.

In truth, we know very little about the historic Philistines, but the parables about them inspire us even now, 3,500 years later. The phenomenal thing about scripture is that through these ancient words we can embody the same characters and same scenes in the same dramas that have compelled us for 5,000 years now. It happens every day, and every Saturday during football season. It’s a story that is ever-changing, but always waiting for the last chapter to be written, always waiting for the fourth quarter.

Our preacher also reminded us that salvation is what is offered to us, and the rest is just religion, including football. The proof is in the way the loses to the heathen LSU tigers by both teams just eat at the souls of our football faithful, make them scream “why Lord?” in their sleepless nights. For the football faithful, all we have left is the Iron Bowl now, an aluminum crucible this year that is either a Golgotha event (one must seem to die so that the others may live), or a Great Restoration (the leveling of an upstart culture by the original denomination to re-establish its rightful authority).

Whatever the outcome on Nov, 24, transcendence or total destruction, it will never be enough for the football faithful of our state. Like all sport religions, the doubts and the gnawing at our guts will remain with us all night, all year. The good news is that we can wake up Sunday morning the 25th and try to think and pray about something else. Maybe somebody planned it that way. Thank God.