The Matildas

I have loved watching the FIFA Women's World Cup over the last month or so. In fact I'd say that like most of Australia I've been captivated by it. We've gotten to know the team; we can rattle off most of their names and their positions. And it's transfixed us so much that for the big games, its almost like ordinary life stopped while we huddled in front of our TV's and in some cases other aspects of life were put off or moved so as to accommodate the World Cup and cheering on the Matildas (I know that some of our growth groups 'disbanded' to watch the semi final last Wednesday night!)

It's no secret that we're a nation obsessed with sport. Every year, 14 million Australians participate in sport across the country. We’re a nation of athletes.

Writing for the Sydney Morning Herald on Saturday, Palme McGuiness suggests that with religion on the wane because of the age of individualism in which we find ourselves, the Matildas reawakened the joy of gathering with a collective purpose. She writes:

In a nation in which religion is steadily on the decline, nearly as many people tuned in to watch the Matildas play England on Wednesday night as tune into the good Lord on a semiregular basis. More than 11 million Australians – 42 per cent of the nation – watching one thing all at once. If the 44 per cent of Australians who identify as Christian showed up to church, there’d be none of this talk of repossessing the House of God for common residence.

Putting aside for a moment the premise of the article stating that religion is on the wane, the article tapped into something of what we long to move towards.

Christianity is the victim of an individualistic culture. Expressive individualism dominates much of our culture. We're told the importance of being ourselves. But this move towards individualism has failed because the reality is we need other people: we're made to live in community with other people and to share and give and enjoy relationships. The rise of the Matildas has highlighted this as we've seen over the past month an extraordinary coming together around a common element. The crowds, the television ratings the extra live sites that councils established across Sydney alone showed this.

So McGuinness is onto something here for sure, because she points out that its worth understanding "what takes us a little bit closer to the divine communion of organised religion: less focus on the individual and more on finding the things that bind us. It is the us, not the I, that is transcendental". That's insightful in the sense that we couldn't stand not being able to share those 'moments' - a deep sense of pride in our Matildas "drew us spiritually together".

There is no doubt that sports are religious in nature; they are a vestige of transcendence in what Charles Taylor has called “the malaise of immanence.” Peter Berger argues that in the face of such a secularized, disenchanted society, sport can function as a “signal of transcendence.” When a player is “in the zone”—what sociologists call “flow”—they are having a spiritual experience that begins with their physical body but connects them to something beyond the physical realm. And this is true not only for the athlete, but for the fan as well. I reckon I've had moments at some matches where I've experienced something like worship.

And that's because people are always looking for that transcendent moment - McGuiness points out that this is to be found in moving away from the elements of individualism to find it in connection and community. And millions of Australians experienced precisely this as they gathered at the stadiums; in people's homes or at the live sites to watch the Matilda's battle it out. We enjoyed strong senses of community.

And while there's certainly something about those moments, I would hazard a guess that there's more to it. For in those moments of sharing in the glory of some of those victories, celebrating the extraordinary speed and the poise, athleticism, beauty and agility of our talented Matildas, people wanted them to win to give them something to love, something to hold onto, something to worship.

In fact, we are what we worship. American theologian and author James K. A. Smith took the framework of the French philosopher Rene Descartes (I think therefore I am) and proposed that at the core of who we are, we're lovers more than thinkers. We worship what we love. And because we're inherently worshippers, the places we frequent have their own secular liturgies (e.g., the sports stadium; shopping centres. Think about it, the world cup has just shown us a modern religion where people worship a golden image (the trophy). We gathered at temples (Stadium Australia), worshipping emotively (cheering; chanting). Many would've made sacrifices of time and money to be there ... I'm sure you get the picture.

And we follow along demonstrating that implicit in a liturgy like this are visions of human flourishing where the kings of the kingdom are the athletes on the field and the satisfaction is derived from the enjoyment of it. All in all, it offers an embodied visual mode of evangelism that attracts us and a gospel whose power is beauty, competition and euphoria, and speaks to our deepest desires

It's easy to get swept up in the euphoria; and there's certainly nothing wrong with marvelling at the skills and riding the rollercoaster of emotions that we've been on this last month. But at the end of the day, people worship what they love and the task before us if we're to cut through any of this is to show people how Jesus is infinitely better than a world cup win. We want to help people by way of the gospel to reorder their disordered loves showing them that Jesus is the one who can reorder their “disordered love and devotion,” since we practice our way into idolatries and absorb them from the water in which we swim - our idolatries often reflect the ethos of our environments.

In the end, we want to show people that what Jesus offers is infinitely better in the context of worship, relationships and a church setting that backs this up.

As Smith puts it: “there is something good and beautiful about the ordinary grace-infused communal liturgy of the church that can point people to the Creator who is the only one by the work of His Spirit who re-orients and reorders our disordered loves."

So in the aftermath of this world cup let us look for opportunities in conversation to point people to God's mercy found in Jesus' death, resurrection and ascension as Lord of all. For it's only when we have a proper view of that mercy that we will offer ourselves as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God -- this is, the Apostle Paul said, writing to the church in Rome, our spiritual act of worship. That worship isn’t something found on the sporting field or in the stands, nor in conforming any longer to the patterns of this world, but being transformed by God’s Spirit as He works in us renewing our minds. Testing and approving what God's good pleasing and perfect will is.

In the classic sports movie Field of Dreams, John Kinsella walks onto an idyllic baseball field and asks his son, Ray (played by Kevin Costner), “Is this Heaven?” “It’s Iowa,” responds the son. And John, still with a glimmer in his eye, retorts, “I could’ve sworn it was heaven.”  To many gathered at the games there may've been some moments where it felt like heaven (though we know rugby will always be the game played there!) simply because they look to a transcendent moment like the world cup for what is meant to be found in God: meaning, community and even salvation.

But at the end of the day, Sam Kerr isn't the Messiah, as good as those games were, they're not even close to heaven and soccer isn't in any way like the Church. However the women's world cup has given us a reminder of our need for community and something beyond ourselves - its just that soccer isn't able to do that.