Will.I.am is asking, "where.am.I?"

I finally watched the new and improved Where is the Love? music video from the Black Eyed Peas. Admittedly, I thought the new song would be another catchy and corny tune for everyone to love everyone. Can't we all just get along? Will.I.am would ask.

To my surprise, the song has unwrapped a lot of difficult questions and challenges who I am.

I must make it known that what I am about to write was not completely hatched from my own brain. The song was brought to my attention by my fiance, Ashleigh, where she then added that she feels there is a much deeper meaning to the lyrics than what people are pointing out (which I will explain soon). Also, powerhouse Christian apologist Ravi Zacharias, in one of his many lectures and presentations, cited the original version of the song by the Black Eyed Peas years ago. He, too, expressed great surprise at the philosophical significance the song carried.

Here is what my take away from the song boils down to:

Will.I.am is really asking to a Christian like me, "Who.am.I and where.am.I?"

"Can you practice what you (are) preachin’?" could be a generalized request for everyone. Even if you ardently believe in karma, why are you then still acting a fool to your neighbour?

But this line, and another to soon be explicated, should hit home to Christians with a bit more bass. (I have officially decided to cease trying to use hip-hop puns, beginning now. My lack of pop cultural relevance has been exposed.)

If that was the highlight verse to take home - the core of the message in the song - then the Black Eyed Peas would be simply asking for everyone to play nice, get along, don't hate, etc.

As the first half-or-so of the music video played out, I was not completely convinced that this was anything overtly spectacular. It is nice, I thought, but not a shimmering trove of social wisdom.

Then this spiritual sucker punch came: "If you’ve never known love, then you've never known God."

Well, Black Eyed Peas featuring The World, you have answered your own titular question there! Why, then, are you still looking for it?

This song is far more deep and complex than I would like to admit of a current and popular song with a style of music I do not particularly like. But Mr .am, I believe, and his friends are truly asking the Christian community to step up. They are asking where.are.you?

Why do I say this? Whoever wrote this song seems to understand the truths of God and his love as some level. It was quite amazing for me to hear one of the artists say the words "If you've never known love, then you've never known God." As it is written, “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” (1 John 4:12)

On one level, there seems to be a disconnection between the artists and the message. They know where the love is, they want "the Father from up above bring guidance.” This could lead this post to go on and criticise our society that while we are asking for guidance from the Father up above, we are also trying get him away from us personally and collectively (in schools, for example). This is not my focus.

The song, however, is emphasising a far different point. If we look at everyone involved in this song as a caricature of society in general, we can break it down this way: Society, deep down, knows where the love is; the love is in God; there is a desire for people to practice what they preach.

But which people? I say, the song is a blatant call from our secular society for Christians to get (back) to work.

In the recesses of my soul and mind, I knew the Bible would have something to say on this.

In the Gospel of Luke’s account of Jesus’ triumphant entrance into Jerusalem, all of his disciples and followers “began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen” (v. 37). Meanwhile, the Pharisees, who at this point were clearly fed up with whom they considered to be a blasphemous Messiah, told Jesus to rebuke his followers.

“I tell you,” (Jesus) replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.” (Luke 19:40)

If no one proclaims the works of God, which is love, then even the stones on the ground will cry out for it.

I am a disciple. I have seen God’s love. If I keep quiet about it, if I do not proclaim and do not “practice what I’m preachin’”, then even the stones – even the Black Eye Peas – will cry out.

Mr. Goat

Let me recount the story of when a homeless man crashed a friend and mine's casual evening at a pub.

Greyson, a Filipino-American from Southern California, and I had just partaken - rather, witnessed - a far-right wing rally in Wroclaw before visiting one of our favourite bars in Wroclaw. It is an old-timey place adorned with pre-war antiques and old furniture, not to mention cheap beer and vodka.

With St. Elizabeth's church towering behind our backs and a calm May evening warmth embracing us, we guzzled the first round of beers, funded by me. Greyson went to retrieve our second round just as the evening crowds were growing and occupying the bar.

Standing out from the regular nightly crowd – a lovely blend of two-parts Poles, one part Europeans in general - was a dusty homeless man. Now, these men parole the streets in numbers in Wrocław, so the site of one was not uncommon. I paid not much attention to him apart from the fact that he stopped nearly directly in my line of site and pulled out a comb to smooth out his greasy grey hair. Like the patrons around him, he, too, must have been intent to impress others.

Greyson returned with not just one round of beers but an additional round as well. The mathematician student acutely planned to order the third round ahead of time, being alert of the growing queue. He passed the homeless man, unaware of his presence, and sat down. We clinked raised glasses in honour of Poland (or something like that) and sipped on our beers. It was to be a moment to be experienced care free, yet the visual presence of the homeless man latched a mental barrier to me. A growing anxiety of him coming over to ask for a handout grew within me.

Alas, as he was combing his hair and looking at himself in the reflection of the pub window, he spotted us. He turned, sheathed his comb, and, exceeding my previously-stated anxieties, sat down.

Without a word, not even in his native Polish, the man reached for one of the two remaining un-drunk beers and proceeded to make that un-drunk beer partially drunk.

Lightly appalled yet with a light shrug of "yeah, this is Poland," Greyson and I waited to hear from the man.

He began to speak in Polish. As usual with his countrymen, what he was saying was long-winded. I had to interrupt him. In my best broken Polish, I replied that we are not Polish, sorry.

Stumbling through his broken English, the man asked "Who-? From where-? are you?"

"America," and our respective homes, we responded.

He sat back in his chair, eyes widening, and his hand smacking his forehead. "Oh, kurwa," he said. "America? You are America?"

We nodded.

"That is magic," he said, shaking head, taking another slurp of beer. Greyson and I, growing more incredulous by the second, could only nod our heads to affirm him correct to incredulously finding Americans to talk to.

The man then perked up and began to talk about a slew of things in English, perhaps translating what he had spoken in Polish earlier. "Leicester City. That is my team. They are the best."

"Oh, you are a Leicester City supporter?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "They are champions."

Being early in May and thus late in football seasons across Europe, Leicester City of the English Premier League were only at the doorstep of their historic title security. He seemingly had great confidence the team would see the crown through.

"It's not Manchester. Not Arsenal. Liverpool," he continued, throwing a dismissive and disgusted hand at each club.

"They are a great team," I said.

"Yes. You see the church?" he pointed behind us. "That is my church. Bóg is my love."

"God is your love?" I confirmed. "That's great."

"Yes."

It was time to switch up the conversation; time for me to crack out my Polish.

"Jak czy pracujesz?" I asked, misprononounce-iently.

He replied that he worked as an electrician of some sort. Doubtingly this was his current job. 

I wanted to ask where he was from: "Skąd jesteś?"

He raised both arms in the air as if to embrace the city. "Wrocław!"

"To jest najlepsze miasto," I said, praising Wrocław to be the best city in Poland. Greyson nodded in agreement, raising a glass to our love for the western Polish city.

Our conversation broke in and out of English and elementary Polish. He would rephrase his admiration for Leicester City from time to time and was also careful to point out to us where the "ladies of the night hang out." Nie dziękujemy, Greyson and I said, declining his advice.

It occured to me that I had failed to ask a very basic question: What is your name?

Here, then, comes confusion.

His first name escapes me; it is lost in the recesses of my mind. But his surname came out as "Kozel-szewski." Thanks to great Czech beer marketing, I knew that kozel (koza) is the Polish/Czech/Slavic word for 'goat.' However, as far as a Google search can tell, there does not seem to be anyone named Kozelszewski (a spelling error, at this juncture, is inevitable).

The three of us had a laugh about his surname pertaining to a goat. At that moment, and in other moments of reflection, I have always been curious on how surnames and family names are derived. Here in Poland there are names of families that directly translate to rabbit, for example. There are, then, people in Poland named Jacob Rabbit. A famous Polish footballer bears the family name of cabbage. Bart Cabbage, he is thus known to be. How quaint it is to then know people with the surnames like Shoemaker. Peoples. Lekkerkerk ('nice church' in Dutch). Names are funny things.

We continued to drink our beers and recycle the same talking points throughout the evening. Leicester City. America. God. Women of the night. Intermittently through our conversation, Greyson and I would glance at each other and, with carefully executed eye-motions and gestures of the head, covertly agreed that it is was time to leave.

"Well, we must be going," we said to our new friend, Mr Goat.

We stood, and Mr. Goat stood, too. As respectively as one being homeless could, he asked for just a few coins.

"Złotych?" I asked. "Money?"

He nodded and held out his hands.

Had not our meet and greet over drinks happened, I likely would have dropped a few coins into his dusty palms, enough for a small bite or, more certainly, a cheap beer from the shop. Had not the free beer been enough for him?

"Sorry, no" we said. I added, "The beer you drank was four zlotłch. Piwo był cztery złotych." I pointed to his empty glass of beer and followed with a thumbs up. "It's enough, okay?"

While most others probably would have pushed the issue, he agreed. Indeed, if he were to snatch a beer from anyone else around us, they would have added an additional bloody scar to his head!

Greyson and I gathered our belongings and turned towards the main square. Mr. Goat stayed behind. We shook hands and gave a final hurrah for Leicester City.

Moving towards Rynek, Greyson and I exchanged comments and head shakes of disbelief towards our recent encounter with our new Polish friend. As strange as the moment was, it held certain value for me at the time and until this very moment. Sparse utterances of English mixed with Polish allowed us to engage in conversation with a elderly man who, had we been able to speak fluent Polish, or he fluent English, we would have been thrilled to get to know. What is his story? What has he seen? Given Poland's tumultuous history, both ancient and recent, great insights and perspectives could have been gained from speaking further with this man.

I took a look back at the outdoor seating of the pub to see if Mr. Goat was following us. To my slight dismay, he was not. To my further dismay, he was seen to be harassing another group of people, asking for money. While our conversation with Mr Goat was meaningful in ways both amusing and impacting for us, it seemed to not have effected him at all. What difference would it have been if we offered him an additional beer? Or given him money? Might as well have caused an uproar and physically forced him away from us after heisting one of beers initially. It seemed the last ten minutes meant nothing for him.

Hopefully, I will see Mr Goat again. I cannot completely recall his complexion in exact detail so that I may recognise him on the street, but, as the way things are here, you are bound to rub shoulders with the same beggars more than once. Perhaps such a moment will lead me to Mr Goat, the mysterious former electrician and Leicester City supporter.

A yearning to learn more Polish feeds my overarching desire to discover the mysteries of this city. It is yet to be seen if Mr Goat and the people like him - the beggars and wanderers – can unveil the mysteries of this city.

Lean to the Right

Back on 25 April, while waiting for my BlaBla Car driver to pick me up for my week-long holiday, I saw this poster:

As you can see from the imagery, I was intrigued by what was shown: the German Chancellor and TIME Magazine Person of the Year recipient Angela Merkel, haloed by the EU Flag and with an heiling Hitler arm stuck to her body. Above, reads the slogan POL EXIT (Polish Exit). And Polska Bez Unii Europejskiej (Poland without the European Union). Below, symbols of immigration, Islam, the Euro, and a fourth thing I could not quite decipher were cancelled out.

If you have been at least half aware of the world around you, these kind of sentiments are abound. While BREXIT (British Exit), or the British exit from the EU, is more discussed in America, many other countries such as Poland are experiencing similar anti-EU feelings. In their point of view, the EU is crippling the European economy and open immigration - thanks to the open borders policy of the EU and the Schengen Area agreement - is diluting the "European-ness" of Europe.

After returning from my holiday tour of Frankfurt, Germany; Bratislava; and Vienna, I was poised to see this protest in action. Via YouTube and VICE News, I had seen glimpses of such kinds of rallies - and this was likely to be like the rest: right-leaning individuals composed of soccer hooligans and hardened nationalists. Many of these kinds of rallies, such as those in Germany, often turn violent.

On 1 May, I was poised to see and experience something similar.

Alas, the rally I saw was a bit of a "disappointment." I say this naively. Had it actually turned violent, I would not be saying the same thing. Nevertheless, the rally itself was a cultural experience for me. The cast of characters present at the rally was a sight in itself.

You can watch the relatively tame rally in the video below.

The marchers are touting the inherent truth of the Bible, all the while spouting hate and ignorance. Seems they need to read the Good Book a little more carefully?

This small rally represents only a very small fraction of the views of Poles today. By the end of the week, a counter rally took place in Warsaw to promote Poland's place in the EU and European values. Here, 240,000 people marched in the capital city, making it one of the largest rallies in Poland since the collapse of communist rule in 1989. (EDIT: Some have notified me that media outlets had revised this number, down to as low as 55,000.)

As it is often said, though, it only takes a few bad apples to rot the whole batch (or bushel?) Those who marched through Wrocław on 1 May in no way resemble the Poles that I know.

I would like to thank Paweł, one of my English students, for labouring as my translator.

And, apparently, this happened later in the march. I did not witness this with my own eyes, as my roommate and I had gone off in search of a pub: http://forward.com/news/breaking-news/339881/far-right-pole-burns-poster-of-mayor-wearing-kippah/

http://www.thenews.pl/1/9/Artykul/251155,Polish-nationalist-burns-image-of-mayor-in-skullcap

Sports and Faith in Europe - New Challenges, Same Sacred Remedy (featuring Ashleigh Vella as a contributing author)

From John, in Wroclaw, Poland

My fiancée, Ashleigh Vella, is the greatest. I love her because she pushes me to try new things. Even better, she pushes me to do things that I should be doing anyway - like writing. It is a skill of mine, but I do not work at it enough. Shame on me. Yet bless Ash for inspiring me to write, because she has taken up the desire to write herself. And she didn't start with anything simple. She decided to write about her faith journey, and particularly her missteps in faith whilst in France. After you read it, you'll find honesty and a message that we can all relate to if we subscribe to the same beliefs. Her first post was a brave one, and now I want to rise to the challenge and present to you my faith journey as of late. In fact, it fits nicely with what Ash wrote, which follows mine.

To begin, I will inform you that I am living and working in Wroclaw, Poland. Here, I am doing two things I was never expecting to do. First, I am coaching and playing American football. I didn't expect to be doing this because I was certain to be finished with the sport about two years ago. The second is teaching English. This is unexpected because, well, it never occurred to me that I would want to or even could be an English teacher. Alas, American football was not finished with me and English teaching has provided a meaningful career option, and both have been my doors to Europe and beyond.

Witnessing stale religion

When I arrived to the western Polish city of Wroclaw, formerly Breslau, I was aware of only a few facts about Poland: 1) They aren't communists any more, 2) Poland is a growing and developing country in its post-communist era, 3) they love vodka, and 4) they are very Catholic.

To the last point, I have heard and read that around 90 percent of the Polish population identify as Catholic. My excursions in Wroclaw and about elsewhere in Poland can attest to this. There are churches - beautiful churches - everywhere. Nearly every street, every neighbourhood, and every village has an ornate house of worship. Catholic/Christian symbols and imagery can also be found on every street corner and nearly every person. Small parks or even family's front yards are adorned with a crucifix or shrines honouring other saints. People often wear crucifixes across their necks or keep pictures of their patron saint inside their wallet. In short, Catholicism is visible in Poland.

I must now be careful with the next few words. I have no intentions of exposing the dust in the eyes of the natives here, because I surely have a plank in my own. While Catholicism is visible, it is not felt, it is not sensed. Some people I know proclaim to be atheists even when they wear a crucifix or perform the sign of the cross. People - often elderly women - regularly enter an open church throughout the weekday to sit in a pew, say their prayers, then leave. The churches are packed, to standing room only, on every religious holiday.

After a few weeks, it was apparent that many here are Catholic in name only. It's cultural Catholicism. This concept was personified in one particular moment I witnessed.

Discovering my own stale religion

The homeless and the beggars in Wroclaw number quite significantly. It is not rare to see men - and a few women - stagger about the streets asking for money or, more directly, for a beer. Indeed, Poland is growing economically, yet many of its residence still struggle to make decent earnings. Quite often I see men and women, who appear to be in decent health and wearing fresh clothes, digging through trash cans and dumpsters to collect used cans and bottles, all in an effort to gain an extra dollar or two.

Having covered much of the city by foot, I have become familiar with particular districts and the local beggars, homeless, or drunks, to be blunt. One day I was standing outside one of the largest churches - Kościół pw. św. Wojciecha - in the city as I killed time between English lessons. Kneeling by the door of the church was a man I have seen many times. He's thin, dirty, and his torso and one arm shakes and jolts regularly, as if being lightly electrocuted. His forehead sometimes bleeds or is scarred from bleeding. To top it off, he is often sitting in a puddle of his own urine. I do not know the source of this man's ailments, but every time I see him, my heart aches.

So there he sat, shaking, being baked in the hot sun outside the church. He doesn't speak, at least that I have heard. He weakly reaches out his grimy hat, hoping for some coins to be dropped in. For about 10 minutes, I watched people file in and out of the church without giving him a notice. I can't recall if anyone offered money to him.

At that time, I scolded all those who walked past him. I thought to myself, this man is sitting inches from a church, a place of refuge and shelter, and the church's people lend no helping hand.

This country flaunts its Catholic roots, yet I rarely see deeds flaunted to those in need.

But, how was I any different?

I call myself a Christian, yet in similar ways as I have seen around me lately, I rarely express my Christianity. I am often irritated and bitter towards groups of people or my responsibilities, which I often feign as sarcasm. I was recently challenged from a sermon given at the International Church of Wroclaw: Am I really showing my faith? Is my real?

Being real

If we believe in the actuality and reality of Jesus' life, his sacrifice, and his promise, our lives should be obnoxiously joyful and bountiful in good deeds.

There was a disconnect within me between my faith and belief and my actions and words. Lately, I have been devoting my free time to studying arguments and reasoning for the existence of God, the reliability of the Gospels, proof of Jesus' resurrection, and so on, but I had rarely spent time acting out my faith. I decided this had to change, and the first and easiest way for me to step out was to help men like the one begging outside the church.

Through the International Church of Wroclaw, a small, English-based church, I have met Brett Hamilton. The Montana native serving as a missionary in Wroclaw for several years has encouraged me to assemble small snack packs with tracts attached to them proclaiming the good news of the Gospel, of salvation through Jesus. No longer do I need to suffer through an inner conflict of giving money to a beggar who I am quite sure will use it to only harm themselves more.

Helping the poor, in realisation, is an easier expression of faith. In truth, the language barrier between myself and many of the people I hope to help will limit my time engaging in a conversation. I can deliver the Polish-translated message of the Good News, give them a small bite to eat, then be on my way. 'Express Christianity', it could be named.

The challenge now is to act out my faith with people I know better, with people I spend more time with. Football is a love-hate relationship for me. To be honest, my yearnings for competing is waning; football does not hold the same amount of thrill for me as it once did. And too often I let it dictate my mood. The sport often makes me cranky and listless. It downgrades my otherwise good-spirited lifestyle. The challenges of coaching and playing in a foreign country brings with it a number of moments that make me into a person I don't want to be. Only in a football context will the F Word leave my mouth!

This then has been the challenge to my faith. Many on my team know I attend church as regularly as I can, and I have professed my faith to a number of people here. But have they seen a difference in me than in others? Am I the obnoxiously joyous? When times are irritating, frustrating, or downright awful, do I face them with a smile? Is there a fervour of happiness within me?

Am I sharing my faith regularly, even to those I love? Am I being a spiritual leader and encourager to my fiancée? To my sisters? Friends?

I am reminded and reinvigorated by the story of Paul and Silas in jail from Acts 16. Once again locked up, cold, naked, dirty, in the dark, Paul and Silas did not throw their faith by the wayside. It was resonating through the stone prison walls, perking the interest of the fellow inmates. That is real 

faith. That is a faith I strive to have.

From Ash, in Saint-Brieuc, Bretagne, France:

So as of late I have had a lot of thoughts swirling around in my head, and really felt like I needed to get them out, and put “pen to paper” in a sense, and in more than a long-winded Facebook post. I asked Johnny about the idea of writing a blog post together and sharing our stories, experiences and most importantly our voice. However I am not sure I am as eloquent a writer as Johnny, for him it is a passion and a true calling for me it is more of an outlet.

Since arriving in France, I have never felt further away from God, my faith and, at times myself. I have always thought of myself as somewhat of a spiritual toddler of sorts. I never grew up in an extremely religious family. Sure, they are good people, taught me good morals and shaped the person I am today in more ways than one, but religion was just not something we really discussed in my household. It wasn’t until my senior year that faith, God or religion would enter into my life. My junior year I was introduced to our incoming freshman Blaire Brady, and we seemingly hit it off straight away. Joking about coach’s team hiking trip in which that would be our bonding moment we would become best friends (although on her recruiting I may or may not forgotten her name and embarrassed myself quite thoroughly). Little did I know meeting Blaire would be one of the biggest blessings of my life. What drew me to Blaire was her over exuberant personality, her ability to laugh at everything including herself and her general love of life. She was always so happy and positive even in the midst of contracting mono half-way through her freshman year. Even looking like death warmed up she was still so happy and positive. I started to wonder and examine my own life. Sure, I was happy: that year we had won the Big Sky Championship, my academics were strong and I had some great roommates, teammates and friends, but there was something still missing from my life. During the summer and leading into my senior year, Blaire and I started discussing her faith and her relationship with God. I had gone to church before with another teammate but it certainly didn’t stick. I didn’t feel a pull to return or follow up. But the more I spoke with Blaire and saw her conviction, the more I was convinced this was something I wanted to try. To cut a long story short or at least a little shorter going with Blaire to church and then eventually FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) at ISU was one of the best decisions of my life. There, I strengthening my relationship with God along with developed friendships and relationships that I will forever treasure. (It also didn’t hurt going each week to FCA so I could flirt with my soon-to-be husband ;))

After my senior year I felt like my relationship with God was solid, I had Johnny with me as we endeavoured to England for our Master’s degrees. Johnny was someone who challenged me to keep my faith strong and as our relationship grew together, along with our relationship with God.

I was lucky enough to have a second year in England in which I met two guardian angels in the form of Katie Benson and Melissa Jones. Those two girls become my rock! After Johnny was basically deported from England, I was at a real low point. We had never been separated like that and for that amount of time. There was a ton of uncertainty as to where he would end up and when we would see each other next. But Katie and MJ never let me wallow alone in my room. They were a constant source of strength and continually checking in on me. We even formed an FCA of sorts in Durham, where other teammates and athletes would participate in. Both of them renewed my relationship with God and encouraged me to sort out His strength in my time of uncertainty.

Which brings me back to the present, here in France. As I said early I have always felt like somewhat of a spiritual toddler in that a lot of the time I feel like I need someone to hold my hand when it comes to God. I’m not proud to say this, but often if I don’t have someone there pushing me to go to church, read scripture or just live my life in God’s image, I won’t. Therefore, being here in France, away from my support system and being away from the people that challenge me, I have never been further away from God. However as of late, I have been thinking a lot about this and about God, and I have realised the further away from Him I have been, the more I want Him; the more I NEED him in my life.

This year has been my first year of fulfilling a lifelong dream of being a professional basketball player. And whilst this has been a dream come true, it has also seen me face many unexpected challenges. One of the biggest is the pressure to perform. The number one reason you are brought on as a professional player is to, you guessed it- perform your job better than anyone else. You literally eat, sleep, and breathe basketball. I was training twice a day and my life was becoming consumed with basketball. For me this really wasn’t an issue; this is what I signed up for right? I love basketball, always have ever since I picked my first ball at the age of five. Twenty years on, my life for the game is just as strong. What I didn’t anticipate was the pressure I would put on myself to perform. In college we were put under a lot of stress to perform and to win, but there was more to us than JUST being a basketball player. You were a student as well; you could be involved in clubs and social groups. Being a leaders and role models in the community we were often expected to perform community services and projects, like every year we volunteered at the Pocatello Marathon. There were more facets to you than just basketball. About half way into this season in France, I saw a decline in my shooting and my general performance. It seemed that no matter how many shots I took or how many hours I put in the gym, I wasn’t getting any better. My coach and I tried the opposite approach: he gave me time off, we focused on other aspects than shooting, but still to no avail. I was so utterly frustrated with myself and the process.

Then I started to reflect and examine, this is my dream right? This is what I love to do. Why, then was I so unhappy? Then I realised I was rooting so much of my self-worth, so much of myself in my ability to put a rubber ball in a round basket. Honestly it sounds so petulant but, if I had a bad practice, or bad shooting day I would literally get depressed. I was basing all of myself and how much I valued myself as a person on my ability to put a ball in the basket. I realised just how warped my sense of self-worth had gotten. I am basing how valuable I am as a person on a job, on an activity that has a lot to do with luck or chance. No wonder I was getting so depressed and seeing a decline in my performance.

But that’s the thing isn’t it: we base so much of ourselves or what we do or who we are. We define ourselves by what we do. If you ask someone who they are, a normal response would be something about their occupation or their appearance or their family. But here’s the thing all of these things are tangible, changing things. Take me for instance: I am a basketball player, who’s about 6’0” tall, with brown hair, with a mum, dad and one sister and a fiancé that lives in Poland. But let’s be honest here, I won’t play basketball my whole life. I will eventually shrink with old age. I could go out today and chop my hair off and dye it blonde. My sister and her fiancé could have a baby and Johnny won’t always live in Poland. Therefore to root myself in what I do or the people around me or my appearance is difficult because they are not unchangeable concepts. So here I am thinking, “Well, shoot, I can’t keep rooting myself as a basketball player, even though it’s almost all I have ever known.” So what can you anchor yourself in? What is something that is never-changing and ever-present? The answer was simpler than I could have ever thought: God.

In a conversation with Blaire a few weeks back, I confessed my struggles to maintain my relationship with God and Blaire, ever the optimist, pointed out that God was a constant. God “is constant and even when we stray away from Him, He is waiting for us to return with open arms.” It was such a simple thing, such a simple concept, that I almost had the urge to face palm myself. This thought came into fruition a few weeks ago after an extremely tough playoff loss. I was mad and upset with myself, with the result, with everything. But I was able to take a step back and kind of recognised that although I despise losing, God has, blessed me with another opportunity to play. He blessed me with all of my amazing abilities and the opportunities that led me to being a professional basketball player. At the end of the day, this game is just a game and He is bigger than all of us.

When you anchor your self-worth in God and in his love, He will make you strong because he will never forsake you or, abandon you. He wants only the best for His children. I guess the message of this very, very long winded post is that no matter where you are in your walk of faith, be it at the beginning where you’re contemplating your first steps, or somewhere in the middle, is just to be assure you that we all struggle, we all fall down, but if you root your self-worth in God. He will be there each and every time to give you a hand up. Putting our self-worth in ourselves only leads to depression and stress, but putting our self-worth in God makes us bigger and stronger than the problems we will face.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your won understanding, in all ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.

Proverbs 3:5-6

So that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.

Ephesians 3:17-18

From John and Ash: We hope, through this blog, we will be able to present discussions, thoughts, and topics that relate to you. Whether you are an athlete, or not, a Christian, or someone searching, we hope that what we write will relate to you in some way. We have been blessed with the special experience of playing our beloved sports in new and faraway places. This has, as you see above, presented to us new challenges to our faith. We are thankful for those challenges, and by sharing them with you, you will be able to take something positive as you walk with or search for Christ.

The Story of American Football in Oleśnica

Over the course of my first few months here in Wrocław, Poland, I slowly assumed the role as head coach of a rookie American football team in Oleśnica, Poland, about 30 minute drive east of the city.

Snapshot of Olesnica, Poland

The team was founded by Babatunde Aiyegbusi, a massive Polish-Nigerian whose short highlight tape landed him a FA deal with the Minnesota Vikings. To see and read about where he is now and compare to where he comes from is quite a thing.

The players of Oleśnica speak of Babatunde, known as Babs in Western Poland and Minnesota, in reverence, as if he has embarked on a holy mission. Babs in essence is the patron saint of the squad, the founder and supporter of this rookie club I have the joy of coaching. Everyone who knows Babs are so proud that someone from their relatively small city is representing them in one of the world's most popular sports. Indeed, Babs' mere presence at an NFL camp, I believe, has put a foot in the door for other unfounded European athletes primed to play American football.

Meeting my boss.

But Babs is not the focus of this story here. He may return in a later post should he officially survive a full NFL camp and latch on to the 53-man Minnesota roster, and that will then be a story of remarkable accomplishment and a modern-day retelling of pursuing an American dream. I want to tell you about the 30-or-so-man roster he began back in his adopted Polish hometown of Oleśnica.

A day before the club's first match, equipment was distributed. Next to the box of ear pads and shoulder pads were three rolls of carpet padding. Only one pair of thigh and knee pads were available, but they did not belong to anybody. Those single pairs were to be used as stencils, pressed against the carpet padding and a blade used to slice around the edges. In the end, 30 pairs of square paddings were made to be used as substitutes for actual thigh and knee boards.

Babs at mini-camp with the Vikings. Photo credit Ann Heisenfelt, Associated Press

A few days earlier, in a casual conversation about Babs, team president Przemek expressed hope that maybe Babetunde could ship home some unused Minnesota Vikings equipment for them to use. At the time I thought to myself, "that’s a silly and naïve thought." But after seeing the team construct their own equipment from carpet padding, I began to hope for the same thing.

A moment like this has occurred more than once in my two-year involvement of American football on European soil. Like the British lads I played with two years ago, these Polish men, many working long hours in tough jobs, mostly midnight shifts, will do anything to get their hands of something related to American football. Youths such as the Oleśnica players must either illegally stream poor quality live feeds of NFL and NCAA football games or recap them on YouTube. To simply order a pair of gloves or cleats often costs most of their monthly pay check, or alternatively they buy second-hand items that has travelled across the face of Europe like a laundered Euro note. I then have to take a moment of reflection and realise how much I took this game for granted. Gear was handed to me every year by my university, and I bemoaned this because I then had nowhere else in my locker to place it!

The club has to go extra lengths just to be able to conduct one practice. Oleśnica borrows shoulder pads and helmets from its "parent" club, the Wrocław Outlaws, the team which I play for. Every other day, someone is elected to drive 45 minutes from Oleśnica to a Wrocław training session to drop of the pads, then wait two hours for their practice to finish to only return the pads for their training the next day. This has been done several months now.

The club's first ever match, after weeks of trial and error on my behalf on how to single-handedly coach an entire squad, was something special, despite its ending. Many from the city came to watch the match played out on a converted soccer pitch, and there was even a special introduction from the mayor of Oleśnica. Our opponent was another new club but of the Polish 8-man Division, Jaguars Kąty Wrocławskie, and they were coached by a former Polish national team lineman.  

By the end of the first quarter, we were winning 12-0. Frankly, I was as stunned as anyone else. We first scored by slowly pounding the ball down the field, scoring on a short QB designed run. Next drive, after a turnover, I signalled in Liverpool, a play stolen from my British club's playbook, and the deep route ran by speedster Adek Choma in his Green Bay Packer-themed Nike cleats left him wide open and quarterback Adrian Cholewa gunned the ball right to him. The crowd went wild. They had never seen such a choreography of athleticism, and I was being thanked by the players for teaching them such a play.

Team photo after inaugural match

Sadly, our offence stuttered from then on and the defence did all they could to hold out but the Jaguars walked away the victors 14-12. The loss hurt the team, yes, but the thrill of having just played their first American football game washed over any physical or emotional pain.

Cheers rang: "Dziękujemy! Dziękujemy!" (We thank you) to the Oleśnica supporters, the new lovers of American football. Team photos were had, Tyskies imbibed, pierogis consumed (mostly by me).

It was not until later that I realised I had just coached my first ever football match. And in Poland, to add. I was coaching a bunch of mostly blue-collared working guys who can hardly understand anything I tell them any lest I have Przemek translate for me. I messaged my Dad when I returned home and told him about the match and the final score. He reminded me that he too had lost his head coaching debut by two points. Therein lied a special connection.

I felt tremendous honour in coaching the guys in their first game, and more emotions were added when my Facebook inbox began to fill up with heartfelt thanks from many of the players. Thus far it has been a special journey. Teaching a group of rookies how to play from square one has many challenges (telling offensive blockers that tackling is not blocking was one early hurdle) but, as they often say about challenges, it has been rewarding.

It was a good night sleep that night. With feet aching, and Polish beer and sausage lulling me to sleep, I was feeling something I never thought I would. And it's a feeling I never would have imagined because I was certain that this was not the path for me (and it is still undetermined if it will be in the long run).

I felt the sense of pride and satisfaction that I am sure all great coaches have felt: These are my guys.

The season is ongoing with a 1-2 preseason record and a 0-2 regular season start. Commentators from around the country have noted how much more competitive Oleśnica has been this season than expected for a completely rookie squad.

Victory lap after the club's first ever win.

A teaser trailer of my Polish experience thus far

UPDATE:

Hello. Cześć to any Polish readers.

As some may know, I am in Poland, where I am teaching English and playing/coaching American football.

I have experienced many wonderful and interesting things in my three-months in Wroclaw so far, and while I wish I was updating you all daily on my adventures, I am instead slowly compiling a memoir-like post to share later.

In the mean time, this clip from a Polish WWII comedy program called "How I Started WWII" will illustrate just one aspect of my new Polish life. It was shared to me by one of my offensive linemen whom I coach.

Enjoy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlOoSsfU6cM

Our laws don't dictate our call to a Christ-like life

A few days ago, gay marriage became legal in all 50 States of the United ones of America. It is heralded as a victory of human rights. It is also considered by a few to be a victory against Christians, conservatives, and the like. Many Christians are indeed "outraged", worried about the moral pulse of the nation. I have then also seen those in strong favour of marriage equality take the SCOTUS ruling as an opportunity to deride Christians in general. Seems both sides can make generalisations, can they? But this isn’t the point.

After the announcement of the ruling, and with Facebook bleeding rainbow, I began to think about my reaction to all of it. My initial reaction was one of indifference; calling neither for fire and brimstone nor a gay pride victory parade. Ashleigh, my fiancé, brought up the news when we chatted other day, giving me the first time vocalise my sentiments. Again, it was one of indifference. I do not think it is right, but I won't stop people from it, nor raise a stink of it. It affects me in no way at all.

I further mused about how Christians should react to sweeping legalised gay marriage. I believe it is well understood and for the most part widely practiced that Christians do love and care for their gay friends, family, and general public. But it seems to me that some - not most, but certainly not least enough to not be glanced over - Christians, or conservatives to put it even more broadly, are still hung up on putting a ban on gay marriage. For them, the nine supreme justices suddenly morphed in the Nazgul, beckoning the dark ages.

This is a post for those who feel our Christian way of life is under siege. It is not so.

I will be putting aside the legal and Constitutional arguments from either point of view. Representatives of Idaho insist the Supreme Court is stepping over the toes of the states deciding what marriage is to be. On the other side, as a friend pointed out, the Bill of Rights and 14th Amendment (Section I) protect the rights of the minority "from the whims of the majority," as the friend said. A debate on the Constitutional logistics of the decision is not my focus. Also, a discussion on proposed bills on the protection of religious expressions - like ones introduced in Idaho and elsewhere to protect your local Christian florist from sprucing up a gay wedding - will not be had here. (Though, in short, I do find it fair that a Christian business should not be punished for not accepting to cater to something they don't believe in; but then again, what a wonderful ministry opportunity it is for a Christian pizza parlour to serve a wedding they don't agree with!)

My focus is how should Christians be acting and reacting to legalized gay marriage? Similar questions circulate around in congregations across the country/world. The easy answer is love all like Jesus loved all. The just as easy answer is to continue to live your life in Christ no matter what is going on around you.

Jesus indeed is the supreme model of unconditional and brotherly love. Jesus conducted his love without the need of grand law or legislation. I argue that Jesus makes it clear that the worship of the Lord and the practice of government and law are separate things (give to Caesar what is Caesar's, give to God what is God's). Therefore, as Christians, we don't need Christian-inspired laws surrounding us to act and be and do what Christ calls us to do.

Let's take for example the call for how slaves were to conduct themselves whilst in servitude as described in Colossian 3:22-24. Whether slaves were considered in this context to be indentured, willing servants of a master or as freedom-less humans treated like cattle, as we typically view slavery in modern terms, Jesus' point is still the same: to do everything "with sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord," whether the master's eyes are on them or not. This is an address on holy living, on how to inject Christ-likeness into the world.

Jesus did not come into the world to abolish the Roman Empire and establish a new government. His love and message did not evade the traitorous tax collectors of the region, nor the sick, the prostitutes, or the Romans themselves. Jesus had no need to rewrite the way of life in the harsh Roman Empire to establish the Kingdom of God.

Jesus' call to his followers was to act like himself, express Godly love and care to everyone despite the system of governance and life they currently were in. Indeed, the hardships for the young church only got worst during Paul's ministry when Roman emperors made it a point to find and kill Christians. Amidst the hunt for Christians, Paul and the early writers maintained the original message of Jesus: live with sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord. They perpetuated the address of injecting Christ-likeness into their world seeking to reject Christ.

If Jesus were to first arrive in this world today, he would not be seeking to overturn the ruling of legalized gay marriage, pot smoking, or whatever. The message would be the same: live with sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord. We need to inject Christ-likeness into our world today. We don't need laws and legislations to do it.

And let's put down the narrative that there is persecution of Christians in the United States today. We have known all along that we will be social pariahs for following Jesus. The Man himself said in John 15:18-19 "If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to this world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you." Go talk to Iraqi Christians about persecution.

We have nothing to complain about.

Slaves were called to act like Christ in a time of systemic slavery. Christians were called to act like Christ in a time of systemic persecution of their church. We are called to be like Christ in a time of systemic religious freedom. God’s kingdom does not need any sort of political framework.

Yay or nay with your personal views to legalized gay marriage, our call is the same:

Be a Christian through your actions, not through our legislation.