Bill Simmons, who is a Boston-bred, ESPN-based author and columnist, has written the definitive history of the NBA with his The Book Of Basketball.





In this, the quickest 800 page read of my life, Simmons is in turn unfiltered, poignant, statistical, profane, irreverent, and hilarious.

His gifts for footnoting and pop culture analogies have to be seen to be believed.

Yet my main take-away from The Book Of Basketball is theological.  That's right, a book that is both profane and irreverent makes a critical theological point.

Simmons' assessment of the greatest NBA players of all-time revolves around The Secret:  did this player make the players around him better?  Or were his statistical accomplishments come at the expense of others?

The Secret is why Bill Russell fares better in Simmons' book than does Wilt Chamberlain.  And it's why Larry Bird ranks considerably higher than Dominique Wilkins.

Basketball greatness, then, comes from an ability to make the players around you better.

Why does simple truth speak with such theological power to me?

Because I am a tennis player.  And tennis players don't have teammates.  We're in it for ourselves.  If we play well and we win, that's all that matters.

And so in my evolution as pastor at Good Shepherd, I have had to be diligent at moving away from my natural tennis-playing (i.e., selfish) instincts and embrace those of basketball.

Which means in practical terms than I am learning to be less concerned with 

"was my sermon good?"
"do they like me?"
"did that visit go well?"

and more focused on 

"who on staff and in church am I helping to come to life with Jesus Christ today?"
"how can I make the people around me better?"

 So wish me luck on the hardwood today.
 

Heath Bradley is a teaching pastor and emerging scholar based out of the Pulaski Heights UMC in Little Rock, Arkansas.

We have become cyber-friends and he invited me to use this blog to review his new book, Flames Of Love:  Hell & Universal Salvation.





So, here goes.

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Much like John the Evangelist who gives the purpose statement of his Gospel near the end (John 20:31), so Heath Bradley provides the most compelling motivation for his book Flames Of Love on page 131:

In fact, I'd love to get to heaven and discover that he is right.

From the viewpoint of earth, however, I don't believe he is.  The repeated finality of the majority of biblical passages plus the collective wisdom of those closest in time to Jesus lead me to the conclusion that whether it's salvation or separation, eternal in fact means forever.
 

This post reveals two things:  1) I am a perennial English major (dream job other than the dream job I have: wearing tweed jackets with elbow patches & teaching English lit somewhere; 2) I am technologically inept.  The hardcover/paperback distinctions are quickly becoming as relevant as who wins the battle between a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a Triceratops.  For most folks, the answer to which they prefer between hard and soft cover these days is:  digital.

But not me.

And I have a collection of authors who write in such a way that I care about their characters, immerse myself in their stories, and find myself in tears at the most unexpected of moments.  So those are the authors for whom I will not wait for the paperback to come out. As soon as the new novel is released, I'm there -- $30 in tow -- ready to buy the gaudy, expensive, seductive hardback edition.

Here they are:

1.  Richard Russo.  His writing is so effortless that you know it takes a lot of work.  He sets almost every novel in upstate New York -- which normally would not interest me -- yet paints compelling pictures of just how difficult it is to navigate marriage, temptation, and ambition.  My favorite:  Empire Falls.






2.  Wally Lamb.  Sprawling, hypnotic, cathartic.  Plus, he comes up with cool titles drawn from some of our best loved hymns.  My favorite:  The Hour I First Believed.





3.  Jeffrey Eugenides.  Undergrad at Brown, Masters at Stanford, teaches at Princeton.  Think he's smart?  But here's what you need to know: Middlesex features a first person narrator who is a hermaphrodite.  And yet it's tastefully done and unforgettably told.   Rarely seen in public without a vest.


4.. Ann Patchett.  Brutal stories gracefully conveyed.  Plus, her e-memoir of how she became a writer is itself a must-read.  So I read it on a Kindle!  Favorite novels:  tie between Bel Canto and State Of Wonder. 





5.  John Grisham.  Yes, he lives in Oxford, Mississippi.  No, his novels are nothing like those of fellow Mississippian William Faulkner.  Grisham's are comprehend-able.  And irresistible.  While his novels may not be of the same genre as either Faulkner or the authors above, there's nothing wrong with an occasional page-turner.  Favorite:  The Firm.  Sometimes, the first really IS the best.

During yesterday's message, I read a quote from New York Times columnist David Brooks.

That in itself is not that unusual, as from time to time I'll read an item about the subject at hand from any number of scholars, observers, pastors, and thinkers.

This particular citation came from a book review Brooks wrote about Mitch Albom's The Five People You Meet In Heaven.

Here's Brooks' take on Albom's theology:

In Albom's book, God, to the extent that he exists there, is sort of a genial Dr. Phil.  When you go to his heaven, friends and helpers come and tell you how innately wonderful you are.  

In this heaven, God and his glory are not the center of attention.  It's all about you.

Here, sins are not washed away.  Instead, hurt is washed away.  The language of good and evil is replaced by the language of trauma and recovery.

There is no vice and virtue, no moral framework to locate the individual within the cosmic infinity of the universe.  Instead there are just the right emotions -- do you feel good about yourself? -- buttressed by an endless string of vague bromides about how special each person is . . .

That review sounds more like a systematic theologian than a New York Times columnist, does it not?

Yet I found Brooks' thoughts refreshing, compelling, and, above all, Scriptural.

We in 21st Century American have made heaven all about us.

But whether we realize it or not -- whether we surrender to it or not -- heaven has always been and will forever be all about God.

Sins will be washed away, evil will be vanquished, and God will be exalted.  Forever.  Regardless of our attempts to domesticate and trivialize him here on earth.

It's a message that self-centered Americans -- and even self-centered Good Shepherders -- need to hear again and again:  heaven is not about you.  It's all about God.

For any who long for an eternity that is in fact all about you . . . beware:  God may just give you what you want.