(~) Choosing to Lose

Thinking Theologically About the Common Good Reflections on theology, scripture, and public life

from the Rev. Larry Greenfield.

March Madness, when it comes right down to it, is mostly about losing.

Oh yes, all those 64 teams that start the NCAA tournament are thinking mostly about winning. But within a three-week period all but one will have to deal with the reality of losing.

The only choice they have in the matter is how they will lose. And by that I don't so much mean by how close the score. I have more in mind what kind of attitude they bring to the reality of loss.

One of my local newspapers gave front page attention to this "way of losing" by focusing on a couple of outstanding players (J.J. Reddick of Duke and Adam Morrison of Gonzaga), both of whom shed tears when the final buzzer went off and their teams, unexpectedly, were on the short end of the scoreboard.

The article in the Chicago Tribune raised the question of whether such public displays of sorrow at the time of loss were manly or in the spirit of the sport. Readers were reminded that Michael Jordan cried when the Chicago Bulls won their first NBA championship, but that seemed okay because the tears flowed from joy. Shouldn't losers have the strength to stem those tears? Most readers, according to the blogs I read, disagreed.

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It's an entirely different kind question when someone chooses to lose.

Here I'm not thinking of the athlete who throws a game, since usually that's done so she or he and others can gain -- reaping an exaggerated return on a wager or some form of payment from bettors by cheating.

No, a better recent example comes from the Vatican.

On March 22, 2006, the Holy See reported that the Holy Father is giving up one of the nine official titles that have been attached to the office.

Pope Benedict XVI will continue to be the Vicar of Jesus Christ, the Bishop of Rome, the Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, the Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, the Primate of Italy, the Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, the Sovereign of the State of the Vatican City, and the Servant of the Servants of God.

But don't any longer call him the Patriarch of the West. He chose to lose that one.

The title was first used in 642 by Pope Theodore, so it has some historical standing. But the truth of the matter is that it wasn't employed very often over the centuries. In fact, it didn't find its way into the "pontifical yearbook" until 1863.

And, in releasing a statement about this voluntary loss, the Vatican admitted that, at least in part, the decision simply reflected "historical and theological reality."

Nevertheless, the statement emphasized that this was not simply an empty gesture. The title, after all, reflected the distinctive relationship between the papacy and the Latin Church.

But the Holy Father was choosing to lose the title of "Patriarch of the West" for a purpose. The Pontiff was relinquishing the title because this could be "useful to ecumenical dialogue."

In a world of division and strife, I thought to myself, this could be seen as a meaningful sign.

Would that other religious and political leaders follow Pope Benedict's lead on this one.

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A long distance, to be sure, from what the Lenten texts report Jesus expecting of those who would follow in his steps.

In the Gospel of John (chapter 12), as the plan to kill both Jesus and the recently resurrected Lazarus takes shape among the Pharisees, Jesus teaches his followers what is ahead for him and those who choose to serve him:

The hour has come for the Son of Man/Human One to be glorified. I solemnly assure you, unless the grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat. But if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, while those who hate their life in this world, preserve it to live eternally. Whoever serves me, let them follow me; and where I am, my servant will also be. God will honor anyone who serves me.

I confess that I don't know quite what to make of hating one's own life, except to take comfort in Fr. Raymond E. Brown's expert explanation that "Semitic usage favors vivid contrasts to express preferences." He points to Deuteronomy 21:15, Matthew 6:24, and Luke 14:26 as other examples. (See The Gospel According to John I-XII: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, by Raymond E. Brown, pp.465 -- 480.)

But what seems abundantly clear is Jesus' understanding that choosing to lose -- that is, putting an end to a life devoted to the self alone -- is the action that will result both in life for others and, in the end thereby, the preserving of one's own eternal life.

On the other hand, choosing to gain for one's self alone -- that is, electing to love the self alone -- results in self-destruction.

(Fr. Brown insists that the phrase "remains just a grain of wheat" is literally translated as "remains alone.")

In this passage from John's Gospel, therefore, it is not just Jesus who loses/dies so that others can have life. It is also the followers of Jesus who must follow him in losing/dying so that still others can have life.

God honors and glorifies only those who choose to lose.

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I hope something of this lesson from Jesus informed Benedict XVI's choosing to lose the Patriarch of the West title.

And that might account for his keeping the title of Servant of the Servants of God, for it would be entirely appropriate, in the company of Jesus, for patriarchs or matriarchs to lose themselves by becoming servants -- servants of the Savior and servant of the Savior's servants.

I hope, too, that others who find ourselves in the company of Jesus could be informed by his teaching on choosing to lose.

I suspect all of us have some clues about how this choosing to lose would work out in our personal lives. It would involve deliberate and disciplined acts of serving those around us, particularly (although not exclusively) those in the greatest need.

If reports on giving patterns are to be believed, choosing to lose may be more difficult for those of means over against those who have less. As a percentage of total assets, the poor consistently give more than the rich. That happens to track with another of Jesus' teachings: that wealth corrupts the soul. So those of us who have accumulated some capital might have more difficulty being a servant of the Savior, especially in a capitalistic economy. But that doesn't mean that the teaching about choosing to lose is any less relevant or demanding for those with wealth.

Envisioning what Jesus taught about choosing to lose might just be the most difficult when it comes our lives as citizens -- and all the more so in a democracy, where "we the people" are sovereign.

One way of reading our national founders and framers is to see them espousing a hardy doctrine of sin -- that there must be a separation of power within the federal government, and between the federal government and the states, and among the states and even voting districts, because these separations would, in the total political process, balance or offset or counteract the predisposition to act politically on the basis of self interest. Because people do not choose to lose politically, there must be a system in place that forces them to lose something, in the total scheme, for the common good.

But it is also possible to read them as making way, all along, for citizens to act politically for something other than their self-interest -- to choose to lose for, that is, the common good.

The question always is what constitutes the "common?" Who is "in" and who is "out" of the common life? How wide or expansive is the common where the good is to be shared?

The nation's debate, now focused in the Congress, about immigration is a good example: who gets counted in, on what terms, by what means?

That debate is made all the more difficult because the nation has yet to find ways of fully including all of its citizens in the blessings of liberty and prosperity.

But the questions persist, too, about how the common good should apply to the non-citizens among us, whether documented or undocumented.

For the Christian citizen and politician the question can be re-phrased in biblical vocabulary as: How should we choose to lose to these non-citizens?

According to what I am hearing in the public debate, however, that Christian way of stating the question is not being much asked. Instead, most in the debate are asking the non-Christian questions: What's in it for us? What plan will make us more secure? Which one will help our economy? How can we minimize the number of those "others" who are costing us more while doing the work we know has to get done?

Who is asking the question about what would be good for those non-citizens who, in point of fact, share our common life? What will we, as citizens, choose to lose in order that they, as non-citizens, will have life and more abundant life?

The answer to those questions would force us as a nation to deal more deeply with the basic elements of both our U.S. domestic and foreign policy.

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It would be a much different kind of March Madness if more of us were to follow Jesus in this Lenten season and, as citizens, advocate for choosing to lose.