Even if you hate football, persist through the early portion of this post. I promise there's a point.
For the sake of relevancy, I felt the need to abandon chronology and my own rules, to present a day that has been the greatest common denominator of every birthday lived in Bremen, IN.
When two small community schools equaling 1000 students were mentioned together as one of ten "Unrivaled Rivalries" by Sports Illustrated (November 14, 1994), I was a sophomore in high school. Ten days earlier, the Bremen Lions had stunned the previously undefeated and top-ranked Jimtown Jimmies 27-0 for the football sectional title, in route to their second state championship.
I've never been an athlete. God designed me to be short and slow, and He decided in the long run I'd be better served by a sharp mind. But I've always loved a good-natured and passionate competition, thus I spent the Friday of my birthday week watching football...for eight consecutive years.
When Bremen first entered the Northern State Conference in 1989, we were already well acquainted with Jimtown. They had defeated us at regional in 1987 (one of the first games I remember attending), finishing runner-up in the state; they were knocked off prematurely in 1988 when we finished runner-up in the state.
In 1989, we split our meetings, but Bremen claimed its first state championship two years ahead of our growing rival. The next six years were a see-saw back and forth -- the underdog winning more often than not. Each game had something important on the line, and the intensity was thicker than anything I experienced as an adolescent.
I find it fitting that as the Bremen team declined heavily in the years since I moved away, they have found success upon my return. This year's team stood 7-0 entering tonight's matchup, and there was hardly an unclaimed bleacher seat to be found. A healthy percentage of our town of 5000 made the trip north to see our community represented.
It wasn't the Bremen victory alone that made this evening memorable, and tonight was no more iconic than the other twenty times I have watched these teams battle. But this silly game is a strong link to a simpler childhood, one that didn't need a billion distractions to keep me from feeling alone on my birthday. I remember being part of something larger than myself, and it gave me greater joy than any gift.
As I've written this year about feeling disconnected from my St. Louis church family, I think I miss that level of belonging: recognizing the fruit of something experienced together and receiving a joy shared by the whole. In the end, a football program is meaningless, but Christ's Bride has been put on display to present His glory and fame to the world. It doesn't require a respected publication to proclaim the significance of the Church's mission, any more than a football team needs national press to validate the magnitude of its rivalry. It is our passion and zeal for the Kingdom that shouts of God's fervent move among mankind.
On either account, it's good to feel at home.
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