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When did prayer become acceptable to NFL? When a crisis happened on live television

When did prayer become acceptable to NFL? When a crisis happened on live television

Super Bowls create media storms, but many journalists and sports executives thought what happened in 1988 was totally out of bounds.

The establishment was shocked when players and coaches from Denver and Washington, D.C., held a prayer meeting on the eve of this NFL rite. The powers that be worried that "fraternization" of this kind could damage this clash between gridiron warriors.

To make matters worse, players from competing teams soon began kneeling in post-game, on-field prayer huddles as a symbol of unity and, often, shared concerns about injured players. Players waved off league efforts to stop the prayer circles.

"For the NFL, this was a corporate thing," said historian Paul Putz, of Baylor University's Faith & Sports Institute. Executives are "fine with prayer, as long as it isn't tied to anything controversial or a specific brand of religion. …

"The NFL didn't mind prayers that were out of sight, maybe in locker rooms with chaplains. But then things started happening on television. That was too much."

That was then. The electric wave of prayer that swept America after Buffalo Bills safety Damar Hamlin's heart-stopping injury was, he said, a "critical mass" moment and a sign of changing times -- maybe.

The key was that this drama happened on "Monday Night Football," with anguished players from both teams huddled around Hamlin near midfield, many visibly praying, as first responders fought to save his life.

It was natural for broadcasters to acknowledge the explosion of social-media commentary from athletes, coaches and others -- including fervent calls for prayer. All 32 NFL teams soon posted #PrayForDamar appeals.

"We have never seen anything like this before," said Putz. It became clear that it "was OK to tweet messages that went way beyond the usual thoughts and prayers."

The question, added Putz, is what happens next.

Life and death challenges have tested the faith of Phoenix Suns coach Monty Williams

Life and death challenges have tested the faith of Phoenix Suns coach Monty Williams

A reporter tossed a standard question at coach Monty Williams after the Phoenix Suns won the Western Conference finals, asking how he managed to be a tough NBA coach and a sympathetic mentor.

"I tell every new player … that the essence of my coaching is to serve," said Williams, the National Basketball Coaches Association's 2021 coach of the year. "As a believer in Christ, that's what I'm here for. … I tell them all the time, if I get on you, I'm not calling you out -- I'm calling you up."

That message meshes well with what superstar Chris Paul writes on his sneakers game after game: "Can't Give Up Now." That's a popular Gospel song with this chorus: "I just can't give up now. I've come too far from where I started from. Nobody told me the road would be easy and I don't believe He's brought me this far to leave me."

Williams and Paul have known each other for a decade, with professional and personal ties strengthened by pain and frustration. While Paul's on-court struggles are well documented, it's impossible to understand their bond without knowing the details of his coach's life as a Christian, husband and father of five children.

"The real reason to watch" the playoffs this year, said former ESPN commentator Jason Whitlock, in his "Fearless" podcast, is "that God has placed a messenger inside the NBA's secular madness. Monty Williams might be the most important man in sports. The 49-year-old former Notre Dame and NBA player is the leader and example that America needs right now."

The coach's story, he added, "belongs in a new Bible. Five years ago, a 52-year-old White woman high on meth drove her car headfirst into the car driven by Williams' wife Ingrid. Three of Williams' children were also in the car. The White woman died at the scene. … Ingrid Williams died a day later. Williams' children survived."

Williams was a promising Notre Dame freshman when Ingrid -- before their marriage -- stood by him after doctors said he had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Long before experts cleared him to play, Ingrid kept praying and offered this message: "Jesus can heal your heart."

Pastor Rick Warren, Michael Phelps and the story of a #PurposeDrivenSwimmer

Pastor Rick Warren has heard his share of inspiring stories about people reading "The Purpose Driven Life."

That comes when the territory when you write a book that sells about 40 million copies and gets translated into 85 languages. But the leader of Saddleback megachurch in Orange County, Calif., was surprised when he watched the ESPN feature "The Evolution of Michael Phelps" and learned that his book played a major role in helping the superstar recover from a personal collapse that left him considering suicide.

"I haven't met Michael Phelps yet," said Warren, reached by telephone. "A mutual friend gave me his cell, but I thought the last thing he needed was for me to bother him during the Olympics. …

"The key is that he was honest and he did a turnaround. … Wherever he is in his journey, I'd love to hear about it. You start where he is."

Phelps was brutally candid, with ESPN, about his frame of mind in September of 2014, after his second DUI. He thought this was his "third strike" in life.

"I was a train wreck. I was just like a time bomb, waiting to go off. I had no self-esteem, no self-worth," said Phelps. "There were times when I didn't want to be here. … I just felt lost. Where do I go from here? What do I do now?"

The crisis came after the most decorated Olympian in modern history ended his hasty 18-month retirement after a weak, by his standards, showing in London in 2012. After the arrest, Phelps hid in his bedroom for five days. "I didn't eat. I didn't really sleep. I just figured that the best thing to do was end my life," he said.

One thing about Lent

Faithful fans of ESPN's "Mike & Mike in the Morning" know that former NFL lineman Mike Golic takes great pleasure in skewering his urbane shrimp of a partner, Mike Greenberg.

But in recent weeks, the sarcastic jabs by the University of Notre Dame graduate began drawing an ominous canned response from the producers -- a doomsday choir chanting "Golic's going to hell."

You see, Golic vowed to make a big sacrifice this year for Lent, the 40-day penitential season that precedes Easter. When he was in Catholic school, he told listeners, he was taught to give up one thing during Lent. This time around, Golic elected -- rather than donuts or another great pleasure -- to give up making fun of "Greeny."

When most people think of Lent, this "giving up one thing" concept is the one thing that comes to mind, even for many of America's 62 million Catholics. Now, many Protestants have adopted the same practice. This is, however, a modern innovation that has little or nothing to do with ancient Lenten traditions, in the West or the East.

"There are Catholics who don't practice their faith and they may not be up on what it really means to observe Lent," said Jimmy Akin, director of apologetics and evangelization for the Catholic Answers (Catholic.com) website. "But active Catholics know there is supposed to be real fasting and abstinence involved in Lent.

"The question is whether they want to do more, to add something extra. That is what the 'one thing' was supposed to be about."

Lenten traditions have evolved through the ages. For centuries, Catholics kept a strict fast in which they ate only one true meal a day, with no meat or fish. Over time, regulations were eased to allow small meals at two other times during the day.

Today, Catholics are supposed to observe a strict fast and abstain from meat on Ash Wednesday at the start of Lent and Good Friday at the end. In most parishes they are urged to avoid meat on Fridays. However, Lenten guidelines have been eased so much in recent decades that even dedicated Catholics may become confused. Akin tries to cover the basics online in what he calls his "Annual Lent Fight" roundup.

It's impossible to know how or when the idea of "giving up one thing" came to dominate the Lenten season, he said. The roots of the tradition may date back to the sixth century and the influential monastic Rule of St. Benedict, which added a wrinkle to the usual Lenten guidelines.

"During these days, therefore, let us add something to the usual amount of our service, special prayers, abstinence from food and drink, that each one offer to God ... something above his prescribed measure," states the Rule. "Namely, let him withdraw from his body somewhat of food, drink, sleep, speech, merriment, and with the gladness of spiritual desire await holy Easter."

The key, Akin explained, is that this was supposed to be an extra sacrifice. The Rule even tells the monks to seek the approval of their spiritual fathers before taking on an extra discipline, so as not to be tempted by pride.

"It's understandable that when you have a season in which you're supposed to do something -- like penance -- there will always be people who want to do more. They will want to observe both the letter and the spirit of the law," said Akin. "At the same time, you're going to have people who want to go in the opposite direction. They will want to find a way to do the bare minimum, to set the bar as low as possible."

It's also possible, he said, that the "give up one thing" tradition grew out of another understandable practice. Parents and Catholic teachers have long urged small children -- who cannot keep a true fast for health reasons -- to do what they can during Lent by surrendering something symbolic, such as candy or a favorite television show.

But if grownups stop practicing the true Lenten disciplines, then the "one thing" standard is what remains.

"You can have a good example set at home and then undermined at school or it can happen the other way around," said Akin. "Our children need to see the faith lived out at home and the school and in the parish. You need consistency."