Shorn, like Aslan

It was the all night basketball lock in. I was captain of all of the white teams. Kavil was captain of all of the green teams. Our hair was at stake. Whoever lost would soon be bald.

It came down to the last game, Kavil’s team versus my team. We were the obvious underdogs and the obviously undersized. Then they decided to heighten the competition by letting Kavil and I play with our junior teams.

In the first half we gained the lead: 18 to 10. I was the tallest person on the court (if you can believe that!) and they weren’t prepared for my fast breaks, nor the small distance between my hands and the rim (comparably). It was still a fairly novel experience for my team when we would score and my boys would cheer like Superman had been subbed in, he had just punched the bad guy out, and there was hope again. The first half ended.

The next half brought some more new faces onto the other side of the court. The strange thing was, I don’t think they were on Kavil’s team until they were down by eight. This changed the tide. They caught up quickly and we couldn’t do much with their new players. We struggled that half, but I told myself, I would trust in my players and we kept passing and playing as a team.

It came down to the last minutes and it was now 18 to 20; we hadn’t scored a point since half time. I called a time out and I asked my guys what should be our strategy. They suggested we pass more. I was so proud that they were still problem solving and thinking like a team. So when we began again and I got a fast break I remembered what they said and would pass it off instead of going in for the perhaps more reliable layup myself. I was proud of myself for honoring my boys’ strategy and teamwork over my beloved hair. I wanted to show them how much they meant to me and I wanted to teach them good sportsmanship.

As the last minute rounded out to zero, while their new players had guarded me, Kavil had almost single-handedly scored all the points that gave his team the possession of the trimming shears.

It was a bittersweet loss because the crowd had all seen the teamwork and rebirth of hope and enthusiasm in our underdog team, even as we fell under the curse of baldness.

I felt like Aslan as I kneeled down and willingly let them shave my head. One of the sweetest volunteers that was helping out with our night of basketball, Mariana, was at my side catching my hair mourning the loss, “Ohhhhh, Ross.” It made me think of the women crying over Jesus as he was being crucified.

A few days ago, Randy had talked to me about how Jesus has put the incredible job of carrying on his kingdom into our hands. Jesus put the responsibility of the kingdom into the hands of the disciples, as small and confused as they seemed. He left and said carry my message to all nations. I had put the basketball into the hands of my small teammates, and had gave them the responsibility to carry on the game, even if it made me bald.
I had put faith in my team and though we had not won the game, I felt like something deeper had been at work. Perhaps that is how it works with Jesus.