Cinderella stories! Underdog triumphs! Fairy tale endings! These are the things that make the month of March so delightfully mad. And yet, these are the same things that have been mysteriously lacking in this year’s tournament. Yes, there was the High Point comeback, the VCU upset, and the St. John’s buzzer beater, but otherwise, there has been a noticeable lack of mayhem. During last Friday’s slate, the favorites went 16–0 for the first time since 1992. There were more 20-point blowouts than any other year on record. The storybook underdog that we have come to rely on has been a no-show.
This year’s March Madness Tournament is a sobering reality check. Despite our naive love for the no-name giant slayers like Florida Golf Coast or Oral Roberts University, Goliath is still far more likely to win nine times out of ten. If our hope is in the underdog, we are likely to live mostly miserable lives. After all, hope is what the late comedian, Norm Macdonald, called the thing that never works. According to Norm, “The big problem with hopes is that they always get dashed. ‘Their hopes were dashed!’ You see that all the time. I bet my last dollar you can’t even find the word ‘dashed’ without the word hope.” This was my family’s exact experience as we watched our beloved UVA lose to a frighteningly large and overpowering Tennessee last weekend. Every false hope of a championship was dashed on the very real rocks of reality.
March Madness is an unusual anomaly, culturally speaking. Not in that millions of otherwise disinterested people suddenly become fanatics, but because it’s one of the few times we willfully cheer on the underdog. We want the chaos, the fairytale, the drama of the unexpected fulfilled. In the rest of life, however, we fill out our brackets far more judiciously. We bet on the horse we think will win, choose spouses who are going places in life, and attend churches with new additions and pastors who did not nearly flunk out of seminary. The improbable 16-seed might be thrilling to watch, but few would stake their life on such frailty.
For his part, God has a certain fondness for 16-seeds. Like a crazy gambler, he can’t seem to think rationally when filling out his bracket. In countless places in the Bible, God accomplishes his purpose in reverse of the world’s power rankings. For some reason, his desire counterintuitively prioritizes the lame and the weak. He chooses Abel over Cain; Isaac over Ishmael; Jacob over Esau; Moses over Aaron; Sarai over Hagar; Leah over Rachel. One of the most poignant Cinderella stories is the anointing of David. “I have provided for myself a king,” he tells Samuel. Little does Samuel realize that God has picked the equivalent of Oral Roberts University for his Final Four champion.
After Jesse’s sons have been properly sanctified for the sacrificial feast, they line up for tryouts — chests out, head up, muscles flexed. When Jesse’s eldest son Eliab is presented, Samuel says, “Wow! We have a winner! Surely this is the Lord’s anointed.” But God says, “Guess again.” So another son is presented and then another until God has refused all seven sons present. Even Samuel must have felt embarrassed by that point. “Is this everybody?” he asks Jesse. “There remains the youngest,” Jesse says (the Hebrew word meaning “smallest” or “the runt”), “but he is keeping the sheep.”
Samuel orders for everyone to stand until a fourteen-year-old boy comes rushing in — unshowered, unsanctified for the feast, uninformed as to what is going on. God says, “This is the one.” This is my pick.
David, the latest movie from Angel Studios, is a triumph in capturing the shock and wonder of God’s decision. This king-elect was Least Likely to Succeed material. David was not leading a coup but simply minding his own business. He would have known very well that the family inheritance belonged to Eliab and that his rightful place was at the bottom of the pecking order. When David says, “Me? I’m just a shepherd!” Samuel replies, “That is actually exactly what we’re looking for.” When David says, “We already have a king! I can’t be king!” Samuel replies, “Every excuse you make is just another reason why it has to be you!” Samuel takes the ram horn full of oil and pours it over the boy’s head. It drips down his hair as Samuel sings, “Baruch haba b’shem Adonai! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” David’s blessedness is not out of the strength of his own name but of the name of the One who first called him blessed.
David would go on to eventually become Israel’s greatest king. And yet, his reign would ultimately be marked by scandal, adultery, murder, and obstruction of justice, the ramifications of which would send his family into turmoil and his kingdom into ruin. Maybe God should have chosen Eliab — or so we are tempted to think. God does not understand that, while it is fun to choose a 16-seed, it is not a logical choice. It is simply not how the world works.
But it is how God works.
One summer in college, I applied to work at several dude ranches out West as a horse wrangler. There was just one thing: I had never ridden a horse. While the other wrangling spots had already been taken by young men from Texas, Georgia, and Alabama, even my best Southern drawl betrayed the fact that I was from Boston, Massachusetts. To my shock, the ranch manager who interviewed me said that they taught riding in a very specific way and that it was best to not bring in any preconceptions. Make no mistake: I am the opposite of the archetype of an American cowboy, but it turns out my inexperience was an asset. My ineptitude was an advantage.
So it goes with God’s application process. Our defects, sins, failures, and regrets are the things that make us so appealing to God. The Apostle Paul tells us that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. Not golden boys or blue bloods, but sinners. While our strengths and assets are likely to be red flags to God, our weaknesses will open door after door to grace upon grace.
But what happens when God’s decision has a negative outcome? What happens when the no-name shepherd boy gets crushed by the top-seeded Goliath? What are we to do when all of our hopes are dashed on the rocks of reality? In these moments, we would do well to be reminded that God does not look to the strong to be his representatives. He does not win by the strength of his starting lineup or the depth of his bench. God wins by losing. He himself became the 16-seed who was crushed by a far more powerful team. Our salvation was won only through his painful, humiliating defeat.
Blessed are the 16-seeds. Not because they will win, but because they come in the name of the One who first called him blessed.
It was only a matter of time that Mbird would pay homage to the Texas Longhorns.
Hook ’em