Don't Envy Those Who Wear the Whistle

 One of the ways I earned money to finance my seminary education was by refereeing city league basketball games in the town of Wake Forest.  If you ever played basketball with me, this might strike you as ironic or even some form of cosmic payback.  I'd never treated referees very well.  I was quick to criticize and protest what I saw as unjust calls, most of which, of course, were against me.  So, putting on the stripes and whistle felt, in one sense, like heaven saying to me, "OK Dee, if every ref you've ever met has done such a poor job, here's your chance to show Me how it's done."  

The City Basketball League in Wake Forest was a challenging venue in which to cut your teeth in officiating.  The area Referee Association, or whatever the organizing group of basketball officials called themselves, refused to supply refs for these games.  Threats had been made among players and toward officials.  Fights had broken out during and after games.  The Wake Forest Police Department always assigned armed officers to patrol these games.  They had made a few arrests.  One of their basketball prisoners, a hulking mass of muscle, escaped from their police car in handcuffs by kicking the back door off of the car from the inside and running away.  I arrived for my first game feeling like a roadie for Johnny Cash playing a concert in Folsom Prison.  

What my short career in officiating taught me is that making the tough calls is much easier from the comfort of a recliner in front of a television set or in the safe anonymity of a crowd than it is on the floor in the moment with everyone watching your every decision and appraising your existential worth and moral character on the flimsy flighty basis of whether they agree with your choice.  I was questioned a number of times by the city league basketball players.  I was mocked and ridiculed a few times.  I'm grateful to say that no fights broke out either with me or about me.  No police officers were called for backup.  I worked hard for those few dollars I was paid to keep law and order on the court.  

My officiating days changed my perspective.  No, I didn't suddenly agree with every call made, especially when my children were involved.  But I did gain some hard-earned empathy for those who blow the whistle and a much greater sense of respect for those we saddle with the thankless job of making the tough calls.  Now, at least, I say, "He missed the call!  But I bet he has a good heart."  

Right now, in our Covid-complicated world, making decisions is much more difficult and demanding than usual.  Leaders must make tough calls in a "game" none of us has played before and, for which, few widely-accepted rules have been established.  Added to that, the conditions under which we play are constantly changing in literally life-threatening ways.  Church leaders, myself included, face choices that affect the health and lives of our congregations, choices about which we've had virtually no preparation or experience. 

Church leaders will miss some calls.  We will make some decisions you, from the comfort of your pew and the anonymity of the crowd, would make differently.  But, as you deal with the daily tension of struggling to live a winning life in a biologically hostile world, don't take out your frustrations on those you've asked to wear the stripes.  When you don't like the call and want to boo the ref, first ask the question Christian love must always ask before passing judgment, "What's it like to be you?"  Neither your ticket to a ball game nor your membership in a church purchase the right to treat others, especially leaders, with a lack of respect.  Don't forget that the ref you're yelling at has feelings and family.  

Take it from a short-careered referee--no one sets out to make a wrong decision.  But when they do, don't envy the ones who wear the whistle. And don't lose sight of the truth that they're human beings, made in God's image, probably doing the best they can, and always deserving of your empathy and respect.