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Tuesday, Nov 24, 2009
The Supreme Court has gone too far by banning prayer from school football games.
Jun 22, 2000 | It is often said that football is the religion of the state of Texas. True. It is also a fact that religion is an integral part of football in the state of Texas. So what happens now that the Supreme Court has banned student-led prayer at football games? I'm not sure they'll really notice in California or Rhode Island. But in Texas, where the case originated, this amounts to cruel and unusual punishment.
As an educated citizen I support the court in its struggle to refine our rights and freedoms, to protect us from each other with the Constitution as its guide. I know that in this case, the justices merely bolstered a set of previous decisions that ban public worship at school functions; they essentially reinforced the divide between God and government. I acknowledge that it is a logical move, viewed within the rarefied confines of the court.
But the problem is, the court doesn't get it. The justices may know the Constitution backward and forward, but what they don't appear to know much about are the lives and lifestyles of the people for whom they work. In trying to regulate school prayer, the court forces a very awkward division between the deeply enmeshed aspects of an entire way of life. In trying to preserve religious freedom, the court is attacking it at its core.
I grew up in Sherman, Texas, a Bible Belt town situated at the heart of high school football country. On Friday nights in the fall, nearly every resident of Grayson County packed into Bearcat Stadium, the very nexus of town life. The field was lighted bright against warm night skies full of mayflies and mosquitoes. The metal bleachers were packed with people clad in burgundy and white sweatshirts, sporting giant mums with ribbons and bells. There was yelling, screaming, shouting, grunting, singing, cheering, hooping, squealing, whistling, grunting -- and praying.
For school-age kids, attendance was mandatory: I mean it literally was required, for some of our classes, to attend a certain number of games in the name of public service. Games also were a compulsory social event, where turbulent conflicts of status and friendship were pursued with impunity. We stared in awe at the wildly bouncing cheerleaders with their high hair and silver jewelry, while keeping an eye on their male counterparts, the Billy Bob Boys (no joke), who did back handsprings up and down the sidelines. We gaped, wide-eyed, at the militaristic precision of the Sherman Bearcat Drill Team, clad in satin and matching white boots and hats. We spilled giant Cokes and gloopy cheese nachos on the concrete stands.
Right before the game started there was a warbling, heartfelt rendition of the national anthem. Then came the more solemn voice on the loudspeaker, choked with giddy gravitas, to lead a blessing of the teams and a prayer for the health of the players and for God's glory to be made manifest right there on the field. (Behind the scenes, the coaches presided over pre-game huddles in which they called on a higher power to give their young players strength.)
