The Foolish things instructing the Wise

Let me tell you about the time SlapBall almost died.

So there was a game. It was glorious, it was filled with joy, and it brought our entire apartment together in the way only a little rubber ball flying around the room could do.

It was called, simply, SlapBall.

It had a single rule: All you gotta do . . . is slap the ball.

And oh, how we would.

There were some problems, though. It tended to be quite a rambunctious game, so noise levels quickly rose, and the ball had a nasty tendency to hit things that it probably didn't need to hit.

But it was so much fun. It was so joyful. You could see the joy evident on every face. Our step was lighter after every game.

So we continued to play, in spite of the possible rule infractions.

Then someone brought up their conviction, asserting that he felt we could no longer play, since he felt it was infringing upon the rules. He asserted that if it was something we were afraid to tell our core leaders about because we didn't want them to tell us we couldn't do it anymore, then it was something we probably should not be doing in the first place.

And, quite literally, all hell broke loose . . . in each of our hearts. While he was simply voicing something we had all considered, whether or not we had squashed it down, the mourning and anger that arose in the room was almost ludicrous. It was, after all, just SlapBall. But, oh, how attached we were to it. How mad we were that something so stupid and fun, something we loved so much, God wanted to take away from us because of a few stupid rules. 

It is similar to the meat-sacrificed-to-idols issue in I Corinthians. There was nothing wrong with the game in and of itself, just that in playing it, we were rebelling against our authorities, and not acting in love, in taking care of the property of others and in possibly disturbing their peace and quiet.

So, after much anger, harsh words, pouting, etc. . . the ball was slashed, then ripped into two pieces, and taped to the wall in memory of the beloved game.

As we were getting ready for bed, and various people were dealing with extreme anger, asking for prayer and such, we came across a startling realization of what was going on: "God uses the foolish things to confound the wise". (I Corinthians 1:27)

Holy cow. We all started laughing, and started to actually deal with everything. We still went through mourning, and a song was even composed: "Requiem for a SlapBall". And we all, while sad at giving up our personal rights, had come to grips with the fact that we should not play it anymore.

But, as I said in the beginning, this is a story of the time Slapball almost died.

You see, we decided to tell one of our core leaders about the game, and about what we had learned. He was astounded at how serious we were about it, and how it had affected us so to quit it.

He then started talking about why we had rules . . . the reason and spirit behind them. That fun is not forbidden or bad, and that as long as we stay within the bounds of love (respect for neighbors, respect for the property, respect for each other) there was really nothing wrong with it.

So, released by our authority (with some general guidelines and suggestions to follow) the genius and joy that is SlapBall was raised from the ashes, and lives again.