Football at Night

 Football at Night

A brilliant title from another classic Michel Quoist prayer. I remember it because yesterday was Dad's 88th birthday.  Amazon having lost his real gift, I had to hastily get another - a Manchester United diary.  Turns out they played last night - hence the title - and won - and Dad is delighted with his very modest gift!

Poor Dad, Mum made a very lovely chocolate cake and she and I cried with laughter as we tried to find candles that fit the holders in the dodgy tupperware box, And a random selection of sportmen figures - footballers, cricketers.  Good job I had bought matches with me so we didn't do "let's pretend I am blowing out the candles" as we did with my birthday!  Which was surreal anyway.

Poor Mum, she makes amazing cakes but she managed to embed the candle holder so deeply in the cake she was afraid Dad would find it and eat it!  Dad tends to eat anything he can find! Excavation by me followed, so I had that rather cratered and battered bit of cake.

A lovely day.  But exhausting.  Elderly very deaf parents make me want to lie on the sofa and watch bad TV. The prayer, quoted below, feels apt, I am struggling to make sense of my choices and decisions, but as long as the team advances I guess that the result is up to the team manager.

Michel Quoist -  Football at Night - wish I wrote like him!

This evening at the stadium the night was stirring, filled with ten thousand shadows.
And when the flood-lights had painted green the velvet of the great field, 
The night was filled by a chorus of ten thousand voices.


The master of ceremonies had given the signal to begin the service, 
The impressive liturgy moved forward smoothly.
The ball flew from celebrant to celebrant, 
As if everything had been minutely planned in advance. 
It passed from foot to foot, slipped along the field, and flew away overhead. 
Each was at his post, taking the ball in turn, passing it to the next one who was there to receive and pass again. 


And because each one did his part in the right place, 
Because he put forth the effort required, 
Because he knew he needed all the others, 
Slowly but surely the ball gained ground, 
And made the final goal! 


While, at the end, the immense crowd flowed laboriously into the narrow streets,
I reflected, Lord, that human history, for us a long game, is for you this great liturgy,
A prodigious ceremony initiated at the dawn of time, which will end only when the last celebrant has completed his final rite.

In this world, Lord, we each have our place. 
You, the far sighted Coach, have planned it for us. 
You need us here, our brothers need us, and we need everyone.


It isn’t the position I hold that is important, Lord,
But the reality and strength of my presence. 
What difference whether I am playing forward or back, as long as I am fully what I should be?


Here, Lord, is my day before me... 
Did I sit too much on the sidelines, criticizing the play of others, my hands in my pockets?
Did I play my part well? 
And when you were watching our side, did you see me there? 
Did I catch my team mates pass and that of the player at the end of the field? 
Did I co-operate with my team without seeking the limelight? 
Did I play the game to obtain victory, so that each one should have a part in it? 
Did I battle to the end in spite of set- backs, blows and bruises? 
Was I troubled by the demonstrations of the crowd and of the team, discouraged by their lack of understanding and their criticisms? 
Made proud by their applause? 
Did I think of praying my part, remembering that in the eyes of God this human game is the most religious of ceremonies? 
I come in now to rest in the Pavilion, Lord, 
Tomorrow if you kick off, I’ll play a new position, 
And so each day... 


Grant that this game, played with all my brothers, may be the imposing liturgy that you expect of us, 
So that when your final whistle interrupts our lives, we shall be chosen for the championship of heaven.