58 Sermon Illustrations on Football

As you prepare your Thanksgiving meal, here’s a story that will warm your heart about a man who lives a life of gratitude.

Between 2005 and 2012, Jason Brown lived what many people would consider to be the American dream. He was a starting NFL offensive lineman, first with the Baltimore Ravens and then with the St. Louis Rams.

In 2009, he signed a five-year deal with the Rams worth $37.5 million.

Then he did what many would regard as unthinkable: He walked away from another potentially big contract to become ... a farmer. But not just any kind of farmer. Brown became the kind of farmer who embodies what it means to be thankful.

After the Rams released him in 2012, other NFL teams contacted Brown about coming to play for them. He was only 29 years old and could have easily played another two or three years and made millions more.

Instead, he told his agent that he was through with football and was ready to pursue his real dream: becoming a farmer. His agent said he was “making the biggest mistake of his life.” Brown’s reply was “No, I’m not.”

Making the story even more difficult to fathom was that Brown had not grown up on a farm — his father had been a landscaper who took his son with him on jobs. Brown planned on learning how to farm from — are you ready for this? — YouTube and the internet, plus whatever advice other farmers might be willing to give.

If this story sounds a bit quixotic — a colleague of mine says that the 1960s sitcom “Green Acres” came to mind when reading about Brown — there was nothing starry-eyed or impractical about Brown’s motivations. As he told the Raleigh News-Observer, “I want to help people.”

When he looks out at his 1,000-acre farm, he sees “youngsters learning how to fish” in its ponds, and fields “dedicated to providing fresh produce to shelters and food pantries.”

As any farmer can tell you, things don’t always go according to plan. Thus, “Many of the squash and cucumbers he had planned to give away were not harvested this summer because of heavy rains.” Similarly, “The apple, plum and pear trees need time to mature.”

But earlier this month, he harvested his first crop: five acres of sweet potatoes, fifty tons, which he promptly gave away. As Rebecca Page of the Society of St. Andrew, told a North Carolina television station, ““It’s unusual for a grower to grow a crop just to give [it] away.”

You’ve probably guessed what motivates Jason Brown. If you haven’t, here’s a clue: his farm is named “First Fruits.” Brown’s former Rams teammate, All-Pro wide receiver Tory Holt, recalls Brown as “always being very strong in his faith.” According to Holt, Brown “was very encouraging to everyone.”

After his playing days were over, Brown decided that “it was time to start giving back ... God has blessed us with this place, “ he said, “and I am to be a steward, to use all these good things to help other people.”

To those who wonder why he walked away from football, Brown replies that “when I think about a life of greatness, I think about a life of service.”

The Browns are taking a break from farming today to celebrate Thanksgiving. As the News and Observer reports, “He is thankful for what he has been given and thankful for what he hopes to do.”

And we are thankful for his example, which should serve as an encouragement to us all.

On behalf of John Stonestreet and the staff of BreakPoint, I wish you and yours a very happy Thanksgiving.

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Copyright (c) 2014 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

As you prepare your Thanksgiving meal, here’s a story that will warm your heart about a man who lives a life of gratitude.

Between 2005 and 2012, Jason Brown lived what many people would consider to be the American dream. He was a starting NFL offensive lineman, first with the Baltimore Ravens and then with the St. Louis Rams.

In 2009, he signed a five-year deal with the Rams worth $37.5 million.

Then he did what many would regard as unthinkable: He walked away from another potentially big contract to become ... a farmer. But not just any kind of farmer. Brown became the kind of farmer who embodies what it means to be thankful.

After the Rams released him in 2012, other NFL teams contacted Brown about coming to play for them. He was only 29 years old and could have easily played another two or three years and made millions more.

Instead, he told his agent that he was through with football and was ready to pursue his real dream: becoming a farmer. His agent said he was “making the biggest mistake of his life.” Brown’s reply was “No, I’m not.”

Making the story even more difficult to fathom was that Brown had not grown up on a farm — his father had been a landscaper who took his son with him on jobs. Brown planned on learning how to farm from — are you ready for this? — YouTube and the internet, plus whatever advice other farmers might be willing to give.

If this story sounds a bit quixotic — a colleague of mine says that the 1960s sitcom “Green Acres” came to mind when reading about Brown — there was nothing starry-eyed or impractical about Brown’s motivations. As he told the Raleigh News-Observer, “I want to help people.”

When he looks out at his 1,000-acre farm, he sees “youngsters learning how to fish” in its ponds, and fields “dedicated to providing fresh produce to shelters and food pantries.”

As any farmer can tell you, things don’t always go according to plan. Thus, “Many of the squash and cucumbers he had planned to give away were not harvested this summer because of heavy rains.” Similarly, “The apple, plum and pear trees need time to mature.”

But earlier this month, he harvested his first crop: five acres of sweet potatoes, fifty tons, which he promptly gave away. As Rebecca Page of the Society of St. Andrew, told a North Carolina television station, ““It’s unusual for a grower to grow a crop just to give [it] away.”

You’ve probably guessed what motivates Jason Brown. If you haven’t, here’s a clue: his farm is named “First Fruits.” Brown’s former Rams teammate, All-Pro wide receiver Tory Holt, recalls Brown as “always being very strong in his faith.” According to Holt, Brown “was very encouraging to everyone.”

After his playing days were over, Brown decided that “it was time to start giving back ... God has blessed us with this place, “ he said, “and I am to be a steward, to use all these good things to help other people.”

To those who wonder why he walked away from football, Brown replies that “when I think about a life of greatness, I think about a life of service.”

The Browns are taking a break from farming today to celebrate Thanksgiving. As the News and Observer reports, “He is thankful for what he has been given and thankful for what he hopes to do.”

And we are thankful for his example, which should serve as an encouragement to us all.

On behalf of John Stonestreet and the staff of BreakPoint, I wish you and yours a very happy Thanksgiving.

________

Copyright (c) 2014 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

Go out of your way to compliment those people who serve others but are not usually treated with a great deal of respect. From the waitperson to the skycap, from the hotel doorman to, well, any service person - aside from tipping or a quick thank you, do you refer to them as sir or ma'am? Do you acknowledge them with kindness? Do you genuinely think of them as important and significant and does it show? Yes, it makes a definite difference to their self- esteem. It also reflects how far they'll go out of their way to make sure you are happy. And you never know when that will come in handy.

An excellent illustration of WINNING WITHOUT INTIMIDATION by complimenting the uncomplimented showcases the abilities of the great former quarterback and now highly successful entrepreneur, Fran Tarkenton. As a quarterback, and a small one at only 5'10", Fran was always the target of the huge, tough, often merciless defensive linemen. Linemen can be mean to quarterbacks. They're supposed to be. That's their job. On top of that, they know they don't earn the kind of money most quarterbacks earn and they certainly don't enjoy the same adulation and glory. Those 320-pound guys can be downright rough on the Fran Tarkentons of the world.

But Fran is a master at dealing with people. He is now, and certainly was back then. According to his former teammate, Ahmad Rashad, after a rough hit, Fran would acknowledge his attacker by saying something like, "Great day for football, isn't it?" or "Man, that was quite a hit."

These guys weren't exactly used to quarterbacks actually talking to them in more than four-letter words - and they certainly weren't used to being treated as human beings. Before long, they weren't quite as aggressive, mean and nasty with Fran. Sure, they'd still hit him, but they wouldn't rough him up as they did other quarterbacks. He took the anger out of them and probably added years to his Hall of Fame career.

Wow, that's when WINNING WITHOUT INTIMIDATION really comes in handy - when your life depends upon it!

Of course, most of us aren't professional quarterbacks, or otherwise chased by wild-eyed, maniacal, and just plain nasty 320-pound men even for non-athletic reasons ... I hope. So, let's go back to how we treat those who are generally not treated with a great deal of respect by other people. This also applies to anyone who may not seem to be in a position to do something for us. Maybe they are the one in need. As mentioned earlier, do you think of them as important and significant human beings? Do you genuinely feel that way on the inside so that your feelings radiate on the outside? Yes, it does makes a definite difference to them, and does almost ensure they'll go out of their way to make sure you are happy. No, that's not the "reason" you treat them well ... just the "result."

____________________

Bob Burg is author of "Winning Without Intimidation"

*

Brad Gaines will do it again early Wednesday morning. He’ll grab some Clorox and glass cleaner, toss them in the trunk of his Buick and head to a little cemetery 175 miles away.

His long, strange trip actually began 20 years ago today.

“I’ll be doing it until I die,” Gaines said.

He goes to visit a friend he never really knew. Then one crazy football play bound them forever. On a Homecoming afternoon, he collided with Chucky Mullins.

Gaines, a tailback for Vanderbilt, got up and headed back to the huddle. Mullins, a safety for Mississippi, never moved again.

His neck was shattered. He died less than two years later.

We read about such things, wince and move on. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just football.

Gaines knew that on October 28, 1989. He knows it on October 28, 2009.

It doesn’t matter.

“I know it was part of the game,” he said, “but it doesn’t change the fact, you know ...”

He’s tried to explain it a million times why he drives from Nashville to Russellville, Ala. three times a year. If it’s the date of the accident or the date Mullins died or Christmas, Gaines has to make it to the grave that’s marked simply: “Chucky, Man of Courage.”

So what force drives Gaines? Why has he has skipped out early every Christmas or left home at midnight to get back for a morning meeting or barely beat the clock and found himself cleaning Mullins’ grave by the light of the moon?

“There have been times I have had to hitchhike because I ran out of gas, had blown out tires, my car’s broken down,” Gaines said. “But I always make it.”

Everybody from his wife to total strangers has worried and wondered. Perhaps the only person who could truly understand is Mullins.

“It’s almost like it was fate,” Gaines said.

He was a white kid from hoity-toity Vandy. His brothers had played in the NFL. He was a stud running back, the leading receiver in the SEC, a kid whose idea of hardship was getting turned down for a date.

Brad Gaines Mullins was a skinny black kid from a nowhere town. His mother died when he was in sixth grade. He wasn’t particularly fast or strong or talented, but Ole Miss coaches loved his attitude. Mullins would do anything to win.

So it wasn’t surprising that he lowered his helmet and buried it in No. 44’s back. Gaines had gone up to catch a pass. The force from behind knocked the ball loose before he hit the ground.

Gaines scrambled to recover it, but the refs called it an incomplete pass. He didn’t even notice No. 38 wasn’t moving. Before long, the number would literally mean everything to him.

Gaines couldn’t sleep after the accident. He no longer cared about the sport he was raised to love. He didn’t even play his senior season.

He did try to get to know the source of his pain. The first time they formally met, Gaines walked into the hospital room and tried not to visibly shake. Mullins was in a halo contraption with all sorts of tubes attached to his body.

A ventilator was rhythmically hissing at his bedside. Gaines shuffled near the bed, bent over and strained to make out what Mullins said.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

That was Chucky. His spirit never inspired people far beyond the South. Walter Payton visited him. So did Janet Jackson and George H. W. Bush.

More than $1 million was raised for his trust fund. Ole Miss built him a specially equipped house, and he was back in class the next year. Then a blood clot formed in his lung.

Gaines read about it and drove to the hospital in Memphis . Mullins was in a coma, but his friend got there in time to say goodbye. Then doctors removed the life-support system. Gaines went to the hospital roof and wept.

Ole Miss started the Chucky Mullins Courage Award, given each year to a senior defensive player. The winner used to wear No. 38 until the school retired it in 2006.

“You say ‘Chucky,’ and everybody knows what you mean,” Gaines said.

You say Brad, and everybody wonders what that means.

“As I get older I’ve gotten even more emotional about it,” he said. “I don’t know, maybe raising my own kids and how fragile life can be.”

He has four of them now, three girls ages one to 11, and a five-year-old boy. Gaines is a successful businessman but he still drives a 20-year-old Buick his kids hate.

“I wish your car would die,” they tell him all the time.

If it does today, he’ll just start hitchhiking. Gaines has lost count of the trips he’s made to Russellville, but it’s at least 60. None of his kids have ever gone with him. They just know their father has something he has to do.

“When I leave to go to the cemetery, they know why I’m going,” Gaines said. “They see the importance of that, the importance of having love for your fellow man.”

Mullins is buried next to his mother, who died when she was only 32. Gaines will pluck the weeds then clean the dirt and grime off the brown granite headstone.

Then he’ll just sit and talk and pray.

It may seem odd that Gaines carries a picture of Mullins in his wallet. That his phone number still ends with the number 3800. That he just can’t let go.

Why?

“He’s a person I love,” Gaines said, “and I miss.”

It’s as simple as that.

So what will Gaines’ headstone read one day? Is he a Man of Guilt or Craziness or Courage or Compassion?

Whatever it is, Mullins would be proud to clean it.