A very good day

One of my favorite films of all time is Tender Mercies. Released in 1983, Robert Duvall won the Oscar for Best Actor for his performance in this brilliant tale of redemption. If you've never seen this movie, you should.

Duvall plays Mac Sledge, an alcoholic who was once a country music star. Mac hits rock bottom in a motel room in a rural Texas town and becomes the motel's handyman to work off his bill.

The movie is filled with great moments. At one point Mac and his new stepson Sonny are baptized together in a humble country church. As they ride home after the baptism, they're not sure what they should be feeling. Sonny finally asks Mac if he feels "different". "Not yet," Mac replies.

I was thinking of that scene yesterday as two events converged to make it the biggest and best day in the Best Year Ever.

Yesterday morning I knelt as the elders of my church laid hands on me, our pastor said a prayer and the congregation gave its formal assent. At that moment I was ordained as a deacon in my Presbyterian church. I even have a framed certificate to prove this really happened and I didn't dream it.

If you knew me "back in the day" this small tale of redemption might come as a surprise.

I'm excited and nervous about holding the office of deacon. A real job comes with the title, since in our denomination the deacons are charged as caretakers of the church and members in need. It's an honor to be made an officer in the church, but it's also a huge obligation--one I'm determined to live up to.

On the drive home I asked myself if I felt "different". Not yet, but I want to be.

But there was a second major event in my life yesterday. The New Orleans Saints played the Minnesota Vikings in the biggest football game New Orleans has ever seen.

You can say that it was "just" a game. But that isn't true. No, not at all. I can't exaggerate the importance of this particular game to the life of a city and its people.

The Saints form a huge part of the self-identity of the city of New Orleans, and the people there are bonded to the team in a way that is difficult to explain to outsiders. But I'll try anyway.

For most of their 43 year history, the Saints were lovable losers. They were bad. How bad? They were so bad that at one point many Saints fans came to the games wearing paper bags over their heads. The bagheads, as they were known, were determined to support the team, no matter how terribly they performed. They never won anything and they were always losers, but they were "our" losers, and New Orleanians loved their "boys" anyway.

The Louisiana Superdome, where the Saints play their home games, is a landmark and iconic structure for the city. It has hosted Super Bowls, college championships, political conventions, Mardi Gras parties and a host of other major events. It had holes ripped in it and sheltered refugees for those first dark disorganized days following Hurricane Katrina. To New Orleanians, the Dome is much more than just a building.

If you're not a New Orleanian, you can't fully understand how important yesterday's game was for the city. To win in the Dome and go on to a Super Bowl would mean a kind of redemption for a place in desperate need of moving on from the most difficult period in its history.

Kickoff was at 5:40 p.m. and I had been looking forward to this moment as much as anyone on the planet.

When Teri reminded me that there was a special service being held at our church Sunday evening at 6, my heart sank. Church officers are expected to show up when evening services are held--not just the major Sunday morning service. It's not a rule or anything, but it comes with the territory.

Before yesterday I wouldn't have considered going to that service and missing a moment of the biggest football game of my life. Not for anything.

So my first test came within a few hours of becoming a deacon. How different was I? Where did my priorities lie?

As the message Sunday evening ran on and on, I squirmed in the pew. Teri patted my leg several times to comfort and restrain me. I don't know what the message was about last night. I was too distracted, and whatever points were made, they went in one ear and out the other.

We rushed home and made it back in time to watch most of the second half. The game was a thriller that the Saints won in overtime and in miraculous fashion. After 43 years of futility, the Bless You Boys were going to the Super Bowl. Redemption!

Teri and I screamed and cried as we danced in our living room. I'll bet almost everyone in New Orleans screamed and cried last night. If you are very lucky, you get to experience a handful of moments of pure joy in your lifetime, and this was one of mine.

That moment of pure joy made me think of another line from Tender Mercies. Mac's life has turned for the good, but he's not confident his new luck will last. "I don’t trust happiness. I never did and I never will," he says with bitterness and suspicion in his voice.

Lucky for me, there's no special service scheduled at our church on Super Bowl Sunday, two weeks from now, so I won't have to face the Saints test a second time.

Super Bowl party at my house. Who's bringing the dip?