Thoughts for silly times

By Jeff Long

Now that Lent 2019 is in full swing, I'd like to hand out some participation trophies. For those who may be unaware, a participation trophy is a crippling idea that has crept into America's national consciousness. The notion of a participation trophy could be called the spiritual equivalent of rewarding not achievement but simply "taking part," as the name implies.

There was a time that if you competed in any sort of endeavor that rewarded winning, the top three finishers received some type of award. The Olympics -- both summer and winter versions -- still, thankfully, adhere to this idea. The bottom line is that a few people win and take home a trophy, a ribbon, et al., and to all others, they must try again later. No recognition. I write this essay as a very poor early-1970s high school two-miler and long jumper. This author never won anything in high school, not even a letterman's jacket. My talent ran to college debating, an endeavor in which I finished first in every competition in which my school entered me. You can't see this, but rhetorically, your essayist is patting himself on the back at this juncture. Failing at many activities, particularly in the athletic realm, induced a greater appreciation for those few areas in which there was some ability. If I hadn't failed in some, there may not have been the desire to find success elsewhere.

March Madness has begun, NCAA basketball's grand tournament to determine the best college hoops team in America. Only a few dozen teams qualify. A few others not quite good enough compete in the NIT, the National Invitation Tournament. For decades, if you didn't make the grade for either of those two tournaments, you were done until next season. Since we live in the participation trophy era, however, there is now another way to gain recognition. Teams with the poorest of records can now compete in something called the College Basketball Invitational. And yes, the winner of the CBI tournament is declared a "champion," and receives a trophy.

We live in silly times. The participation trophy was born out of a good-hearted egalitarian desire to value the effort made by every person, especially every child. The intent is entirely benevolent. But when a person is not permitted to fail at something, he or she may not be properly motivated to find those areas in which they may excel.

Like the tide that cannot be stopped, however, I surrender to silly times. In a spirit of resignation, this author would like to award Lenten participation trophies for legitimate reasons to a couple of biblical figures who never got much recognition for their efforts.

In the Old Testament, I award the first participation trophy to Leah, the unloved wife of Jacob. The book of Genesis reveals that Leah, the older daughter of Laban, kept having Jacob's children in the forlorn hope after each birth that her husband would turn his affection toward her. Jacob, Genesis tells us, was a bigamist; he was also married to Leah's kid sister, Rachel, to whom his heart truly belonged. Leah kept trying, though. Her love was forever unrequited but she persevered. For that extraordinary love for Jacob which he failed to return in any measurable way, Leah deserves a trophy. Not a winner by any worldly standard, Leah is an inspiration to all those women who push on with dignity and grace despite being abandoned by their significant others.

In the New Testament, Barnabas also gets a participation award. There is no book ascribed to his name. The one-time companion of Paul, who introduced Paul to the wary original disciples of Jesus, Barnabas soon took on a thankless job. In the book of Acts, Barnabas decides to split with Paul and chooses to mentor youthful John Mark. Paul casts the young man aside for what the legendary apostle deemed a mistake. Barnabas gets little mention for his efforts at encouragement, but we humans cannot live well without men and women who lift us up when we are, to use a contemporary metaphor, "thrown under the bus." Barnabas gets a trophy too.

Participation trophies are unfortunate but we should be in an endless search for the good in everything -- even silliness.