Tim Tebow is the starting quarterback for the Denver Broncos. He is also an outspoken Christian. He is not a good NFL passer by a long shot. Statistically, he is one of the worst quarterbacks in the league this year. Most football pundits think that he will not succeed in the NFL.

But he keeps winning.  He knows how to lead a team and a locker room. Whatever the “X-factor” is for a winning quarterback, Tebow has it.

On Sunday, he led the Broncos to an overtime playoff victory over the Pittsburgh Steelers. The Steelers are the closest thing the NFL has to royalty. It was a huge upset and a big win for Tebow—the guy who isn’t supposed to succeed in the NFL.

What makes him something of a national spectacle, though, is the way he practices his Christian faith both on and off the field. He prays everywhere, verbally praises God in the middle of games, and begins every interview by acknowledging Jesus’ work in his life.

Off the field, his life is a model of Christian consistency. He preaches regularly, is involved in mission work in the Philippines, and spent at least one college spring break working at an orphanage. People who know him best all report that he is the genuine article. The world would be a better place with more people as genuine in their faith as Tim Tebow.

But here’s where it gets somewhat troubling for me. On Sunday, I found myself rooting for the Steelers. Deep down, I wanted Tebow to lose. You have to understand that I loathe the Steelers. I respect them a lot, but I generally can't stand them. I have never cheered for them to win a game until two days ago when they were playing against Tebow.

Why did I want Tebow to lose? I think it had to do with the way he expresses his faith. I just can’t imagine myself living out my faith the way he does. Don't get me wrong, I want my "walk" to match my "talk" like his does. But his overly forward Christian posture is problematic for me.

For example, he awkwardly inserts Jesus into conversations that don’t really have anything to do with Jesus. I try to avoid this behavior in my life. He also prays regularly in front of tens of thousands of people. He prays on the bench, on the field and in the end zone. I'm all for prayer and want to pray more in my own life. But didn’t Jesus say something about going into your closet to pray?

Anyway, you get the picture. For me, the bottom line for me is this: I just can’t imagine living out my faith in the way he does. And not only can I not imagine it—I don't really want to express my faith that way. I have no doubt Tebow is sincere and loves Jesus. But I am just of turned off by the way he expresses his faith. This is why I rooted against him.

Upon further reflection, I think this is a sin and I need to repent. Tebow is a fellow Christian, and this should  mean something to me with respect to how I think of him. I think I am supposed to be significantly more favorably disposed towards him. To put it a different way, I think I need to treat him like a brother.

Don't get me wrong, this doesn’t mean I have to agree with him or try to emulate the way he expresses his faith. It also doesn’t mean I have to want his team to win. But I do think it means I shouldn’t root against him because of the way he expresses his faith. I need to get over myself.

Here is why I think this is significant. Jesus says that unity in the church is of tremendous importance. In a very important prayer at the end of his life, Jesus prayed that the church would display unity (John 17). This means that even when we disagree about important things, we still act like family. Moreover, the church’s unity is supposed to be one of the ways that the world knows that Jesus is for real. If Christians can’t respect and love one another, why should the world want to hear about Jesus? In other words, living out our familial bond with other Christians is one of the most effective evangelistic strategies we Christians have.

As I think about practicing unity with other Christians, I realize that it is somewhat easier for me to extend grace to Christians who are a bit more “liberal” in their beliefs than I am. It is more of a challenge for me to extend the same kind of grace to Christians like Tebow who are more “conservative” or “mainstream evangelical” in their convictions. However, it doesn’t matter what kind of Christian it’s easier for me to extend grace to. I have to extend grace to them all. It is simply another outworking of the gospel that is supposed to be evident in my life.

So I have learned something from Tim Tebow. I've learned more about my ability to be judgmental of other Christians. I've also learned a little bit more about practicing unity with my brothers and sisters in Christ even when they don't see the world exactly the way I do. Lord have mercy on the church.

Are you defined by your sin? Is your view of yourself ultimately shaped by how you fall short of God's commandments? Read this snippet from a confession of sin (we have used this in our church from time to time):

Dear Lord,

We have left undone those things that we ought to have done;

and we have done those things that we ought not to have done;

and there is no health in us.

The first three lines are fine. We haven’t done all that we should have. We have also done things we should not have done. Hopefully, every Christian is able to confess those things. We need to have enough gospel-driven honesty to assess our lives with integrity.

But my question is about the final line: There is no health in us.

Really? None?

I know it sounds very humble and spiritual. But I don’t think this is a good phrase to use in a confession of sin. I think it paints an unhelpful and misleading picture of what it means to belong to Christ.

To belong to Christ means you are now a "new creation" (2 Cor 5:17). It means you have a “new life” (Colossians 3:3). And it means there is health in you because you have been joined to Christ.

Perfect health? No…not until Christ returns. We still struggle with sin. But real health in the present moment? Absolutely.

In other words, to be a Christian means that you are no longer defined by sin. It means you are now defined by the newness of life you have in Christ. It means your fundamental identity is not that of a sinner—although you still sin. Rather, your fundamental identity is that of a saint who still struggles with sin.

Anthony Hoekema puts it this way in his very helpful book:

We believe in our depravity so strongly we think we have to practice it, while we hardly dare to believe in our newness.

This Sunday, I am going to baptize Amy & Matt Lohse’s newborn son, Mark.

The older I get, the more I love infant baptism. Now, I know that not all Christians practice infant baptism. I have many godly friends who believe and practice otherwise. But the longer I am a pastor and a parent, the more I believe that infant baptism is a beautiful picture of the gospel.

The gospel teaches that God gives grace and acceptance up front—before we have even lifted a finger. God’s grace isn’t a reward we receive for a life well-lived. It’s a hearty embrace and welcome into God’s family that precedes anything we do. That’s the beauty of grace. It’s free and it comes first.

With infant baptism, the same dynamic is at work. You have one or two parents standing on the edge of a very perilous yet potentially rewarding endeavor—raising a child.

What does God do? Before the parents can really bless a kid or screw a kid up, God makes a promise: This child is mine. In the words of one writer, in baptism your child "is being claimed by a promise-keeping Father who is even more faithful than you."

Infant baptism wonderfully depicts that even in parenting, grace comes first. As a parent, I have drawn more comfort from this than anything else.

So when we baptize our infants in worship together, we hear the good news that God has claimed our kids. Our faithful response is to align ourselves with that promise.

Here’s a great article by Jamie Smith that does a great job of explaining this in depth.

This summer, I have really enjoyed listening to Mumford & Sons’ debut album Sigh No More. Their live performance at the Grammys got me hooked. What particularly struck me was the earnestness and joy they exuded while they played.

Unlike some albums I have grown to like, there was no "breaking in" period with this one. I liked the record from the first listen. So did my wife and kids--although my children have never heard “Little Lion Man”).

The songs' musical hooks pulled me right in. And every time I listened to it again, I would pay more attention to the lyrics. They took me even deeper. In addition to being peppered with allusions to Shakespeare, Plato, the Bible and Homer, the songs were chronicling a significant spiritual struggle. As a pastor, this heightened my curiosity even more.

So I did some digging and discovered that their front man and primary songwriter (Marcus Mumford) was raised in a Christian family. His parents are actually the head of the Vineyard Churches in the UK.

Knowing this and upon further listening, I concluded this record fits in a genre I call Prodigal Psalms. It is a collection of songs and prayers of a man who has wandered away from God.

The first song is a great (but non-specific) desire to be made whole again. On the opening track, “Sigh No More,” we hear:

Love it will not betray you
Dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free

This succinctly describes a fundamental human longing. But what sets these songs apart is how they progress. Like many others, they start by talking about general concepts like love and redemption. But they don't stay aloof and guarded. They quickly move to direct, personal conversation. Marcus is no longer singing about something. He is singing to someone.

On “Roll Away Your Stone,” we hear these words:

Cause you told me that I would find a hole,
Within the fragile substance of my soul
And I have filled this void with things unreal,
And all the while my character it steals.

So who is the “you” that he is talking to? With the fairly clear title reference to Jesus’ resurrection, it’s safe to assume he is talking to God. It sounds like the grief of a prodigal who has made a mess of his life and doesn’t want God to abandon him. He’s filled his soul with “things unreal” and it’s eaten away at him instead of giving him life.

This “direct address” and engagement of God makes these songs like the Biblical Psalms. While some Psalms talk about God and redemption, the majority of them speak directly to God. The Psalms model direct engagement with God in all kinds of life circumstances—joy, hope, sorrow, and defeat.

This is what encourages me about these songs. I know a lot of prodigals. Many of them only talk about God. It’s far better to talk directly to God, even if that conversation is loaded with questions, doubts and pain.

So if Marcus Mumford is a prodigal, what’s keeping him from coming home? Obviously, I can’t be sure. But paired with the “longing for home” that we hear in these songs, we also find, in the lyrics and in the music, an incredibly forceful and direct anger.

In the same song I mentioned earlier, “Roll Away Your Stone,” Marcus expresses what seems to be an absolute refusal to submit.

But you, you’ve gone too far this time
You have neither reason nor rhyme
With which to take this soul that is so rightfully mine

He is claiming possession of his own soul and saying that God has no right to take it.

This is where these songs depart from the Biblical Psalms. The Biblical Psalms are often raw and often unfiltered. But even the ones written in the most difficult situations resolve in confident trust in God’s goodness. Michael preached yesterday on Psalm 13, which is a classic example of this kind of resolution. The one exception that proves the rule is Psalm 88, which ends in darkness. But even with Psalm 88’s “dark night of the soul,” 99% of the Psalms end with the Psalmist being in a place of trust of and submission to God.

Marcus Mumford isn’t there yet.

But the encouraging thing is that he seems to be haunted by God. He knows too much to walk away.

I have been there myself. I spent several years as a prodigal. But even in my running from God, I was still unable to shake him. God ultimately brought me home.

So in the meantime, I will continue to enjoy Marcus Mumford's music and pray for this prodigal (and the others I know). God pursues those who walk away. We celebrate this in stories like the prodigal son. This past Sunday in worship we sang about God's pursuit of his wayward people. We sang, “Jesus sought me, when a stranger, wandering from the fold of God.”

Do it again, Lord.