Autumn = Andy Griffith = Football = The Harvest

Even as a lad I loved the poetic artistry of James Whitcomb Riley. You can almost feel the brisk autumn air as you read his poignant words: “When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.”

Johnny Mercer took a French song, “Les feuilles mortes” (literally “The Dead Leaves”) and translated it into the much loved “Autumn Leaves.” The words “The falling leaves drift by my window; the autumn leaves of red and gold” were popularized by the smooth vocal rendition of Nat King Cole.

Then, of course, Vincent Van Gogh remarkably captured the essence of autumn on canvas in his masterpieces “Autumn Landscape at Dark,” “Avenue of Poplars in Autumn,” and “Autumn Landscape with Four Trees.”

I love autumn. Few places are more beautiful than the mountains of north Georgia during this time of the year. The leaves that have been producing chlorophyll all during the spring and summer months begin to break down. This is a necessary process in order for the leaves to take on the hues of autumn.

Some tree and shrub species are genetically capable of taking the carbohydrates left in the leaves and turning them into anthocyanins. These are the red pigments responsible for the reds, pinks, and purples in leaves. Other plants not genetically capable of making the anthocyanins reveal the more stable orange and yellow pigments (carotene and xanthophyll).

While some aesthetically sensitive people have their appreciation of autumn heightened through poetry, others through song, still others through painted masterpieces, and even others through an understanding of creation’s miraculous metamorphosis as summer is transformed into fall, I think of the more mundane, colloquial, pedestrian things of life like that zipped-up, air-filled spheroid made of pigskin that makes a slave of most men from late August to early February. As Andy Griffith would say, “What it was, was football.”

Griffith, born in Mount Airy, N.C., (my home state) attended the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill and earned a bachelor’s degree in music in 1949. Perhaps his days at UNC and the time he spent at Kenan Stadium inspired him to write the famous monologue on football that thrust him into the limelight as an entertainer.

However, I saw Andy Griffith’s Tar Heels play Clemson on television a few weeks ago and I am not sure that what I saw was football – at least not from the team dressed in the white and sky blue uniforms. North Carolina got beat 52-7, and Clemson was merciful at that.

I feel certain that the Carolina team had practiced hard during the week preceding the game. Most reports indicated that the Tar Heels have had good recruiting classes in recent years. At the beginning of the game the fans were enthusiastic. The cheerleaders were loud and animated, the band was playing “I’m a Tar Heel born, I’m a Tar Heel bred, and when I die, I’m a Tar Heel dead.”

However, despite the presumed good practice sessions, the detailed scouting reports, and all the fanfare and hoopla, the Tar Heels were never really in the game. Some would suggest that they practiced for a game they never played.

I think that happens more frequently than we would ever want to admit in the church. We go to our practice sessions. We hear the Word of God. We worship. We go through a process of discipleship training. We learn about confronting the world and winning the lost, but there is some kind of a disconnect once we leave the church house.

We hear the call to arms. We get our assignment. We even realize the situation is desperate, but we fail to engage the enemy. We are sinfully silent even though there are countless souls around us who need the Lord.

North Carolina’s autumn has not improved much since the debacle in Clemson’s Death Valley. Consequently, before the autumn has ended the Tar Heels may decide to dismiss their coach and hope for a more promising season next year.

Jeremiah cried out in the autumn of his life, lamenting, “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved” (Jer. 8:20). I do not know how many more autumns we will have, but I know the harvest is ripe and the hour is late and whatever we do, we must do quickly.

Incidentally, football is just a game. Our quest for the kingdom and for souls is an issue with eternal consequences.