The Pastor, the Porch, and a Father’s Fight With Faith
The porch doubles as the pastor’s office and his sanctuary. It’s where he writes sermons, studies philosophy and wrestles with everything from mass shootings to the violence inherent in pro football. It’s early September, the Florida heat sticky, bugs swarming the lights. Gold Terrible Towels hang above the pastor’s desk, next to the rolling book cart stuffed with self-help volumes, both tucked against the house, protected by the awning overhead.
Youthful, bespectacled and clean shaven, the pastor wears Steelers flip-flops and a T-shirt with SHALIEVE splashed across the front. He clutches a Cuban cigar in his right hand, pausing for the occasional puff. The NFL season kicked off the night before, but he didn’t watch one play—he hardly watches football anymore. Instead, he retreated to the porch, hoping to find peace. And if not peace, then wisdom. And if neither peace nor wisdom, then at least a break from searching for both.
The pastor twirls the cigar as he laughs about porches. He’s not sure why, but in his 49 years on Earth, in his various incarnations—Navy veteran, engineer, pastor, team chaplain for the Dolphins, football dad and anguished parent—he has found being outdoors more conducive to contemplation. That’s why, five years ago, he bought this house in Coral Springs with the expansive space out back, and why he outfitted it with lounge chairs, speakers that pipe in jazz and notebooks to be filled.
Most people, the pastor says, should spend more time thinking about issues that don’t impact them directly. It’s difficult, though. He spent a good portion of his adulthood helping others overcome their problems—counseling, encouraging, simplifying.
Trust your convictions, he’d tell them, until the day when he couldn’t fully trust his own. A new football season is here, making the weight of it feel a little heavier. “The last 20 months,” Vernon Shazier says, “I’ve wrestled with my faith more than I ever had in my life.”
* * *
Everything changed two years ago. On Dec. 4, 2017, Vernon was wrapping up a meeting at his church, River of Life Fellowship, when his wife began bombarding his cell. Shawn had been home, watching their son, Steelers Pro Bowl linebacker Ryan Shazier, play on
Monday Night Football. Her husband at first ignored the calls, at one point texting back that he was in a meeting. Then she buzzed again, and this time he stepped out and took the call, “Ryan’s hurt,” Shawn said frantically, “he’s not moving!”
That night, she had watched as Ryan called out signals for the Steelers defense in Cincinnati. She watched him sprint forward to tackle a receiver on a short crossing route—the kind of play she’d watched him make a thousand times before. She watched as he crumpled to the ground after contact, immediately reaching for his lower back. And she watched as he writhed on the ground for more than two minutes as medical staffers from both teams surrounded him—the broadcast cutting away to close-ups of concerned teammates and slow-motion replays—until he was loaded onto a stretcher and carted off the field.
Vernon grabbed his briefcase and sprinted to his truck. He was backing out when his phone buzzed again. This time it was Ryan, calling from the ambulance. “Daddy, pray for me,” he screamed. “I can’t feel my legs.”
“That showed me how fast everything can change,” Vernon says. “You go from holding all kings to no face cards. Doesn’t matter who you are.”
In that moment Vernon couldn’t consider the bigger questions. He didn’t ask why the God he loved so dearly had robbed his oldest son, the world-class athlete, only 25, of feeling below his waist. He didn’t have time to wonder whether the boy would ever walk again.
Daddy, pray for me. I can’t feel my legs. “I’ll never forget those words,” he says.
The Steelers would soon send a private plane to transport the family to Ohio. Vernon understood that he was not the first parent to watch a loved one fall limp on a football field. He loved the game and knew the risks; for years, he had prayed for and with NFL players. He had counseled parishioners, right on his front porch, as they confronted death and tragedy. This, though, was different, sudden and personal. Right away, he knew that he had a problem, that he would have to square his life’s calling with his son’s injury. But how?
In the months that followed, the public followed Ryan’s progress on drips of social media as he fought to walk again. What people didn’t see was his family’s struggle and his father’s crisis. A man who saw all life events as part of a divine plan was now wondering, suddenly, how to console his own shattered family. That night Vernon fell to his knees on the porch, begging God both to heal Ryan and help him understand.
The Shaziers flew to Cincinnati, then traveled with Ryan to Pittsburgh three days later. Shortly after they arrived at a hospital near the team’s facility, they learned that Ryan needed emergency surgery to stabilize his spine. “When?” his father asked.
“Twenty minutes,” the doctor replied.
Vernon wanted to project strength, even when his knees wobbled and his eyes burned with grief. He did his weeping in private, behind the bolted door of a hospital men’s room stall. Or tugging on an overcoat so he could sit inside his car, tears freezing as they rolled down his cheeks. “I probably cried 15 to 20 times a day,” he says, “but never in front of anyone else.”
He also spent those breaks in isolation talking to himself.
Vernon, you have to decide whether you believe or don’t believe what you’ve been teaching and preaching about God.
.
.
.
continued
Entire article:
https://www.si.com/nfl/2019/12/04/ryan-shazier-pastor-father-reaction-to-injury