In I Kings 22, the king of Israel and the king of Judah were wondering if they should go into battle against the Arameans. The King of Israel called on 400 prophets, and all 400 said that Israel would be victorious. 

Jehoshaphat, the king of Judah, wasn’t satisfied, and called on the prophet Micaiah to ask if Israel would be victorious. At first, Micaiah went along with the crowd, but the suspicious king urged him to tell the truth in the name of the Lord. Micaiah then said he saw Israel defeated, scattered like sheep without a shepherd. For telling truth to power, Micaiah was first slapped and then thrown into prison.

I thought of that story while watching the Super Bowl a few weeks ago. 

In the hours of pregame coverage and even during the game itself, the National Football League tried hard to convince us that we were participating in an act of patriotic unity by watching the Super Bowl. The narrative told us that America is united, and the Super Bowl proves it. Regardless of political persuasion, religious affinity, economic background, or any other difference, we were experiencing the same thing. Brad Pitt, Tom Brady, Michael Strahan, and several others were trotted out to espouse the narrative of a united America. This game was an expression of our core values. This game is who we really are.

Of course we are going to win. We’re Israel. Of course we are united. We’re America.

To me, it felt disingenuous, like a bunch of prophets telling the King of Israel what he wanted to hear.  But, if you were settling in for a night of mindless entertainment, it seemed pretty comforting. 

Then something remarkable happened—the halftime show. Kendrick Lamar was like Micaiah, the lone prophet delivering a message from the Lord.  

The halftime show began with Samuel L Jackson, satirically dressed as Uncle Sam, demanding that Lamar entertain the crowd. But Lamar did not entertain in ways we are accustomed to. In fact, his goal didn’t seem to be entertainment. Instead he focused on the game he was being forced to play. Throughout the performance, Jackson, embodying the character of dominant white American culture, chided Lamar for being “too ghetto” and not giving a feel good show. 

The show ended leaving many white people, including those with whom I was watching, scratching their heads. 

That was the point. While Lamar gave a brilliant artistic performance, the point was truth-telling. Among the myriad of symbols and suggestions that Lamar was making, the unfolding story was very different from the one we had been watching up to that point. Lamar stood in the middle of a divided American flag, proclaiming that we are a divided people. 

From beginning to end, he declared himself to be NOT the one the NFL should have chosen to entertain the masses. He started his show by saying, “You picked the right time but the wrong guy.” Song after song reminded viewers that the United States is a place of diverse narratives. Lamar prodded me to understand that he is from a place and has endured a struggle much different than mine. His story is different from that of many of the millions watching the game. 

It may have been unnerving to some, but it was joyful and uplifting to others. Instead of telling us to be united around football, Kendrick Lamar told the truth and reminded us that for too many in this country the game is rigged. The NFL‘s refusal to acknowledge this made the rest of the night seem ridiculous.

The reactions have been telling. 

Countless white voices took to social media and cable news to proclaim the halftime show was lackluster or was part of a DEI initiative. I guess we should take some consolation that Kendrick Lamar wasn’t slapped and thrown into prison. 

But other reactions were also pouring in, praising Lamar for producing a layered and complex piece of art and for sharing a truth that they have also known. He brought a story that was actually worth celebrating in the midst of the bland NFL offering. (I think everyone would benefit from Josh Johnson’s take. His dissection of the halftime show, its symbolism and artistic expression are worth 50 minutes of your time. You can find it here.)

As a privileged, straight, white male, I am probably the last person qualified to comment on what Kendrick Lamar was doing. However, I am also a pastor who also believes that the church has an important lesson to learn from him. So let me humbly and imperfectly propose the following:

Today is Ash Wednesday. Protestants have not traditionally emphasized Ash Wednesday. It’s been seen as a Catholic thing. And let’s face it, it’s just not as much fun to talk about Ash Wednesday as it is to talk about Easter Sunday. 

Easter is a day of resurrection. It’s the church’s victory day. We are assured God is the one who wins the victory and we get to participate in that victory. Easter is the church’s version of a Super Bowl Sunday. The battle’s been won! Hallelujah! Amen! 

But Ash Wednesday tells the truth. Not that Easter is not true. But Easter isn’t Easter and resurrection isn’t resurrection if nothing has died. We need to tell the truth about that. If we don’t tell that truth, we’re like the NFL proclaiming we are united when we’re not. We have to say we are ashes and we are dust and we are going back to dust. We are going to die.  

The church can take a lesson from Kendrick Lamar. Our denominations and local churches are broken. Our systems often marginalize the vulnerable and reward the powerful. This acknowledgement must come first if we hope to be made whole again.   

Like the 400 prophets in I Kings 22, the NFL put on an event intended to convince us that we are united and that we can ignore the incredibly difficult work we need to do. Thank goodness for Kendrick Lamar, who told the truth. On Ash Wednesday, let us acknowledge that we are broken and divided. We are mortal. Before we realize the new life of resurrection, let us acknowledge all of this. 

May our long journey toward Easter begin in the right place. May we join the chorus of the brave prophets who tell the truth. May the healing we need begin with honesty about where we are.