Wanner 'n mens vreemde keuses vir God maak.

Ek lees die twee berigte (aangehaal hier onder) oor Euan Murray wat weier om op Sondae vir Skotland in toetswedstryde te speel.

Skielik oorval horde herinneringe my. Vir baie van ons herinner hierdie berig ons aan jare waarin Sondae nog ‘n dag van rus was – met besighede wat toe was, geen flieks, geen televisie, geen sport. Jy kon nie op ‘n Sondag swem nie of naaldwerk doen nie. Op die bitterste somersdag moes jy tuis jouself besig hou terwyl g’n kind of kraai om jou beweeg het nie. Vir ons was dit maar bitter tye.

Hierdie “Sabbatsonderhouding” was deel van ons puriteinse erfenis. Dikwels is on bly dat ons ontslae is daarvan. Dat ons nie meer "wetties" leef nie.

Ek lees die berig oor Murray en dit val my op hoedat Murray deur ‘n traumatiese ervaring met ‘n ernstige besering tydens 'n rugbywedstryd gelei is om weer ‘n keer oor sy lewe na te dink. Iets het met hom gebeur daardie dag toe hy ‘n verskriklike hou en toe ‘n aanval gekry het wat hom laat dink het hy gaan sterf. Juis op die plek waar sy lewe soveel sin gemaak het, op die rugbyveld, daar het hy tot stilstand gekom.

Of: Dit was of iets groters hom tot stilstand geruk het.

Die oomblik van Aanraking.

Skielik het hy die diepere vrae gevra: “I had many questions. Like, what are we here for? And where am I going when I die?” Lewensvrae het op die rugbyveld hulleself aan hom opgedring.

En die antwoorde het hy nie by sy rugbymaats gevind nie.

Hy het dit in sy geloof gevind.

En wat my veral opval is hoedat hy, soos die antwoorde gekom het, die roem van die uitblinker-sportman herwaardeer het. Hy het ‘n heeltemal ander kyk op sy vorige lewe gekry:

"The money, the possessions, the fame, the great elusive relationship – all bubbles that appear perfectly spherical, all the colours of the rainbow. They're bright and shiny and light as a feather, and you chase them because it's good fun, but the minute you get them they burst and they're empty." He pauses. "I'd had enough of chasing bubbles."

Ek is geboeid deur sy woorde. Die beskrywing is digterlik mooi en die woorde roer my in hul egtheid.

Hier sien ek ook die nietiging raak - daardie onvermydelike kant van die mistiek. Ons ken dit almal. Daardie oomblikke in jou lewe waarin jy besef dat niks, en dan ook niks geluk en vrede kan koop nie. Dat jy skaamte ervaar oor jou lewe van armoede sonder God. Dat alles wat altyd vir jou so belangrik was, vaal lyk. Nietig lyk.

Al waar jy nou vrede gaan vind, weet jy, is by God.

Ek lees geboeid hoedat hy vertel dat sy keuse ‘n hele proses aan die gang sit. Hy voel dat sy besluite van hom met verloop van tyd en soos hy daarmee geworstel het, ‘n sterker mens maak. Dit is nie maklik nie. Dit vra maar stry en vasbyt.

En dit vra maar om soms vreemde besluite te neem wat vir ander mense verbaas en selfs verstom.

Hy is duidelik terughoudend, selfs verleë, met die opspraak wat sy standpunt verwek.

En dan merk 'n mens ook die onverwagte uitkoms wat sy ervaring bring. Iewers bring die groot omwenteling ook in sy lewe die wederkerigheid, die vredige bestaan by God. Noudat hy 'n nuwe perspektief het, keer dit sy lewe om en bring dit nuwe ervaringe. Dit bring ook in sy sport diepte:

When I became a Christian my life away from rugby changed hugely. I went to church, I looked after myself more, I used my time better, I prayed. I prayed about my rugby and asked whether or not I should stay in the game. I stayed and the following season the doors suddenly opened. I got a regular place in the Scotland team and things have been good ever since. Over the last few years I've found out what a Christian should be. A Christian should be the hardest worker of all."

Hy het deur sy geloof en deur sy keuse vir God en sy verstaaan van die Bybel ‘n meer toegewyde mens geword. Van sy kant het dit gevra van hom om ‘n harde werker te wees. Sy geloof het nie sy sport tot ‘n einde gebring nie, maar dit tot nuwe hoogtes laat ontplooi. Hy word 'n beter rugbyspeler.

Daar sit in sy nuwe lewe van toewyding ook 'n stuk dissipline in sy geloofslewe: Murray sê in die onderhoude dat hy op ‘n Sondag twee keer kerk toe gaan. En dan nog in die week twee keer. Daardie groot rugbylyf wat selfs die Beast reggesien het, skuif elke week ten minste vier keer in die kerkbanke in. En hy vertel hoedat sommige preke sy lewe verander het. Hy luister, hy onthou, hy neeem die woorde van Bo in en dit skuif hom, verander hom.

Maar dit het tog vir hom as individu beteken dat hy rugby op ‘n Sondag opgeoffer het. Selfs baie spesiale wedstryde – selfs ‘n toetswedstryd teen die Franse. Vir hom was dit die regte ding om te doen. Hy neem niemand anders kwalik wat dit nie doen nie. Hy bid selfs vir sy maats wanneer hulle op Sondag op die veld sal wees.

En dit is hier dat die opspraak nie uitbly nie: Onmiddellik oor die wêreld heen het berigte oor Murray se keuse verskyn. Google dit maar en sien hoeveel mense nuuskierig wou weet wat die man, hierdie groot rugbyspeler dan kan besiel. Dit is asof mense vra: Is hy nog by? Wat makeer hom? Daar is amper ‘n ondertoon van: Iemand wat op Sondag tyd net vir die Here wil maak en dit ten koste van unieke sporthoogtepunte in sy lewe, is bietjie laf.

Mense wat vandag nog die Sondag as ‘n stil dat van rus saam met die Here en vir die Here vier, is die uitsondering – dit is duidelik as ‘n mens na Murray se ervaring kyk.

Nie baie sportmense sal Sondae so opoffer nie. Die dag as een van hulle wel daaroor dink en daaroor besluit, luister ‘n klomp mense, soms miljoene mense, in verwondering.

Of met ‘n stuk sinisme. Soos die verslaggewer wat vir hom vra of hy dan nie Dawkins de boek “The God Delusion” gelees het nie. Mense wat in ons dag en datum nog in God glo is sielkundige gevalle... Kan ‘n normale rugbyspeler dan nog so deur sy godsdiens “mislei” word?

Ek dink ook ons vra heimlik in ons hart dieselfde soort vraag: Ons wil so bietjie minder puriteins wees, minder fanaties, dink ons. Ons wil gematigde Christene wees. Nie te verkramp nie. Christene moet tog darem nie pretbederwers wees nie. En wat is dan nou so erg aan ‘n rugbywedstryd op Sondag?

En tog: Selfs ons luister iewers versigtiger na hierdie rugbyspeler wat die dieper vrae gevra het en wie se lewe vertel van ‘n hele proses van omvorming wat daardeur aan die gang gesit is. Wat weet wanneer die siel skade ly....

Dit val my op hoe teensinnig Murray hieroor praat. Hy is op geen kruistog nie. Dit is vir hom ‘n persoonlike saak waaroor hy gebid het en wat vir hom werk en wat sy geloof verdiep. Dit is die woorde van ‘n man wat iets spesiaals wil weghou van spot en sinisme. Dit is vir hom ‘n ervaring wat nie gebruik mag word om geloof belaglik te maak nie.

Ek besef ook by die lees van die artikel hoe sensitief hierdie saak werklik is. Jy kan so maklik hierdie persoonlike keuse van Murray as ‘n stuk moralisme afmaak. Of ‘n mens kan nou as kruisvaarder weer die pad vat om die ou tradisies oor Sondag te laat “herleef.”

Dus wonder ek in hierdie week nadat ek Griffiths se Golden String gelees het waarin hy vertel van die merkwaardige tye dat hy ure in gebed by God wou deurbring, oor Murray se getuienis. Griffiths vertel hoedat hierdie tye vir hom allerbelangriks was.

Murray se getuienis is nie deur hom uitgebasuin nie. Dit is uit hom getrek deur ‘n verslaggewer wat toevalling daarop afgekom het. Maar dit is tog vir hom belangrik. Sy hart is in hierdie besluit van hom.

Maar die aritkel laat blyk waarom hy tot hierdie besluit gekom het. Rugby kan nie vir hom die dieper dinge bied wat hy op ‘n Sondag in die kerk vind nie. Dit is vir hom geen pyn of straf om die keuse te maak nie. Dit is vir hom die logiese ding om te doen in die lig van sy geloof. Dit is iets waarin sy hart is. En dit gee hom vrede.

Miskien is dit tyd dat ons weer begin nadink oor Sondag – daardie dag waarop selfs God gerus het. Die dag wat aan die Here behoort. Maar wat ons dikwels ons dag gemaak het.

Eintlik, vermoed ek, is daar in ons harte dieselfde verlange na vrede om op die Here se dag stil te word. Dit wat vir ons kleintyd so bitter was, het die belofte om so soet soos heuning te wees.


Six Nations: 'Rugby is not what fuels my happiness,' says Euan Murray (oorgeneem uit die Guardian).
Scotland prop Euan Murray on why he refuses to play on Sundays and will not watch their first match.
Euan Murray will miss Scotland's Six Nations opener against France.
Euan Murray wraps his arms around his 18st body and shivers. The Northampton Saints and Scotland tighthead prop is a mountain of a man, but he looks vulnerable when facing the subject of his religious choices.
This Sunday, as Scotland take on France at Murrayfield in their first match of the Six Nations, the 29-year old will not be on the pitch. He has decided to forgo Sunday matches, and all non-religious activity that affects the Christian Sabbath – including interviews with Sunday newspapers.
Tired of explaining himself, he recently informed his club that he would no longer discuss the decision, and so as we approach the subject Murray sighs. He rearranges his feet on the coffee table in front of him, and sinks deeper into his coat, visibly retreating. "What do you want me to say about it? I don't think I need to say much about it. It's a decision, a difficult decision I had to make. And I'm happy with my decision."
There is a stony silence. The interest in his story has been intense and there is a weariness apparent over being cast in the role of religious curiosity of the week. But it is impossible for Murray not to discuss the subject in detail because his two great loves – rugby and Christianity – are so inextricably linked. Even as he speaks the language of the two collide. "Take my yoke upon thee …" he says, quoting the Bible, before pausing to note the irony. "You know like the yoke we use in training?"
To sacrifice one for the other has been tough and there is a revealing sadness in his voice as he describes what it has been like to miss games for Northampton. "I missed being part of it," he says quietly. "Someone actually told me the score the last time and I was really, really happy that we'd won."
Does he sometimes wonder if he's made the right decision? There is a very long pause. "I believe that biblically I've made the right decision." And emotionally? Murray blows out his cheeks. "Well, when you really become a Christian, life's a battle. You're going against the tide. The crowd are going one way and you're going another. It's always going to be a battle to be different. The easy thing is to go along with the crowd, everybody's doing it. You know? Try going the opposite direction to a crowd. It's hard. You won't get very far."
Did he realise the attention would be so relentless after his announcement? "No I didn't," he says, "but I didn't actually make an announcement. A reporter found out, wrote an article on it and then the Scottish Rugby Union confirmed that I wouldn't be playing on a Sunday." He shifts uneasily in his seat.
And so, when his team-mates run out against France on Sunday, what will he be doing? "I'll do the same thing I do every Sunday," he says. "Relax, rest, and enjoy the day. I won't watch the game. It's a day where I can enjoy the Lord." Will it be hard to not think about rugby? He laughs. "Yeah! I'll pray for the team. We'll see what happens. It's challenging. But ultimately rugby's not what fuels my happiness in life."
He stops, and then smiles. "I just wish that games of rugby weren't played on Sundays. Christ doesn't want them to be played on Sundays."
Murray was raised as a Christian, his mother taking the family to church in Glasgow. But he only turned to Christ in earnest after he was knocked unconscious in a game against Munster in September 2005. For those who witnessed the incident, the images are distressing. A collision with Anthony Horgan's knee sent Murray's head snapping back. As he lay on the pitch, his face contorted, his body writhing, he suffered a horrific seizure. Those around him thought he was dying. When he finally regained consciousness he entered a state of delirium, swaying on his feet and battling with the paramedics as he roared in confusion.
"Sometimes it takes a bang on the head to wake someone up," he says. "Some people don't get that chance. For some people it's bang, dead." He laughs.
It was after that day that Murray began to reflect on his life as a professional sportsman. He says that at the time he was lured by bright lights and an extravagant lifestyle. He says he often drank too much. He sniffs. "If you drink heavily your body doesn't recover as quickly. Injuries don't recover as quickly." Murray found that out the hard way as he battled with injuries including a broken shinbone and ankle ligament problems which hampered the development of his talent. Team mates described his body as "rotten" – an interesting word. He smiles, noting the moral nuances. "It is, yeah. It is an interesting word. I find it funny … remembering that now."
He suggests that the path many professional sportsmen follow is "rotten". He tries to explain. "All the shiny bubbles," he says, holding out his big hands and shaking his head in sadness. "The money, the possessions, the fame, the great elusive relationship – all bubbles that appear perfectly spherical, all the colours of the rainbow. They're bright and shiny and light as a feather, and you chase them because it's good fun, but the minute you get them they burst and they're empty." He pauses. "I'd had enough of chasing bubbles."
What were the "bubbles"? "The attraction of all the glamour and glitz that society puts up on a pedestal and says is the be all and end all. All the tinsel, you know? The success. There are many ways of measuring success – it could be in popularity, the funniest guy, or the guy with the best scores, it could be money, it could be getting the best-looking girl, lifting the most in the gym, having the best clothes, it could be being the best rugby player in the world." He trails off. "It's not wrong to be funny, or have a great-looking wife. It's not wrong to have money and to want to be the best player in the world, but if that is your idol then that is wrong."
In finding God, he says, Murray was able to change his path. He picks up a mug of tea and a glass of water and holds them out in front of him. "This is the tea, all dirty and horrible, this is me, yeah? That's Jesus," he says, motioning to the water. "Pure. He's taken that filth upon himself and before God he says, 'Punish me for it'. He's been punished and look what he's given me. That perfect goodness in the eyes of God. He's declared me innocent." He swills the dregs of the tea and smiles. Can it be that simple? "I'm ashamed of the things I've done. Of course I am. But I'm thankful I have a saviour. He's saved me from that lifestyle. He's given me a new life."
In a portrait of Murray it would be misleading to only reference the religious sportsman. As a young boy growing up in the countryside south of Glasgow he worked on a farm, mucking out the outhouses, feeding the milk calves. "I loved working with animals, and the manual hard work," he says. "It made me strong."
He went on to qualify as a veterinarian – "because I love puppies and kittens," he jokes – only embarking on a professional rugby career at the advanced age of 23. Even so, during that first year of rugby he still practised as a vet one day a week, before deciding to give it up and focus on the game.
"My mum still gets me to clean the dog's ears, though. Or anal glands," he laughs. "It's a very specialist procedure. They've got an Alsatian now – big ears. But the dog they had before used to get anal gland problems so he needed them squeezed. Yummy! I haven't had to put any of my vet skills to use on the team yet … none of the ones mentioned, anyway."
After his accident against Munster Murray considered retirement and a return to the veterinary profession, but his passion for the game kept him in it and now at Northampton he seems to have found his spiritual home, in more senses than one. "Have you ever been here for a match?" he asks, before embarking on a breathlessly excited description of matchday at Franklin's Gardens. "These supporters have such respect for the game. Either team could be kicking and there is dead silence – you can hear a pin drop. If somebody shouts out to distract the kicker he gets told to shut up. You can hear them going, 'Shh! Shut up!' There's nowhere else that happens. They've got manners, you know? It's amazing."
Two seasons ago he helped to haul the Saints back into the Premiership, and he seems to relish the challenge of performing to aid an underachieving side – Scotland being a prime example.
He smiles broadly at the mention of Scotland's chances of winning the championship, a feat they have not achieved since 1999, when they won the last Five Nations before the arrival of Italy. "I wish we were more successful, I'd love it if we were. The team have been getting good wins in the autumn, the way we've developed over the last three years, this could be the year."
But at the first hurdle his side will be without him. Does that not conflict with the team ethos of the sport? Murray is philosophical. "You bring your individual assets to benefit the team," he says, "and hopefully you'll get synergy when you put all these different components together. I'm a Christian, I try to be hard working, honest and fair. That's what I bring to the team."
When he is absent, as on Sunday, Murray can only pray that those qualities will not be missed too much.

IT STARTED like this; some innocuous questions batted away by enigmatic answers, some easy queries about his fitness met with friendly reticence. Euan Murray, recent destroyer of an All Black nicknamed Whopper and a Springbok known as Beast, has metamorphosed into a hesitant creature. Gone is the wrecking ball. Here, instead, is a subtle man of mystery.

"So how was training this week?" I ask.

"Oh, I didn't train, I was only watching," he says.

"Only watching?"

"Yeah, only watching. But I can't really disclose anything. It's a secret."

"A secret?"

"Yeah, I can't say any more."

He's laughing now, laughing and saying come on, we've better things to talk about than this. But this is kind of peculiar.

"Will you be playing this weekend for Northampton?"

"I won't be, no."

"Will you be playing for Scotland next Sunday, then?"

"Well, today is Wednesday and I can tell you what's happening today but I can't see into the future."

"Has something happened?" I ask.

"How do you mean?"

"Are you injured?"

"I can't say."

"Are you suspended?"

"No, no, nothing like that."

"You're talking like somebody who has just heard they've tested positive for drugs and they're suspended but are not allowed to say anything."

"No, no, not at all. Drugs! What are you on about, man! Are you mad? No, it's just a knock, a wee knock."

It's a circuitous route to find the truth. A bang against Toulon last weekend saw him replaced early in the second half. Word has it he should be fine for the Wales game, not that he'll be drawn on it. "Hopefully, I'll be okay. We'll see..." Is that it, though? Is that the source of the stoicism?

He's a curious man, Euan Murray. Intelligent, warm, witty and mystifying all in one. He is one of the world's top tighthead props right now, his star rising in the global game during the autumn series when he crushed the Whopper like an old tin can one week and then won a comprehensive victory over the Beast the next. The Beast was rated highly in South Africa up to then. Still is, actually. They know he's good but they now know that Murray is better and they know he's coming for them in the summer in the front line of the Lions tour. Barring injury, the Scot is a certainty.

Murray is thankful for the praise but slow to get excited about it. The ups and downs of a prop's life tend to give you some perspective. It's a tough old world these boys inhabit and nobody knows that better than Murray.

The seizure, he's spoken about. Mid-September 2005, a horrific accidental collision in a game with Munster, his body in convulsions, his consciousness lost. There were people standing over him that evening thinking that he was going to die right there in front of them. It was a petrifying ordeal that had a profound impact on his life. That's when he found God. He looked for help and found it in the Word of the Lord.

"For about a month after it happened I had problems with my balance and at one stage I thought I was going to have to retire. That was 2005 going into 2006. I'd had a really awful run of injuries, I was falling apart at the seams. My teammates used to say, 'you know you're problem? Your body is rotten'. They were right. At times I was very low. What the seizure made me realise is that life is short so I started to question things at that stage. I had many questions. Like, what are we here for? And where am I going when I die? And then I started reading the Bible and then after quite a long time my life was transformed and it wasn't me that did it, it was Jesus Christ that did it."

"You believe that?"

"Yeah. Without a doubt."

"But you were the one who repaired your life, you were the one who worked hard on your rugby and bettered yourself. God didn't turn you into a world-class prop."

"It's two different things you're talking about. There was my life away from rugby and there was my life in rugby. When I became a Christian my life away from rugby changed hugely. I went to church, I looked after myself more, I used my time better, I prayed. I prayed about my rugby and asked whether or not I should stay in the game. I stayed and the following season the doors suddenly opened. I got a regular place in the Scotland team and things have been good ever since. Over the last few years I've found out what a Christian should be. A Christian should be the hardest worker of all."

"Why?"

"Because the Bible says that whatever you turn your hand to, you're to do it with all your might. Elsewhere, it says you're to do it as if you are serving Christ."

"Have you ever challenged your faith by reading something like The God Delusion?"

"Are you putting all this in the article?" he laughs.

"Definitely."

He laughs again. "Well, you see, The God Delusion is a book that's maybe five years old and it's one man's opinion whereas the Bible is made up of 66 books that are thousands of years old and that's the one I live by."

"Have you read The God Delusion?"

"It's not on my reading list, no. I'm not saying that I wouldn't read it, I'm saying that it's not top of my priority list to read it. I'm aware of the arguments, though. I have enough conversations with people to know these things, but it's just a question of faith. My faith is the most important thing in my life, following Christ is the most important thing in my life."

"You go to church regularly?"

"I go to church on a Sunday morning and a Sunday evening and I try and get along to a midweek Bible study and prayer meeting."

"What about playing rugby on a Sunday?"

The question is met with a long pause. A lo-o-o-o-ng pause. "I can't answer that at the moment," he begins.

"Do Sunday games cause you difficulty?"

"I just can't answer it at the moment. I'd rather not speak about it. It's a very difficult issue because of my faith. It's a very difficult issue for Christians."

"That's understandable, but people would like to know if you're available for the Wales game on Sunday?"

"Yes. Yes I am. If selected I will play the same way I always do."

"You sound like you're struggling with it, though."

"Yeah, maybe. Why? Just because... Just because... This is my stance on it. In the past, in the distant past and in the recent past, rugby players and other athletes who are Christians haven't played on Sundays. I'm aware of Christians who don't compete on Sundays and there are Christians who do compete on Sundays and currently I'm competing on Sundays. That's what it is. Currently, I'm competing. It would be fair to say that this is something that all Christians wrestle with."

He apologises for going on about it but points out that I'm the one asking the questions. Quite right. But it's hard to separate the two; the faith and the rugby. For instance, Murray felt that he was really maturing as a prop right at the end of last season, just before Scotland's tour to Argentina. If he had to pinpoint a major period in his progression those weeks would be it.

He says he moved up a gear. He became a stronger person, mentally. "It's back to religion," he says. "I don't want to harp on about it but you've asked all the questions, haven't you? I was listening to a very good speaker. A church minister. Something he was saying was based on part of the scriptures in the book of Romans. When the minister was young he spoke to an older Christian and he asked the older man what it meant to live as a Christian in this world and the older man said it meant that as a Christian I'm going to out-work you, out-fight you and I'm going to out-love you. I realised that's what I should be doing.

"It gave me a different perspective and I realised I had to do everything like that. I felt I was working hard enough previously but I wasn't really. The lads at Northampton beat me up regularly about it. There's always banter but I have a laugh with them. They give me a ribbing about my faith but I say it's good to think about these things instead of playing a computer game all day."

In a rugby sense, does he have faith? With the Six Nations nearly upon us and the Grand Slam Welsh on their way does he believe that Scotland can fulfil the obvious potential in the ranks this season? Assuming he's fit, of course.

Well, the way he sees it is that Scotland, up to this point, have suffered from their lack of experience. The team had exciting youth but not enough maturity. Now, he thinks, that may have changed.

The upside of the agony of the Springbok Test was that it was a lesson learned. The team became a little bit older and a little bit wiser having lost a game they should have won. "Although we didn't turn over one of the big guns in the autumn we did perform very well. We almost beat the world champions. Now, almost isn't a word to be proud of. It's not good enough. However, it gives us confidence going into the Six Nations."

Times are good for Murray, if a little complicated. The dilemma of playing or not playing on a Sunday is obviously the source of some reflection in his life. Nobody should underestimate the depth of his feelings on this no more than we should underestimate his ability to come to terms with the predicament before donning his menacing game-face and scrummaging a Welshman into oblivion come the weekend. After all, he may be a very good guy but, when needs arise on the rugby field, he does a thoroughly convincing impersonation of a very bad man.