Game Day Week 5

Salt, Light, and Friday Nights
A Devotional for Football Coaches — Matthew 5:13-16

There's a particular kind of cold that settles into a Montana evening in September You know it. The sun drops behind the mountains a little earlier each week, your breath starts showing up under the stadium lights, and that first real bite of fall air hits your lungs as you walk out of the locker room tunnel. Somewhere behind you, pads are popping in warmups. Somewhere in the stands, a crowd wrapped in blankets and stocking caps is hollering for kids they love. It's a good kind of cold — the kind that wakes you up and reminds you that something worth showing up for is about to happen.

Jesus said this to his followers:

"You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." (Matthew 5:13-16, NIV)

Coach, this is your assignment too.

You are salt.
Salt preserves. It keeps things from rotting. On a team, that's you — the standard-bearer who won't let sloppy effort, dishonesty, or excuses become normal, even when it would be easier to look away. Salt also brings out flavor; it makes what's already good even better. Your encouragement, your correction, your presence on the sideline — it draws the best out of 15 to 18-year-old kids who don't yet know what they're capable of. But salt only works if it stays salty. A coach who's gone lukewarm on integrity, who's stopped caring about the kid and only cares about the win, isn't preserving anything. He's just going through the motions under those lights.

You are light.
You can't hide what you are — not for long. Your players see you in the fourth quarter of a blowout loss just as clearly as they see you hoisting a trophy. They see you when a call goes against you, when a kid mouths off, when you're exhausted after a long week and still show up to breakdown film at 6 a.m. That's the lamp on the stand. Nobody's watching the version of you that you plan for; they're watching the one that shows up when it's cold and dark and nobody would notice if you cut a corner.

Think about that Friday night crowd again — parents, grandparents, a whole town wrapped in coats, gathered around a lit field in the middle of the dark. That's not a bad picture of what your life is meant to be for these kids: a source of warmth and light in a world that can feel cold, drawing people toward something good.

A few questions to carry onto the field this week:

• Where have I gone "unsalty" lately — cutting corners, tolerating something I shouldn't, coasting instead of pouring in?
• What are my players actually seeing when they watch me, not just when I'm coaching them up, but when I don't know they're watching?
• Am I coaching in a way that points toward something bigger than the scoreboard — so that when people see the "good works," they give glory to God, not to me?

A prayer for the sideline:

Lord, thank You for this game, this team, and these cold Montana nights that make me feel alive. Make me salt that hasn't lost its flavor — a coach who preserves what's good and isn't afraid to stand for what's right. Make me light that isn't hidden — someone whose life points these young men toward You, win or lose. Let my example outlast this season. Amen.

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Salt & Light — Friday Night

That crisp Montana fall air hitting your lungs under the lights? Good reminder of what we're called to be. Jesus said: "You are the salt of the earth... You are the light of the world... let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven" (Matt 5:13-16).

Salt that's lost its flavor is worthless. Light hidden under a bowl helps no one. Our guys aren't just watching us coach — they're watching who we are when it's cold, when we're tired, when no one's clapping. That's the real testimony.

Lord, make us salt that still tastes like something, and light that isn't hidden. Let our example outlast the season. Amen.