Players rush the line with fearless grit. Cheerleaders sparkle and twirl. The half-time band drums across the field in tight formation. From on high, halogen lamps illumine the air like miniature suns.
            The game is close and the crowd ecstatic. Cheers and cat-calls arrow the air. Soon, twilight reddens the horizon. Beyond the goal posts and silhouetted against the sky, the rooflines and church steeples of a small Midwestern town.  
            We know this scene and felt its draw. On a Friday night, beneath the lights, it’s impossible not to catch the thrill of it all.
            On the drive home, with windows down and an autumn breeze wafting through the cab of my truck, I think about the influence of athletic programs in the life of a rural community, particularly in the lives of its young.  
            Rounding a curve, I pass a poultry barn and a field of soybeans. Athletics, while important and valuable, do not feed the hungry.
             The quiet landscape dissolves the echo of the crowd. Lulled by the light of the moon, I find myself thinking of the post-game let-down in the lives of the students: a band member placing a brass trumpet in a velvet-lined case; a cheerleader frowning at the mirror as she removes her makeup; a quarterback rubbing his hand across the ribbed texture of an ace bandage.
            Surely, moments of introspection occur in the lives of our youth. If so, the hour after the stadium lights shut down would be a likely time for them to happen, evidenced in the breath of a private prayer clouding a window on the team bus or a linebacker’s glance at a crucifix on his bedroom wall or the grateful sigh of a wall-flower freshman when her faithful dog greets her at the door.
            Moments of wonder. Moments of doubt. Moments of sensing something called Mystery.  
             I turn another corner and spy a blue glow in the distance. In this locality, predominantly Catholic, it is not uncommon to see lighted rosaries affixed to the siding of a barn or on the porch of a house. This rosary, like the moon itself, emits a gentle glow, further transforming this night of competition into one of contemplation.
            An obscure verse from the Book of Wisdom comes to mind:

                  For in secret the holy children of the good were offering sacrifice.
                                                          (Wisdom 18:9)

            Youthful soul-searching is spirituality at its best. Its intense drive for meaning and purpose extends far beyond the influence of practice drills or scrimmage games.
            Its victory lies not in end zones, but quiet zones. And its glory shines, soft and serene, beneath a different type of Friday night light.