Consider the evidence:
The game is played on a field 100 yards long—and what else is 100? The number of sheep the shepherd had before that one wandered off! Coincidence? I think not.
They call it the red zone. Well, friends, who else loves red? The Devil himself.
And don’t even get me started on the halftime show—that’s not entertainment, that’s basically a pagan ritual with better lighting.
And what of the fans? Whole congregations leaving Sunday service early to worship at the altar of ESPN. They wave their foam fingers high in the air—modern-day golden calves made of polyurethane.
Brothers and sisters, when Jesus said, “Turn the other cheek,” He did NOT mean “face mask penalty.”
So next Sunday, instead of gathering around the big screen, gather around your Bible.
Instead of a touchdown, seek a kneel down. Instead of chips and dip, try bread and living water. Because the only true Super Bowl worth attending is the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.
Amen and pass the celery sticks.
Tonto