Advent, Idols, and the SEC Coaching Carousel

The Advent season is a time of holy waiting, a season when Christians lean forward toward the Coming One—the Child whose arrival dismantles kingdoms, reorders loyalties, and reminds us that glory is never where we think it is. At least, that’s the theory.

In practice, Advent tends to collide with another sacred season in the American South: the College Football Coaching Carousel, that annual ritual where fan bases pray without ceasing, social media prophets declare visions and dreams, and athletic directors wander in the wilderness seeking the next savior who will finally lead their people to a land flowing with bowl victories and playoff berths.

This year, the collision has been spectacular. Ole Miss fans—already conditioned to live in a constant state of eschatological tension—found themselves listening to head coach Lane Kiffin confess, after the Egg Bowl:
“I haven’t decided if I’m staying or leaving. I need to go home and pray about it.”

And with that, Advent began.

Because nothing, absolutely nothing, captures the spiritual climate of late November like hundreds of thousands of Christians refreshing Twitter to discern the will of God through coaching rumors, flight-tracker accounts, booster-club smoke signals, and TikTok lip-readings.

You can’t make this stuff up!

Within hours of the Egg Bowl, every corner of Mississippi was buzzing. Did he pray? What did he pray? Did God answer? Did LSU answer faster? Was he seeking the Lord’s face, or merely His NIL collectives?

By Saturday morning, the rumor mill was ablaze:

• Kiffin wants to go to LSU.
• But he wants to finish the season at Ole Miss.
• But Ole Miss doesn’t want him to stay if he’s leaving.
• And Kiffin may take the entire offensive staff with him if they force his hand.
• And boosters are considering whether the glory has departed.
• And the faithful are left standing on the hill, watching the chariot rise.

And by Sunday night as Coach Kiffin announced he was leaving Ole Miss for LSU the Israelites were roaming thru Oxford and across the wilderness of the internet lost and angry, blaming everyone but themselves.

Truly, “you can’t make this up.”

Even Ezekiel would say: That’s a lot of wheels within wheels, y’all.

But if we stand still long enough—between the press conferences and the push notifications—we might recognize that this bizarre, swirling narrative is a strangely fitting parable for Advent.

The Glory Departs: Ole Miss and Lane Kiffin as a Living Illustration of Ezekiel

When Ezekiel watched the glory of the Lord ascend and depart the Temple (Ezek. 10), Israel was overwhelmed. The presence they assumed would always be theirs—gone. The identity they had wrapped around that presence—shaken. The future they had imagined—splintered.

It was a moment of grief, bewilderment, finger-pointing, and frantic searching for meaning.

Replace “Temple” with “the practice facility,” “glory of the Lord” with “Coach Kiffin,” and you have a rough approximation of SEC Twitter on any given Thursday in late November.

We chuckle because it’s absurd.
And we wince because it’s true.

“Stay With the One Who Brought You to the Dance”

One of the great Southern proverbs says, “Stay with the one who brought you to the dance.”
Except, of course, that our modern football culture has achieved a stunning theological feat: we treat the coach as the one who brought US to the dance while simultaneously pretending that WE brought the coach.

Sound familiar?

Israel believed they brought God to the Temple.
But God’s presence was gift, not possession.

Ole Miss believes it brought Kiffin to Oxford.
Lane Kiffin believes he brought Ole Miss to national relevance.
Fans believe their devotion brought both parties to greatness.
And boosters believe their checkbooks brought the Spirit down.

It’s a perfect circle—a closed loop of self-importance—made possible only when we forget the basic truth Advent is trying to teach us:

We don’t bring the Savior.
The Savior brings us.

When Advent Shows Up and We Miss Him Completely

Every Advent, the Church proclaims a counter-cultural message:
God is coming—not as a coach, not as a celebrity, not as a strategist, not as a program-builder, not as a leader hungry for a better contract—but as a Servant.

A Child.
A poor Child.
A displaced Child.
A Child born into a political and economic world every bit as tumultuous, rumor-filled, and power-obsessed as the modern SEC or any of the other 21 NCAA Football Conferences.

And yet, every Advent, Christians who should know better—many wearing their school colors more faithfully than their baptismal ones—behave as though the kingdom of God hinges on a sideline headset.

We chant “Hotty Toddy” with more fervor than “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus.”

We refresh coaching rumors while ignoring the prophets whispering from our Advent readings:
“Prepare the way of the Lord.”
“Repent.”
“Wake up.”
“Do not be afraid.”

When a coach leaves, we lament like Israel in exile:
“How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land without a 10-win season?”

When a new coach arrives, we rush out like shepherds to behold the newborn savior:
“Unto us a coach is given, and his name shall be called Mighty Recruiter, Father of Transfer Portals, Prince of Play-Action.”

We do all this while the real Christ stands quietly among us—unrumored, untracked, uninterviewed—saying, “My kingdom is not of this world.”

Not even the SEC.

The Real Glory Returns—But Do We See Him?

Every Advent, the glory returns—not in the form of a contract extension, not in a top-five recruiting class, not in a coach who chooses to stay, but in Emmanuel: God with us.

A Servant.
A Shepherd.
A Savior who refuses to take the easy way out, refuses to abandon His people, refuses to speak vague half-truths at press conferences, and refuses to lead by ego, leverage, or threat.

The gospel’s leadership model is not the coach seeking a better job.
It is the King who lays down His power.
Not the coach who might take his staff with him.
But the Shepherd who brings His lost sheep home.
Not the coach who prays for clarity about where to go next.
But the Christ who prays,
“Not my will but Yours be done.”

We don’t need another coach-savior.
We need to remember the Savior we already have.

In the End, the Only Vow That Matters Is the One Made at Bethlehem

So yes, let Lane pray – before and after his decision.
Let the rumor mill whirl.
Let the boosters panic and the fans refresh and the pundits speculate.

But let the Church remember:
Advent is not the season of the Transfer Portal.
It is the season of the Incarnation.

We wait not for a coach to stay or leave, but for a King who has already come
—and who promises never to abandon His people for a richer offer.

And unlike every coach in America, He doesn’t need to pray about whether He’s staying.

He already made that decision in Bethlehem.

Be blessed today, my friends! And remember, God loves you and so do I — Opa

Notes:

1. This post has nothing to do with Lane Kiffin personally, he just happens to be a coach of current interest (and at my alma mater). We could easily choose any of a number of coaches to make the same point: Bobby Petrino; Brian Kelly; Tom Herman; Lincoln Riley; Scott Frost; and Paul Johnson all come to mind as riders on the Coaches Carousel.
2. Images were AI Generated using ChatGPT