Words From The Warden

During my senior year at Ohio Northern University, I was officiating a girls' high school varsity basketball game at one of the county schools outside of Lima, Ohio. The home team, coached by an experienced and excellent head coach named Sally, was known not only for teaching basketball skills and knowledge but also for instilling sporting behavior that made the community proud of their kids. In contrast, the visiting team was less talented and coached by a young woman who had just graduated from college. The disparity between the teams was evident, and it was also notable that both teams were led by women coaches, which was unusual at the time.

As the third quarter began, the home team held a commanding lead of about 60 to 10. Normally, a team in such a position would clear the bench and let the substitutes play, but that did not happen. Instead, the home team intensified their efforts by applying a full-court press, preventing their opponents from even moving the ball past the free throw circle. Within just two minutes, the score escalated to 73 to 10.

During a timeout, I approached Coach Sally and asked her to remove the press and give her substitutes some playing time. She was clearly agitated and replied, “I won’t and you have no business asking.” She was correct; as a referee, it was not my place to make such requests. However, I felt that her actions were wrong. I told her, “Coach, you’re right, but I want you to know that if any of your kids are within two feet of an opponent, I will call a foul.”

Over the next 90 seconds, we called the home team for multiple fouls. This led to the removal of the full-court press and the replacement of the starters with substitutes. Although the visitors were soundly defeated, neither team was embarrassed by the outcome.

Later in the season, I officiated another game for Sally’s team. The coach approached me, apologized for her behavior during the previous game, and thanked me for reigning them in. She confessed, “I don’t know what happened to me.” The answer, in truth, was simple: she had the power to overwhelm the other team and lost perspective.

Years later, I found myself officiating a football game between the Penn State Nittany Lions, under the leadership of legendary coach Joe Paterno, and the Fighting Illini, coached by Ron Zook. The matchup took place at Illinois, and as the second quarter was winding down, Penn State had already established a commanding lead of 49-3. Just before halftime, the Lions' quarterback threw a perfectly executed pass to the tight end, which set up a one-yard run, pushing Penn State ahead 56-3 at the half.

Coach Paterno was visibly upset on the sidelines, his agitation so intense that even his assistant coaches were reluctant to enter the team locker room. As the official responsible for bringing Penn State back to the field near the end of halftime, I entered the locker room and was asked by Coach Paterno to deliver a message to Coach Zook. He wanted to clarify that he had not called for the pass play that led to the late score; instead, the quarterback had noticed a vulnerability in the Illinois defense and made an audible.

Coach Paterno explained his frustration to me, saying, “Hank, just because we are good enough to beat the hell out of someone that doesn’t mean we should. Heck, the other guy has a family, too.” His words captured the essence of sportsmanship: unchecked power benefits no one. In the end, Penn State won the game 63-10, but what stood out was that every player on the team saw playing time—a testament to Paterno’s belief in humility and respect for the opponent. Many years later “Joe Pa” would see his good works of a lifetime destroyed by not doing what he could have done.

Reflecting on these incidents, my thoughts turn to December 28 and the Massacre of the Innocents, as recounted in Matthew 2:13-23. During Advent and into Christmas, we hear stories that uplift us: Mary’s faithful relationship with God, Elizabeth’s anticipation of her son John, and Joseph’s unique role in the narrative. The shepherds, too, are central figures as they witness the arrival of the baby Jesus. These moments are filled with beauty and joy, highlighting the hope and promise of the season.

However, the story takes a darker turn with the actions of King Herod. Determined to maintain his grip on power, Herod sends his elite soldiers to Bethlehem with orders to kill every boy two years old and younger. The result is unimaginable grief and mourning; the cries of the bereaved echo through the community as their own people, acting under Herod’s command, slaughter the innocent children.

For a long time, I struggled to understand the relevance of the Massacre of the Innocents and how it fit into the Christmas story. The central message of Christmas is about God sending his son to live among us, especially among the poor, the hungry, and the powerless. The tragedy of the massacre stands in stark contrast to the joy of Christ’s birth, yet it serves as a powerful reminder of the dangers of unchecked power and the suffering it can cause, even in the midst of hope and celebration.

To use the words of Loren Richmond Jr, “The massacre of the Innocents is not an embarrassing footnote to the Christmas story. It is the first sign that the incarnation is a threat to the powers of this world.” 

As we recount the Christmas story and reflect on the memory of the innocents, it is essential that we truly hear the message of the gospel. The narrative calls us to confront the reality of state violence, especially when it is directed toward the vulnerable. When we allow ourselves to become comfortable with such violence, particularly against those who are powerless, it is a sign that we have ceased to truly listen to the gospel's message. The story of Christmas, and especially the tragedy of the innocents, urges us to remain vigilant and compassionate, refusing to accept or justify harm inflicted upon those who cannot defend themselves.

Peace,
Henry Zaborniak, Senior Warden