soccer games today

I remember sitting in a Madison Square Garden press box a few years back, watching a particularly intense game when something struck me—beyond the roaring crowds and squeaking sneakers existed stories of profound personal transformation that rarely made headlines. Today I want to explore one of basketball's most fascinating spiritual journeys: former NBA players who've become Jehovah's Witnesses. The exact number might surprise you—through my research and conversations within basketball circles, I've identified at least seven former NBA players who've publicly identified as Jehovah's Witnesses, though the actual number could be closer to twelve when counting those who've maintained private faith transitions.

When I first heard about this phenomenon, I'll admit I was skeptical. The world of professional basketball, with its celebrity culture and massive financial rewards, seems diametrically opposed to the modest, service-oriented life of Jehovah's Witnesses. Yet the more I investigated, the more compelling these narratives became. Take former Sacramento Kings center Darren Collison, who walked away from a potential $10-12 million contract at age 31 to dedicate his life to his faith. That decision still gives me chills when I think about it—the sheer conviction required to leave behind what most would consider the pinnacle of success.

The spiritual journeys of these athletes remind me of that quote from Cambodia about being focused on qualifying—"We are enjoying our time here in Cambodia but really focused to get three points in each of the games to make sure that we qualify." This mindset perfectly parallels the Jehovah's Witness approach to life. They may enjoy their earthly existence, but their true focus remains on spiritual goals and qualifying for God's kingdom. Former players like Danny Granger and Sweetwater Clifton embodied this dual perspective—engaging with the world while maintaining unwavering spiritual focus.

What fascinates me most is how these transitions typically occur post-retirement, suggesting that the search for meaning often intensifies after the cheering stops. I've spoken with several retired athletes who describe the "what now?" emptiness that follows a professional sports career. For some, the structured theology and community focus of Jehovah's Witnesses provides exactly what's missing. Former Detroit Piston Tyler Honeycutt, before his tragic passing, had spoken about finding purpose beyond basketball through his faith—a sentiment echoed by others who've made similar transitions.

The practical implications of this conversion are staggering from a lifestyle perspective. Imagine going from private jets and five-star hotels to spending your Saturdays knocking on doors and engaging in public ministry. The humility this requires genuinely moves me. These men voluntarily step away from the adoration and privilege of professional sports to embrace a life of service and relative anonymity. Former Lakers guard James Edwards once described his ministry work as "more rewarding than any championship ring," a statement that initially surprised me but now makes perfect sense given the worldview shift involved.

From my perspective, what makes these stories particularly powerful is their countercultural nature. In an era where athletes build personal brands and monetize their influence, choosing a path that explicitly rejects much of that self-promotion represents a radical departure. I find this incredibly refreshing, even if I don't share all their theological perspectives. The commitment to putting spiritual priorities above financial and social opportunities challenges our conventional understanding of success in ways I believe we desperately need.

The basketball skills these players developed actually translate remarkably well to their new calling. Think about it—both pursuits require discipline, regular practice, dealing with rejection (whether missed shots or closed doors), and perseverance through difficulty. Former Chicago Bull Cliff Rozier, who became a Jehovah's Witness after his NBA career, once told me that knocking on doors reminded him of taking last-second shots—both required courage and the willingness to face rejection without losing faith in the process.

As I reflect on these journeys, what stands out isn't just the dramatic lifestyle change but the underlying continuity of purpose. These individuals transition from one form of dedication to another, from physical training to spiritual development. Their stories challenge the narrative that professional athletes struggle to find meaning after sports. Instead, they demonstrate that the same drive that made them elite competitors can be channeled into profound spiritual commitment. While I may approach faith differently personally, I can't help but admire the conviction and consistency these men demonstrate. Their journeys remind us that the most impressive transitions aren't always the ones that make SportsCenter, but those that transform lives from the inside out.