By Morwenna Ludlow, Canon Theologian
I have to confess that, like many others, I have been drawn in by the drama and silliness of the BBC reality TV show Traitors. Now that I have worked my way through all the back episodes of the Great British Sewing Bee, it is a good way to completely switch off from whatever I have been working on during the day.
For the uninitiated, Traitors is like a very elaborate game of wink murder: three of an assembled group are chosen as ‘traitors’ and they have to choose victims from the rest – the ‘faithfuls’ – to ‘murder’, without the faithfuls finding out who they are. Celebrity Traitors brings the additional amusement of seeing sides of TV personalities that you usually only see in other roles. Some are predictably ultra-competitive, whatever task is thrown in front of them. Others shrink from overt competitiveness, preferring or planning to keeping a low profile. For still others it is more complex: a few throw themselves into the physical challenges (by which the celebrities raise money for charity) with enormous gusto, whilst shrinking back from the task of identifying the Traitors. Others, less confident at the physical challenges, imagine themselves as a modern-day Marple or, memorably, ‘a Poundland Poirot’, as they try to puzzle out from verbal or behavioural slips who the Traitors are. Mathematicians draft statistical spreadsheets; historians analyse mixed motives; actors assume roles.
The fun in this, of course, is that the stakes are comparatively low. Yes, there is prize-money to be won and reputations could be enhanced or damaged, but on the whole the game is constructed in such a way that one is constantly reminded that fundamentally this is all rather silly. Nevertheless, the relatively low stakes don’t stop the competitiveness. The celebrities have to be competitive to get where they are and this is displayed vividly on screen.
This low-stakes, high-competitiveness scenario is played out, of course, in many other areas of life, from the pub quiz to amateur sport. In these contexts, there is intense competition to be the winner and victory is a zero-sum game – that is, if I win you lose. Yet underlying this is a deeper ‘win’ in which everyone can share: we all agree to play a game in which only one person or team can win, because we all enjoy playing the competitive game. There are many other situations, of course, in which far more is at stake in a competition: a job, one’s livelihood, fighting for resources for one’s self or one’s family, when only limited resources are available. Many such scenarios are emphatically neither silly nor fun. So, when we read St Paul using the language of competition in his letters to early Christian churches we might well wonder what is going on. He is especially fond of images from athletics (e.g. Philippians 3:14): when he imagines himself as a runner reaching out for the prize, what does he mean? What is at stake? And who is he competing against?
I think he is trying to convey three things. First, being a follower of Jesus is not easy: it involves commitment and determination and the language of competition is a good way of saying that. Secondly, Paul reminds his readers that there is a prize at the end: a life eternally with Jesus Christ. But, thirdly, this is where the idea of competition breaks down: Paul fervently urges his readers to imitate him in the race, because everyone can gain the prize. Salvation is not a zero-sum gain in which, if I win, you lose.
So, however, much I love watching the TV show, the Traitors turns out to be the opposite of Christian discipleship. While Traitors is a low-stakes game where some can win only if others lose, following Jesus is high stakes, but we can all win.