There’s a particular kind of toughness you often see in footy—a player carrying an injury but pushing through for the sake of the team.
He’s not moving properly, clearly in pain, but he stays on the field. Not because he has to, but because he wants to give his all.
It’s not always a smart decision in the long run, and it’s not the kind of thing that makes highlight reels.
But there’s something undeniably admirable about it.
Take Mitch Kenny last weekend. He’d basically been ruled out of Penrith’s game against the Cowboys after injuring his shoulder.
But when Jack Cole had to leave the field, Kenny came back on. He couldn’t do everything, but he did what he could. It was a selfless call—and it made me think.
Footy has a way of giving us glimpses of the Gospel, and this is one of them.
The willingness to suffer—not for show, not to be a hero—but because someone else needs you. That’s love. Not the soft, sentimental kind. The real kind. The kind that costs.
Christian love always points outward. It’s not merely a feeling—it’s a choice and an act of the will.
As St Teresa of Calcutta once said, “If you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”
That’s the paradox of Christian love: it’s in the giving, the sacrifice, the suffering for others, that love becomes most real.
Of course, we look to Christ as the ultimate example of this. He didn’t avoid suffering—he embraced it. Even when it hurt and ultimately led to his death, he kept going out of love for us.
But the saints, too, are living examples of what that kind of love looks like.
St Maximilian Kolbe is one of the clearest examples. In the horror of Auschwitz, he offered to take the place of another man condemned to die.
He didn’t act out of emotion or impulse—he made a deliberate choice to give his life so that someone else could live. That’s love. That’s playing busted to the end.
In the lead-up to Holy Week, when we remember the ultimate act of love—Christ’s Passion and death—it’s the perfect time to reflect on the crucifix and on our own lives.
How are we called to love God and neighbour better? Where are we being asked to choose self-giving love, even when it costs us?
We’re not all called to that kind of sacrifice, but we are called to love in small, consistent, costly ways. Choosing patience when we’re exhausted. Showing up when it would be easier to opt out. Sacrificing our will for the sake of another.
Of course, love doesn’t mean pushing ourselves beyond what’s wise or sustainable.
Sometimes, love means rest and boundaries. But at other times, it means pushing through—giving what we can, even when we’re tired or hurting—because someone else needs us.
Mitch Kenny probably wasn’t thinking about theology when he came back onto the field. He just saw that his team needed him and decided to go.
But there’s a quiet beauty in that kind of decision. A willingness to suffer out of love for our neighbour is at the heart of both rugby league and Christianity.
And when we recognise it, we can let it point us back to the Cross.
Because love that’s real will always cost something. But it’s worth it.