The Premier League football season has just started and that means that my weekend mood will be heavily influenced by 11 men in the name of Liverpool kicking a ball around a patch of grass. Two weeks in and it already appears we are in for a long and bumpy ride. Makes you wonder why I support them in the first place.

When the team plays well and wins, I am happy and proud. It is the best feeling to be red. When they lose, though, it is a different story. Especially if the loss was due to some individual mistake or bad performance. Suddenly, that mulit-million euro player who makes the mistake is no longer a professional footballer playing at the very top of the game. All I see now is a guy in red who is the reason I will have a bad weekend.

And football fans can be brutal. A misplaced pass can result in a player being called every name under the sun. A missed chance can inspire thousands of angry comments from people who, from the comfort of their couches, have apparently discovered that the correct way to control a ball is to simply not miss. Sometimes, it goes beyond this frustration. Players receive abuse, insults and, in some cases, even threats. We become so invested in a game that we forget there is an actual person on the other side of our frustration. We stop seeing the person. We see the mistake. We see “the guy who cost us the game”. We forget that they are just like us. That they are human too. We just see them as characters who are severely underperforming in their roles.

I have been watching The Chosen series and, at the same time, going through the New Testament, and it has been making me realise how, just like with football, I turn biblical characters into characters and not people. The disciples were people. They got hungry and tired. They worried about money. They had family and friends. They had personalities that irritated one another. They had bad days and good days. They probably woke up some mornings wondering what the day ahead would bring.

And then Jesus walked into their lives.

At this stage, I tend to have one of two reactions, which are both held together by the same thread: me turning the disciples from people into characters.

I either look at the disciples and see the great things they did, forgetting that they were just like us. Of course, they had strong faith and God used their lives mightily. They healed the sick and raised the dead. They travelled far and wide for the sake of the gospel. They risked everything and were martyred. Despite doing all this, they were human. They were just like us.

Another reaction I tend to have is one similar to that of a passionate football fan. I read the Gospels and sometimes, the disciples seem like the footballer who keeps making the same mistake. I watch and think, “Come on, guys! Surely you know better by now.” Before I know it, I stop seeing the person and only see the mistakes. The unbelief.

I am amazed by their actions. How could they be afraid after seeing everything He had done? How could Peter deny Jesus? Three times, for that matter! How could they see miracle after miracle and still struggle to believe? How could they…?

But they are just like us.

Perhaps, more accurately, we are just like them.

I hope I will remember that when a footballer makes a mistake, they are just like me. When the disciples misunderstand Jesus, they are just like us. When Peter is afraid, I am just like him. When Thomas doubts, I am just like him.

So perhaps the next time I watch Liverpool and we lose, I will try to remember that there is a person behind the shirt. When I read about Peter, John or Thomas, I will try to remember the same thing. They are not characters but real people.

They are just like me.

They are just like us.

And that is important because Jesus did not wait for them to become extraordinary people before He called them. He met them in the middle of ordinary life. That is exactly where God meets us. In the middle of making dinner. In the middle of going to work and answering emails. In the middle of getting annoyed or laughing at something that isn’t particularly funny, like my jokes – or the lack thereof. In the middle of ordinary life.