When God Hands You the Whistle
There comes a time when the crown finds you.
You don’t chase it, you don’t campaign for it, you don’t even always want it —
but God places it on your head anyway.
Because purpose doesn’t wait for permission.
When you are chosen, you are chosen — whether the crowd claps or not.
David didn’t ask for Samuel’s oil.
Moses didn’t sign up to lead a nation.
Jeremiah didn’t volunteer to speak for a generation.
And yet the moment came, and they had no choice but to answer.
That is where Terry Smith stands right now.
A son of Penn State. A man who has given his life to the program,
its values, its people, its promise.
A leader of men long before the cameras ever found his face.
While others spoke of standards, he lived them.
When the program needed unity, he pulled the rope.
When recruits wavered, he reminded them of what Penn State really is.
When others looked for the next big name, he stayed the course —
quietly, consistently, faithfully.
Because that’s what the crown demands: consistency under pressure.
Obedience when you’d rather rest.
Faith when you’d rather fight.
And now, when the world is loud and the noise is deafening,
God has given him the whistle.
Not because he’s flashy.
Not because he’s the trending topic.
But because he has carried this place on his back.
Penn State — hear me now.
You say you love “The Standard.”
You say you honor your own.
But do you?
Because the standard isn’t a hashtag.
It isn’t a billboard, or a slogan, or a pregame speech.
The standard is Terry Smith —
a man who has bled blue and white, who has molded boys into men,
who has recruited not just talent but character,
who has walked through every storm this program has faced
and never once wavered.
He was Penn State when it was easy to be.
And he was Penn State when it was not.
And now, when the storm hits again,
you look outward instead of upward —
you chase headlines instead of homegrown legacy —
and that’s the problem.
The kingdom keeps searching for Saul
while God already anointed David.
The crown is already in your house.
But will you recognize it?
This isn’t about one season.
It’s about stewardship.
It’s about remembering what made this place sacred in the first place:
humility, brotherhood, blue collar grit,
and an unshakable belief that Penn State stands for something bigger than wins and losses.
That’s what Terry Smith represents.
That’s what the young men in that locker room see every day.
A man of faith. A man of family. A man who doesn’t just coach football —
he ministers through it.
And here’s the truth:
When God crowns you, He doesn’t ask for your résumé.
He asks for your obedience.
Terry Smith didn’t ask for this.
But God gave it anyway.
And now the question is not whether he deserves it —
the question is whether Penn State still knows how to honor its own.
Because when a house forgets who built its walls,
the foundation begins to crack.
Penn State, you once said, “We Are.”
But the word “we” means something.
It means loyalty. It means family. It means legacy.
You can bring in anyone you want —
the world’s most polished talkers, the most expensive résumés —
but if they don’t feel what this place means,
if they haven’t lived it, breathed it, fought for it,
then they’ll never understand the standard.
The standard is not inherited by contract.
It’s earned in sweat.
It’s forged in the winter,
when the lights are off and the cameras are gone
and someone still shows up to do the work.
That’s Terry Smith.
And that’s why this moment matters.
Because when God gives you the crown,
you don’t decline it —
you carry it.
Even when it’s heavy.
Even when they doubt you.
Even when they disrespect you.
Because you know the oil on your head didn’t come from man.
It came from God.
So let the world talk.
Let them compare, let them question, let them chase what glitters.
But remember this:
The real ones don’t need introduction.
They are the standard.
Terry Smith is not standing in for Penn State.
He is Penn State.
And the program will never find peace until it recognizes the crown that’s already in its house.
So this is the sermon.
This is the reminder.
This is the call.
Penn State, don’t miss your moment.
When God gives you the crown,
you don’t look around —
you bow your head,
and you wear it.