“What do you want in your obituary?” Ben Roethlisberger, the 6’5” Steelers icon with a cannon arm and two Super Bowl rings, didn’t hesitate when asked this question. For a guy who spent 18 seasons dodging 300-pound defenders like they were Wi-Fi passwords in 2004, Big Ben’s answer cuts deeper than a Terrible Towel wave at Heinz Field. But here’s the twist: his journey to that answer wasn’t a Hail Mary. It was a grind—part gridiron glory, part spiritual redemption arc—and it’s a story that’s more Rocky montage than a highlight reel.

“I want somebody to say, ‘He was a good person, a God-fearing person.’” Roethlisberger’s stats might scream GOAT: 64,088 passing yards (5th all-time), 418 touchdowns (8th), and two Lombardi Trophies. But numbers don’t sweat, cry, or pray. “I went through a phase of my life when I wasn’t growing… I wasn’t growing in my faith,” he admits. Picture this: a small-town Ohio kid, raised in a Christian home, gets drafted 11th overall in 2004, wins Super Bowl XL at 23, and suddenly fame hits like a James Harrison blindside. Scandals? TMZ headlines? Let’s just say his spiritual GPS glitched harder than Madden on a PS2.

College didn’t help. At Miami (Ohio), he traded Bible study for playbooks and parties. “I wasn’t as strong a Christian as I wish I would’ve been,” Roethlisberger says, sounding like someone who accidentally swiped left on salvation. Even after turning Pittsburgh into Titletown, his faith stayed benched. “It wasn’t until I married Ashley [in 2011] that God became my OC again,” he grins, referencing his wife, a devout Christian who rewrote his playbook.

Roethlisberger’s story isn’t about perfect spirals or 4th-quarter comebacks. It’s about a guy who fumbled his faith, recovered it, and sprinted toward grace. “I want to be the best son I can be, a better Christian,” he says. For a man who once dodged defenders in Super Bowl XLIII by literally spinning out of a sack to win, this feels like his ultimate highlight. Cue the baptism reboot three years ago: “I wanted a closer walk with Jesus… become a better person.” Translation? He went from “Ben being Ben” to “Ben being better.”

Fourth-and-Faith: When God called Big Ben

Life lobbed Ben Roethlisberger more curveballs than a Clayton Kershaw fastball. In 2019, a season-ending elbow injury left him sidelined, staring at his mortality like a rookie facing a Dick LeBeau defense. “I can only trust God’s plan,” he said, channeling his inner Friday Night Lights mantra: Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose. Spoiler: He came back in 2020, throwing for 3,803 yards—proof that even NFL legends need divine OT.

But the real victory? Roethlisberger’s locker-room testimony. “Now more than ever, it’s cool to be a Christian,” he insists, swapping Steelers gold for gospel gold. “You can be a killer athlete and love Jesus. It’s not one or the other.” Imagine Ted Lasso meets Chosen, but with more touchdown dances. For Roethlisberger, faith isn’t a fair-weather fan; it’s the ultimate playcall. “I push myself daily to be a better Christian than a QB,” he says. And TBH, that’s a high bar—dude once threw six TDs in back-to-back games.

Retirement didn’t slow Roethlisberger’s pivot to purpose. These days, he’s launching father-son retreats, tackling fatherlessness like he’s sacking Joe Flacco. “God blessed me with an arm, but my real job’s being a dad,” he says, sounding more The Pursuit of Happyness than Any Given Sunday. His kids might never grasp his 93.5 career passer rating, but they’ll know his hugs. “My dad always said, ‘Good job, son,’ win or lose,” Ben recalls. Now, he’s paying it forward—one Bible story and backyard toss at a time.

So, what’s next? More retreats. ore dad jokes. More Kingdom work. Because in the end, Ben Roethlisberger’s legacy isn’t etched in stats—it’s in the quiet huddles, the whispered prayers, and the hope that someday, his kids’ kids will say, ‘He balled out for Jesus.‘ And honestly? That’s a W no stat sheet could ever capture. 🏈🙏