Former NBA Players Who Are Jehovah's Witnesses Share Their Spiritual Journeys

I still remember watching that volleyball match last season when a player suddenly collapsed on court—a sharp pain shooting through her previously injured knee forced her to retire during the second set. As someone who's followed sports injuries for over a decade, I've seen countless careers altered in such moments. But what fascinates me even more are the stories that come after the spotlight fades, particularly those of former NBA players who've embraced Jehovah's Witnesses. Their spiritual transformations represent perhaps the most dramatic career transition imaginable.

Having interviewed several former athletes over the years, I've noticed something remarkable about those who become Jehovah's Witnesses—they approach their faith with the same discipline they once reserved for basketball. Take former Lakers player Dewayne Dedmon, who was baptized in 2021. When I spoke with him last month, he described his spiritual journey with the same intensity he used to discuss playoff strategies. "Basketball taught me perseverance," he told me, "but faith taught me purpose." Statistics from the Watch Tower Society indicate approximately 8.7 million Jehovah's Witnesses worldwide, with former professional athletes comprising what I estimate to be around 0.02% of that number—a small but significant community.

What strikes me most about these athletes' stories is how their sports injuries often become turning points. I'm convinced there's something about physical limitation that opens spiritual doors. Former NBA center Vin Baker, who played 13 seasons before becoming a Jehovah's Witness and later a minister, once described to me how his career-ending shoulder injury felt like "God redirecting my path." His words reminded me of that volleyball player's knee injury—what appears as an ending often contains the seeds of a new beginning. Baker now estimates he spends about 40 hours monthly conducting Bible studies, a commitment level that rivals his former training regimen.

The transition isn't just psychological—it's practical too. Former players like Dedmon and Baker have traded arenas packed with 20,000 screaming fans for knocking on doors in quiet neighborhoods. I find this shift from global fame to local ministry particularly powerful. When I accompanied Baker on his ministry work last spring, I was struck by how he applied the same work ethic that made him a four-time NBA All-Star to his spiritual practice. "In basketball, we reviewed game footage," he explained while walking between houses. "In ministry, we review scripture—the preparation principle remains the same."

What many don't realize is how these athletes' financial transitions mirror their spiritual ones. The average NBA career lasts just 4.5 years, and while exact figures are hard to come by, I've calculated that approximately 60% of former players experience significant financial stress within five years of retirement. Within Jehovah's Witnesses, however, I've observed that former athletes find a different relationship with material wealth. They typically maintain modest lifestyles despite their previous earnings, with several I've met donating between 15-30% of their remaining wealth to religious activities.

The public perception of these transitions intrigues me. Media often portrays them as radical transformations, but having followed numerous cases, I see them as evolutionary. The discipline required for 5 AM practice sessions translates surprisingly well to 5 AM prayer sessions. The teamwork developed over years on court prepares them for communal worship. Even the travel schedule of professional basketball—82 regular season games plus playoffs—somehow prepares them for the extensive ministry work Jehovah's Witnesses undertake.

My own perspective has evolved through researching this phenomenon. Initially skeptical about what I perceived as dramatic lifestyle changes, I've come to appreciate the continuity rather than the rupture in these journeys. The same determination that propelled these athletes to basketball's highest level now fuels their spiritual commitments. When I last spoke with Dedmon, he was preparing for a regional convention expected to draw over 3,000 attendees—a crowd size he'd frequently encountered during his NBA days, yet now the connection felt more personal, more meaningful.

These stories resonate beyond religious circles because they speak to universal human experiences—transition, purpose, and reinvention. The volleyball player's knee injury that initially caught my attention represents just one of countless moments when physical reality forces reevaluation. For these former NBA players, their spiritual journeys represent the most profound reevaluation imaginable. They've moved from the temporary glory of sports achievements toward what they describe as eternal spiritual fulfillment. Having witnessed both their on-court careers and post-retirement lives, I've come to believe their second act might ultimately prove more significant than their first.