Randall Cunningham: Husband, father, pastor, coach

LAS VEGAS – The pastor slowly makes his way to the front of the church, stopping every few feet to greet visitors with a hug. Always a hug, warm and personal.

At 8:45 a.m. sharp, he bounds onstage with the exuberance of a first-grader racing for recess.

"Well, good morning, everybody," he yells into a wireless mike that hugs his face.

A modest blend of claps and cheers from a congregation of several hundred greets him back.

"Well, good morning, everybody!" he yells louder.

The response swells.

"Well, good morning, everybody!!" the pastor screams with full throat.

The crowd roars with the gusto of a Beyoncé opening number.

That's how it's supposed to be, the pastor says with a smile.

Just as he did on a football field, Randall Cunningham knows how to captivate his audience behind a pulpit.

Yes, that Randall Cunningham, the former NFL quarterback who orchestrated one of the most prolific offenses in NFL history for the Vikings in 1998.

His out-of-nowhere masterpiece that season still holds prominence in Vikings lore. Cunningham describes his MVP-worthy performance as his "redemption" after being out of football for a year.

His mission now, here in his adoptive hometown, focuses on salvation. He is known as Pastor Randall at Remnant Ministries, a nondenominational church that sits a half-mile from Las Vegas Boulevard and the temptations of Sin City.

Ordained shortly after retiring from football, Cunningham and his wife, Felicity, transformed their in-home Bible study into a church that's 1,200 members strong, and growing. Cunningham donated 2 ½ acres of land for the structure and auctioned nearly all his football memorabilia to help fund an expansion project.

"This church is totally built in his vision," says Mike Bussey, church administrator.

Ministry has become Cunningham's vocation but not his singular passion. He also is the football coach at Silverado High School and serves as personal coach for his two oldest children, Randall II and daughter Vashti, both Olympic hopefuls in the high jump.

Vashti, a high school senior, set a world junior record (6 feet, 6 ¼ inches) in the high jump at a national meet this spring, which also is the top mark in the world this year. She has qualified for the U.S. Olympic trials in July and must finish in the top three to earn a spot for the Rio Games. She is considered a favorite despite being, at 18, much younger than her competition.

Randall II became the first freshman in University of Southern California track and field history to earn All-America status in the high jump last season. He has his sights on Brazil, too; his personal best is 7-4 ¼.

Cunningham guides both of their training, along with other top track and field athletes as coach of a club team called the Nevada Gazelles.

Full-time pastor, high school football coach, possible Olympic coach … Cunningham is not exactly chasing a golf ball in retirement.

"I could probably still hit one," he says, "but it wouldn't go straight."

Cunningham is 53 now, has specks of gray in his hair and wears reading glasses, which he removes constantly during sermons to stress a particular point.

He devotes two to three hours daily for prayer and scripture study. His schedule includes two services most Sundays, Bible study midweek and phone calls at all hours for those in need.

"I make myself available to everybody," he says.

His half-hour sermon on this particular Sunday focuses on the book of Titus, Chapter 1, a passage that encourages spiritual order and purity.

"I believe we know how to live right," Cunningham tells his congregation.

Faith has guided his adult life, but a career in ministry sprouted organically. The 1998 season with the Vikings became a "turning point in my life," beyond football, he says.

He left the NFL in 1996 after 11 seasons with the Philadelphia Eagles, returning to Las Vegas to start a marble-and-granite business. He pulled long hours of hard labor, gutting and installing floors and countertops. He would come home late at night covered in dust.

His football desire never left him. He attended the Super Bowl in New Orleans as a spectator in January 1997 and met a stranger in his hotel's health club. His name was Keith Johnson, team chaplain for the Vikings.

That chance encounter began a friendship that took root with the Vikings and grew deeper as Johnson invited Cunningham into his ministry.

Cunningham and his wife continued their Bible study after he retired from football. They hosted a regular group of 50 people at their Vegas home.

Their family pastor, the late John Michaels, often invited Cunningham to speak at various events and brought him to religious conferences. One day, after attending their Bible study, Michaels pulled the couple aside.

This is not a Bible study, he said. This is a church.

That started the process of Cunningham becoming ordained and, in October 2006, Remnant Ministries opened its doors.

"You have to love people and want to nurture and take care of them," says Felicity, also ordained as a pastor in 2008. "He's an excellent teacher but he also has such a love for people."

It's sunny and 78, a perfect day for a high school track invitational. Cunningham finds a spot in the bleachers near the high jump at Silverado High.

Dressed in a long-sleeved black T-shirt and shorts, he's Coach Cunningham here. He guided Silverado to a 7-4 record in football last season, his first as head coach, highlighted by the team's first playoff victory since 2007.

Everyone who walks by knows him. Competitors, coaches and parents all stop to say hello or seek advice on high jumping.

A high jumper from another school shows Cunningham his spikes. Cunningham reaches into a backpack and pulls out what looks like a shaving kit. It holds a mini-power drill and several bags of new spikes. He quickly replaces the boy's spikes before competition begins.

A female high jumper from a different school fails to clear 5-0 and walks directly to Cunningham.

"Remember, what's your angle?" he says. "Back corner, right?"

The girl nods and prepares for her next jump.

Cunningham estimates 50 athletes competing are members of his club team. Vashti arrives later after finishing a workout at home.

She's not eligible to compete because she turned professional in April, spurning scholarship offers from USC, Georgia and Oregon. Nike signed her to an endorsement contract.

Vashti is 6-1 with long, skinny legs, just like her dad. Her jumps look fluid, almost effortless, as if she's floating over the bar.

Her freakish talent stems from hard work and good genes. Her dad was an All-Pro quarterback, her mom a professional ballet dancer at Dance Theatre of Harlem under pioneer Arthur Mitchell.

Vashti's meteoric rise from Nevada state champion to world elite makes it easy to forget she is still a teenager. She is playful and admittedly sarcastic. She hopes to study photography in New York someday. Maybe become a fashion photographer.

Those plans are on hold for now. An Olympic career beckons. Vashti set a goal of clearing 6-8 this season or "whatever it takes to win at the Olympics."

"She reminds me a lot of me when I was kid," her dad says. "If you tell me what I can't do and I'll prove you wrong."

He was a "self-taught" high jumper in high school, posting a personal best of 6-10, who now immerses himself in coaching his kids. That also includes 13-year-old Grace, who already stands 5-11.

Randall II, the oldest, was a star quarterback at national power Bishop Gorman. He held scholarship offers from LSU, Baylor and Arizona State. He chose college track and field instead in hopes of becoming an Olympic high jumper.

The elder Cunningham meticulously studies video of high jumpers from around the world, looking for insight, an edge. "He's watched every high jump video on the Internet," Vashti says, half-joking.

He knows his daughter's technique and talent better than anyone. He developed a workout routine strictly for her, one that is demanding yet not overbearing. He doesn't want her to burn out.

"We work hard but we are not doing what a lot of people do," he says. "Not yet."

Cunningham's life ever after has not come without heartbreak. His son Christian died at age 2 by accidental drowning in a hot tub at the family's home in 2010.

"The most difficult thing anyone can face is losing a child," Cunningham says. "You have to focus on God. There's no other way around it. Alcohol, depression pills, none of that works. We relied on God. We thanked him for the 2 ½ years that he gave us little Christian."

Cunningham keeps photos of Christian near him always, on his phone, on his computer, constant reminders of their time together.

"You live with memories," he says. "I think about him every day."

His 4-year-old daughter, Sofia, climbs onto his lap at this very moment.

"And then this little knucklehead came around," he says, kissing her on the head as she smiles and spells her name.

Cunningham was 48 years old when Sofia was born. Felicity was 43.

"I didn't think we were going to have another kid," he says. "And this little beautiful baby comes out. It wasn't like, 'We're OK now.' It was just, 'Lord, you're into miracles.' "

Sports Illustrated once put Cunningham on its cover with the headline: "The Ultimate Weapon." It was a perfect description for how he played his position.

Equally dangerous as a runner and passer, Cunningham wasn't the NFL's first dual-threat quarterback. But his flair for improvisation set him apart.

He passed for 3,000 yards five times in his career. He finished ninth in the NFL in rushing in 1994 with 942 yards. He even boomed a 91-yard punt against the Giants in 1989.

"He's a very, very underrated player in the history of the NFL," Hall of Fame coach Bill Parcells says.

Cunningham's Houdini escapes from a defender's grasp — See: Carl Banks, "Monday Night Football" — and leaps into the end zone are immortalized on NFL Films.

"I look back and there were some things that I was able to do that I just say, 'How did I do that?' " he says.

Nothing screamed that question more than his '98 rebirth. Cunningham finished second in MVP voting as the Vikings scored a then-NFL record 556 points.

Taking over for injured Brad Johnson in Week 2, Cunningham passed for 3,704 yards and 34 touchdowns with only 10 interceptions and a league-best 106.0 passer rating.

"It was redemption," he says.

The Vikings finished 15-1 but their Super Bowl ticket was torn to pieces on Gary Anderson's wide-left field goal against Atlanta in the NFC Championship Game.

Cunningham doesn't reminisce with regret.

"When I walked off the field after Morten Andersen kicked that [winning] field goal, I said, 'Lord, thank you for the opportunity,' " Cunningham says. "As much as I wanted to win, I couldn't say, 'Why?' "

Few offenses in NFL history have matched the collective firepower of that one with Cunningham, Cris Carter, Randy Moss, Robert Smith, Jake Reed and Andrew Glover.

"I have never been under that kind of pressure in football," Cunningham says. "We expected so much out of ourselves. You could not have an error in practice or somebody was going to say something. We were on edge all the time."

The indelible image of that offense to many fans remains Moss streaking down the field with his arm raised, calling for one of Cunningham's rainbow bombs.

"He threw his arm up all the time," Cunningham says, laughing. "He could be asleep and throw his arm up [saying] 'I'm open.' I'm like, 'So are all the other guys.' "

Cunningham arrives at church at 6:30 a.m. on Sundays. He has been full-time pastor of his own church nearly a decade and he still gets "very, very nervous" before delivering his sermon.

His message and tone in dissecting the book of Titus strike a chord with his audience that feels pitch-perfect.

He tells members it's OK for them to "get loose" and cry. He makes them laugh with his line about children testing their patience. And he grows serious when he asks if anybody feels spiritually challenged.

"This book is not only challenging you," Cunningham says, "but it's allowing me to be on my toes."

The Cunninghams have big plans for their church. Membership has grown from 100 the first year to 1,200. Another 1,300 watch a live stream online every Sunday.

Construction on a 25,000-square-foot expansion begins soon. The building originally was designed to host Christian concerts and dance recitals before they decided to form a church.

They are adding a basketball gym, offices and classrooms for children. A 5,000-square-foot home is being built across the parking lot as a hangout for elders and high school kids taking part in their college prep classes called DI (short for Divine I).

The church occasionally attracts billionaires, retired NFL players passing through Vegas and other celebrities. Regular members include former boxer Leon Spinks, Hall of Fame boxing referee Richard Steele and former Navy and NFL running back Napoleon McCallum.

Members say it's how Cunningham treats everyone that galvanizes their community. Stacy Julian arrived in town nine years ago and began looking for a new church. He heard about Remnant Ministries and drove by the building several times.

One day he pulled into the lot. Cunningham flagged him down and took him inside, where they talked for three hours. Julian became the church's youth director.

Bussey, the church administrator, was part of the original Bible study at Cunningham's home. He never owned a suit; Cunningham asks his male ushers to wear suits during services.

"I was a jeans-and-white-T-shirt kind of guy," Bussey says.

Cunningham bought him his first suit. He has done that for a number of other men in his church.

Cunningham's football memorabilia made $250,000 at auction, a percentage of that designated for church construction projects. He kept only two items from his career: the jersey of Jerome Brown, his Eagles teammate who died in 1992 at age 27, and his own college jersey from UNLV.

He gives his cellphone number to anyone who asks.

"You don't leave the job at 5," Felicity says. "Big issues sometimes, life-crisis situations."

His sermon on this day builds to a climax as Cunningham drops to his knees, sharing his vision of reaching heaven. The congregation cheers.

"We've got to live like that now," he says.

He finishes with a simple request. He wants to see them smile. And he expects to see their teeth when they smile. Laughter fills the church.

One last thing, he says: "I love you. Let's have a great week."