I grew up loving baseball. Although I played Little League, I was never really very good at it. But I loved the game.
The season of Lent anticipates Easter, but almost as important for some of us is the anticipation of the baseball season during Lent. Everything is fresh and new. Fresh beginnings. New opportunities.
Even today, as one in his mid-50s, my heart stirs through spring training as it prepares us for the new season. What joy! What excitement! What anticipation that game engenders for some of us!
Recently I have been reading a lot of baseball books, mostly because I think there is something theological that baseball can teach the church. One of the books is written by a moderate Southern Baptist, Marc Jolley, who happens to work at Mercer University Press. The book is Safe at Home: A Memoir of God, Baseball, and Family.
Jolley recalls growing up as an avid baseball player and fan in Cleveland, Tenn. His love for the game never waned. At several points he ruminates on what baseball taught him as a youngster and what he experienced in the church. For example, he writes: If the New Testament teaches community and love of enemies, then I learned that best as a kid on the baseball field (p. 59). And again: Somehow, I never learned to respect enemies at church. I learned a lot about hate and divisiveness at church. I learned nothing about a common goal, or a purpose (p. 60).
We might say, well, those Baptists are always fighting. But Presbyterians and Episcopalians and Lutherans and Methodists and others have not exactly been examples of the beloved community.
At the risk of sounding self-righteous (I am not without my own views of the controversial issues before the church), if we cannot seek to exemplify the love and grace of Jesus Christ any better than we have in recent years, then perhaps it’s best that we, as a denomination, die. Unfortunately, instead of being an example to the world, because we have not heeded our own Lord’s call to discipleship, we have put ourselves in the position of needing to learn from the world.
If, however, we let that love and grace re-capture our hearts and minds and lives, then maybe the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) has a chance at becoming an instrument of God’s peace and love in, to, and for the world. If God can use Cyrus, then maybe God can also use baseball.
At a recent presbytery meeting several ministers of the Word and Sacrament announced that, if a particular resolution did not pass, a signal would be sent that would encourage Sessions to withhold their financial support from the denomination’s governing bodies. Shortly thereafter I came across the following statement issued by the 1966 General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in the United States (PCUS):
When members profess their faith in Christ they promise to study the peace, unity, and purity of the church. This vow requires neither the suppression of divergent opinion nor the avoidance of controversial issues. It does, however, require that divergence and controversy be expressed through methods prescribed by our constitution, and in a spirit of reasonableness and tolerance. Resort to pressure, especially financial, in order to coerce opinions or decisions within the church is an abuse of Christian liberty (emphasis added).
The late Eastern Orthodox theologian, Alexander Schmemann, once wrote, Of all accusations against Christians, the most terrible one was uttered by Nietzsche when he said that Christians had no joy (For the Life of the World, p. 24). Not only do we Presbyterians have no joy, but we cannot exhibit the grace and humility that become the body of Christ.
I find this true of myself as well. I wish others would see the error of their ways and believe as I do. I, too, would rather be right than gracious and loving, especially towards those with whom I disagree. But what does that do to the notion of dying to oneself? What does that do to the notion of loving one’s enemies? What does that do to the idea of freeing ourselves from self-absorption?
It is probably naïve to suggest that we put down our toxic pens/swords and try to practice what the gospel calls us to be and do. We might discover that it is easier to fight with each other than it is to love and serve each other. It may be naïve, but nothing else has worked so far.
I’m convinced that the game of baseball has a lot to teach us about life and about the church. We haven’t seemed to learn about community and respecting enemies from Scripture. Maybe baseball can help direct our attention back to where it should be.
James S. Currie is associate dean for the Houston Extension program and assistant professor of American Church History at Austin (Texas) Presbyterian Theological Seminary.
