by Bro. Heath McClure
Today is Saturday. I love Saturdays. Would you like to know why? Three words: Little League Baseball.
More on this shortly.
When my wife and I (and our daughter) moved to the Nashville area almost 14 years ago I was convinced that I knew everything there is to know about anything that is worth knowing. I read the right books, listened to the right talk shows, voted for the right political party, and hung out with the right people. In addition to this, I was always eager to help other people do the same. I thought I was helping. I really did. I wanted every one else to see things the way I saw them because the way I saw things was the only right way to see things.
Sometimes I cringe when I think about some of the things I used to say, think, and believe. I have been toying around for some time with the idea of writing a memoir of sorts and calling it, Stupid Things I Used to Say. My fear, however, is that because there were so many stupid things I used to say, it would most likely turn into either a tome the size of War and Peace or an ongoing series. Not to mention the fact that I still sometimes say really stupid things. The difference now is that I can usually tell when I have said something stupid. The twenty-five year old version of me had no idea.
One of the stupid things I used to say is this: Little League Baseball is a giant waste of time.
Yes, it’s true. Those are my actual words from my twenty-five year old self. What was I thinking? I would like to report that I was not thinking at all. Sadly, that’s not the case. I was thinking. And all of my “thinking” had to be about “important things.” Things like making sure everyone knew how to vote in November. Things like recruiting everyone to join my church. Things like doing my best to bring all of life into conformity with my way of thinking, seeing, living, believing, and being.
I even had a book list (Heath’s Top Ten) guaranteed to give a person everything they will ever need to know about being the perfect Christian. At 38 I can honestly report to you that I no longer have such a list. And, if I did, none of the books that were on the old list would make the cut. Further, I would probably discourage anyone from reading most of the books on that old list.
I can even remember being in Sunday School classes during this time and becoming angry with the teacher for taking so much time talking and socializing and visiting with the class. After all, I was there to learn! I was there to have my brain engaged! I was there to learn the deep truths of God!
And I was there to avoid engaging my heart and soul. I was there to ignore my true self, and my need for community, friendship and connection, and, most importantly, my need for love.
The saddest part of it all is that I had absolutely no consciousness of God’s presence in the eyes, faces, stories, tears, scars, and hugs of other people. I wasn’t even listening to what others were saying. I couldn’t listen. When other people were talking I was always thinking of the next “brilliant” point I was going to make.
So, what does this all have to do with baseball?
I remember my twenty-five year old self, on a Saturday morning, driving by the baseball fields near our home. It was little league fall ball. The kids were about five years old. In that age group the coach pitches to his own team. Several dads (and some moms too!) are on the field helping their youngster understand the rules of the game. I remember seeing all this and thinking: “What a waste of a Saturday morning. These kids could be doing more important things. The parents are probably just trying to live vicariously through their children. This is such a distraction from reality!”
I have never been more wrong in my life.
Last fall my wife suggested that we register our youngest son for fall ball. He had expressed some interest in playing and she thought it would be a good outlet for him. My thirty-seven-year-old self was not at all opposed to this idea so we signed him up. It was honestly one of the most enjoyable two months of my life. So, he played again in the spring of this year. And this fall I am the assistant coach of the team. Isn’t life funny?
Here’s the point: Little league baseball is one of the most sacramental, spiritual, sacred, and life affirming things I have ever been a part of.
First, in little league baseball you get to be around a group of 5 and 6 year-olds! What a picture of God’s grace, new creation, vitality, and energy! In our day we are so glued to our screens that we are starved for face time with others. In team sports you are removed from the world of screens, iPads, iPhones, and other hand held distractions. It’s all about conversations, stories, demonstrations, and interactive play. Some of the liturgical aspects of the game are the “high fives”, the “thumbs ups”, and the “good jobs!” that are heard from coach to player. There is nothing that will make a child’s day more than the presence and praise of their parents, teachers, and coaches.
Second, in little league baseball families are brought together that would have otherwise never met! Anything that brings people together is a good thing. As the parents get to know one another and exchange stories and phone numbers something extraordinary happens. Our field of vision expands, grows, and matures. We makes new friends. We create new stories. We get the privilege of being invited into the living narratives of others. We get to practice “loving our neighbor.” I could go on.
Lastly, (and I’m not ashamed of this one at all) we get to live vicariously through our children while reliving the best parts of our own childhoods. Yes, it’s true. When I put on my glove and coaches shirt and hat I get a little excited. When I pass the ball to the other coach and hear the snap of a hard-thrown baseball hitting the leather pocket of the glove, it makes feel giddy inside. You want to know why? Because inside, underneath the beard and the books and the extra pounds, I am just a little kid. And this kid longs to be a part of something bigger than himself. This kid wants to be included. This kid wants to be praised. This kid wants to run and jump and play and hear the praise of my father. This kid wants to be free. And so, in a healthy way, I regress. For just a little while I shed the contrived “maturity” and the “serious” machinations of “adulthood.” And I get to do this with my five year old son! I get to watch his face as he fields a ground ball. I get to be near him when he drives the ball into the outfield. Most importantly ,I get to shower him with the praise and encouragement that he both desperately needs and intrinsically deserves. The look on his face when I yell, “Good hit, son!” is worth more to me than I can possibly describe.
Little league baseball has brought to my family a crushing amount of joy, laughter, passion, and fun. I especially love the look on my son’s face when he recounts one of his base hits, throws to first, or three-run homers (ok, so he hasn’t done that last one yet, but he will!). We all live for stories. We all need to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. We are all made to work with and depend on others. Where better to learn these things than on the baseball field?!
Little league baseball, like so many other childish things, is NOT a waste of time. It’s actually one of the most life-affirming, soul-filling, and gloriously humanizing things I have ever been a part of. I can’t help but to think that God is a huge fan. How could he not be?!
Put me in coach, I’m ready to play!
