Repost...But one of mine!

In honor of opening week of one of my favorite sports!

My First Day of Baseball

     For as long as I can remember, I’ve never been able to outdo my brother. He’s always been able to “one up” me in anything I’ve attempted. Don’t get me wrong, I love my big brother. It’s just that I wanted to be as good as he was, and never quite seemed to get there.

     He was born first. (Older by 11 years.) He made better grades in High School. (Without ever bringing home a book.) He played in the High School band, and was STILL popular. (My popularity extended only to playing for others in talent shows, then dissolving into the forgotten, faceless crowd.)

     But most of all, my brother excelled at sports. Any sport. Any time. Always ready. And his favorite was BASEBALL.  He could hit, he could catch, he could throw better than anyone else I knew. Sandlot, High School, Church Team, College, it didn’t matter. This was his “best of the best” sport. And I wanted to be just like him.

     So when a chance came to try out for a youth league BASEBALL team, I knew I had to do it. I went over all the reasons with my mom and dad, over and over, to get them to let me try. I was old enough, I said. I got good enough grades, I said. I could still do my chores around the house, I said. And my crowning argument? You let Gary, I said.

     Finally succumbing to my near flawless debating technique (Gary was a little better.), it was agreed that I would attend the tryouts. And best of all, Gary would take me there. I don’t even remember the ride down, I was so excited. Not only was I going to play BASEBALL (I knew the tryouts were in the bag.) but I was going to show Gary I could do something that he could do and he would be so proud of me never mind 11 years we would be close just like brothers should be never mind he started college when I started first grade we were brothers and he could finally be proud!

     When we got there, Gary pulled his car into a dirt parking spot facing the field, near home plate. Awesome, I thought, he’ll be able to see me. He’ll see me make the team. I jumped out, glove in hand, and ran to the dugout to the nearest adult I could find, and told him I wanted to try out for the team.

     As it happens, we had gotten there after the tryouts had started, and they had already done some fielding, so he sent me to grab a bat, and try my hitting. That was fine with me; my fielding wasn’t my best ability. I had this unfortunate habit of reacting just a bit slow, so I caught about an equal number of balls with my face as my glove. But I was much better with hitting. This was my time, I would show them right here. I’d hit that ball so far, they’d have to take me. And it would all happen right in front of Gary.

     I had always been a scrawny kid, so they must have felt they needed to take it easy on me. For whatever reason, that first pitch was the most beautiful pitch my young years had ever seen. (Or have seen since.) I still picture that moment in my head in slow motion, my form reaching a level of perfection it had never risen to before, feeling the power of connection, then seeing the ball fly from the bat. I had a hit! To my mind it was the greatest hit in the history of youth league BASEBALL tryouts. Soaring out, making it almost all the way to the outfield. And Gary had seen it.

     After a second’s hesitation, to bask in my history making moment, I began to run for all I was worth. As I rounded third, I saw that my soon-to-be team mate’s joy was equal to my own. Even though I put my all into running, I could still see from the corner of my eyes them laughing and cheering me on. I was not only going to be on the team, I would be its star. Oh, life was good!

     As I rounded second, it seemed the joyous enthusiasm of my team continued to increase. Some were so happy with my talent; they were even rolling in the grass, unable to speak, for the joy of obtaining their new team leader. I would be a gracious leader as well, always offering to help those not as capable as myself. I looked towards the car for Gary, but I couldn’t see him. Could he have walked off, without seeing my greatest triumph? No matter, over my years in school, college, then the pros, he would have plenty of opportunity to see me shine.

     As I rounded first, it began to strike me as odd that no one had made an attempt to get the ball, now resting comfortably in the grass next to the nearly comatose shortstop. Had I so overwhelmed them, they had given up even trying? No, no, this was too much. I would have to remember to hold back my considerable talent, so that no one would feel they didn’t measure up. And where was Gary? I can’t believe he didn’t see this adulation for his little brother.

     As my feet finally reached that sacred diamond of whitened rubber, several realizations hit me at once. First, that the joy around me seemed excessive, even for such a glorious hit. Second, that I could see Gary, or at least his head, actually just the top of his head, from behind his steering wheel. Third, as the coach was approaching me, I was suddenly less confident if the order of bases was supposed to be 3^rd, 2^nd, 1^st, home…or 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, home. The coach, catching his breath between words, confirmed the correct order.

     I went over to the dugout, picked up my glove, and walked with the gait of a man being led to his execution to my brother’s car. I opened the passenger door, slunk inside and, very quietly, we went home. I went in my room, put away my glove, and didn’t pick it up again.

     Well, that’s not actually right. There’s something about BASEBALL that keeps drawing a person in. Maybe it’s the fact that anyone can play, yet no one ever completely masters it. It is a game where the entire team becomes a band of brothers, fighting together for the win, yet can be determined by one bat, one pitch, one catch. Ruthlessly fair, it is 9 innings of true competition, to which you give your all, you have no other choice, and would have it no other way. You see, my brother was right about something else too. BASEBALL is the best.

Sharing a blog from Sherry

     A few years ago, I had the privilege of meeting the then pastor of the church I grew up in, St. John's United Methodist Church. Sherry Cothran Woolsey welcomed myself and our group X-ALT!, and is a dear friend, excellent singer/songwriter, insightful pastor, and as will be seen, awesome blogger as well. I've asked her permission to re post her most recent blog, and you can see much more on her website at http://www.sherrycothran.com. Enjoy!

The Songs of Bible Women & Why They Change the World

When we think about the Bible, we don’t often think of the beauty and power of songs, especially by women. They aren’t sung loudly over edgy guitar riffs or punctuated by trance inducing beats. They’re not delivered to us via Youtube by stylish singers in trendy clothes. But if we go searching for them, we find that songs are a big deal in the Bible, and though they may not make it to the top 40 Billboard charts, they are some of the most powerful tools we have for claiming a new world order. One in which the hungry are fed, the weak are made strong, the oppressed are set free and the lion lies down with the lamb. A world in which swords are turned into plow shares.

If I were to get a hook out of the songs of Hannah, Deborah and Mary it would be this: God has done the impossible again, should we be surprised?

Though there are nearly two hundred songs in the Bible, some of the most powerful ones are created by these three women.

What makes them so special?

They teach us how to sing our faith into existence by envisioning God’s action in a song, it’s classically known as praise. But the word itself is deceiving. It brings to mind joy, beauty, ease or happiness. But their songs of praise tell us a different story. Praise is hard. That’s what makes it so powerful. These women do the gritty, scrappy, world ordering work of praise in their songs, and it’s what makes them world changing.

Praise is hard because it must be uttered over and against evidence that points to the contrary. It’s much easier to believe the evidence that the world is a horrible place than to speak the good news that it is not.

To praise God in a world in which violent hate crimes seem to rule the daily news, where children become targets just for attending school, where women are sold every day into sex trafficking, even in our own backyard, is a radical act. But that’s exactly what faith is, praising God in adverse conditions. This is how the world is changed. Channeling the love of God over and against the reality in which we live. That’s exactly why it’s crucial. Because praise not only heals us, it heals the world, too.

The women of the Bible who sang God’s powerful and healing love into the world weren’t the product of warm, fuzzy, comfortable societies. They were scrappy and lived in a culture that often held them to a rigid standard of having to negotiate life as the property of men. They also lived in a time in which a woman’s worth was often measured by her ability to bear a male child, remain a virgin until married and be submissive to male authority.

But the three women whose songs changed the world, Hannah, Deborah and Mary, colored outside of these lines. Not because they were seeking attention for themselves but because God asked them to, they simply responded to a calling from on high.

Hannah, Deborah and Mary were not only prophets, but women who overcame cultural adversity to channel God’s miraculous power into flesh and bones, into peace and love. Deborah’s song tells of an impossible victory that she commands with her vision, grit and military prowess as the right arm of God on earth. Hannah’s song claims God’s miraculous power to do the impossible through a woman that the world had given up on. Mary’s song creates a new world order in which God’s love is Sovran.

Through their songs love is made possible in the world through the odd combination that women carry so well -vulnerability and strength.

The songs of women are special, because they are uttered from hearts that know of sacrifice and oppression, hearts that are well acquainted with sorrow and the impossible. Hearts that have experienced the pain of rejection. Women who didn’t settle for being the victims of an unfair system, who didn’t believe the victim narrative but rose up out of it through God’s strength to share the truthfulness of God’s mighty power with the world.

They also teach us that we can’t do important work alone, we need others to be our best selves. In a culture in which we can easily feel isolated, lonely and without nurturing love, we need to remember that their songs were not sung alone. If they had been, the outcomes could have been very different. Deborah could have gone into battle without enough of the manpower she needed. Mary could have been abandoned by her family and friends and had to face giving birth alone. Hannah would have had no sacred vessel into which she could dedicate God’s gift to her. But because they sang their songs in communities that believed in them, and believed that their words were from God, the outcome was miraculous, every time.

God has done the impossible through the songs of women, should we be surprised?

Check out some of my modern interpretations of the radical stories of the hidden women of the Bible here.

May God add a blessing to your reading of this blog.