Olive Crest United Methodist Church
7180 North 60th Street
Omaha, Nebraska 68152

"Honestly, most of the time I was Team Chaplain (which also included the offices of water-boy and batboy--hey, Christ told us to serve). Four of the team members, including the Captain/Manager of the Lions were church members, so I just sort of got sucked in. I was with them for most of their games, at home and visiting. I'd usually get to lead a prayer before the game, then I'd start picking up bats and pouring water. Not glamorous, but a good way to be out, visible, in the community. I watched the members of the N.H. Lions and those they played--THEY were real athletes--and I envied them, a little. God had given them lithe, muscular bodies that always seemed to do what they wanted them to do. Then, one day, I got the chance to be one of them. And nearly perished of terror.

"We had gone to Gentryville (I think their team were Hawks or some such) but not all of us made it. A combination of car troubles, sick family members, and work obligations kept no less than five team members from joining us. We needed nine to play. Including the Captain, there were only eight.

"That's when I got drafted. No one had any illusions about my abilities, but it was that, or disqualification. I was terrified that I would let them team down. That I would make the error that would let the winning run past us. That I would strike out with the bases loaded. That I would get sick out in right field where they stuck me, thinking I'd be relatively harmless there. (Isn't there a song like that? 'I play right field...way out where the dandelions grow...') My opening game prayer had a special fervency that evening. I think it included a lot of material about help and forgiveness.

"The game wasn't so bad. Other Lions scored a couple of runs in the first inning. Only one ball wandered out my way when we took the field, and that one was easy for even someone like me to snag. Then I got up to bat.

"It was an odd feeling picking up one of those things, then stepping to the plate with it, rather than walking away. The Hawk pitcher sneered at me. I doubt that he was really an arrogant person. I think this was a studied technique meant to intimidate the batter. For me it worked fairly well. In graceful counterpoint to this, however, the catcher crouched behind me whispered: 'Relax, preacher. It's just a game. Nobody's soul is on the line, here.' I was more grateful for that than I can say. Sometimes it's easier to love your enemies than other times.

"The first throw was in close. I think the pitcher was testing me. I didn't step back. 'Sure, hit me,' I muttered. 'I don't mind taking a walk to first base.' (The catcher and umpire behind me chuckled, good-naturedly, at this). The second pitch was way outside. I wanted to swing at it, but held back. (I'd been in Junior League from ages 8-10; it was good to know that not all of my training had deserted me).

"The third toss was something that I could swing at. It did start to rise as it drew near, but I got a piece of it. Okay, a small piece. It did clear the infield, coming down about fifteen yards past the shortstop and bouncing towards left field. The left fielder swooped down on it (he was a Hawk, after all), but I didn't go all out in my sprint because he had a lot farther to run than I did.

"I had a stand-up single. (Better than I'd expected, certainly.) The first baseman was just nodding a friendly greeting to me when the ball blazed past between us. Though I'd obviously made it, for some reason the left fielder had thrown it anyway, and caught his own first baseman off guard. Said first baseman screamed a monosyllable that alludes to fecal matter, paused for a second to say, 'Oh! Pardon me, Reverend,' then shrieked it again and tore off after the ball.

"'Run! Run to second!' people began yelling at me from the stands. Our own Manager, serving as first base coach, was nearly having a seizure as he jumped up and down, also hollering 'Go to second!' and helpfully pointing the way.

"What could I say? It felt safe on first base but the studio audience wanted a double. I took off running. But I had apparently delayed long enough so that my friend, the monosyllabic first basemen, had reached the ball. As I closed on second base, so was the second baseman. And the shortstop. And the center fielder. All at once. I saw it coming. I didn't dare to believe it was going to happen. But it did. Second base, shortstop, and center field all tried to occupy the same space simultaneously, evidently not seeing each other. None of them even yelled, 'Mine!' Maybe they assumed that the others would give ground, but no one did. All three collided, went down, and the ball bounced between them. I'm standing on second, among them; suddenly the schlemiel in a slapstick comedy.

"'Run! Run to third!' people began shouting at me. I knew better than to argue. 'Excuse me,' I said to the downed flight of Hawks. Only the center fielder was scrambling after the ball as I jogged along the next leg of my journey.

"I had a foot on third base. The third baseman smiled at me genially and said, 'Hey, good ru--' when suddenly he was cut off. The center fielder had caught up with the ball and flung it to third base to hold me there. The third baseman, knowing that I was prepared to stay a little while was, like his first base brother, caught by surprise. The ball took him in the back of the head and he went down too. (I do want it noted that, usually, the Gentryville Hawks were a much more efficient team than this. I believe that there were serious discussions, later, between their players of the infield and the outfield.)

"There are now people standing on bleachers, exhorting me. Our third base coach is all but turning cartwheels. I got a combination of 'Home run!' and 'Run to home!' 'Are you okay?' I asked the third baseman. He muttered something like 'fuzza-wuzza,' turned over and began groping for the ball. I figured he was okay, and went on home, beating the ball by a good two seconds.

"The umpire had lifted his mask to say, 'That is the most undeserved home run I have ever seen, in the history of this league!' 'Thank you,' I replied numbly, not really knowing if it was a compliment or not. The catcher snapped up the ball, clapped a hand to my shoulder, and said, 'God was definitely with you tonight, Preacher.' (I had the Gentryville catcher pegged for a church-guy.)

"I think the catcher-hawk was right, actually. That home run did feel sort of miraculous. Certainly undeserved. I deserved a single. A further miracle was that I got through the game without ever messing up too badly. I had no other chances to test God's grace, because a superstitious awe seemed to descend upon the Hawks and they spent the rest of the game walking me and hitting balls no closer than a quarter mile out of right field. 'We're going to let you play ALL the time, Rev,' the manager joked. 'No, thanks,' was my response. 'Only in dire emergency.' It struck me that it's one thing to have angels come to your rescue when you're flung from the pinnacle of the Temple; it's another to have Satan take you up, and invite: 'Jump off! Let's watch those angels scramble!'

"Looking back on times like these it strikes me that sometimes I've been placed in positions where I felt I had no great chance of success but had to try, anyway, and the grace of God has been there for me.