The Defeat of Josh Hamilton

I’ve never been one to post about sports. This is certainly not for lack of ability to be a sports fan. Many do not know that I thoroughly enjoy listening to sports radio and am very fond of ESPN Sportscenter when I have the cable to watch it. I think that many would be surprised at the breadth of needless and pointless sports knowledge I do possess. Despite the fact that I am a closet sports junkie in many ways, it is something that I do not connect to spiritual matters much. I usually leave these to people like my good friend Aaron Tiger who is a master at sports analogies. However, last night’s home run derby event provided a rare circumstance, an atmosphere that I found so significant that it was worth writing about.

Given that this is a post connected to sports in the middle of July, in the middle of what many might call the dreadfully boring and insurmountably long major league baseball season makes this writing all the more surprising. What is even more surprising to me is my enjoyment of baseball this season. Although I do not have a team I am particularly fond of in major league baseball, an interest has blossomed in me this season for reasons really unknown to me.

Last night was the annual home run derby that by chance I decided to watch. By “watch” I mean that I flipped back to every now and then between other television shows. It began like any other derby. Each contestant blasted about 3 to 6 balls into the stands of Yankee Stadium. I can’t explain it, but there is something about a homerun that is captivating to watch. It is such a picture of brute power and strength. The first round was no different than any other derby until the last contestant. This was a young player named Josh Hamilton from the Texas Rangers.

The first thing you would notice about Hamilton is the heavy tattooing that covered his fore arms. The visible mark, the scarlet letter, which serves as a chilling reminder of a turbulent and recent past with drug addiction. This was an addiction that took him out of baseball for three years into all the darkness and evil that cocaine addiction brings, after being picked first in the draft and labeled one of the most talent players in recent history. He now wishes he could take off his tattoos. He became a follower of Jesus, and the Lord brought him life again. Now, he is free in Christ, not to mention one of the great hitters in the game now leading the league in RBI’s. Hamilton is noted as one of the great sports stories of our time.

This added electricity and a special feeling to the derby. But no one could have foreseen the event that would soon occur as he took his place at the plate. From his first swing, Hamilton demonstrated his natural, God-given talent by catapulting one home run after another. Slowly, the crowd at Yankee stadium began to sense something special taking place and began to cheer in a way that surprised everyone. At one point, he had hit 13 home runs in a row. By the end of the round, Hamilton had hit 28 home runs, the most ever hit in a round. The stadium including spectators, players, and commentators were glazed over and amazed.

He was interviewed afterwards where he humbly thanked God and revealed that he had had a dream in which he was in the home run derby adding more to the aura of what he had just done. He had captured the night and really the heart of everyone watching and all this merely after the first round. Everyone knew that Hamilton would win this home run derby.

But what was more interesting to me was that Hamilton actually lost the home run derby. Hamilton obviously made it into the final round where he went head to head with a good player named Justin Morneau from the Minnesota Twins. Rather than including the contestants previous totals, they both started from scratch in the final round in order to make it more competitive. Morneau was first hitting 5 home runs. I think that he along with everyone else believed that this was not enough to beat the talented Hamilton to whom this night seemed to belong. Hamilton took the plate and intitially hit a couple of home runs. But then he began to ground the ball, hit pop flies, and his out total began to pile up. When he was on his last out, he had three home runs – 2 short of Morneau. There was suddenly the dawning of a sober reality that Hamilton might actually lose. One got the sense that everyone wanted him to win; I most definitely wanted to him to win. It seemed right for him to win. It seemed appropriate for him to win. Maybe he had some magic left in him. Maybe he could squeeze in three more right now. That would add even more amazement to the night. It would be the perfect story. But his final hit was not a homerun; it was a grounder to left side of the field. Disappointment was obviously the dominant feeling in the stadium. It seems that Hamilton had just grown tired and did not have it in him. Hamilton smiled as he left the plate and congratulated Morneau.

Afterwards, Hamilton was interviewed where he humbly accepted defeat. In a final question of which I do not quite remember, he paused for a moment looking into the distance as if wondering if this was the right time to say what he was about to say on national television. Then he thanked his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for the opportunity to be here. It seems to me that it was not out of shame or embarrassment that he hesitated in saying this. It seems to me that he wanted it to be seen with his life rather than his words but decided that it couldn’t hurt.

This is certainly not the first time that we have heard someone thank God or even thank Jesus Christ on television or a large public setting. We hear this quite often at the Grammy’s and occasionally at the Academy Awards. But it suddenly came to me last night that we normally do not hear this in defeat. Yet, it seems fitting that Hamilton cried Jesus in defeat, particularly when just an hour or so before victory seemed so securely in his grasp. It is times like this that help us realize that just because we follow Jesus doesn’t mean that we win the homerun derby or become champions of anything. In fact, it appears that Jesus came to teach us not how to win, but how to lose. He came to teach us the way of losing in order that others may be loved and may be saved. Much like the monumental display of 28 homeruns of Josh Hamilton, Jesus did some amazing and beautiful things in the first round of his life that made the outcome of the final round in his life all the more disappointing and hard to understand. Jesus lost, he willingly grounded into a double play for all of us (pardon the cheap analogy). But it is one of the beautiful ironies of our faith that through defeat comes victory. Familiar with the way these things go, I would guess that Hamilton had to be defeated spiritually in order for God to burn the evil and addiction out of him. But through this defeat came to him a cup of life that makes a derby victory pale in comparison. That is what I saw last night. For those who see it, for those who have ears to hear, the defeat of Josh Hamilton last night was the most victorious thing.

Something Scandalous and Uncomfortable

A little less than a week ago, I was teaching a group of high school and middle school students about Nicodemus’ encounter with Jesus in John chapter 3. But if we call this Nicodemus’ encounter with Jesus we might miss something about, what I would argue to be, one of the most significant points of Jesus’ teaching here. The vital teaching that Jesus gives is that Nicodemus cannot really ‘encounter’ Jesus, unless Jesus encounters him first. The new birth is something we have to let God do to us. It is something passive. To illustrate I used the story of Eustace, the unpleasant boy who turned into a dragon in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. One of the strangest yet somewhat magical lines in that book is the Lion’s advice to Eustace just before he is changed back into a boy: “you’ll have to let me undress you.”

When I said those words to these students I suddenly discovered that there was an imprisoned giggle all over the room. Grins and open teeth began instantly forming. I felt that I needed to break the ice so I said it was okay to laugh. Immediately, students began to laugh aloud, look at their friends, and express to each other how strange this story was. Even more laughter exploded when I began to go on with the story and describe how Eustace laid down and let the Lion actually undress him. I’ll admit, the words are a bit scandalous. Our entertainment culture would have fun with a line like that. I can see a sly joke forming in Jimmy Kimmel’s mind already. The words may have been a bit less scandalous to Lewis when he wrote them, and most likely to the children he was targeting with them. But, considering what I have written below, this might be one of the crucial reasons Jesus tells us to be like little children in our faith.

It began to occur to me later on, that those words that the lion spoke were perfectly suited to describe the new birth, which is one of the most intimate things that can ever happen to anyone. The new birth is quite a scandalous thing. It is here that you have to let God make new the ugly and dark parts of your life. But before you can let God do that, you have to give those things to God. But before you can do that, you have to touch and look at it like the underbelly of a large rock. That’s something scandalous and uncomfortable if I’ve ever heard it. Perhaps, this is why we see Nicodemus outraged by Jesus’ response that in order to see the Kingdom of Heaven you have to be born from above. The new birth, in some sense, is never easy for anyone.

The Art of Starting

As summer approaches I am drawn to think about what sort of reading material will occupy my bedside table and house couch given that the summer months bring a new sense of freedom to my bookshelf. But in the midst of this I came to the painful and uncomfortable realization that there have been written way too many books that I would be interested in reading, and there is no possible amount of time in my life to read them. Perhaps this is a personal and unusual fight with pessimism, that forces me to think that the possibility of reading them all is simply an illusion when it is not. Reading lists are like blank canvases in many ways - filled with the most intense contradiction of wonderful possibility and stone-still intimidation. Perhaps I can apply what I've learned from painting, writing, and obedience to God to the summer reading list: the art of starting. I've just got to dig in and go after it.

While there are too many books to mention, I will say that my doctrine class has made me interested in the writings of Emile Brunner. Perhaps I will make a stop by the library.

The Last Chapter

Mr. Reynolds viewed the delivery with confusion the first time after she passed. The white, Styrofoam was strangely unfamiliar to him. His brow furrowed, and his eyebrows cocked as he tried to understand and comprehend. It was something sharp and untouchable. I know this because Mr. Reynolds did not even attempt to grasp it, did not even attempt to receive it or clutch it. I’ve heard that death does this to the world in which we live. The routine becomes alien. The routine delivery nailed spikes into wooden boxes…she’s gone now. He beckoned that I take the delivery into his house and set it down for him. I walked in to the dim living room that smelled like thick carpet and gently laid the delivery onto the table. I felt the need to go, to get out, and so I did. I said goodbye, and Mr. Reynolds gently smiled. As I closed the heavy door, I watched him look down at that strange familiarity laying on his coffee table. Mr. Reynolds seemed as if to be learning how to live again. And it was rather uncomfortable to watch. It was there in which it suddenly occurred to me that life is the turbulent stormy sky above the serene and silent ocean.

Mr. Reynolds viewed the delivery with less confusion the second time after she passed. This time in light blue, he slowly reached for the delivery. There was hesitancy. It was always a viable option to ask me to bring it and set it on the table. But after a moment, he reached for it. Mr. Reynolds’ poor vision caused him to lay his shaken and sandy hands far from the Styrofoam delivery. I helped him find it. He smiled and shut the door. He would put it on the table this time.

Mr. Reynolds wore his Yankee cap the third time after she passed. There was a smile in Mr. Reynolds’ eyes and less in his mouth. He did not hesitate to place his hands out far from the delivery. Once again, I helped him find it. He began to walk back into his house, and I shut the heavy door for him. As I walked back to my car, it suddenly occurred to me that Mr. Reynolds affected me this time. I suddenly caught a strange sense about something. I smiled and drove out of the driveway. I thanked God that, even in the last chapter of our lives, he is still recreating and growing new in us.

Now is the Time

One of the greatest works I have ever read is Martin Luther King, Jr.'s Letter from Birmingham Jail. It challenges me and makes me uncomfortable. Here are some of my favorite lines:

"I had hoped that the white moderate would reject the myth concerning time in relation to the struggle for freedom. I have just received a letter from a white brother in Texas. He writes: 'All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a religious hurry, It has taken Christianity almost two thousand years to accomplish what it has. The teaching of Christ take time to come to earth.' Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangley irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co-workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity."