By Mike Leno

Orlando Hudson and James Loney converged to the same spot on the base line between first and second. As they both looked skyward their motions became synchronized as if following a well-rehearsed choreography. A high pop fly hung in space overhead and then accelerated downward toward the two outstretched gloves. The crowd waited breathlessly. It should be an easy out. But strange things can happen in this sort of situation. What if the two professional ball players ran into each other while trying to track the ball? What if they each simultaneously broke off pursuit so as not to hinder the other? What if a gust of wind carried the ball out of reach? Or what if they both lost the ball in the sun, which was directly overhead? We waited for gravity and time to answer all the what-ifs.

Jeff, my son-in-law, and I had decided that rather than a mall excursion with by my wife and daughter, an Angels/Dodgers game would be a more appealing venue for male bonding. It was a perfect day for baseball and the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend included a day game at Dodger Stadium. As we sat in the stands above and behind home plate munching on high cost, low quality food, we settled in for a very pleasant afternoon of watching hits, runs and errors. But in the midst of all that a statement of one of my church elders came flying out of memory like a wild pitch, high and inside.

“It sounds like Dodger Stadium in there!” the elder had said in exasperation. He was referring, of course, to the presence of noise and a corresponding lack of reverence in church, especially during the times just before and after the worship service. I had to admit, he had a point. And it’s something I still wrestle with. How do you make people welcome, engaged, and part of a community; and at the same time maintain proper respect and reverence? But now that I was actually sitting in Dodger Stadium, I couldn’t help indulging in some private amusement over a comparison between church and stadium. What follows is not an attempt to minimize a valid concern for reverence. But partly out of amusement and partly out of a serious concern for meaning in worship, I offer the following observations about church and baseball. If that sounds a little irreverent, well don’t worry, I’m not trying to mix the two.

In general, I wish our worship services were as well synchronized as the Dodger infield. It would at least be nice if our microphones were all working when they were supposed to and that our starting lineup actually matched the names we print in the bulletin. But beyond trite analogies and comparisons, what really caught my attention as I sat overlooking the infield was an ongoing commentary from the seats behind us. It seems that a number of fathers were enjoying the game with their young sons. As the first batter came to the plate I heard one of the fathers say, “Now this guy likes to bunt. He’s very fast and can beat the throw to first base. But notice what the third baseman is doing. Do you know why he’s standing there? He usually steps back of the baseline into the outfield. But since he knows the batter might bunt, he’s standing near third base and will move toward the plate as the batter bunts the ball.”

The 10 year-old hung on his dad’s every word. And just as predicted, the leadoff hitter took the bat off his shoulder and squared around for a bunt. The third basemen come toward the plate to be in position. After the third attempt went foul the batter gave up and hit normally and the third baseman moved back out of the infield. As the game progressed, the father asked questions about various aspects of the game. Then after his son answered he would provide more information and even predictions that proved amazingly accurate. It was like sitting in front of a well informed sportscaster – but without the inane hyperbole such as “of all the games we’ve broadcast, this is certainly one of them!”

The pop fly continued its earthward trajectory. The two Dodgers, Loney and Hudson continued to track it in unison. In the split second before impact, I was still unsure about who would attempt the catch. Since they stood about 8 feet apart, I wondered if the ball might fall embarrassingly on the ground between them. But in that decisive instant, with both gloves still outstretched, the two did not collide; and Loney safely made the catch.

“Do you know how they did that?” asked the father as the crowd roared. His 10-year old deferred to whatever answer was forthcoming. “They were talking to each other! They were telling each other where they were and who should catch the ball,” said the dad. “That way they didn’t get in each other’s way and they made the catch.”

I marveled at this display of baseball pedagogy. The father behind me was not just enjoying an afternoon in the same general space as his son. The two of them were sharing an experience. In a sense, thanks to the father’s continual commentary, they shared a brain. What the boy experienced that day depended in large part on his dad. And what the dad experienced was fine tuned and enhanced because of his obvious enjoyment in teaching his offspring.

Due in part to an untamed imagination I started wondering if perhaps our church was even more like Dodger stadium than we first thought. I don’t mean that we bounce beach balls from one section of the congregation to another, serve Dodger Dogs in the foyer or have a seventh-inning stretch (although some might appreciate that when the sermon goes into extra innings). And although I’m tempted to draw some sort of parallel between errors in the outfield and dropping a communion tray full of grape juice I have a more important point to make.

Whether the dad behind me realized it or not, he was not just teaching baseball. He was teaching life lessons to his son; lessons of intellectual curiosity, physics, dedication, communication, excellence and of course the sheer enjoyment of sharing an experience with a loved one. I wondered; could such a conversation around teachable moments happen in church? And if so, what would it sound like. I’m afraid one likely commentary would go like this: “Do you know why we can’t hear the soloist?” “Because she can’t sing?” No, because the guys in the back are not paying attention. They haven’t found the mic button yet!” And of course I can also imagine the usual banter from the fashion police about who’s wearing what that day.

But as entertaining as such imaginings might be I shall not pursue them further. What really excites my imagination is the possibility that church offers a venue where families share the act of worship and actually learn something that makes that experience better. And the learning that goes on need not and cannot always come from the front. Sometimes the best learning takes place in parent to offspring gestures, whispers, and perhaps even a text message or two. I would love to be sitting in a pew hearing the following conversation behind me:

“The preacher just mentioned a text in Titus. Do you know where Titus is? It’s right here after the two Timothys.”

Two Timothys?

Well, actually there are two letters to one Timothy.

“Why do we take up an offering? So the preacher can pay his rent?”

“No. Because we want to have a church to worship in and we want to spread the gospel.”

“Did you notice that we sang the Navy Hymn this morning? That’s because it’s Memorial Day weekend. See that woman over there in the army uniform? The preacher just introduced her and said she was a Sergeant and has been in Iraq. Did you know that many men and women soldiers have been killed while protecting our country? Freedom is very valuable.”

“John 3:16; hey you know that verse. Why did the preacher say we should love the world? Because God so loved the world. Do you know what that means?”

At the end of the day the fathers and sons went home from the game full of memories and stadium food. Jeff and I drove out of the parking lot and found the onramp to the freeway. The Angels had won. And in spite of rooting for the Dodgers I found some comfort in the thought of victorious heavenly beings, whether in the context of baseball or of church.