Stepping Up to the Plate
a sermon based on Mark 10:35-45
by Rev. Randy L Quinn

Like most young boys, I played little league baseball. It was only after I learned to play and became a player that I watched my first professional games. We lived in New Jersey, not far from Philadelphia. So my first association with the game came as a Phillies fan. Later we moved to Los Angeles and I became a Dodgers fan.

It may have been coincidence, but when I quit playing ball I lost interest in watching it. In hindsight, I suspect I enjoyed watching professional ball players only as long as I could see myself on the field.

I knew what it meant to step up to the plate and take a few practice swings. I could see myself doing that as I watched Johnny Callison go to bat.
I knew what it meant to keep an eye on the ball as I watched Don Drysdale pitch yet another no-hitter.
I knew what it meant to feel the ball land in my mitt and throw it to Roy Sievers at first base.
I remember the intense pressure to make a hit as well as the tingle in my palms when the bat finally struck the ball in the 8th inning.

Mine was a vicarious enjoyment. When my dreams of ever playing in more advanced leagues were gone and I could no longer identify with the players, I became an occasional fan who rarely knows the current standings and almost never knows a player by name.

It isn’t that I can’t enjoy a good game, or that I don’t know the basic rules of play, but I guess I’d rather be a participant than a spectator. That may also explain why I use sports metaphors sparingly in my preaching.

But that doesn’t mean I think we can’t learn from sports.

In fact, I know one of the most important things I’ve learned about life came from those years when I was intimately connected with baseball. Our text for today, in fact, brings to mind that important learning.

I was never good enough to do it, but I learned what it meant to “sacrifice” by watching professional baseball players. A batter would intentionally allow himself to be thrown out at first base so another runner could advance. On occasion, the sacrifice play would lead to a score and an RBI.

But the batter gave up the possibility of hitting a home run. The batter allowed his batting average to go down. The batter gave up the possibility of being a base runner and another potential score. The batter gave up a chance to be on the field and play. The batter does all of that for the sake of the team.

That’s what it means to sacrifice. We give up a position of honor and respect for the sake of someone else. We give up our own comfort and security so the needs of others can be met.

And while I first learned what it meant through the game of baseball, it wasn’t the last time I encountered the concept. And even though I was never good enough to “sacrifice” in baseball, I know I’ve made my own kinds of sacrifices over the years. And so have you.

It’s what most adults do when they become parents. They give up things for the sake of their children. They give up sleep when their children are young, for instance.
It’s also what most men and women in the military do when they put on their uniforms. They give up time with family and put their lives on the line for the sake of our society.
And it’s what most people do when they volunteer in the schools or offer to be a part of the church’s ministry. They give up time for their own hobbies and entertainment as well as time with their own families so they can help others grow in their knowledge and faith.

It’s what Jesus is alluding to when he responds to James and John. They don’t see the sacrifice coming. They only see the glory. And while we may shake our heads in disbelief at their obtuseness, there is a sense in which they capture the essence of sacrifice – they are looking at the final outcome, not the difficult journey that must be traversed before the goal can be reached.

Jesus has told the disciples three times that he will be going to Jerusalem to die (Mk 8:31-32; 9:30-32; 10:32-34). Each time he does, the disciples turn and talk about their own importance and power while Jesus tells them about the sacrifices that they will need to make (Mk 8:33-39; 9:33-37; 10:35-45). It’s as if they didn’t hear Jesus when he spoke.

But what if James and John do indeed see what is coming? Maybe they are willing to lay down their lives along with Jesus. Maybe they are like the baseball player who, when making a sacrifice play, can see another advance and help the team put another game in the win column.

What if we read this as two disciples who get the picture all too clearly and still want to follow Jesus?

Like the other disciples, we might get uncomfortable with that idea. We don’t want anyone to follow that closely because it might imply we can, too. We don’t want them to suffer and die because it might set a precedent that we don’t want to follow.
  
We’d rather watch from the stadium seats than be on the field of play. We want the disciples to be like us and watch as someone else makes the sacrifice.
  
I personally think that’s why so many Roman Catholics and non-Roman Catholics alike are anxious for Mother Teresa to be canonized as a saint. If she becomes a saint, we can rest easier knowing that she was able to serve because she was somehow super-human. We don’t want her to be like the rest of us.
  
You see, I know too many people who believe the Christian faith is for spectators. They come to church to “watch” and “hear” as the preacher and the choir and even the children attempt to bring the scriptures to life. Maybe their view from the pew is similar to the view I have from the baseball stadium, with a fantasy of how life would be if they had pursued their faith with passion.
  
For them, the life of faith is only remotely connected to the real world because they don’t want to take the time to train properly.
  
But the reality is that the Christian faith is a participatory act not a spectator sport. Jesus has made the ultimate sacrifice so that we might have life, but those who would follow him find it impossible to do so while sitting on their hands.
  
We may want to sit in a circle looking in at the God who loves us. And we may want to join hands and sing “Kum Ba Yah.” But that same God who comes near us and loves us is calling us to look out and to reach out in service to the world.
  
Some of you already know the joy that comes with that kind of service.

You know the delight that comes from seeing someone realize that they are indeed loveable.
You know the pleasure of the simple smile you get when you visit a shut in.
You have seen the sparkle in a child’s eyes when they learn how to bring canned food for the food bank.

Others of us are afraid of the sacrifice involved.

In his most recent book, The Five People you Meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom suggests that there are some who sacrifice and are bitter about it while others make the same sacrifice and find joy in it (New York: Hyperion, 2003; p 93). The difference seems to stem from our focus – do we look at what was lost or do we see what was gained?

My baseball record was full of unintentional sacrifice plays. I rarely made it to first base, and on occasion my poor batting resulted in a runner advancing. But my focus was not on the team results but my own poor performance.

Had I been able to see the part I unwittingly played in the overall game, I may have found more joy in my batting average of 080. In time, I did learn the importance of keeping the team’s performance in view as well as my own performance. I began to see the purpose of the team. (I also began to see that I was never going to be a real asset to the team, so I stopped playing.)

When we as a church begin to see the victory that God has already won, it becomes easier to form a circle that looks outward instead of inward. And at that point we will all find joy in sacrifice.

Maybe it is time to become like James and John and step up to the plate. Maybe it’s time to say we are ready, willing, and able to follow Christ wherever he may lead us.

And unlike my little league baseball experience, I can assure you God will find a way to use whatever gifts and whatever talents we offer.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.