63 Sermon Illustrations on Baseball

Watching Randy Johnson pitch is always a treat. The 6-foot-10 lefty is an imposing figure on the mound, and staring at him from the batter's box has to be an intimidating experience.

But watching the Big Unit pitch his perfect game May 18, 2004, was truly something special. Johnson's performance will go down as one of the greatest pitching feats ever, especially considering his age of 40.

In fact, Johnson became the oldest player in major league history to throw a perfect game when he retired all 27 Atlanta Braves batters he faced. He also became only the sixth player in baseball history to throw a no-hitter in both the American and National Leagues.

It was only the 17th time a pitcher has tossed a perfect game in major league history. That should give you a pretty good idea of just how rare the achievement is.

“A game like this was pretty special,” Johnson said in an AP story. “It doesn't come along very often.”

A lock for baseball's Hall of Fame, Johnson's perfect game is a nice exclamation point to a superb career. He has won 234 games and has a career ERA of 3.09. His 3,952 strikeouts place him fourth on the all-time list, behind only Nolan Ryan, Steve Carlton and Roger Clemens. He has also won five Cy Young Awards and is a World Series MVP.

But despite all the honors, all the accomplishments and all the accolades, Johnson remains humble about his place in baseball history.

Johnson wrote the forward to Dave Dravecky's little book, “Play Ball.” In it, Johnson talks about his love for the game's history. His basement isn't adorned with any of his Cy Young awards, but with his collection of autographs from players like Cy Young himself, Lefty Grove, Kid Nichols and Babe Ruth.

“I love the history of the game, and I enjoy learning what those old-timers have done,” Johnson wrote. “These days, I'm greatly humbled by what I've been able to accomplish between the lines.”

Johnson goes on to give God the credit for his ability and for his success on the baseball field.

“With each passing season, I'm realizing that any history I'm making has not been done by my own strength,” Johnson wrote. “The Lord has taught me to accept the peaks and valleys and try to do my best -- to get the most out of my ability. I understand that the Lord is in charge of our destiny and that the blessings I've been given could come and go at any moment. That knowledge has helped me mentally prepare to be the best pitcher I can be.”

The peaks far outnumber the valleys in Johnson's career, and Tuesday's game [May 18, 2004] was certainly the pinnacle for him. We saw one of baseball's best achieve perfection.

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[Original illustration at this number was a duplicate in HolwickID 25837-26027]

Despite all the positive things we associate with the word “sportsmanship,” sports often brings out the worst in people: Little League parents behaving badly, drunken crowds, just for example.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

As most of the world knows by now, Armando Galarraga of the Detroit Tigers was one out away from throwing the 21st perfect game in Major League Baseball history. With two outs in the ninth, the Cleveland Indians batter hit a grounder to the Tiger first baseman. Galarraga, the pitcher, raced to cover first.

It’s a routine play, and the Tigers seemed to have pulled it off: Galarraga and the ball reached first base at least a step ahead of the runner. With that, Galarraga, who earlier in week had faced a possible demotion to the minor leagues, would become a baseball immortal.

Except he didn’t. As you probably know, umpire Jim Joyce called the batter “safe.” Galarraga’s response was “a simple smile.” A smile that, as Joe Posnanski of Sports Illustrated said, seemed to ask “Are you sure? I really hope you are sure.”

Galarraga was the only one smiling. The blown call outraged fans across the country. The most measured response called for Joyce to be fired. The more unhinged ones threatened Joyce and his family.

For his part, as soon as he saw the replay, Joyce knew that he had gotten it wrong. He told reporters “I just cost that kid a perfect game.”

By baseball standards, such an admission was extraordinary: Umpires are paid to make judgment calls and stand by them. Players and managers can argue with them but only within limits, and with no expectation of having the call reversed.

So, when Joyce apologized to Galarraga, we were already in unfamiliar territory. When Galarraga, in turn forgave Joyce, adding that Joyce probably felt worst than he did and “nobody’s perfect,” we were witnessing something extraordinary.

The victim of what Posnanski calls one of “most absurd injustices in the history of baseball” went out his way to comfort the umpire who made the mistake. And the umpire was humble enough to ask for forgiveness. It was, as Posnanski called it, a “beautiful” lesson.

It was also a lesson made possible only by Christianity. I really don’t know anything about Galarraga’s or Joyce’s beliefs, but I do know that it was Christianity that taught the world the virtues of humility and forgiveness.

Neither of these were considered virtues in the ancient world (or in any pagan or postmodern culture for that matter). On the contrary, they were signs of weakness.

The Christian message summed up in the words “forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us,” provided a revolutionary new basis for human relationships. And it has the power to transform lives — both of victims and offenders — as I’ve witnessed over and over in 30 years of prison ministry. It has the power to heal nations, as the world witnessed in the aftermath of the genocide in Rwanda.

What happened after that baseball game was more beautiful than Galarraga’s pitching. Especially for a postmodern culture that rejects the faith that gave meaning to the words “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you.”

And that’s one call I’m sure of.

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Copyright (c) 2010 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

Seems the preacher and his song leader were both avid baseball fans. These guys didn't just [like] baseball, they lived, breathed and [ate] baseball. What time they weren't about church duties, they were attending a game, watching a game on the tube, or coaching a Little League game in the park.

One day, one of them mused about whether there would be baseball in heaven and quite a conversation ensued. Every thing is perfect in heaven, isn't it? We will want for nothing in heaven, will we? [Surely] there will be baseball in heaven!

They finally made a pact that whichever one got to heaven first would somehow try to contact the other and let him know for a fact whether they had baseball.

Well, as it turned out, the preacher died first. A week later he appeared to the song leader in a dream and said, “Well, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is, there is indeed baseball in heaven. The bad news is, you're scheduled to pitch this Saturday.”

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TEN REASONS WHY PITTSBURGH PIRATES OUTFIELDER BILLY SUNDAY SAYS HE LEFT BASEBALL IN 1893 (USA Today Baseball Weekly, June 8-14, 1994)

1. Because it is a life which has an undesirable future.

2. Because it develops a spirit of jealousy and selfishness; one's whole desires are for personal success regardless of what befalls others.

3. Because it tends to indolence as shown by the fact that few use the five months of unemployed time for study and self-improvement and preparation for future pursuit.

4. Because it is better to benefit mankind than to simply amuse them.

5. Because after one attains to a certain standard of efficiency, there is no more room for development.

6. Because it does not develop one for future usefulness; as illustrated by the fact that many ex-ballplayers are engaged in the saloon business.

7. Because it is a life in which morality is not an essential to success; one may be a consummate rogue and a first-class ballplayer.

8. Because reflections on past "grand stand catches," "great slides to the plate," "stolen bases," and the echo of applauding multitudes are very poor food for consolation.

9. Because I felt called of God to do His service.

10. Because of the anticipated contentment (now realized) which comes to any man who finds himself in the right place.

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From 1949 to 1958, Pee Wee Reese was captain of baseball's Dodgers. Named not for his size but for playing marbles as a kid with a pee-wee shooter, he was a great shortstop, a daring baserunner, and a superb clutch hitter. He was an eight-time All Star and sparked the Dodgers to seven National League pennants. He fielded the final ground ball in Brooklyn's only World Series championship in 1955. He never earned more than $35,000 playing the game he loved.

During his total of sixteen years on the field for the Dodgers, Reese was respected as a person as well as a ballplayer. His fellow Dodgers called him simply "The Captain" and deferred to his judgment on many a matter. He wasn't good at speeches. His leadership came from inner confidence, integrity, and consistency. His manner had the unpretentious effect of causing people to trust and follow him.

Just back from a three-year stint in the Navy during World War II, Reese had helped win a war against racial intolerance in Europe and was destined to be caught up in fighting the same evil in his own country. His team decided to break the barrier against black players by bringing up a young player named Jackie Robinson.

Some of the Dodger players began circulating a petition in the clubhouse to protest the plan. It said in effect that the players signing it wouldn't play on a team with a black man. Confident that Reese would sign it because he was a Southerner, it was shoved under his nose. "I'm not signing!" he said, and the petition died.

Robinson was with the team for spring training in 1947. Before a game in Cincinnati, just across the river from Reese's native Kentucky, the ugliness was intense. Fans in the stands joined players in the opposing dugout to shout racial slurs at the solitary black man taking infield practice at second base.

Pee Wee Reese raised his arm to halt the team's warmup. He walked from his shortstop position to second base and put his arm around Jackie Robinson's shoulders. That event is viewed as a turning point in the history of baseball. By extension, it was also a major blow against racism in American society.

"Pee Wee kind of sensed the sort of hopeless, dead feeling in me and came over and stood beside me for a while," Robinson recalled. "He didn't say a word, but he looked over at the chaps who were yelling at me . . . and just stared. He was standing by me. I could tell you that."

Sometimes you don't need to say anything to lead. Just be there. Stand for what you know is right. There is an eloquence in actions that words can't equal.

By 1989, baseball player Nolan Ryan reached an incredible 5,000 strike outs, and all those no hitters. Ryan is a phenomenal baseball player.

In his rookie year, 18 years earlier, Gil Hodges was the manager of the Mets, and was impatient with Ryan. Although Ryan could consistently throw the ball over ninety miles an hour, most of the time it didn't go over the plate. He was walking everybody, hitting a lot of people, too. Hodges told Ryan at the beginning of a particular game that he was to pitch better in that game or he would pull him out and trade him. He would be finished.

Ryan went into that game trying to do his best, determined that he was going to succeed. He was miserable. He walked something like seven or eight batters in four innings. Hodges took him out. Later that season he was traded to the Angels.

After the game Richard Reeves went down into the locker room to interview the players. He noticed Nolan Ryan was apart from the others, looking into a mirror, obviously having difficulty tying his tie. Reeves got closer to him and noticed that there were tears in his eyes. He was crying. He couldn't see to tie his tie.

Reeves remembered that incident on the occasion of celebrating Nolan Ryan as one of the immortals of baseball. He remembered that this legendary man, Nolan Ryan, began thinking he had failed. But he kept on working. He kept on practicing.

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Source: The Timothy Report, Copyright (c) 2004 Swan Lake Communications, http://www.timothyreport.com

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[Original illustration at this number was a duplicate in KeruxID 25837-26027]

Late February [2015] brought the sad news that Josh Hamilton of the Angels may have had a relapse in his fight against alcohol and drug abuse.

Hamilton’s story arc — from first overall pick in the 1999 MLB draft, to being out of the game because of drug and alcohol addiction, to recovery and a spectacular comeback — has inspired many people, including many Christians. Hamilton credited his faith in Christ with helping him overcome his demons and finally fulfill his enormous potential.

I don’t know Hamilton, or even anyone who knows Hamilton, but I know a thing or 75 about personal demons and patterns of sin. I suspect that among the many things going through Hamilton’s mind is the idea that he has let a lot of people down, many of whom he has never even met.

That last part is the biggest, if not only, difference between Hamilton’s story and mine. (Or yours.) His struggles and failure are public and, thus, the stuff of potential humiliation; mine are private and “only” the stuff of guilt and shame.

Many years ago, I heard someone change the words of the Apostle’s Creed from I believe in “the communion of saints [and] the forgiveness of sin” to “the communion of sins [and] the forgiveness of saints.” The phrase has stuck with me all these years because I’m frankly counting on God enjoying the play on words as much as I do. I derive comfort from the possibility that when St. Paul told the Philippians that he was confident “that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus,” he was suggesting that along the way forgiveness will abound.

I need it. We all do.

My favorite illustration of what the “communion of sins” might look like comes from Brennan Manning’s “The Ragamuffin Gospel.” In it, he tells the story of an Alcoholic Anonymous meeting in which a guy he calls “Phil” admits that he fell off the wagon after being sober for seven years.

Phil knows he screwed up. He even has an idea of why: He didn’t pay enough attention to what A.A. calls “H.A.L.T.,” which stands for “hungry,” “angry,” “lonely,” and “tired,” the emotional states that make you more vulnerable to taking that first drink.

The response to Phil’s confession wasn’t condemnation, disappointment, or even surprise. Instead, his fellow recovering alcoholics said things like “Thank God you’re back,” “Boy, that took a lot of guts,” and “Let’s get together tomorrow and figure out what you needed relief from.” At the end of the meeting a woman Manning calls “Denise” kissed Phil and told him, “You old ragamuffin! Let’s go. I’m treating you to a banana split at the Tastee Freeze.”

Phil’s confession did take guts. It also took belonging to a communion of sinners where the forgiveness of saints, or people who would be saints, is lived out. Stated plainly, Phil felt safe to be what he was, a man struggling with his demons, instead of striving to be what Manning calls “the imposter,” the false self that everyone admires and no one knows.

I don’t know if your church feels safe. I suspect not. Unlike A.A. meetings, where, in Manning’s words, “Everyone is there because he or she made a big slobbering mess of his or her life,” churches are invested in seeming to be filled with shiny, happy people even when they’re not. I know. I’m one of those people who doesn’t always find it easy to be shiny and happy.

So I pray that Josh Hamilton finds such a safe place. And that I do, too.

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Comments:

I agree completely. “I don’t know if your church feels safe. I suspect not. Unlike A.A. meetings, where, in Manning’s words, ‘Everyone is there because he or she made a big slobbering mess of his or her life,’ churches are invested in seeming to be filled with shiny, happy people even when they’re not. I know. I’m one of those people who doesn’t always find it easy to be shiny and happy.”

I attended 12-Step meetings for two years, and, sad to say, in one month I found more honesty about problems there than I saw in the church in ten years. People in 12-Step groups attend because they feel a need, ‘cos they know they are messed up, and desperately need help. (Dare I say, ‘a Savior’?) Otherwise, what’s the point?

What is an increasing wonder to me is that we are the people and this is the entity by which our Lord Jesus has chosen to change the world, and to change Eternity. As C.S. Lewis wrote, “Who can duly adore such a Love...?”

Posted By: Kevin Peet on March 04, 2015

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Thank you, Roberto. This is the best thing I’ve seen here in a long time. I pray our churches learn not to project “Shiny and Happy,” but project forgiveness.

Posted By: Dan Gill on March 03, 2015

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Also see HolwickID #35389 and #63433.