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Faith and the Great American Pastime

Many Attend, Few Understand

The joke goes something like this: "Did you know that baseball is God's favorite sport?" The answer: "Yeah, the whole Bible begins with, 'In the big inning.'" Groans and the like follow.

In my corner of the world (I'm a dad of four boys under 14 and it's summer time), not only is a joke like this normal fare, but the baseball diamond is a place where my wife and I spend a lot of time. I've often wondered what it is about baseball that draws so many people together. The fans' loyalty to their teams is arguably more devoted than in other sports (ask a Cubs fan!), the community formed in the stands throughout a 160+ game season is unique, and the way in which fans have worshipful moments is a wonder.

What is it about baseball that makes it so sacred? One baseball sage once intimated that baseball was a game many attend but few understand. As I look around the stands at the local youth baseball game I can see he was correct. As I travel up the road to a Colorado Rockies game and watch what happens from batting practice to the final out, I see there's a deeper level to this seemingly simple game.

The secular game of baseball and the search for spiritual fulfillment all seem to meet at the ballpark. Whether it's historical reflection, ethical inquiry or theological analysis, baseball seems to be more than just an American symbol. It is more than the "myth" of the game. There is something communal and even ideological about this game.

Let's take a trip around the bases and see what lies beneath the surface of America's pastime.

The Sacred — Putting Faith in the Team

The word believe was prominently featured on the cover of an issue of Sports Illustrated during the 2004 playoff series. A picture of Kerry Wood (a top notch pitcher for the Cubs) set the background for that one word. The inset showed the Red Sox and Yankees battling it out in the American League Championship. The message was clear: "Is this the year that teams like the Cubs and Red Sox can break their curses and make it to the World Series?" The word believe in large red letters was used to walk us into that possibility. Would any of us really "believe" that they could do it?

I think we've stripped away the meaning of the term believe in our current usage. If I got you up on the witness stand and began to cross examine you about what you saw at the scene of an accident, and all of your answers began with, "Well, I believe that man over there, was, I believe, in a red car, and I believe it was 10 a.m. …" — do you think that testimony is at all credible? No. We want to "know" that you are an expert witness.

In Jesus' day He used believe quite a bit. He wanted to let people know that to believe in Him was to believe in the Father. This was no mamby pamby belief. This was a knowledgeable faith that testified to the Truth.

So what about those Cubs and Red Sox fans in 2004? Did they really believe that their teams could do it? Many did. Some didn't. Some really hoped for it but didn't really think it would happen. I would contend that this scenario is very similar to people's belief in God.

I've lived in northern Indiana where there are a bevy of Cubs fans. I now live in Colorado — the home of the (until recently) perennial cellar-dwellers, the Rockies. Both teams have die-hard fans. They sit in their seats day after day and night after night and cheer, hoping that "this is the season." I've talked to some of these folks. They aren't simple minded folks who have nothing better to do. They are professionals and working class heroes who seek some fulfillment from the game that brings them pleasure (and some distress, I'm sure).

The foundation of all religions is the quality of hope that they offer. In our Christian experience, our hope comes in Christ. "My soul, wait in silence for God only, for my hope is from Him" (Psalm 62:5, NASB). "I wait for the Lord, my soul does wait, and in His word do I hope" (Psalm 130:5). "Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord his God" (Psalm 146:5, NIV). The psalmist mentions it just a few times, but throughout scripture we are called to put our hope in a grace for today and an eternal future with the Father. When fans gather at the ballpark there is something very similar in their view of hope. It is a bit surreal, but most notably sacred.

The Infection

I have a friend whose son plays college baseball for the UC Irvine Anteaters who recently played in the College World Series. Here was a team that few had heard of, and even fewer had seen play. Now, they burst onto the scene upsetting powerhouse programs like the University of Texas and Wichita State University. They found themselves in Omaha (the Mecca of college baseball, the yearly host city for the College World Series) with a new fan base that loved cheering for the underdog. They came from behind to knock off Cal State Fullerton and Arizona State. And their fan base grew.

People loved this scrappy little team that had quite the silly mascot. "Eater Nation" t-shirts filled the stands. When they were down, everyone knew they were not out (until the other night when the just ran out of gas in a game against Oregon State that put an end to their season). There were cheers and chants from the stands. People wore their baseball caps inside out as "rally caps." One lovable player nicknamed "The Whammer" held out the team's "lucky red bat" toward the field for good vibes. It was infectious.

I contend that baseball as a cultural experience is akin to the sacredness of religion. Much like the gospel, there are heroes and villains; there are obstacles to overcome; there is something miraculous about a come-from-behind win; there are even sacred rituals that have become an important part of the event (rally caps among them). Watch a pro baseball player step up to the plate. They go through the same routine every time. Kick the dirt, rub hands on bat handle, adjust helmet, kick dirt again, set feet, step in and he is ready. First pitch is by, and the routine is on again.

Unfortunately, our religious experience can become too routine. We can go through the motions so many times that they lose their meaning. We can lose our connection to the deeper motivations for believing. Just think if we responded as vehemently to a move of God in our lives as fans do when it is the bottom of the ninth inning, bases are loaded, there is a full count, and the championship is on the line.

The Cathedrals

There is something sacred about the baseball diamond. Some refer to it as "hallowed ground." Players have a reverence for what happens "between the white lines." Many won't step on the white chalk lines when entering or leaving the field for fear of bad "karma" or something. No one may enter the field while players are engaged in playing — we call that interference, and the consequences for violation are severe (just ask a fan who has ever reached into the field of play to retrieve a home run or fly ball, only to have the entire crowd and both teams boo him or her out of the ballpark).

In the movie, City Slickers, Billy Crystal even uses almost hushed religious tones to describe his first trip to Yankee stadium. He describes coming out of the dark tunnel under the stands into the sunlight, with the stark green grass of the outfield, the bright white lines outlining the field, and the sense that something great is about to happen.

There is a search for hope that exists in these places. People come to these "cathedrals" to see the human condition played out in front of them by mostly regular guys who might switch places with them at any moment. We live through them. We live through their play on the field. Nine innings later, we leave the "hallowed ground" feeling like the good guys pulled one out or "there is always tomorrow" (or next year, in the case of Cub's fans).

The Sentiment and Standards

In the book, The Faith of 50 Million: Baseball, Religion, and American Culture, the authors pen these words:

In the context of American history, baseball was indeed more than a game. It was a sport that came to symbolize national virtues of freedom, justice, and equality. Within the popular imagination of Americans, baseball embodied the soul of a nation, distinctively historical yet uniquely transcendent. The repeated "resurrection" of baseball in American history reflects the faith of many that the game was a symbol of our national identity — that we are "one nation under God."¹

This is the same sentiment that has led to Ken Burns' marathon PBS special on the history of baseball. It has led to the millions of fans who have entered the turnstiles of baseball's parks. It is the same idea that thrusts fallen baseball heroes so much into the spotlight. Pete Rose gambles and we shake our heads. Barry Bonds might be taking steroids, Sammy Sosa used a corked bat, and the public despairs. For the most part we do not hold football or hockey players to the same standard. We expect those who play our national game to honor it the way their predecessors did. We cheer the pitching of a "perfect game" since that is what we expect and very occasionally see from these human icons.

Look Around

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Why do you think we sometimes get more excited about sporting events than we do about God's work in our lives?

Join the discussion!

It may be the lazy hazy days of summer, with visions of naps in hammocks dancing in our heads, but can I recommend a "religious" experience of sorts? Take in a local baseball game. If you are close enough to a major or minor league park — get there. For all of us, bright lights can draw us to a little league game somewhere in our hometown. Watch the players. Listen to the fans. Take in the atmosphere. Breath in deeply the smell of freshly cut grass. Hear the special sound of the ball hitting the bat or smacking into a leather glove. Even if you are not a fan, there is something there. It may even be a hint of something sacred. Play ball!