I have always loved baseball. My parents took me to see the
Atlanta Braves at Fulton County Stadium back when they were even worse than
they are this year. On summer nights, if we were driving anywhere in the
southeast, we would scan the AM dial, searching for the clear sound of Skip
Caray’s nasal voice and the sarcastic remarks he was sure to make. When I
visited my grandparents’ house for a week each summer, I would lie in the bed
next to my Grandpa and fall asleep while the Braves tried to eke out a win on
the radio. As I got older, I fell in love with the Chicago Cubs and watched
their afternoon broadcasts on WGN. After my junior year of college, I managed
to secure a job on the ground crew at Wrigley Field. Still today, when I watch
the Cubs play, I dream of heading to Chicago for another summer, riding each
day into Wrigleyville on the Red Line to spend an afternoon in one of
baseball’s holiest temples.
There are countless beautiful things about America’s
pastime, but many of its enduring characteristics come from its incomparably
long 162-game season. In college football, teams play only a dozen
regular-season games, which means that every game is critical. Conversely, a baseball
team endures a season that stretches on night after night for months and months,
which means that a team can lose as many as six or seven or eight in a row and
still contend for a World Series title. A championship team needs to be at its
best more often than not, but, given enough games, the best teams usually end
up on top. Sure, even the worst teams will win some spectacular games, giving
their fans a thrill, but, teams that are in a long-term rebuilding phase are
not likely to impress their fan base for very long. (Sorry, Braves fans.)
Similarly, a team that starts a season on a real hot streak
may attain an unsustainable winning percentage of .750 for the first month of
play, but eventually it will fall back from that meteoric pace and settle into
a more realistic winning rate around .650 or, perhaps even .700. (The record
for the most wins in a season is 116, which equals a winning percentage of
.716.) A few years ago, Braves’ third baseman Chipper Jones flirted midseason
with a batting average of .400, but the law of averages caught up with the
career-.306-hitter, and he finished the 2008 season with a respectable .368
average (the 193rd best season of all time). Over the course of a
season, the difference between batting .368 and .400 is only four additional
hits per one hundred at-bats, which sounds easy enough, but baseball is a long
game. There may be moments of real surprise, but, over time, the truth always comes
out.
Doesn’t the same principle hold true in other aspects of our
lives? A marriage built exclusively on a fiery romance is likely to fizzle out
when both partners stop pretending to be the Romeo and Juliet they never were
in the first place. The job you have hated for years can actually seem
rewarding when you finish a big project or get back from a long vacation, but,
eventually, you are as ready to quit as you have ever been. Ever kept a New
Year’s resolution longer than a few weeks? Ever promised the preacher that you
and your family are “definitely going to start coming to church again?” Ever
told God that you are “going to try harder to be a good Christian” and that you
“really mean it this time?”
Our journey with God is a long one. It begins even before we
are born, when he knows us from our mother’s womb, and continues through this life
and into the next. We cannot measure faithfulness in months or even years.
Faithfulness is a decades-long process of learning and growing and sustaining.
Each of us has a lifetime to deepen our spiritual practices, and habitual
changes—like batting averages—do not take shape overnight. So how do we become
the Christian that we want to be? How does a .275 hitter climb up to .300? One
swing at a time.
Start with where you are. Quit pretending that you are
something that you are not. What does your spiritual life look like right now?
Unlike baseball players, no one keeps track of our statistics, so you must
evaluate the quality of your own spiritual life. What is giving you joy? What
causes you anxiety? What draws you closer to God? What makes God feel more
distant? Again, start wherever you are, and then consider one small thing that
you might do to change a weekly routine. Maybe it is as simple as five minutes
of silence each day in the car before you head into work. Maybe it is as easy
as reading a psalm before you hop in the shower. Whatever it is, pick something
meaningful but simple—the kind of practice that within a week or two you could begin
to do almost without thinking about it.
You may feel the urge to do more, but don’t try to do everything at once. Mountain-top experiences usually fade away. That kind of change, if enacted all at once, is nearly impossible to sustain. You cannot become Mother Teresa overnight, but five years of steady, incremental changes can be transformative. Think of your relationship with God in the longest terms. Yes, each day matters, but there are many, many days in a lifetime. Do not miss the opportunity to grow in your faith, but recognize that meaningful growth begins with small steps. We must shape our spiritual lives in tiny increments and watch how those minute steps accumulate in the long game.
This post is also the cover article from The View, the weekly parish newsletter for St. John's, Decatur. To read the rest of the newsletter and learn more about St. John's, click here.
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