Pentecost 20
October 14, 2012
The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

I’m a life-long baseball fan.  I’m relatively certain that the first baseball game that I attended that I have any awareness of it all I was at the latter part of my third year of life.  So that means, if you do the math, that I have been a baseball fan for going on forty-five years.  I played baseball as a child and in high school.  But I have probably attended more baseball games and witnessed more innings played than I can even imagine calculating.  One might describe me as a knowledgeable good baseball fan.  I know all the rules.  I know how the game is played.  I love the game because of its nuances.  I know all the unspoken rules.  I can watch a game and I, of course, can explain to my neighbor how the manager should be managing differently.  And certainly how the second baseman should be playing that position differently.  Throughout the years I have had an affection grow for baseball.  It didn’t hurt that my father reinforced that affection with his own affection for baseball.  The same is true for my brothers. I have a little show and tell; I have gathered some prized possessions out of that affection.  Baseballs.  This one is autographed by Tony Taylor.  You get a quarter from me if you know who Tony Taylor was.   Tony Taylor played second base for the Philadelphia Phillies when I was a wee child.  Then we have this baseball.  A particular prized position because this is one of the first baseballs that my father gave to me and it says to Tony.  That’s me.  Best wishes, Duke Snider.  By that reaction I see that some of you know who Duke Snider is;   Hall of Famer. The next baseball I have is autographed by Robin Roberts, yet another Hall of Famer who died recently.  There are other baseballs in this collection of prized possessions.  My father was a collector and his collection is immense.  Over the years he handed those baseballs off to me and then to my children.  I chose not to raid my children’s rooms early this morning and bring some of their collection—which I don’t think is quite become prized for them yet.  But, perhaps over time. 

I belabor my story with this show and tell only because I wanted to show off my prized possessions that come out of a deep affection for baseball.  In recent years as I have been going to baseball games. I have intellectually tried to wrap myself around the statistical possibility that I could have attended as many innings of baseball that I have attended and never come close to a foul ball.  You know, catching one of these of my very own.  One that I could add to the collection and say this is the one I caught at that game hit by that player.  I’ve never even come close to a foul ball.  Until about six weeks ago.  When neighbors of mine, called me on a whim because they had an extra ticket to a baseball game and they invited me to go.  Now these are acquaintances, not good baseball friends, but acquaintances who called me on a whim because as one explained, they understood me to be  “A good baseball man.”  I was happy to accept and  I got in the car and we spent all of our time talking baseball.   I was delighted to find that not only was I going to attend yet another baseball game but I had indeed accepted the right invitation because I was about to sit in the “right”place, if you know what I mean.  In a section of the stadium I only ever dreamed about going.  The section of the stadium that I either sat way up and looked down upon trying to see what they were doing down there or sat somewhere else looking afar wondering what it’s like to sit there.  I entered that expanse of beauty with all the amenities offered, I indeed was in baseball heaven. I took my seat in the front row, second level, and I began to watch the game with my beverage of choice in hand.  My companions and I talked through the whole game.  We shared stories about how the game is supposed to be played., about how the Phillies could just turn it around if they just listened to us.  I enjoyed it.  Then about the sixth inning it happened!  You know the crack of the bat.  There I sat in the front row, talking, talking, talking, my beverage of choice in hand, and completely unaware really of what was going on around me really.  It happened!  I didn’t even have to get up!  The ball landed in my lap!  God’s honest truth,  there it was!  A baseball!  I couldn’t believe it!  I didn’t even spill a drop of my beverage of choice.  It was fantastic!  So here’s what happened in the 30 seconds after that ball landed in my lap.  I looked down and I thought where did that come from?  I felt it in my hand and immediately I thought my God!  The baseball gods have finally rewarded me for being a good baseball man.  It felt good!  It felt different than any baseball I ever had in my hand ever, and I thought to myself, O yeah!  I can’t wait to go home and show this to my children, who probably won’t care, but I can’t wait!  I can’t wait to go home and call Archdeacon Cluett who has heard me moan over and over and over again about how many innings of baseball I have attended and never even been close to a foul ball.  I could not wait to go home and put it in one of these little plastic cases and add it to my prized possessions, writing on it the date that I caught it.  I would have to find out who hit it quite honestly because I wasn’t quite paying attention at that moment.  It was glorious and all was right. I remind you  this is all happening in 30 seconds, unlike how I’m telling it. Suddenly a voice emerged from about four rows behind me and it kind of went like this.  Boooooooo . . .   Whoops!  What’s he booing about?  Then I looked up.  Took my eyes off of this new prized possession and I looked to my left and there was a row of 13 or 14-yearold young ladies, one of whom that ball clearly had hit before it bounced into my lap.  Again, the boo, the face, and my coming to awareness of the “unwritten rule.” You know about the unwritten rule of foul balls at baseball games? .  If it hits a kid, you better give it to that kid.  Right?  I’m assuming that extends to other things like senior citizens, maybe spouse, maybe . . . .  but, there you have it.  Like John the Baptist or like maybe the writer from Hebrews in today’s epistle, there was a voice coming from behind me, a living word active and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing me, dividing me, from that which was mine!  That which I have waited for for forty-five years!  I glancing again at the young ladies coming  face—with a frown.  I couldn’t possibly give it up.  Couldn’t possibly. 

This is the story . . . the only way I could really figure out how to get into our story today about the rich young ruler.  The rich young ruler who had played it all right.  He knew all the rules.  Lived by them all of his life.  Yet he comes to Jesus asking the question—how can I inherit eternal life? How can I inherit the abiding eternal, loving, grace-filled presence of God that surpasses all understanding?   Jesus reminds him—well you know the rules.  You know the commandments.  Yes, Master, I played by the rules all my life.  Then as if he had been blind to a deeper reality, Jesus speaks of the “unwritten rule”  Jesus reminds him—but you’ve been blind to one thing.  Like a middle-aged man lost in his fury over a stupid baseball that landed in his lap, completely oblivious to the reality that it hit a little girl; Jesus reminds the rich young ruler that even in being great at following rules, he lacks one thing. Vision- Your blind  in essence Jesus says, that to follow me into the kingdom of God, you have to take your eye off of what you have, what you want, what you desire and what you think you deserve, and dare to come into the deeper water, onto the road less traveled, into the deeper struggle of the human cause.  So sell all of your possessions, Jesus says.  Give away all your baseballs.  Give it to those who need it the most—and then follow me.  How hard is this?  How hard is this?  Which by the way is the point . . . . it is hard to follow Jesus. 

So here’s how the story goes.  In that thirty-second time, I realized that I needed to give the ball and I did.  I’m here to tell you that I didn’t like it.  I gave the girl the ball.  I did not like it.  I didn’t!  I confess to you I was a little afraid of the guy behind me.  But, on the other hand, do you know what happened when I handed that ball over to that girl as I let that ball go from my hands?  Frowns to smiles . . . .  Can you imagine 13-14 year old girls at a baseball game having their night out?  Now they have a ball!  And they’re jumping, literally, up and down, jumping jumping jumping!  They pull out their camera, of course, their phone, and they’re taking pictures.  My friend who I’m with says “go get in that picture with them.”   I thought to myself, no.  The last thing my congregation needs to see is their Dean, with his beverage of choice in hand on a Facebook page with five 14-year old girls. 

Here is what I realize what from that silly experience about me and about the human condition.  I realized as I reflected upon that 30-second conversation in my head, that all those years of expectation and hope and desire for this thing—it’s not like I needed another baseball for God’s sake—I have many, some with really great names on them!  But it was mine.  I waited for it.  So what was the struggle even about for 10 seconds?  I think the punch line is, and maybe this is true for the young ruler or anybody else who dares to take the hard road—how easy it is to lose a broader vision of our companionship and need for one another; how difficult it is to let go of the “things” that have gained footing in our hearts that prevent us from letting go and following Jesus to the difficult roads that lead to the Kingdom he preaches.

I realized that my head was telling me that I lived in a world where I would never have another opportunity for such good fortune in my life, such good fortune to add to my prized possessions that is. My field of vision focused on that which landed on my lap precluded me from seeing the disappointment and even hurt just three seats away from me. Wow, what an insight.

 I might not ever get close to another foul ball again, this could easily be true. I was reminded however in this silly little life event, that like the rich young ruler, when it comes approaching  Jesus seeking eternal life, that is the deep abiding grace and presence of our Lord Jesus Christ, in this life and in the next. We do well to lift our eyes and let go of those “things” that hold our hearts and minds captive, for following Jesus into the Kingdom is hard, worthy, and best taken with eyes wide open.

Amen.