Uncontained

We know who Jesus is. He is God’s son, born of a virgin, the incarnation and fullest revelation of God in Heaven and the one who saves us from the power of sin and death. He preached, taught, healed, performed miracles, and prophesied. We know these things because of scripture: the Old Testament prophecies that he fulfilled, the four Gospel accounts of his life, death, and resurrection, and of course, the other New Testament writings that communicate who the early church understood him to be. So we know all about Jesus. We understand him completely. Or do we?

“But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.” – John 21:25

These parting words in the Gospel of John are often overlooked, perhaps because we’re in such a rush to get to the stories of the early church in Acts. But they are a reminder to us that we don’t know everything. In fact, there is so much to know about Jesus Christ that even the author of John, who presumably was one of Jesus’ disciples, didn’t know the whole story. Maybe he knew more about Jesus’ life than he wrote, but he also demonstrates awareness that God can never completely be grasped: “I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written [about Jesus].”

I have read several biographies of baseball great Roberto Clemente. I know a lot about him: his early years, the on-field accomplishments, the racism he faced as a black Puerto Rican in the overtly racist United States of the 1960’s. I know he was a tremendous humanitarian, and that he died in a plane crash as he was attempting to deliver relief supplies to earthquake victims in Nicaragua. I know a lot of things and have a fair sense of who Roberto Clemente was and what he stood for.

But there are probably a lot of stories I’ll never hear about his life. There’s a lot I’ll never know about him. Having never had so much as a cup of coffee with him, who am I to say I know all there is to know about Roberto Clemente?

We are 2000 years removed from the earthly ministry of Jesus Christ. But because of people like John, we have a sense of who Jesus was and is. Yet, that does not mean we know everything there is to know about Jesus, nor that we will ever know. In fact, God is so much bigger than our human minds can comprehend, and in the person of Jesus is too great to contain in books. So we know Christ, but there is also so much we do not know.

These words that conclude John’s gospel remind us that no matter how much we’ve learned about Jesus from scripture, there is still so much we don’t know. And even if we had a library of books stacked to the heavens, there is still so much we wouldn’t know.

This is why the continued search for understanding is at the heart of the Christian faith. To be a follower of Christ is to admit that we have a limited understanding of the one we are following. This is at once humbling and comforting: humbling because we are reminded of our inability to understand, and comforting because we know there is a God out there that far surpasses human understanding, yet still cares about us. I suppose that love is so great that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.

Sadness and Joy

It was a bitterly cold Sunday morning in early February. I dragged myself out of bed early that day and headed out to pick up Dan and Will, two of my best friends. On a typical Sunday, we’d all be heading off to church, but this Sunday was different. On this particular winter morning, we granted ourselves a special dispensation from attending church, so we could head downtown to witness a historical moment in the history of the city of Pittsburgh. With coffee and donuts in hand, we stood on the banks of the Allegheny River, right under the Sixth Street Bridge, and watched this.

And just like that, Three Rivers Stadium, home of the Pirates and Steelers for over 30 years, was gone. All three of us spent much of our childhood attending baseball and football games at Three Rivers. For all of us, our formative memories as sports enthusiasts took place there, our fathers toting us there from the time we could walk, teaching us about these wonderful games that gave us such joy.

There we were, ready to watch our childhood home turn into a pile of rubble. As the time of implosion drew near, we shared stories of our childhood visits to Three Rivers. Together, we lamented the loss of something that meant so much to us. But as the morning wore on, our eyes began to be drawn away from Three Rivers and toward the new structure just across the river: PNC Park. Our sadness of losing Three Rivers began to give way to our excitement about a new, beautiful, baseball only stadium. And so it was that our emotions were tossed about that morning, alternatively weeping for what was lost and shouting for joy at what the future held. Dan was more excited than sad, but Will and I were still more sad than excited. But together, we stood there and watched as our past was torn down, and the future called us in.

In Ezra 3:10-13, we hear a very similar story: the beautiful story of the Israelites laying a foundation for rebuilding the temple in Jerusalem. As the foundation was laid, the community came out to celebrate the completion of the first phase of the rebuilding process. And as we hear, some were reminded of the previous temple, and wept at the loss of what they once held so dear. Others shouted for joy, energized by the prospect of what was in store in the future. But in this holy moment, the shouts of grief and the shouts of joy came together as one sound, “so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping.”

I suspect that some of us in the Christian Church may identify with the weepers – those who mourn the loss of former glory, those who fondly remember the wonderful religious heritage that has preceded us. It is a heritage from which we all have come, one that formed and shaped the church we see today.

And, I suspect there are also some of us who identify with the joyful shouters – those who are energized and excited about what the future holds, those who might even look on religious heritage and say, “Good riddance!”

The reality is that most of us are probably somewhere in between. Many of us lament the loss of what we had as the body of Christ, but are also excited about what we might yet have. But what’s so interesting about this story in Ezra is that everyone – both the tearful and the joyful – are there. Whether they celebrate the foundation being laid or they shed tears over it, all are here to support the rebuilding of the temple. Whether they want the temple rebuilt in this way or not, they care enough to show up. And in a beautiful, spirit-filled moment, all the shouts of lament and shouts of joy blend into a single shout, and it becomes impossible to distinguish the tearful from the joyful. It is one body, with one voice, coming from one past, marching into one future.

What a beautiful model for facing the uncertain future that is before us now. What an example these Israelites provide for us – whether we long for the past or we wish to race energetically into the future, it is time to become one voice. It is time to balance each other out, for each of us to add to the one sound, rooting ourselves in the past but also embracing the future that lies ahead.

If you are a weeper, we need you to remind us of the glorious past that got us here. And if you are a joyful shouter, we need you to show us the way into the future. It is time to become that one voice, where no individual is silenced, where each one of us contributes to a joyful noise in praise of the Lord.

So, whether we weep or shout for joy or fall somewhere in between, let us all praise the Lord with our voices. Let us honor the reality that we have different voices, and we all may view the past and future a little differently, but if here in the present we center ourselves on the Lord, those many voices will combine as one voice, even if just for one moment. So let us cry. Let us shout. Let us praise God together.

And are we yet alive,
And see each others face?
Glory and thanks to Jesus give
For his almighty grace!

What troubles have we seen,
What mighty conflicts past,
Fightings without, and fears within,
Since we assembled last.

The Sacred Narrative of Baseball

About a month ago, Lisa and I made the switch to Directv as our cable provider. As part of that switch, we acquired the MLB Network as part of our channel lineup. The MLB Network is, in a word, heaven on a television screen. It provides baseball programming 24/7/365. As a huge baseball fan, I have enjoyed the new opportunities that exist for my viewing pleasure, including but not limited to:

- Prime 9: A countdown show listing the top 9 of a particular subject - catchers, characters of the game, pitching seasons, clutch hitters, etc.

- World Series highlights: so far, I've only watched the Pirates' colossal upset of the Yankees in the 1960 Series, capped off by Maz's walk-off home run in game 7.

- Studio 42 with Bob Costas: A diminuitive baseball fan who also happens to be a respected TV journalist sitting down with legends of the game and asking them to reminisce.

But more than anything, I've come to adore the network's airing of classic MLB games, ones that stand out as historic moments in America's National Pastime. The Pine Tar Game with George Brett and Billy Martin. The Carlton Fisk Game: Game 6 of the 1975 World Series. And currently, through the wonders of DVR, I'm slowly making my way through Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, where an aging Jack Morris faces a young John Smoltz in a pitching duel for the ages.

I know how this game ends. After Jack Morris pours his heart and soul into 10 innings of shutout ball, besting Smoltz's 8 shutout innings, the Twins finally push across a run with a pinch hit fly ball single by Gene Larkin, thus winning 1-0 and becoming world champions. I vaguely remember this scintillating World Series from my childhood, and now I am re-living it thanks to MLB Network. But why, you may ask, am I watching a game that was played 18 years ago, a game that has no element of surprise left, one that I know how it ends?

I watch it for the same reason I read stories in scripture time and time again. Historic baseball games, while memorable games standing by themselves, remind me that each game is part of a larger narrative, the sacred narrative of baseball. Game 7 of the 1991 Series is a great pitcher's duel, but it also signifies a moment cut out of the long story of baseball history, a story much longer and larger than the career of any man who has ever played the game.

In this particular game, we see a young Braves team, led this night by some kid named John Smoltz, a man who today in 2010 is perhaps at the end of a hall-of-fame career. The Braves here are a team on the rise, one that loses here in 1991 but will be back to the playoffs every non-strike-shortened season from this point through 2005. Brian Hunter looks like a middle schooler in this game. Chipper and Andruw have yet to arrive in the "Show." Even Bobby Cox looks much younger and leaner. Yet, Leo Mazzone sits next to him on the bench, rocking back and forth like always.

In the other dugout is the Twins, and they too are symbolized by their starting pitcher. Jack Morris is, in 1991, at the twilight of a very good career, one defined by tenacity, competitiveness, and an unwillingness to give in, even to manager Tom Kelly as he tries to remove him from this final game of the season. The Twins enjoyed success in the late 80's and early 90's, led by Kent Hrbek and Kirby Puckett. But as seen by the makeup of the 1991 team, a youth movement is beginning: Chuck Knoblauch at 2nd, Chili Davis at DH, and Scott Erickson emerging as a force in the rotation.

In this seventh game of the 1991 World Series, clearly the focus is on the starting pitchers. But on the edges, subplots catch my eye, moments that remind me how this one piece of baseball history is delicately woven into the sacred tapestry of baseball's history. It is for this reason that I enjoy watching classic games like this one. As a student of the game, through these memorable moments I begin to understand the larger narrative more fully. It is much like reading the book of Job as its own piece of literature, and then reflecting on how it fits into the larger narrative of humanity's relationship with the divine, or reading the stories of Jesus' birth as great stories of origins, and recognizing how it weaves together Old and New Testament texts almost seamlessly.

Above all, both scripture and classic baseball games remind me that we are all in the process of discovering our place in the narrative of humanity and its relationship with the divine. We seek and discern our call within the narrative, recognizing that we may not fully realize our role until our labors are a distant memory. But we dig into the batter's box nonetheless, anticipating the known yet unknown - we know there will be a pitch, but we know not what form that pitch will take. We swing the bat with all our might, hoping to make a connection - perhaps even one that will deliver us home for a celebration that will live on forever. And we circle the bases of life, wondering why we are here on this night, performing this task, and how it advances this over-arching story that envelops us all.