The Bungee Cord. 8-19-24

Hello,

This past weekend the Little League team representing my hometown, Hinsdale, Illinois, played in the Little League World Series in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. They ran into two buzz-saws and lost their two games, but it was a thrill to see a bunch of kids from my old haunt playing a game that I loved to play when I was younger.

Fifty-four years ago, I, too played on a Little League team representing Hinsdale. Things were different back then. Little League Baseball was so big in Hinsdale, everywhere for that matter, that we had two Little League Leagues in our town: the American League, and the National League. The league that you were in depended on whether your address number was an even number or an add one. I lived at 705 S. Grant Street, kitty-corner from Robbins Park, so I was in the National League, playing for the Pirates, and I was on the National League team representing our town.

I still remember pitching against the American League All-Star team where I hit a home run and struck out my best friend who was the opposing team’s catcher. We advanced to the next round, but that was as far as we got. No Williamsport for us. Who knows how far we might have gone if we had combined our leagues’ talents.

The time has passed so quickly. It doesn’t seem like fifty-four years ago when summers consisted of hanging out at the local swimming pool, riding your bike, playing pick-up games at the park, and kicking up the dirt on the Little League field. We lived for the two games per week that we played Little League baseball, and when the season was over and the all-star team was selected, we dreamed of a trip to Williamsport. Our lives got all wrapped up in baseball, and losing the regional game seemed like the end of the world.

Life was so simpler as a kid, and so was my faith back then. Going to church every Sunday without question, learning Bible stories with my friends without critique, and praying at bedtime with absolute confidence that God would answer my prayers to my liking. But things are different now. Days are more complicated, and so is my faith. The faith that I had as a twelve-year-old has been morphed by the events of my life, the widening of my experiences, and the deliberations of my thinking into a much more mature faith.

I still go to church every Sunday, not due to a thoughtless routine but driven by a discovery of peace and hope that I have found there. I still read Bible stories, not because someone I respect puts them in front of me, but rather when I read them with thought and critique, I have found that they contain power to change my life. I still pray, but not in order to get gumballs from God, but rather to feel the eternal embrace of God. When troubles happen, my faith does not give me simple answers, but I do see the presence of God in my struggles. When good things happen, my faith does not tell me that I am better than someone else, but rather despite anything that I have done to have something good happen, I am still dust, just like everyone else, who, just like everyone else, is inconceivably loved by a God who has given God’s very self for all. I live daily with a faith that is saturated by the grace of God.

I hope that my faith has opened my ears to the voices of others: their pain, their stories, their hopes, their dreams. I hope that my faith has opened my eyes to see what others go through: their struggles, their resiliency, their compassion, their frustrations, their anger, their loneliness. I hope that my faith has opened my hands to reach out to others: when they fall, when they dance, when they beg, when they wipe tears from their eyes.

So much has changed since I stood on the Little League mound, took my place in the batter’s box, and fielded ground balls at shortstop. Little league has changed. The world has changed. I have changed. My faith has changed. I thank God that throughout all the changes, God has been seeing me through the changes, working on me to bring about change, and has shown me that I can trust him in all the changes that are to come….in life….and in death.

“Play ball!”

Have a great week,

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

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