'Go For the Dog'

Luke 18: 15-17;  Matthew 6:25-34

I'm a list-maker, and when I have a long list of things to do and places to go, I like to be efficient.  Jesus, however, in these two passages from Matthew and Luke reminds us that often, interruptions can be vehicles by which God reveals to us glimpses of his grace, what Max Lucado calls eternal moments in time. 

I try to keep this in mind when, for instance, I'm taking a walk with my kids to the playground.  I love summer – it’s my favorite time of year.  I love having more opportunities to take my kids to the park.  Children are naturally filled with wonder and are easily distracted by the wonder and beauty of God's world.  When my kids and I go to the playground, it always takes longer than I plan because for them, the journey is as exciting as the playground itself.  They’re constantly distracted by God's amazing creation - the green grass, a squirrel running up a tree, the chance to jump high or twirl around like a whirling dervish. 

Were it not for their playful reminders, I might be so focused on my responsibilities that I'd miss these glimpses of God's grace, my mind being on next week's sermon or session meeting rather than on enjoying God's creation with my daughters.  Whether it's taking the time to stop and consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, or whether it's a disruption in our schedule that graciously allows us to slow down and focus on what's really important, we should make it a priority to be on the lookout for good distractions from God.  

We see in today's reading from Luke that Jesus practiced what he preached.  Jesus had every excuse in the world to ignore the children that were being brought to him.  He had set his face toward Jerusalem and was preparing himself to face the suffering that lay ahead of him. 

Furthermore, children in Jesus' day were expected to be seen and not heard.  It was a good bet that no one expected Jesus to take time from his hectic schedule for these little ones.  Finally, Jesus' disciples had taken the initiative and were already trying to keep the children away from him.  It would have been so easy for Jesus to not allow this interruption to intrude upon his life.  But Jesus always remembered what was most important.  He always knew what his priorities were.  In the midst of his chaotic day, Jesus welcomes this interruption as a sign from God.  He calls for the little children to come to him, for it is to such as them that the kingdom of God belongs.  

It’s so appropriate for us to read these passages the week we lost our beloved Afton King.  Afton’s fun-loving spirit was always evident – he was constantly cracking jokes or showing magic tricks to our kids.  Talk about carpe diem and enjoying life – how many people do you know who take a cruise around the world in their 80’s?

Afton’s life and our two passages this morning remind me of a story I’ve shared before:  Bill Harley tells a story about how a kid's baseball game reminded him of the importance of setting the right priorities and allowing himself to be distracted by an eternal moment.  For National Public Radio's program All Things Considered he shared this experience from his life:  Generally, he avoids looking to kids' organized sports for any kind of inspiration.  He thinks we're better off leaving the kids alone and letting them pick teams for themselves.  But one year, he had an epiphany watching an organized league game, and the experience has spawned a philosophy he holds close to his heart.  He calls it going for the dog.

You see, his younger son was playing T-ball.  This is the bottom step on the 20-rung ladder leading to Major League Baseball, where it's possible to make millions of dollars and buy your parents a large house.  Needless to say, he was delighted when Dylan wanted to play, though the bank would not give him the $800,000 mortgage he promptly requested.  The rules for T-ball are different in many ways from the major leagues.  First, there are no agents.  There's no reserve clause.  You go to the team that chooses you.  In fact, there are only two teams in the league, with 25 kids on each team.  Parents are friendly to each other, a civility which will dissolve in several years as the lottery for positions in the major leagues comes closer and closer. 

In T-ball, everybody bats each inning, regardless of how many outs there are.  In fact, an out is a rare occurrence.  All 25 players play each inning, and are littered through the infield, forming a wall of humanity through which it is virtually impossible for a ball to pass.  On each team, there's one player who insists on fielding every ball and then running after the base runner, never throwing it.  Balls are never thrown, and if they are thrown, they must either go over the head of the intended recipient or hit them in the back.

Every player who scores has hit a home run, no matter how many times the ball has been thrown into the outfield.  No such thing as an error.  In T-ball, each player has a different concept of the score.  In T-ball, kids have to go to the bathroom almost immediately.  Civilian parents go out into the field and console their children, who have skinned their knees or bumped into their neighboring infielder.  And, of course, in T-ball, no one pitches.  The ball sits on a plastic tee, waiting for the batter to hit it, which happens once every three batters.

Now, on the other team, there was a girl named Tracy.  Tracy came each week.  Bill knew this, since his son's team always played her team.  She was not very good.  She had coke-bottle glasses and hearing aids on each ear.  She ran in a loping, carefree way, with one leg pulling after the other, one arm windmilling wildly in the air.  Everyone in the bleachers cheered for her, regardless of what team their progeny played on.  In all the games he saw, she never hit the ball, not even close.  It sat there on the tee waiting to be hit and it never was. 

Sometimes, after ten or eleven swings, Tracy would hit the tee.  The ball would fall off the tee and sit on the ground six inches in front of home plate.  'Run!  Run!,' yelled Tracy's coach, and Tracy would lope off to first, clutching the bat in both arms, smiling.  Someone usually woke up and ran her down with the ball before she reached first.  Everyone applauded.

The last game of the season, Tracy came up, and through some fluke, or simply in a nod toward the law of averages, she creamed the ball.  She smoked it right up the middle, through the legs of 17 players.  Kids dodged as it went by or looked absentmindedly at it as it rolled unstopped, seemingly gaining in speed, hopping over second base, heading into center field.  And once it reached there, there was no one to stop it.  Have you heard that there are no outfielders in T-ball?  Well, there are for three minutes in the beginning of every inning, but then they move into the infield to be closer to the action, or, at least, to their friends.

Tracy hit the ball and stood at home, delighted.  'Run!' yelled her coach.  'Run!'  All the parents, all of them, they stood and screamed, 'Run, Tracy, run, run!'  Tracy turned and smiled at them, and then, happy to please, galumphed off to first.  The first base coach waved his arms 'round and 'round when Tracy stopped at first.  'Keep going, Tracy, keep going!  Go!'

Happy to please, she headed to second.  By the time she was halfway to second, seven members of the opposition had reached the ball and were passing it among themselves.  It's a rule in T-ball - everyone on the defending team has to touch every ball.  The ball began to make its long and circuitous route toward home plate, passing from one side of the field to the other.  Tracy headed to third.  Adults fell out of the bleachers.  'Go, Tracy, go!'  Tracy reached third and stopped, but the parents were very close to her now and she got the message.  Her coach stood at home plate calling her as the ball passed over the first baseman's head and landed in the fielding team's empty dugout.  'Come on, Tracy!  Come on, baby!  Get a home run!'

Tracy started for home, and then it happened.  During the pandemonium, no one had noticed the 12-year-old geriatric mutt that had lazily settled itself down in front of the bleachers five feet from the third-base line.  As Tracy rounded third, the dog, awakened by the screaming, sat up and wagged its tail at Tracy as she headed down the line.  The tongue hung out, mouth pulled back in an unmistakable canine smile, and Tracy stopped, right there.  Halfway home, 30 feet from a legitimate home run.  She looked at the dog.  Her coach called, ''Come on, Tracy!  Come on home!'  He went to his knees behind the plate, pleading.

The crowd cheered, 'Go, Tracy, go!  Go, Tracy, go!'  She looked at all the adults, at her own parents shrieking and catching it all on video.  She looked at the dog.  The dog wagged its tail.  She looked at her coach.  She looked at home.  She looked at the dog.  Everything went to slow motion...  SHE WENT FOR THE DOG!

It was a moment of complete, stunned silence.  And then, perhaps, not as loud, but deeper, longer, more heartfelt, they all applauded as Tracy fell to her knees to hug the dog.  Two roads diverged on a third-base line.  Tracy went for the dog. 

Here's an example of someone heeding the words of Jesus, of having the right priorities.  Tracy stopped to consider the lilies of the field, to catch an eternal moment from God.  She understood what was most important in that instant.  And it wasn't what everyone was telling her it ought to be.  She taught all those goal-oriented adults that sometimes the process is more important than the goal.  That the journey can be at least as significant as the destination.  That the interruption can be more worthwhile than the task at hand.

So in these last few weeks of summer... Consider the lilies... Let the little children come...  Go for the dog...  May we all catch glimpses of eternity in the ordinary moments of our lives.  Amen.