Jesus – in his short time on earth – had a very interesting resume. He was a child scholar and church custodian (he did a pretty good job of cleaning out the money-changers from the temple, although I do wonder if he actually cleaned up the tables he turned over?). He healed the sick, raised the dead, and shouldered the sins of the world to make us all whole.
But much of what is written about Jesus in the gospels is about his time as a teacher … or some might say, a coach. It is clear to me that Jesus genuinely loved the time he spent coaching not just his disciples, but the ordinary folk whom he met along his journey. And he took a bunch of misfit peasants, fishermen, tax collectors, zealots and a thief – and turned them into an amazing team that helped him change the world.
One of the many wonderful things about being a dad has been my privilege to coach both of my kids’ sports teams. And although I gave up baseball to focus on running in high school, baseball has always been a passion – and I truly understand why it is called the “nation’s pastime.” Coaching is pretty easy when the kids are young: you focus on the basic skills, make practices fun, and stay resolutely fair with playing time.
But early on, you spend most of your time herding cats, and trying to keep kids focused and not kicking dirt in the infield or picking daisies and turning cartwheels in the outfield. As the skill level ramps up, it gets more fun, more competitive and you start to rely more on other dads (kind of the apostles of little league) helping out – and over the years it morphs into this remarkable community of folks with a common purpose and identity.
I am, by nature, an intensely competitive lummox – who likes to win as much as the next guy. While we made practices and games fun, we always worked hard to hold kids accountable, stressed teamwork and sportsmanship and let our players know that not everyone gets a trophy in life for just showing up. I judged the success of my season by how many of my players came out for baseball the next year. While I certainly made mistakes over my coaching career, and there are a few instances I wished I could have a rewind on, I would not trade a single season. And while I enjoyed the challenge of helping a solid player excel, I treasured the opportunity to help the weaker players improve while having fun, developing a love of the game and being part of – and more importantly, proud of their place on – the team.
Of all the soccer, basketball, baseball and softball teams I have coached over the years, to this day my proudest moment was watching one of my weaker players, David, make a catch of a routine fly ball in right field for the third out when our opponent was rallying – in a playoff game, to boot! The thrill of David’s accomplishment was palpable: the joy on his face, indescribable. Perhaps equally as heartwarming was the way all of his teammates mobbed him as he came off the field, sharing in his great moment. Later that game, he had what I think was his only hit of the season. Amazing what a little confidence can do! I am convinced that he couldn’t have been happier if he’d been drafted by the Red Sox.
I think this kid may have played one more season of baseball before moving on to other things. After that season was over, I received a letter from his mother thanking me for “the amazing change she saw in her son … his spirit, his desire, and his excitement.” Where, in previous years, “he was defeated before even stepping onto the field, this year he was happy to go to practices and came home happy too. You held him accountable and you were his biggest cheerleader … you woke him up.” I still smile when I think of that moment of triumph in that young man’s face and will forever cherish the letter from his mom.
Unlike the remarkable team of Jesus and the Apostles, none of the teams I coached changed the world. Heck, we never won a town championship and most teams I coached didn’t ever venture too far into the playoffs. Of the hundreds of kids I coached over the years, less than a handful are still playing high school ball (and those are undoubtedly just remarkable athletes who would clearly excel despite the season(s) they played for me). Unlike Jesus, I can’t turn water into wine (or better yet, beer!), or even turn a clumsy kid into an all-star shortstop who bats .350. But every season, on every team, there is always a David – just waiting to wake up.
-Brad Stayton
Sudbury UMC Lenten Devotions 