On Baseball, Politics, and the Existence of God

By Matthew Lawrence

The day after John Kerry's defeat, a member of my congregation said to me, “I thought after the Red Sox won the World Series, maybe there was a God. But now I'm not so sure.”

As an official spokesperson for God, I guess I could have stood-up for God's existence a little more vigorously; but I was having a bad day. Instead I just weakly nodded and replied that honestly, I felt the same way.

Like many baseball fans who happen to also be both Democrats and believers in a higher power, I couldn't help but get swept up in the exquisitely naïve notion that God would somehow ensure John Kerry's victory just as he had guaranteed the Red Sox success. And who could blame me? After all, the evidence for God's hand at work in the world of baseball was so palpably obvious: it was in Johnny Damon's similarity to Jesus; it was in Curt Schilling's sacrificial blood, giving new meaning to the term red sock; it was in the blood-red lunar eclipse, which gave the last game a spooky sense of otherworldly presence.

And so questions of faith and politics and baseball tumble together into a synchronous heap . . . First, it has been proven that God is a Red Sox fan. Second, John Kerry is a Red Sox fan. Plus, he used to be an altar boy. Therefore, logically, God is a John Kerry fan. So how come God let John Kerry lose?

And so questions of faith and politics and baseball tumble together into a synchronous heap after this baseball campaign season; leaving the discriminating baseball believer to pick up the pieces in a perfectly logical string of inferences: First, it has been proven that God is a Red Sox fan. Second, John Kerry is a Red Sox fan. Plus, he used to be an altar boy. Therefore, logically, God is a John Kerry fan. So how come God let John Kerry lose?

As we mull over these questions, they take on the desperate tenor of the kind asked in hospital rooms and funeral parlors: Was it merely a coincidence that the Democratic candidate was from Boston? Were we deluding ourselves when the campaign took on that eerie surge of Red Sox confidence after the World Series?  

My son's godmother, who, of course, lives in Boston, sent us a stack of Boston Globe newspapers from the days during the play-offs against the Yankees, including a large clip-out poster that read “Believe”, with the “B” fashioned after the Red Sox logo. Now, this is what's great about being a human being: the fact that any Boston fan would dare to hold up a sign that declares their belief in the Red Sox, after everything they've been through, testifies to the heroism of foolish faith.

It takes nothing but reason to believe in the Yankees; but it takes heart to believe in the Red Sox.  

And so, as the Red Sox rallied against the Yankees, as they fought into the late innings in games of epic length, these signs from the Boston Globe appeared in windows by the hundreds, in brownstones on Beacon Hill and in storefronts in the Italian North End; in Irish bars in Southie and in artists' lofts in Jamaica Plain: “Believe,” these posters said. Believe, against the odds; believe, despite your doubts; believe, even when everything you've ever known and your father has ever known and your grandfather has ever known tells you to do otherwise; believe because there's nothing those Yankee fans would like better than for you to lose heart. Rub it in their eye: you believe! Wave it in their face: you're a Red Sox fan, you're one of the gang of idiots; you're a hero; you believe.

On the day after the World Series victory, I celebrated at the altar the feast day of St. Jude – the patron saint of lost causes. I found myself giving thanks to St. Jude for restoring my faith – not just in the Red Sox, but in lost causes generally.

Then came the election. Until the Red Sox victory, my faith in the Democratic Party had been cautious. But the Red Sox gave me courage; I felt myself slipping over the line into outright optimism. I thought, this is what it means to really believe in belief. This belief stuff works ! Clearly, God has a plan! We just have to believe!

My family invited some friends over for an election night party; and we hung the “Believe” poster, along with a picture of John Kerry campaigning in a Red Sox hat, above the TV as a kind of shrine to St. Jude.

For most of the evening, the poster reminded us to keep our spirits up. And then Kerry lost Florida. No problem, we said, he'll pull it out in Ohio! We have to believe! We scolded anyone who was found flagging in spirits. But pretty soon our smiles became strained; we felt the energy level fall; and finally we began to wonder if God hadn't just set us up for an excruciatingly long and cruel joke.

The next day, despondent, I returned to the altar, this time to celebrate my church's feast day of Richard Hooker. Hooker is the 16th century reformer who famously encouraged the use of reason in the life of faith.  

Hmph , I thought. What is this, another one of God's sick jokes? After all this, you bring me back to reason ? I thought reason was for Yankee's fans. And wasn't that Kerry's downfall – that he was too rational, too cool, too cerebral?

And then I found myself reflecting on what I had heard that morning: that it was the turnout of evangelical Protestants, acting out of fears about gay marriage, that made the difference for Bush in Ohio. And I wished that their piety had been tempered by a little of Hooker's reason: that their faith wasn't so poorly informed by uncritical thinking and by irrational fears. Maybe they wouldn't be so afraid of gays and lesbians if they were encouraged to think critically while reading the Bible; maybe they wouldn't be falling for this obvious manipulation of their fears if they hadn't been trained to passively soak-up centuries of prejudice by generations of equally uncritical preachers.

When it comes to baseball, who needs reason? Why bother? It's just a game. But when it comes to deciding the fate of the world; when it comes to confronting a movement that seeks to deprive thousands of our citizens of their civil rights, blind faith is not enough. The stakes are too high.

And then I realized – the joke on me was not over. When it comes to baseball, who needs reason? Why bother? It's just a game. But when it comes to deciding the fate of the world; when it comes to confronting a movement that seeks to deprive thousands of our citizens of their civil rights, blind faith is not enough. The stakes are too high. It's no longer about who gets to dance around with a trophy; and it's no longer about who gets to claim they've got a first-class ticket into heaven. The stakes are nothing short of the future of this planet. We are engaged in a serious business; it demands a serious faith – a grown-up faith. A faith that isn't afraid of reason; and if you're an American, a faith that preserves the values of our Constitution rather than twists the Constitution to exclude an entire class of people from their right to equality.

I'm keeping the poster that says, “Believe.” But only because this is what I choose to believe: that we are a democracy, not a theocracy; that we are a nation founded upon the rights of its citizens to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; free from government-sponsored interference from churches; that our democracy remains the hope of the world because for most people on the planet democracy is the hope of St. Jude; it is the hope of lost causes.

The world lives in the hope that America will once again wake up and realize its role as a champion of liberty, democracy, and freedom for all – not at the point of a gun, but at the point of an argument; in the points of a well-crafted debate vigorously pursued in open society.  

Richard Hooker was the champion of a reasonable faith; because reason is the only means by which we can reasonably disagree; the alternative is to open once again the ugly tool chest of religious intimidation, coercion, and violence.

This is America, not a theocracy. And I am a Christian believer; a partisan defender of the weak, the oppressed and the vulnerable. When it comes to baseball, I'm a happy idiot. When it comes to religion, I'm a liberal. And when it comes to politics, I'm a Democrat.

The Rev. Matthew Lawrence is rector of the Episcopal Church of the Incarnation in Santa Rosa, Calif. He may be reached by email at revml@sonic.net .