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Diamond Presence: Twelve Stories of Finding God at the Old Ball Park
A touching collection of twelve true, short stories in which the authors relate how they came to feel the presence of God while enjoying the great American pastime of baseball as players, coaches, parents, children, or just plain fans.
- GenresBaseball
176 pages, Hardcover
First published September 1, 2004
5 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
April 16, 2024
In twelve autobiographical stories which loosely tie together the idea of finding, at least, transcendence and, possibly, God in the midst of baseball experiences, I found much to which I could identify. That may sound weird since Diamond Presence: Twelve Stories of Finding God at the Old Ball Park has a distinctive Roman Catholic lens from which to view its subject matter while I was raised in a strict Baptist home.
Patrick R. Reardon described watching Cubs games on WGN-9 with his Uncle Eddie on a black and white television set. He said that watching baseball quietly with his Uncle Eddie taught him that life was about “being” as much as “doing.” I watched baseball on a black and white television with my granddaddy, as well as listening to San Francisco Giants games on the radio with him. As we watched, he taught me about baseball, but he also taught me about life. I learned that playing well was as important as winning so that I could savor the small accomplishments I managed to achieve in life.
Michael Wilt captured my imagination with his insistence that baseball is about the story rather than the score. He even made a point that the gospel writers “…knew they had not said the last word about the God-man who had walked among them and their forebears. They would be peeved, I am sure, if tey knew that the story has been largely taken away from raconteurs and instead channeled into stony sermons and vapid greeting card slogans…” (p. 101). He’s right. In fact, in John 21:25, the gospel tells us that there is much more to the story. Baseball taught Wilt not to simply look at the statistics, but to follow the story. Indeed, isn’t that what grace does? It redeems/forgives the human instead of keeping score.
Speaking of grace, I loved the story about the broken window by Helen Reichart Lambdin. She was so certain that she was going to pay the price for that window, but when she confessed breaking it to her neighbor, she received two surprises: 1) that someone else stood with her and 2) that she herself might not have to pay. Baseball taught me about grace in a different way. Long before I ever attended a major league baseball game, I was a huge Los Angeles Angels fan. Unbeknownst to my folks, I would listen to games on my transistor radio till late at night. All too often the Angels would lose, but sometimes, in close games, I would try to bargain with God. “If Daddy Wags can just hit a home run here, I’ll never miss my Daily Bible Reading again.” Yes, I was that callous. Later, when my teams won, I discovered that grace means there are no bargains to be made. Gifts come not as a result of bargains but as gifts. And I really believe baseball had a hand in teaching me that.
When Jerome D. Lamb wrote about Roger Maris’ funeral in Fargo, N.D., I realized that I had only heard about the mass in New York City. The dignity of the burial in Fargo seemed much more meaningful to me. This was a significant story to me because I remember the 61 home runs of that season. Unlike my granddaddy, I never was a Yankees fan, but I fervently followed Maris’ quest day-by-day. I wanted someone in our era to have that record (so I resented it when the steroid wonders broke his record). But the lesson I learned from Maris’ achievement and later life is that accomplishing that big thing doesn’t bring acceptance. I realized that all of us in life have an asterisk. True, Maris took more games to beat Ruth’s record, but stadiums tended to be bigger and a case could be made that starting pitchers threw harder and were relieved more often (not as often as today, but more often). Part of God’s bestowal of human dignity is to accomplish what we can accomplish with God’s empowerment without worrying about the asterisks that others put on us.
The final essay was quite profound: “God is love, and love is an unbelievable oneness that comes to awareness when you least expect it: in the present moment. Baseball teaches us not to worry about the past or plan the future but simply to pay attention to the ball. And sometimes, when we do—when we give up wanted and not wanting—heaven begins to happen.” (p. 171)
Diamond Presence: Twelve Stories of Finding God at the Old Ball Park wasn’t as overtly devotional as I expected. I didn’t net the number of sermon illustrations I had hoped to glean from it. But it sure was good and uplifting reading.
Patrick R. Reardon described watching Cubs games on WGN-9 with his Uncle Eddie on a black and white television set. He said that watching baseball quietly with his Uncle Eddie taught him that life was about “being” as much as “doing.” I watched baseball on a black and white television with my granddaddy, as well as listening to San Francisco Giants games on the radio with him. As we watched, he taught me about baseball, but he also taught me about life. I learned that playing well was as important as winning so that I could savor the small accomplishments I managed to achieve in life.
Michael Wilt captured my imagination with his insistence that baseball is about the story rather than the score. He even made a point that the gospel writers “…knew they had not said the last word about the God-man who had walked among them and their forebears. They would be peeved, I am sure, if tey knew that the story has been largely taken away from raconteurs and instead channeled into stony sermons and vapid greeting card slogans…” (p. 101). He’s right. In fact, in John 21:25, the gospel tells us that there is much more to the story. Baseball taught Wilt not to simply look at the statistics, but to follow the story. Indeed, isn’t that what grace does? It redeems/forgives the human instead of keeping score.
Speaking of grace, I loved the story about the broken window by Helen Reichart Lambdin. She was so certain that she was going to pay the price for that window, but when she confessed breaking it to her neighbor, she received two surprises: 1) that someone else stood with her and 2) that she herself might not have to pay. Baseball taught me about grace in a different way. Long before I ever attended a major league baseball game, I was a huge Los Angeles Angels fan. Unbeknownst to my folks, I would listen to games on my transistor radio till late at night. All too often the Angels would lose, but sometimes, in close games, I would try to bargain with God. “If Daddy Wags can just hit a home run here, I’ll never miss my Daily Bible Reading again.” Yes, I was that callous. Later, when my teams won, I discovered that grace means there are no bargains to be made. Gifts come not as a result of bargains but as gifts. And I really believe baseball had a hand in teaching me that.
When Jerome D. Lamb wrote about Roger Maris’ funeral in Fargo, N.D., I realized that I had only heard about the mass in New York City. The dignity of the burial in Fargo seemed much more meaningful to me. This was a significant story to me because I remember the 61 home runs of that season. Unlike my granddaddy, I never was a Yankees fan, but I fervently followed Maris’ quest day-by-day. I wanted someone in our era to have that record (so I resented it when the steroid wonders broke his record). But the lesson I learned from Maris’ achievement and later life is that accomplishing that big thing doesn’t bring acceptance. I realized that all of us in life have an asterisk. True, Maris took more games to beat Ruth’s record, but stadiums tended to be bigger and a case could be made that starting pitchers threw harder and were relieved more often (not as often as today, but more often). Part of God’s bestowal of human dignity is to accomplish what we can accomplish with God’s empowerment without worrying about the asterisks that others put on us.
The final essay was quite profound: “God is love, and love is an unbelievable oneness that comes to awareness when you least expect it: in the present moment. Baseball teaches us not to worry about the past or plan the future but simply to pay attention to the ball. And sometimes, when we do—when we give up wanted and not wanting—heaven begins to happen.” (p. 171)
Diamond Presence: Twelve Stories of Finding God at the Old Ball Park wasn’t as overtly devotional as I expected. I didn’t net the number of sermon illustrations I had hoped to glean from it. But it sure was good and uplifting reading.
June 27, 2019
My son is a baseball fanatic. He recieved this book from my cousins as they were going through his things after his death. When I asked him what book he would read to me next, he chose this. I recommend it for the baseball fan in your life.
January 3, 2012
There were some good essays in here, but much of it fell flat. Few of the authors managed to connect their baseball experiences to God (or god or anything transcendent), making it more of a "My life is better with baseball" than a "Finding God at the Old Ball Park" thing. It's sort of a Chicken Soup for the Baseball Fan.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews