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Good Shepherd Lutheran Church Marks of a Frontline Shepherd August 10, 2003 |
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Sermon Title: “Swing Away”
Grace and peace be unto you from God our Father, and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a beautiful spring afternoon. I stood there at the plate, dug my heels into the dirt, and stared into the eye of the pitcher at the mound. It was the first game of the year. And it was my first game in little league. Now, I had played tee ball for a few years before this. It shouldn’t have been called tee ball, really. We didn’t use a tee. No, the coaches pitched to us in a kinda slow, softball style. And I was good. I had a heckuva bat, they used to say. And little league was just the next step. Soon it would be high school, and eventually the majors. I could almost see the endorsement deals rolling in. So there I stood, poised in the batters box, ready for the pitch. The windup, the release…..Strike one! Whoa. That was a lot faster than tee ball. Strike two! That was at least 95 miles per hour. Are you sure that pitcher’s a kid? Strike three! You’re out. What happened? I was so good?
And thus began my illustrious career in Little League. Every game, every at bat, I stood there in the batters box with my bat resting on my shoulder. I was scared I guess. Afraid that I’d look like an idiot if I swung and missed. Afraid of getting hurt if I got in the way of one of those pitches. I think in a strange way, I was afraid of striking out. I think I figured if I didn’t swing, at least I wouldn’t have tried, and failed. Whatever the reason, I went through the first few games of that season without swinging at a single pitch. No matter what the coach said, I just stood there. Finally, after one of the games, my Dad took me aside. Now, my Dad is a kind man, but I could tell he was angry. I figured he was disappointed in me. That he was embarrassed to have a son that strikes out at every at-bat. He sat me down and said, “I don’t care if you strike out every time you come to the plate from now until eternity. I don’t care if you never get on base. I don’t care about any of that. But you will swing.”
You see, my Dad knew that I was afraid. He knew that I was afraid to just take a chance. I think He realized that if I left my bat on my shoulder now, it’d be there the rest of his life. But His message was clear, and I got the point.
So the next game came. Again, I stood there in that batter’s box, waiting for the inevitable. The wind-up, the release…I kept my eye on that ball. This time I was going to do it. I wasn’t only gonna swing. This one was going out of the park. And I swung…so hard that I spun all the way around and fell in the dirt. I’m sure the kids were laughing. The coach probably just stood there, shaking his head. But I don’t remember that. I remember the look on my Dad’s face. It was pure joy. Pure excitement. And he screamed, “That’s it Justin! Atta boy!” And so it went that way for awhile. Swing and a miss, swing and a miss. I never connected at first. I struck out every time, but darn it, I swung at everything that came my way. And eventually, I started hitting. And more and more, until I actually became a pretty darn good batter.
I remember that day when I hear our Acts passage for today. It’s Pentecost, and the Holy Spirit has just come down. The apostles were acting crazy. The people watching even thought they were drunk. This was the moment. The beginning of the Christian Church. But someone had to get up and speak. Someone had to explain to the people what was going on. The fate of the church depended on it. And as Peter stands up there, digs his heels in, and stares into the face of the crowd, the whole universe collectively holds its breath.
After all, this is Peter. He did alright at first. Sure, he missed Jesus’ point most of the time. Sure, he got in arguments with Jesus, even rebuked him once. But you could say this: Peter was never afraid. He always piped up. Always spoke his mind. He was always bold. But it was in Jesus’ last days that Peter had his real opportunity. “This man is with Jesus”, a woman shouts. The wind-up and the pitch.
“Woman, I don’t even know that man.” Strike one!
“You are one of them”
“No, I’m not” Strike two!
“This man must be with Jesus”
“I don’t know what you are talking about” Strike three! The cock crowed. And his bat never left his shoulder.
But then, not long after, Jesus comes again. He sits with Peter. They have the conversation that begins out service. “Do you love me?” he asks Peter. “of course I do” Peter replies. And twice more, as if to undo the denial of that dark night. And each time Jesus tells Peter to feed his sheep. Swing away. Take the bat off of your shoulder and do it.
And so Peter stands there in front of that crowd at Pentecost, knowing that Jesus must have seen something in him. Knowing that the fate of the church, the fate of the world for that matter, is right before him. The wind-up, and the pitch. And Peter swings away. He delivers one of the most powerful sermons in the Bible. It’s so good, over three thousand people converted that day. I wish my sermons had such impact. He hit it out of the park. But it was only because he took his bat off of his shoulder and took a cut.
How often do we stand there and watch that pitch go by? How often are we afraid to take that bat off of our shoulder. We pass a homeless person on the street. Strike one, as we walk on by. We see war, poverty, injustice, sickness. Strike two. We see a friend or a family member who is aching for Jesus. Aching to feel the love of God in their life. Just aching for a friend. Strike three as we’re too afraid of ridicule, or failure and don’t do anything.
Jesus chose each and every one of you to heal the world. Each and every one of you has some gift, some talent, that Jesus wants to use to feed his sheep. We need to remind each other, encourage one another that each of you is chosen for a reason. Each of you is important enough to have the whole fate of the church before you. Because Jesus knows that every one of you has it in you to change that world. This week as pitch after perilous pitch is thrown at you. Will your bat just rest on your shoulder, or will you swing away?