The Established Path of Discipleship

The following story is fictional and written to illustrate a biblical truth.

The sound reverberates through the stadium, causing crackerjacks to spill onto the concrete floor. It’s a sound that silences the crowd for a second before they explode in a frenzy of cheers. It’s a sound that’s crisp, solid, and undeniable. The sound of thirty-four inches of maple launching a baseball into a sea of ecstatic fans. Last year, I hit fifty-four of them—a franchise record for my team. So far this year, I’ve only hit three. At this rate, I would finish the season with a paltry seventeen.

“Pete, I don’t understand it. Have I lost it? Last year, I led the league in home runs and RBIs. This year, I cannot seem to hit anything. Most of my contact with the ball never reaches the outfield. If it does, it’s like an invisible hand is knocking it down into the fielder’s glove. What puzzles me is that nothing has changed. My swing and timing are the same. I’m buried in a suffocating slump.” 

“Are you done whining yet?” Pete replied. Pete is a Braves institution. He is not a coach and only played briefly in the majors, but he knows baseball and life. He is the clubhouse counselor, paid to spot dejection and prevent despair.

 “One hundred sixty-two games is a long time,” Pete continued. “Baseball is a game of endurance. Slumps are part of the process. They are part of what molds you into the player you are meant to be. They test you.” 

I nodded, “But I’m not so sure I like this particular test.” 

“Have you considered how the rest of the team is hitting?” 

“Much better than me,” I fumed. 

“This is the beauty of team dynamics. When one is struggling, your teammates support you. Their hitting carries the team when you’re in a slump. And, when your bat comes alive, you will carry some of them.” 

“Okay, whatever, Pete.” 

“Think over what I say, son. You will understand later in the season.” 

Two weeks later, everyone’s bats were quiet. It was the bottom of the ninth in a tie-ball game. I stood at the plate with a 3-2 count. I knew what was coming. He was going to throw his fastball, his 100mph fastball. The ball would reach the catcher’s mitt in 400 milliseconds, giving me only 150 milliseconds to react. As I watched the ball leave his hand, I held my breath and swung. Then that sound, that beautiful sound! I stared in wonder as the ball disappeared into the lights. I flipped my bat, and as I rounded first, I glanced at Pete, smiling, and said, “I understand.”

Christian ministry is a greater endurance test than a one-hundred-and-sixty-two-game season. It involves soldier-like suffering, the discipline of an athlete, and, at times, the working hours of a farmer (2 Tim. 2:3-6). Like Pete, the Apostle Paul counsels Timothy, “Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything” (2 Tim. 2:7). At timely moments in our lives, the Lord gives us understanding. We understand as we bring in a crop of new believers after a long drought. We understand the beauty of the Church when we look back on the times church members carried each other. Although we may lose many battles, Christ has already won the war. Think over what I say.