A Barry Good Story

     Barry Zito’s story fascinates me. A big reason is because I am a die-hard San Francisco Giants fan. Another is because his story is one of reconciliation and finding redemption while standing on a very public stage. Barry is a Christian today, but that wasn’t always the case. When he pitched for the cross-bay rival Oakland A’s, he was known by such names as “Planet Zito” and “Captain Quirk” as he avidly followed Zen Buddhism and practiced yoga in the outfield before games. He once credited something he called a universal life force that helped him excel in his career. He was raised in a metaphysical, new-age church where his mother was the pastor.  But all of that began to change in 2010. And to understand the full story we have to go back to 2007 where Barry Zito was a Cy Young award winner and All-Star who had just signed, at that time, the most lucrative long-term contract for a pitcher in Major League Baseball history.

     From the start in San Francisco there were high expectations, and by all accounts Barry was a failure. He was booed and criticized by fans frustrated with his string of yearly sub-par performances. He struggled for years as the highest paid pitcher on the team, yet with the worst record. He hit bottom in 2010 when he was left off of the team’s World Series roster. He watched from home while his teammates went on to win the championship without him.  Fueled by millions of dollars in salary, the expectations of thousands of fans and the merciless media were on his shoulders. It looked like the pressure would crush him.  He was injured in a car accident and had a recurring foot injury that wouldn’t heal. He was replaced as a starter on the Giants.  And Barry began looking for answers and God was there. Even though Barry had previously rejected Christ as a valid option in his life, Jesus graciously began to set him on a course of restoration. Barry began the 2012 season with renewed hope and determination, and also a new life surrendered to Christ.

     And what a turnaround. His first game of the season was a 7-0 shutout. He won 14 games straight to finish the season and lead the Giants to the playoffs. In game 5 of the National League Championship, he pitched what he would call “the best game of my career” bringing the Giants back from the edge of elimination. In two years he went from watching the World Series from the sidelines to being handed the ball to start Game One of the most important game of his life. And he won that game, opposite the best pitcher in the league for the Tigers.  He left the game to a standing ovation. He inspired a Twitter hashtag #rallyzito which trended worldwide. The guy who had become the biggest punch-line, was now the team’s biggest punch-out. Restored to his proper place of a valued and respected player, he walked off the world series mound to a standing ovation of cheering, adoring fans. That was an incredible moment of redemption. A career rescued from the ashes. A life given a second chance. And the once vilified was now reconciled to a city and team that had all but given up and turned their backs on him. 

     It’s not just a feel-good story. It’s the real-life triumph of a man newly surrendered to Christ, who finds that God has the power to make all things new and to bring reconciliation among even the most hopeless situations. That’s our God. And I couldn’t be happier that I get to see restoration and reconciliation lived out in high-definition clarity on a baseball team that I love.

Much Too Pie-ous

     

     I was having a discussion with my friend Guy today.  Yes, he is also a guy friend, but he happens to be named Guy, in case there is any confusion. Anyway, we were talking about  models of evangelism and discipleship among ethnic/religious groups and how to help shape and equip an established church representing the dominant culture to adapt in being more hospitable and attractive to the minority cultures around her. Maybe you thought all guys talked about was sports, but we also talk about other subjects, like food.

     Guy used the analogy of a pie to illustrate how a primarily mono-cultural  church can create a slice from among its whole to serve as a concentrated focus on  a specific people group, such as Arabs.  That started me thinking about pies, which really had nothing to do with my appetite because at that moment we were enjoying a breakfast of cappuccinos with freshly baked baguettes and jam at McDonald's (Only  in France, people- only in France). As I thought about it, the analogy doesn't seem to hold up too well only because the room we carve out in the pie for them becomes what turns out to be a slice of something of an entirely different flavor and texture from the rest. And in the end, it's still exclusively our pie and we really don't understand what it feels like to be a little blackberry surrounded by a whole lot of rhubarb.   Cultural, religious, or historical barriers prevent us from helping invitees or new believers from minority or cultural sub-groups to feel welcome and to fully integrate into the life of the church. One problem is that we tend to think about the participation, power sharing and personality of our pie in terms of doling out rationed slices. It is as if  we're a pie divided, before we've even started.

      Keeping with the pie imagery, one could also envision just creating two entirely different pies. We see this all the time in more of  a "let them have their own pie" approach.  Often, it means ethnic churches that have their own culture and language, and exist quite independent from other mono-ethnic churches or who are loosely associated with a "mother" church, meeting for language-specific worship and fellowship at an alternative time and/or location. I get my pie and you get yours; everybody's happy, right? When the two pies do try to get together for a unified event, it can resemble more of a side-by-side dessert display rather than a true fusion of tastes and textures. 

     But what if there was a third model, and it wasn't a pie but a pizza. OK, I can hear the Italians objecting that pizza is pie.  I won't argue that, but I would like to argue the superiority of  thick crust over thin.  That's an argument worth fighting for. But on the subject of pizza and dessert pie.  They may possess the same shape, and maybe the same amount of slices, but I propose to you, they are constructed very differently. A pie's main ingredients are mixed together into a filling before baking. A pizza's ingredients are spread over the whole pizza a layer at a time.  Cheese, salami, olives, and more rarely, anchovies, are spread over the entire pizza, each with it's distinctive appearance and flavor, yet covering its entire surface to give it a unique array of colors, aroma, and taste. But should you want to concentrate a number of extra pepperonis over onto one quarter of the pie to give it a more dominant  taste of spicy goodness, you have not changed the nature of the pizza, which was always designed to be a "combination" from the beginning. Now you have a dominant flavor in a certain section, but one that still mixes with the other ingredients more organically.  Further, add a brand-new, untried ingredient to the pizza, and it should blend right in with the other varied, yet complimentary components.

     Isn't it typically the least mature in a given family who prefer not to branch out to order anything but the tried and true mozzarella pizza they have always eaten?  A combination pizza is more costly than a plain cheese. Of the two pizzas, one requires more work, more preparation of ingredients, and more investment than the other, not to mention a more diversified palate. But the result of richness in diversity of flavor is well worth the cost and the risk of ordering a large pizza with "the works".  In the church, we barely do OK at reproducing churches after our own kind. But we are pretty inept at reaching and integrating people different from us into our Christian communities.  In most cities, pizza restaurants outnumber pie shops. May it be so in the Kingdom of God as His Church and her rapid multiplication begin to reflect more accurately what God Himself destined to be an wonderfully diverse yet connected and globalized world.

Make Light Work

     I have been intrigued lately by Jesus’ description of us, His disciples, as a city on a hill.  We have a lot of those here in Grenoble. No, I’m not necessarily talking about disciples. We could use a lot more around here. But we do have a lot of hills. And mountains. Big ones, in fact.

     One of the prettiest sights in this valley which is full of them, is to look up at night and see the dancing lights of the small communities that dot the surrounding mountainsides. It inspires valley dwellers to say from afar “I want to visit that place one day.”  True community emanating Jesus’ warm light is pretty attractive.  Hopefully, it’s what makes the courageous few non-initiated seekers decide to give our Christian groups and meetings a shot. But what do they feel and experience as they pay a visit?  I imagine if I hiked up to explore one of our hilltop communities, the same lights that attracted me would be coming from pretty houses with welcome mats in front of the door. But I would still be on the outside looking in. All the warmth and light and laughter on the inside of the house, would now only frustrate me, as I stand shut out in the cold. Appreciating the light can degenerate quickly into resenting those in the light who remain blissfully ignorant of my presence just outside the window, enjoying their meals, their bedtime stories or their Monday Night Football.

     I think this is why Jesus followed up his city metaphor by saying, “No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house.” It’s that last phrase that really stuck with me. A city on a hill, Jesus-style, doesn't just radiate light. It’s not enough to catch someone's eye; we have to capture their hearts by inviting them all the way in to the house. Here the original word is better translated household, or family. Simply put, we have to try extremely hard to help people feel like they belong to what we have and who we are.  By giving them complete access to our hearths and our hearts, regardless of race, religion, or rebellious lifestyle.

    We are trying to build an authentic, non-religious community of Christ-followers here in this alpine city. What Grenoble is physically – a city on a hill – is what we purpose to be spiritually.  Grenoble historically was a place of refuge for persecuted Protestants in the 1500’s and for Jews hunted down by Nazis and their collaborators during World War II.  It continued to be a destination for displaced peoples during and after the Algerian conflict a half-century ago.  Today, immigrants still flock to this city, escaping their past in search of a real future. 

      God is also calling us to be like one of the six cities of refuge in the Old Testament which were set apart to receive those caught in crisis of their own making. These cities were the inheritance of the Levites, who were already well-versed in mediating between the harsh law and a sinful people.  Who better than they to serve as a compassionate buffer between the hapless pursued and the hell-bent pursuers? This is one of the key roles we feel called to fulfill. Grenoble, our city-of-refuge-on-a-hill, will continue to be a cross-roads for the asylum seeker and international sojourner. There are many, political, religious and economic refugees, students, laborers, and stateless immigrants who find themselves in France.  They possibly were attracted here by the lights of hope and promise they observed from a distance. But sadly, upon arriving here, they are often shut out from structures of culture, community and even church that surround them. If hospitality is an art, we can’t just offer to a world in crisis and conflict sterile replicas or shameful forgeries. We have to paint from our hearts daily, epic works of beauty and warmth that draw people into the scene, captured and inspired.