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A few springs ago, Western Oregon State played Central
Washington University in women’s softball for the conference
championship. An NCAA playoff spot was on the line. With two on,
Western Oregon’s Sara Tucholsky connected to hit a home run clearing
the center field fence. It was Sara’s first home run ever. A part-time
starter in the outfield, Sara, a senior, had only 3 hits in 34 at-bats all
season.
But as she circled the bases, Sara fell and hurt her knee. The five-
foot-two-inch senior lay crumpled in the dirt a few feet from first base—
and a long way from home plate.
Her teammates ran to help her—but their coaches stopped them:
According to the rules, if any teammate ran on to the field, Sara would
be called out. The umpires said that if Sara could make it back to first
base, a pinch runner could be substituted—but Sara’s home run would be scored a single. Any assistance from coaches or trainers while Sara
was an active runner would result in an out.
While Western Oregon was deciding its next move, the first
baseman for Central Washington asked the umpire chief if she and her
teammates could help her. The umpire knew of no rule against the
opposing team helping the player—so two Central Washing players put
their arms under Sara’s legs and Sara put her arms around their
shoulders and the three headed around the base paths, stopping to let
Sara touch each base.
Central Washington’s compassion cost them. They lost the game
—and the playoff berth—4.2.
But that didn’t seem to faze Central Washington. “In the end, it’s
not about winning and losing so much”, Washington’s first baseman
Mallory Holtman said. “It was about this girl. She’s a senior; it’s her
last year. She hit it over the fence and was in pain, and she deserved a
home run. It was the right thing to do”.
This ultimate act of sportsmanship mirrors the generosity of spirit and humility of heart that Jesus asks of us in today’s Gospel. When Jesus calls his disciples to embrace the simple faith of “little ones”, he is not
saying that our approach to faith should be “watered down” to the level
of children. He is calling us, instead, to embrace a faith that is centered
in the love and compassion of God: love that is not compromised by
self-interest and rationalization, compassion that is not measured but
given completely and unreservedly. Christ is asking us to embrace a
faith that is simple, pure and honest—not complicated and compromised
by “adult stuff” like winning and losing. May the “wise and learned”
among us embrace the spirit of generosity and selflessness exhibited by
the Central Washing University women’s softball team—the class of the
NCAA.

A professor of religion at a small college was growing more and
more concerned about her students. Some were taking five courses
while working full-time jobs and caring for small children. Others were
trying to keep their scholarships along with their commitments to their
sports teams, the school newspaper, the choral and theater groups on
campus. A few still lived at home, where their families depended on
their help. Despite their constant state of exhaustion, they refused to
slow down or give an inch. They were immersed in a culture in which a
B+ was a sign of failure.
So, when the course came to the section on meditation, the
professor struck on an idea. Rather than assign a research paper on the
topic of meditation, the professor assigned her students to actually do it,
to meditate—not once, but at least three times for at least 20 minutes.
Their assignment was to stop and give themselves fully to the practice,
to resist the urge to give up and get busy with something “useful”. They were then to write about what they discovered about meditation—and
about themselves.
Most students admitted in their papers that meditation was the
hardest thing they had ever done. “This is just plain stupid”, one student
wrote. “It’s basically vegging out and I’d rather do it my way, watching
television with a beer”.
Another reported what happened when she felt the wind in the
trees blowing across the hairs of her skin: “When I stopped to notice
this, it gave me chills. Then I began to cry. I cannot explain it, but I did.
I believe I was in shock that I do not notice and appreciate the little
things in life that are absolutely wonderful”.
One student, a hunter, did his meditation in a deer stand and
confessed that he went temporarily insane. “For one crazy moment, I
thought I was the deer. I thought I was the forest, the sky, the sun
coming through the leaves. Man, was that weird.”
The professor assured her students that what they experienced was
not unusual, that it was, in fact, very Biblical. She writes of the assignment: “I don’t know if I convinced them, but they did look more rested.
Now if I could only convince them to repeat this act of resistance on a
regular basis—to stop running for a few moments each day, to stop
answering all the sirens long enough to hit the bottom they never hit,
feel the wind they never feel, sense the union they never sense….Their
only hope is to remember how alive they felt, for 20 minutes at least,
and to want that as much as they want the customary rewards of their
busy lives”.
Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel, which strike us at first reading as
cold and heartless, are an invitation not to walk away from life but to
embrace life’s essence to the full. We can become so absorbed with
building a career that we fail to develop our full potential and talents as a
human being; we can become so obsessed with creating and maintaining
a lifestyle that we do not live a life worth living. Christ calls all who
would be his disciples to “lose” life’s obsessive, meaningless and petty
pursuits in order to “find” a life fully human and alive in hope and joy.

A school had organized a food drive. A teacher was looking at all
that had been collected. Not just the usual mac-and-cheese donations,
but some pretty high-end items filled the bins: gluten-free crackers, rice
pasta, artichoke hearts packed with seasoned oil, and quinoa.
Another woman walked by, and seeing the items that had been donated,
smiled and said, “Too bad they won’t know what to do with most of it”.
The teacher asked, “What do you mean?”
“Those people won’t know what most of that stuff is. I mean,
really, Quinoa?” The teacher had heard correctly: “Those people”.
The teacher knew “those people.” Eight months before she had
been one of “those people”. It had been eight months since the last time
she had gotten groceries at the local food pantry. Eight months since the
long-overdue child support from her ex-husband kicked in. Even though
it wasn’t much, it made the difference between being able to buy enough
food for her and her family to make it through the week–and for that she
was grateful. “Those people.”
She remembered the first time she had gone to the food pantry.
She drove by several times before working up the courage to pull into
the parking lot. “I can’t” she whispered and went home – to the empty
refrigerator and kitchen cupboards. Finally, desperation overshadowed
pride.
“Those people.”
She finally walked through the door. She could feel the heat on
her cheeks as she filled out the paperwork, telling complete strangers her
life history, how much money she earned, and what she spent it on.
“Those people.”
She quickly learned that food pantries are hit-or-miss. Some days
the shelves are full, and with really good things – and other days you can
barely pull a few meals together from the dented cans and spoiled
produce. But beggars can’t be choosers, right?
“Those people”.
She made five trips to the pantry over eleven months. When she
told her kids, she expected them to laugh or get angry or be embarrassed. Instead, they helped her put the groceries away, quietly. She remembers
all the meals she made with the food pantry items. Oven-roasted
chicken with quartered rosemary potatoes. Turkey chili. French toast.
More mac-and-cheese that she cared to admit. One of her favorites was
an organic risotto, flavored with mushrooms and olive oil.
“Those people”.
She wanted to walk up to that woman in the hallway, grab her by
the shoulders, and shake her: You don’t know a thing about how it feels
to walk into one of “those” places and be one of “those” people.
You’ve never looked at your kids and had to hide your tears because you
had no idea how you were going to feed them”. But she didn’t. All she
could muster was: “I like quinoa”.
If only she knew.
It’s not that we “hate” others: it’s our attitude of superiority over
those who don’t measure up to our “standards” of what is good and right
and correct, it’s that lack of respect and empathy for the poor that Jesus
condemns. The Kingdom of God is first realized when we can see “those people” as our brothers and sisters, worthy not only of our help
and understanding but of our respect; that, in their perseverance and
courage as they struggle to make lives for themselves and their families,
the love of God dwells in their midst, as well as ours. The Kingdom of
God begins when we realize that “those people” are us.