America’s sport

and for some of us

locker rooms have always taught more than classrooms ever could

There are moments when chainlink, astroturf, and “suck it up”

form the type of crucible necessary to teach us

what it means to balance the intoxication of dominance with the humility of accord

to teach us about power, glory, and even faith

Like the other day, when I walked in to overhear one of my teammates say

“Aye yo, you got your new Jesus Piece?”

to which you responded: “Yeah man, solid 14K gold.”

As you indicated to the laser cut chunk of fate in the shape of a cross

glimmering against your cotton covered chest

You said “this will give me so much swag”

As if, a sign of faith is just one more step

enlisting into the athletic chain gang we call a team...

I’ve watched boys like you

Murmur prayers more for superstition than for faith,

cross yourself instinctively as you step into that dull diamond,

thank God as you round the bases

You care more about that cross when you need a big save

Instead of wearing as a sign of being saved

Its all part of the game

What’s more them than glory

What’s more you than competition

What’s more American than wielding power as a lifeline between God and ourselves

Since 1845, Baseball has been America’s pastime,

and since the dawn of our country we have known that symbols speak louder than deeds

We’ve convinced ourselves that its ok to kill in the name of christ

when the only death he wanted was his own..for us

Glory….Power….Faith

Why should we expect any different?

We make money off of the Godly showdown between channels every Sunday morning

We like our gospels intertwined with commercials selling a mail order slice of salvation

Our stairway to heaven is a spiral one where we are

Led, moving in circles without moving higher

Too many look for the covenant of grace in the local jewelry shop

Go to church an open up the rule book to hypocrisy

pray to God in blue robes

feel a sense of rejuvenation as they walk the blood stained carpet

Like their veins are filled with power   

Like they have so much swag

But America’s past time wasn't created on a manicured green quilt

It was forged in the knotted pews of the house of god

By belief that the way to the right hand of god is on the left hand of our brazen consciousness

We all forget sometimes…

That we were all modeled out of God's personal mortar

That he sees us as worthy artifacts

And we are incomparable to others

Even if we sometimes can’t see that for glaze over our marbled eyes

That these gold crosses around our necks are only a reminder

that since he was nailed to that lumber of calvary,

Jesus will accept anyone back again,

one glimmering crucifixion at a time