Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, whose life expressed a deeper joy.

It was in a Florida outfield some 20 years ago.

My Ohio church gave me a gift for my ten-year anniversary with them as pastor.  One early suggestion was a week on a silent retreat in a monastery somewhere, but wiser ideas prevailed, and they surprised me with a week at Fantasy Camp with the Cleveland Indians.

So there I was, a few weeks later, at the Indians training facility with all these uniformed men, some young but mostly older guys who, like me, thought we could still play, all dressed in white baseball pants, and blue shirts with our name on the back, doing warm-up exercises in the outfield on a beautiful day in January, with a blue sky above us, green grass beneath our cleats, and a warm breeze bringing back earlier days of baseball joy.

It was then I remember thinking, “This is great!  I love this!”  I was overcome by the joy of being young and fit on a magic day.  Then it vanished, as quickly as it came, just like that.  Gone.  The rest of the week I was sore, couldn’t run like I used to, my arm hurting, my legs not running, my reflexes missing, and I kept thinking, “What am I doing here?”

But there was that one moment of joy. I don’t think I said anything out loud, but inside I was feeling a kind of joyful noise.  For a moment.  It was like Psalm 100 in a baseball unform.

Oh, how hard it is to experience joy, Psalm 100-style, on a baseball field for more than a moment, and in our normal, news-encroaching, list-driven, isn’t-there-something-better-I-could-be-doing day.  But I hope we do, and I wish it for you, for a day at least, or a meal, with family, friends, or a quiet moment, when all that harms cannot reach us, and joyful noises fill our souls.

With this in mind, I share “Don’t Hesitate” by Mary Oliver, an amazing poet who expressed joy like a psalmist and an old ballplayer’s fleeting moment:

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Grace and peace, and joy not made to be a crumb this Thanksgiving,

Harry