Then a wave of athleticism passed through the town. Sitting about was no longer tolerated and the middle-aged men cast around, in varied manners, for opportunities to race their hearts and flex their re-discovered muscles.
Glen, his restlessness punctuated by his avidity, became very active. He heard soon that it was possible to join a Wiffle league and wrote to Lancaster for particulars. These consisted in a form to be filled up with the applicant’s name, age, and alma mater; a solemn declaration to be signed that he would play a certain number of games per season; and a request that he set aside a minimum of six evenings over the course of the year for theoretical investigations into the nature of the game. Glen duly sent the papers and within weeks received official acceptance, along with an autographed ball and bat set, signed by none other than the league Commissioner, Peter Berwald.
Every Saturday morning he dressed as quickly as possible in order to get to the park early. Initially, he had hoped to impress the other Wifflers with his enthusiasm and willingness to do the scut work that the more seasoned players no longer cared to engage in: chalking the field, laying out the bats, inspecting the balls for cracks, etc., etc. Then too, he wished them to see in him an earnestness and an uprightness that perhaps had gone missing in the league of late. While it was quickly apparent that he was not going to dominate in batting and pitching he felt certain that the sincerity of his play and the integrity of his efforts would be enough to win the hearts of his fellows. He remembered a line from the catechism of his youth:
“If you have faith and do not doubt you will not only do this which is done
to the fig-tree, but also if you say to the mountain, remove yourself and cast
yourself into the sea; it will be done. And all this, whatever you will ask in
prayer, believing, you will receive”
By and by, after weeks and months of play, Glen found himself alone one evening with Dr. Kurt Mosser, a local professor of considerable reputation and, for many years, the team metaphysician.
“I say, Kurt, this passage from the bible, is it true?”
Dr. Mosser looked up from under the brim of his cap and said,
“What passage is that?”
“Why, this one about if you have faith you can move mountains”.
“If it says so in the bible it is so, Glen”.
“ So if say I were to pray for a game-winning hit, or to pitch a perfect game, it
could actually happen?”
“Indeed, Glen, if you prayed hard enough and were genuine in your faith, then yes, God would grant these things to you.”
Glen allowed himself to be patted gently on the shoulders by Dr. Mosser and proceeded home to begin his program of beseechments. He had got the information that he wanted and was ready to put it into swift action. Once in his room, he sank to his knees , buried his face in his hands and prayed to God with all his might that he would make his game fleet. It was a small thing, compared to moving mountains and Glen was certain that God would grant him this one tiny request.
“Oh God, in your loving mercy and goodness, if it is your will, please allow me to hit and pitch with alacrity and grace.”
Days passed, and days turned into weeks. Dutifully, Glen prayed every morning and every evening. He prayed when he showered and he prayed when he ate and he imagined, after a time, that he prayed in his sleep. He laughed to himself as he thought of his team mates’ astonishment at the transformation of his game, as he hit with ease all manner of pitches, and fired curves and sinkers and fastballs from his supple arm. He envisioned one after another of his fellows clapping him on the back to say, “good game, Glen”, and, “you’re quickly becoming the best in the league.”
And it came to pass, after a two-week absence, Glen came to Kettering on the evening of August 17, 2010, with the confidence of a man who is possessed of the truth. He had prayed daily, with sincerity and humility, and was ready to display the fruit of his tireless effort. As he mounted the pitch he was determined to realize his dream, but alas, it was not to be. Inning after inning, batting and pitching, he failed repeatedly to muster even a paltry showing. In the whole of the two-hour game he managed just one weak hit and, while it scored a run, it was all but useless as he followed it on the mound by giving up the tying run.
Later that evening, he turned to Dr. Mosser and said,
“Supposing you’d asked God to do something and really believed it was going to happen, like moving a mountain, I mean, and you had faith, and it didn’t happen, what would it mean?”
“Well, it would mean no more than that you hadn’t got faith.”
Glen accepted the explanation. If God had not granted his wish to be “game” it was because somehow he did not really believe. And yet, he did not see how he could believe more than he did. Perhaps he had not used the right words, or given God enough time. I suppose no one ever has faith enough, he thought.
By the third week in August he had given up the struggle. He felt a dull resentment against his metaphysician, Dr. Mosser. The text which spoke of moving mountains was just one of those that said one thing and meant another. He thought the good doctor had been playing a practical joke on him.
Posts
