The Baseball metaphor

I have a sudden need to elucidate what I believe. Mostly it’s for myself, I guess, to reassure myself that I have any beliefs at all, and am not just one of the billions floating through life just looking out for number one, and not having any more substance to me.

I think of God’s relationship with the universe like someone who has set up a baseball game. This is an imperfect metaphor, so work with me here. Sometimes you would have to try to imagine what would happen if real baseball functioned like this.

So God set up the game. He makes the field and sets the rules. Some of these rules are known to the players; some are unknown at the start but still essential for success. He gets the players together. Then, He sits back and watches. He's more like a commissioner than an umpire. He is not visible. He gives directions to only one player at a time, so quietly that they have to be really focusing on paying attention to hear. There is the occasional overt attempt to intervene (think 2000 years ago), but for the most part, His presence is not something that you'd notice if you weren't consciously trying to. Occasionally the commissioner steps in and yanks someone from the game. You still don't physically see Him doing it, so you may grow to doubt that He is responsible for the removal of the player. And sometimes you know why, sometimes you don't.

Main idea: the players all have free will. They act however they choose to act within the bounds of the unbreakable laws (such as gravity).

Regarding the transmission of the rules and laws, some are given, and spelled out very clearly (3 strikes and you’re out/ Thou Shall not Kill). However, the rulebook is very old, parts of it have been lost, and it has been recopied so many times that there is question about which parts are original and which parts have been altered by this game of "telephone" many thousand years long.

For other rules, the players have to make discoveries by playing the game. This is akin to making scientific observations about their surroundings. They first need to figure out that they should investigate and ask these questions. Then they need time to discover and name these laws. They cannot initially formulate what effect gravity and inertia have on the ball, but once they do, that opens up a whole new depth of understanding the game. First we have the story of Genesis, then we discover the fossil record.

Then there are strategies: what play to call depending on various situational factors. This is like in professional baseball when the pitcher has to decide if a curveball is warranted in a particular instance, or if it behooves the batter to bunt rather than try to clock it with all he’s got. These strategies must be subject to the situation- who the players are, what the state of the equipment is. Strategies used 2000 years ago may or may not not apply now. The talking heads in the postgame show profess to be experts on the game and to know the mind of the commissioner. Should you listen to them? How would Jesus vote on gay marriage? Who do you believe?

Some rewards of good playing are immediately realized, but some, like being named MVP at the final banquet, are unknown until it's all over. The winners at the banquet don't return, and the award results are unknown to players who remain. Of course, since these players have free will, they choose whether or not to follow the rules. And because of the variety imparted by the unbreakable law of genetic variation, some are fairer players or better strategists than others. Success is variable.

Ambiguity abounds. You could win the game by playing excellently, or by cheating. A good yet fair player might be more well-liked than a cheater, but different people will place differing weight on what reward means most to them: winning or being well-liked. The perceived reward may not be congruous with the actual reward at the banquet. Since failure to follow the rules of the game is not immediately followed by the true consequence (such as ejection from the game) people may lose touch with the idea that breaking the rules has consequences. And the impatient or short-sighted may care more about winning individual games than winning an award at the banquet. You can see how such a system could quickly devolve into chaos. The players eventually find that it all runs more smoothly if they follow the rules and set up an umpire system. The umpires may have had some connection with the commissioner long ago, so assert that their authority comes from Him. Some fail to accept the authority of the umpires; question their interpretations. Then you have corruption and other human characteristics that compromise the integrity of the umpires. Is it any wonder that the players are confused?

What is the upshot of all this? Some people think God intervenes in every little aspect of everything. But I can’t reconcile that with the unfairness that I see. So I think He got it all spinning, like a top, and apart from the occasional intervention, lets it be. Lately, His interventions have not been physical. Those people whose kids died of cancer didn’t pray less hard, nor were they any less deserving. But He can put a thought in your head or give you strength to go on. It’s the only fair way I can perceive.

I can only hope that the final test is weighted to correct for all the various advantages, disadvantages, situations, etc, and there is some way to bring it back to apples-to-apples.

* * *

I have to tell the story of why I can't let this go, how I know that there is some type of higher power, but He limits his interventions to thoughts or feelings. Two things in particular happened to me in my lifetime that felt to me like being touched by a higher power. It may have just been my subconscious. Someone will always find a way to reason away someone else's experience because they cannot accept this as a genuine Godly experience. I myself do that all the time to explain why some have experiences at revivals: it was the crowd's high emotional state, not God, that they were feeling.

Anyway, the first happened one Christmas Eve. I was more miserable and insecure than your typical prepubescent girl because I was chubby and had been picked on by my brother and classmates my whole life. I had always loved Christmas time, but this was the first time Christmas did not work its magic on me. Trying to find something to wear for Christmas Eve festivities was very stressful, because I felt so fat in everything. You may trivialize the depths of despair felt by me, because others have it so much worse, but when you are that age, these "trivialities" can end your world. By the time I was trying to get to sleep, I was sobbing at the misery and self-loathing that filled me. So I prayed. "Please. Not on Christmas. Please let me be happy just this one day." I was silent for a while, eyes closed. Then suddenly, I was filled with the most overwhelming sense of peace. Not happiness, not delerious joy. Just peace. It would be all right. Not perfect. All right.

I opened my eyes. The clock read midnight. Christmas day had arrived.

The other one happened when my daughter was 2 or 3 years old. I am a leadfoot, and have the record of speeding tickets to prove it. I try very hard not to speed, but the endorphin infusion is addictive. Plus, I am chronically late. And very busy. Time spent in the car is time wasted. You know how it is: you see the state trooper parked on the median, too late to slow down. You look down at your speedometer and think, "Oh shit." You deccelerate anyway, cursing yourself, knowing you can't afford to spend a couple hundred dollars on a ticket, much less points on your license and your insurance rates going up. But today is your lucky day. He doesn't come after you. You think you're going to be a good little motorist for the rest of this trip but a couple minutes later you glance down at the speedometer, and there you are doing 75 in a 55 again. It's nearly impossible to stop.

So anyway, on this particular afternoon, I was driving down a clear, practically deserted highway to my mother's house. My mind was ranging everywhere, from mentally preparing to deal with the typical stresses of seeing mom, to all the other things that I had to do. Suddenly, there was a voice in my head, clear as day. "Why are you risking your daughter's life like this?" I slowed down, not even realizing I was doing it. The speedometer stayed smack at 55 for the rest of the trip. This was not me struggling to behave myself. I just did it. No effort. Just like breathing.

Later, after my visit, when I was putting my daughter back in her carseat, I realized that it was not buckled into the car. The last time we had switched the carseat from one car to the other, we had just set it in the car thinking we would buckle it in later. If we had gotten into an accident on the way to my mother's, my baby daughter would have been thrown around the car. Worse than an unrestrained passenger because of the weight of the car seat behind her.

The first time I was in despair. I was trying for a miracle. Maybe it could be explained away, except that I have not had that feeling since. The second time it just happened. Sure, my subconscious must have been aware that the car seat was not buckled but I had no reason to be particularly worried at that moment. I was the only one on the road. I have since tried to recreate that feeling. I have tried to bully and guilt myself into not speeding, thinking of all the results of car crashes I have seen: injuries, loss of life. But I can't do it, because speeding is an impusle for me. If that voice came from me, I can't access it anymore.