The Zen of Sacrifice
Rev. Christina M. Neilson
February 22nd, 2009
The theme for this month is sacrifice, and when introduced to that idea, I really struggled. Sacrifice conjures up images of Jesus dying on the cross, and lambs brought to the slaughter and all those Christian images from my childhood. And I was concerned whether I could stick to the theme, and Kathleen and Wayne both assured me that I wouldn’t have to as outside speaker, that I could do what I wanted.
But then I thought of baseball, and the idea of “taking one for the team came to me.” Players love to hit the ball out of the park, and bring in the grand slam, or the record breaking hit, but the real discipline of the game comes from playing small ball. The players job isn’t just to power hit. If someone is on base, they may have to sacrifice bunt. In that situation, their job is to advance the runner to scoring position, so that any hit from the next hitter will create a run. The batter ends up getting out. It’s not exciting. There is no fanfare. But it wins games more often than the big hits.
In some cases the sacrifice is a fly ball, especially when the runner is on third base. They can tag up and score a run. Again, not an exciting move. But many games are won by one run. The players need to be able to do what the game requires, not what is good for their ego, their batting average, or their personal records.
You’ve probably all seen games when for days or weeks no one can hit. They hit a dry spell, like having writer’s block. Now their job is just to get on base. They have to work a walk out of the pitcher, or it’s not unheard of, some players have perfected this, of being hit by a pitch. It’s accidental, and the batters are supposed to move out of the way, but some of the players take one for the team just to get on base. Once on, they may get a signal to steal on the second pitch or the fourth pitch, or whatever, and the batter has to slow swing whether the ball is hittable or not. If you can’t hit, you have to manufacture the run however possible.
Baseball demands sacrifice, because the needs of the team trumps the needs of any individual player. Baseball is a form of spiritual discipline. Japanese Baseball great Sadaharu Oh says in his autobiography, “I have been accompanied every step of the way by powers that were not mine. My life or my strength is not my exclusive property. The purpose is to be of service to others.”[1]
We are asked to make sacrifices for others in our lifetime. We have a staggering economy. As a church, you may be asked to assist others. You may be asked to give more money to cover those who lost their jobs or their retirement investments and are unable to offer their usual support. You may be asked to take on more jobs around the church when others who may normally volunteer are in a concentrated job search and unable to devote time. You may be asked to share your talent whether you are not able to share other assets. You will be asked to give more than you may feel you can give of your money, time and talent for the good of the institution. The institution of our churches is worthy of our support.
It’s been one of my great surprises, or epiphanies I should say, when I discovered that I was an institutionalist. I grew up very rebellious, and anti-authoritarian. I really didn’t trust any institutions for most of my life, except for the union. They were the ones fighting for the people. They were my democratic ideal. Churches wanted to control people and televangelists wanted to take their money, especially from vulnerable people. Employers wanted to squeeze every last ounce of productivity out of you to enhance their bottom line. I didn’t favor anyone telling me what to do- a pastor, a boss, no one.
When I lived in California and was a union negotiator for one of our nursing contracts, I had a moment of awakening. The contract was not going well. Fifty percent of the hospitals in the SF bay area were closing, and merging. My hospital was preparing to lay off all the nurses (900 people) and rehire them back by seniority into half of the previously offered positions. The other positions were to be filled with aids and LVN’s and other people of lower skill and lesser training. The nurses were in an uproar, and we decided to do joint bargaining with nurses from other hospitals so that they couldn’t pit one hospital against each other.
But it was a nightmare, because it became clear to me that the joint bargaining team (and those higher in the union organization) didn’t care which hospitals were closed, as long as the nurses jobs were protected by seniority. They didn’t care about skills needed for the particular clinical area, any of that. We quit the joint bargaining effort, we fired the union, we sued the hospital, and all that made me realize that I did care if the hospital closed, and I felt it was a good institution that had always prided itself on quality care. Some institutions are worth fighting for, and I wanted my hospital to succeed. I was standing in my friends back yard, and she said to me, “the bottom line is that we have to do what it takes to save the union.” I paused briefly, and I said back to her in response, “That’s not what is most important to me. I have to fight for the patients.” I lost one of my best friends that day, but I believe that I found my soul.
But my soul was also grieving. I lost the union, the one institution. I believed in. Even that organization showed that it could exploit its members. I believed in democratic process, and empowerment of the people. It took a long time for me to recover from that. I am a blue collar, working class person from generations back. I come from a long line of union organizers. But I decided to go into management. To heal the wounds of the nurses who felt betrayed by the layoffs, to save as many jobs with as many skilled nurses as possible, and to give my precious patients the best care they could receive. I saved all of my staff’s jobs, I made the hospital a couple of million dollars, and I helped people learn to work with people who may not have been as educated as they were.
My love for the union was sublimated to the Unitarian Universalist church as my democratic ideal. Our polity may not be perfect, and we’ve all been to annoying, long and complicated meetings that drive us crazy, but our process represents the best of our faith. Its not fair to put any of our institutions on a pedestal. I came to value the Unitarian Universalist church as a beloved institution. One that I would be willing to devote a whole lot of time and money to. I felt (and still feel) that a free church with a wide range of theological diversity is the one way that we can have integrity of belief as an individual, and a responsible, covenanted community that is accountable to the needs of others. We sacrifice for our churches, but that does not make us slaughtered lambs. It means that we notice who is on base, and what else is going on, and that we synchronize our efforts with the needs of the team, or our community so that all may benefit.
Sadaharu describes in his book that the coach lined up all the freshman on the team in two rows, facing each other. They were told to hit each other. If they hit too soft, they had to do it again. It was a method he used to instill a sense of shared responsibility, as the error of one was the error of all. He writes, “It is higher consciousness to learn to care for others, to acquire a sense of genuine responsibility for the actions- good or ill- of the team or group to which you belong. On a baseball team, there is simply no avoiding the demand. The lesson is painfully learned, but it is learned.”[2]
We are all in relationship with each other. Right here and now in the Zen of this present moment. Each relationship is the right relationship, even with our opponent, one that we must nurture. Sadaharu describes an important game that he pitched. Upon winning, he throws his glove in the air in exhuberation and joy, but the coach stops him. He says, “Where do you get off carrying on like that… Throwing your glove in the air, rubbing salt in their wounds. Have you no respect for the feelings of your opponent? Shame on you!”[3]
We need to understand our opponents as we understand ourselves. All of us are in relationship with out opponents. We respect the team, the sport, the players. I guess that means I have to be one with the White Sox too. Ryne Sandberg gave a speech as he was inducted into the hall of fame. He says, “I was in awe every time I walked onto the field. That’s respect. I was taught you never, ever disrespect your opponents or your teammates or your organization or your manager, and never, ever in your uniform. You make a great play, act like you’ve done it before, get a big hit, look for the third base coach and get ready to run the bases.”[4]
In our churches, we need to collaborate together to benefit all- whether that is to share pulpits as I am doing today, or to work collaboratively on a mutual project, such as a major area wide advertising campaign or the social justice outreach that you have supported today to help rebuild our Unitarian Universalist congregations in New Orleans. We will all thrive together.
So often churches compete with each other. We fear that we will lose members or resources to each other. We can forget the larger picture that we are part of the Unitarian Universalist Association of congregations. We are on the same team. Our broader goal is to grow our entire movement. We can find peace in all of the ways that we contribute towards that, rather than relishing our own pride or statistics at the expense of others.
This long, cold, snowy and sometimes dreary winter will end and baseball will return to Cleveland. Even now as I speak, teams are preparing in the training camps. Baseball may require sacrifice, but it is the ultimate symbol of hope. Spring will return, the snow will melt, and we will be in the stands with out hot dogs, just as fans across the country will do, all part of one human family we call love. Its fun to pop one out of the park, but we’ll grow faster if we take one for the team once in a while, and work for the benefit of all.