42

I saw 42 today.

It made me cry.  Laugh, too, but often with gentle tears in my eyes. And I realized that’s why I went.  I went because I want this story to have power over me, within me.

It’s the feel-good story of Jackie Robinson and Branch Rickey breaking the baseball color line: a sturdy, enjoyable movie that probably won’t win awards for cinematography and doesn’t have a particularly suspenseful plot.  After all, most if not all of the audience knows how this story ends.

But it’s precisely the feel-good story that matters to me.  It’s a story of triumph despite a deck stacked for the opposition; of virtue rewarded in spite of being both unpopular and unconventional.

Which makes it a kingdom of God story.

And like the gospel, 42 is told in highlights.  Although the movie does a good job of sampling the threat, frustration, vitriol and sheer awkwardness that comes with crossing the color line, there’s no way a two hour movie can show the grinding reality of justified fear and scary anger, the sheer cross-country drudgery of either baseball.  Just like weary sandal-footed miles and boring bits drop out of the Bible. The story we see is composed of moments of hope and action.

The problem with – and the necessity for – these stories are one and the same.  Most of the world’s struggles against fear and danger, hatred, oppression, and other faceless systems are invisible, or seen only by a few.  It’s scary, uncertain, and painful when it’s your own struggle; my own daily life.  Our challenges and victories are not narrated by Red Barber, or re-told to dramatic orchestration.  So many triumphs and resurrections are invisible, too.

That’s what makes movies like 42 important.  Because we have to train ourselves to believe in the triumph of character and determination, in resurrection and renewal, and that the world can be improved in real ways.

It’s why we tell the Easter story over and over in church.

Life is hard, messy, uneven.  So we need practice believing in the good news – the (inaccurate but fun) game-ending, pennant-clinching homer in the top of the 4^th; the victory of empathy over prejudice; the triumph of grace and joy.

That’s why we need to enter in to such feel-good stories, to cry and laugh and give them power in our lives, even if only for an hour or two.

I use baseball and the gospel.  You may find your hope and grace in romance novels, or hockey, or even politics (two of which are utterly beyond my comprehension), or something else entirely.  Whatever you use for hope and grace, keep it up, stay in practice. 

Because practice – in resurrection, like in baseball – makes us better.  Stronger, faster, readier for the next challenge, whether it’s the 15^th throw to first in a close inning or a life and death struggle against oppression or illness.

I practice this every Sunday, and lots of times in between, with my congregation and community. But I might just go see 42 again.  And I’ll buy it on DVD.  Because the tears in my eyes and the laughter on my lips are a workout for my soul, making hope stronger for the messy but essential daily business of living resurrection.