The Gospel According to Billy Buckner

It was divinely ironic that on the morning of Billy Buckner’s death the topic at my morning meeting was forgiveness. I remember sitting on the couch in my house in New Hampshire in 1986 believing that the Red Sox would soon break the curse and win their first World Series in ages. With victory all but certain, a Mets player hit a nothing ball along the first base line for what would be an easy out, except it went through Buckner’s legs leading not only to the loss of that game but the series itself. I knew at that moment the error would be the only thing most people would ever remember when thinking about Billy Buckner. Regardless of all the great things he did as an athlete, and the kindness he showed as a person, he would always be known for that one mistake. 

He’s not unique, of course. There are many known not for the good they did but the wrong, and we take a certain amount of comfort by casting such people aside, putting them in a box reserved for such people. It helps keep us from this messy thing called life. It makes life appear tidy, with the good people over here and the bad over there. Richard Rohr warns us against such dualistic thinking, the kind where a person, place, belief, political view, or event is either good or bad, black or white, right or wrong. Such thinking is easy. It eliminates the need to face the messiness of life. (No wonder so many are flocking to churches and political pockets that speak in such ways.)

The spiritual life, however, calls us to more difficult thinking. It draws us into the messiness of life, not away from it. It demands we see beyond our divisions so we can discover what we have in common as imperfect children of God. It’s hard, though, which is why we so often don’t want to do it. It’s easier to point a finger than hug. It’s easier to put people, places, and events in tidy mental boxes at either end of an issue than to wrestle with the messiness found in-between. 

“Everyone’s got their shit,” was the slogan of a community I once knew, but only two people wanted the tee shirt, my mother and me. Can you imagine what our houses, churches, schools, and political parties would look and sound like if we lived by such an irreverent slogan? We just might talk about Billy Buckner and the many others who’ve let balls slip through their legs differently. By forgiving what they did wrong, we might be able to see what they did right. Who knows, we might even look at the person in the mirror in a new way!

The Bridge (or A Letter to my Therapist)

There once was a village tucked away in the mountainous region of Nepal. On three sides of the village were mountains protecting the village, and on the fourth a broad fast-flowing river across which there was a bridge. It was the only way in and out of the village and the villagers relied on the bridge. It had been built years ago by their ancestors who had long since died, but the current villagers did all they could to maintain it. When a plank would get loose, they would re-attach it. When the paint began to peal, they would add a new coat. It was as if the bridge was a part of the village, which only made it more unsettling when they learned it needed to be replaced.

“The bridge has served us well,” one person said. “But the time has come to replace it with a new bridge.”

“Can’t we just keep repairing it like we have,” someone asked. “It’s all we’ve ever known. It served our ancestors well. Can’t we keep maintaining it?”

“No,” came the adamant response. “The bridge’s foundation is rotted, and even our well-intentioned maintenance is only slightly effective.”

So the villagers agreed to tear down the bridge and replace it, but as the work began many had second thoughts. When the bridge was half-way taken apart, they approached the village leader again.

 “Why’d we decide to do this anyway?” asked one person.

“Maybe we should stop and put it back the way it was,” said another. “At least we could walk across it then.” 

“The problem is you are only seeing the bridge that is being taken apart,” shared the wise leader. “You need to look and see the bridge that’s coming.”

“But how can we see that?” someone asked. “It doesn’t exist.”

“But it does!” replied the leader. “We just haven’t built it yet.”

Another Bench

I was recently at a remarkable retreat center where the grounds were as inspirational as the facility itself. During the first of my many walks on the trail through the woods, I stopped at a bench with a particularly serene view. There was a small creek with enough water and rocks to make the sound one craves when sitting and thinking, and I quickly felt I had found thespot. I planned to spend most of my time sitting on this bench.

After awhile, though, I stood to continue walking on the trail and was surprised to find an even better bench around the bend. Thisis the spot, I thought to myself. The trail then led up a steep hill, which I did not particularly want to climb, but at the top was an even more amazing bench surrounded by massive boulders, a cross and altar. Sitting on this third bench, I reflected on the progression of benches, and, maybe because I was on a retreat and had to think about something, couldn’t help but see a lesson in my experience.

So often, I reach a place and think I’ve arrived. This is the spot, I think, and am content to remain there forever. Like the time I moved to a new town and never wanted to leave, I got a job that was ideal for me, or a loved one and I have a difficult “steep” conversation that brings us to a better place.  So often, I fool myself into thinking I have arrived, that things can never get any better than this. 

Then, the situation changes and I am forced to move on. Such changes are difficult and I often think I’ll never find a place like that again, but then I learn what the benches were teaching me the other day: there’s always another bench waiting. The next town has friends I’d never have met, the new job brings out something in me I didn’t know existed, or the next chapter in a relationship brings an intimacy we’ve never known. The next “bench,” if you will, brings gifts of its own, but I never know about them until I am willing to move further down the way. 

I think it’s also of life itself. I’ve been given such a wonderful life, one I should savor and give thanks for daily. I sometimes think life can get no better, that I want to sit right here forever, but I would miss so much by doing so. On a deeper level, I so often get fooled into thinking this life is as good as it gets. When I do, I cling to this world with all my might.

But I believe there’s another bench waiting for me. I believe there’s another life around the bend, out of sight, that will put this one to shame. Funny that it took a walk in the woods to remind me.