Church League

The cacophony of children's voices and of plywood chairs scraping on linoleum echoes throughout the gymnasium. But this is no ordinary gym, this is a "Christian Education Centre" or C.E.C. for short. This is a church gymnasium. It looks like any other small gym that one might find in an elementary school; a stage at one end, a kitchen on one side, some rooms for daycare and Sunday School on the other. The floor tiles are laid in a pattern of a large green Celtic cross centred on a white background. The cross gives the floor a greater sense of importance, like we are sitting on a great foundation of tradition and fellowship.

We are here to celebrate another successful softball season. A church league. We are gathered under one roof like a congregation, but we are random in nature. There is much that connects us, but much that defines our difference. Our children have all played this team sport together, learning the rules, learning to work together, improving their athletic skills. There was great pressure during each game too, when the parents would almost hysterically call out instructions at the impulse of a new play: "Throw it to first!" "Run!" "Tag the runner! Tag the runner!" and our kids bewildered with confusion, not wanting to disappoint, looking to the sidelines to find the faces of their parents, hoping to see expressions of kindness and support, dreading any look of disapproval, and wondering if they could ever master the complexity of the rules. It is a sport that sees periods of inactivity punctuated by sudden rushes of action and split-second decision making. Eventually the parents relinquished their investments of pride and allowed the coach to teach their children, who directed them to learn a single play, such as fielding the ball and attempting to throw it to first base for the out. Inning after inning, game after game, this simple strategy eventually unlocked the full purpose of the game, and each child achieved awareness individually and then collectively.

And so the season of this little church league of four teams ends with a surprising surge of functionality and cohesion resulting in winning the championship. Tears fall on the faces of our adversary, our rivals who had bested my son's team all season long. The tears last only a few minutes as they comprehend the scale of this loss, measuring it against the other disappointments in their 10 years of life, and knowing that there are far worse things than coming second. Even the champions know that there will be more games next season, and this present exuberance and joy will diminish about the same time the last licks of celebratory ice-cream are finished. But for now they are proud and happy and eager to try again next year. As each child absent-mindedly plays with their medal, they sense that they are better than when they started, and that it is not where you stand, but in what direction you are going that is important.

And so all of the teams of all the age categories sponsored by our church are gathered to break bread together; to celebrate their accomplishments and fellowship in a sport that has built not only their skills, confidence, and teamwork, but to acknowledge that we have built a community. This is further revealed as parents whom may not have spoken more than polite conversations with each other all season, inquire more deeply about each other's lives. The children who demonstrate affinity with one another draw together the parents, as it is realized that our children are alike, because we too are alike. There is a subtle awkwardness as we talk, signalling to one another that if our paths would only cross more often, we might transcend acquaintance, we could even be good friends. But it is clear that we are unsure and trepidatious, each of us already have many friends, many acquaintances, and we secretly worry that we haven't time for any more, even as we exchange phone numbers and emails with the intention of arranging play dates for our kids. Despite the shadow of futility, paper notes are passed to one another with a quiet hope, a secret prayer asking for a cohesion of our own, a cohesion as effortless as that which we witness in our children.

I look around this chamber at the younger and older kids, smiling and laughing, sharing jokes, eating from plates piled high with salads and roasted chicken. It is a church picnic of days gone by, a proper banquet, there is an extra cupcake for dessert, a chocolate moustache on my son's smiling face, a deep satisfaction in my belly. We have shared communion, we have nourished our bodies, we have celebrated our commitment to this community and to the people who have volunteered to co-ordinate this league. We thank them with our collective applause and individually shake their hands and make sure they know how much we have appreciated their efforts.

It is not an easy thing, building a community. It does not happen without catalyst. It is something that is chosen. We reach out into the world and search for community. We cautiously ask "Will you be my friend?" and we hope for affirmation. We expose ourselves, our flaws, our vulnerabilities, and leap into unknown waters, jump into darkness. Even the atheist keeps a faith that he will land safely, splash into friendly waters, be caught by a multitude of arms each individually insufficient to bear our weight, but together strong enough to cushion us. Once we have gone out into the unknown and have been received with welcoming arms, we know that the world is a good place, full of good people, that we are safe, that we can trust, that we can love.

The banquet subsides in intensity as the hours pass. Bedtimes for little ones approach, and even a few yawns emerge from the parents as the weight of their feast digests. The humidity of the room forces a closure to the event, and there is a reluctance on my part to leave, although I am happy to avoid the chore of dishwashing. The conversations trickle into the parking lot as families that have connected more deeply during this dinner, exhibit a reticence to admit that they are not likely to see each other again until next season. As we drive home from our church, we reflect upon the fast friendships made during the season, the diversity of character in each unique player, and find comfort in the sharing of a much larger story than our own. The story of our church league.