I thought I’d take a few posts to reflect on our travels over the last two weeks. It seems we cram quite a bit into a short time, then it takes me a while to process it all . . .
A few hours after we arrived, we piled into cars again and headed south to the Great American Ball Park perched on the banks of the Ohio River. It was hot–so hot–and thousands were gathering to watch our modern-day heroes play baseball.
Yes, today’s heroes are the ones who have agents and negotiate contracts and play sports. And we are the Reds fans who say that Cincinnati is “our” team and we say “we” scored, but really our only investment is the price of a ticket.
Yet there is a sense of belonging here–among the throng wearing team shirts and team caps. We unite for a few hours and rally around a group of men who represent a both a city and a history of victory.
There is a certain excitement in the unknown outcome. Fireworks explode with the smack of a home run hit. Our boys race to fill their score sheets.
Yet in the end, “our” team posts a loss and the red-clad faithful move quietly to their cars.
Ah, but it’s only a game. There is a better Hero . . . One who did not negotiate a contract, but submitted to His Father. He laid down His very life for His team, the ultimate price paid for the ultimate prize.