If only worship were as popular as the Cardinals

I've lived in eastern Missouri -- first in St. Louis County, then in Cape County -- for more than a quarter-century. It took only a few weeks living in this part of the world to realize how important the St. Louis Cardinals are to the people who live here. Football is not as important, at least at the professional level, and neither is hockey -- although there is considerable support for those sports.

The Cardinals are different. Perhaps it has something to do with the huge regional reach of the team. Until the late 1950s, until the Giants and Dodgers fled New York for the west coast, St. Louis was the westernmost franchise in Major League baseball, commanding a significant following in states outside of Missouri without a big league team to call their own. Of course, the Cardinals consistently win, year in and year out. And in this particular season, their success to date is amazing.

St. Louis is a good sports town, but as Mark McGwire opined to Jim Edmonds when the latter was traded to the Cardinals in 2000, it is baseball heaven.

There is something about the Cardinals that calls forth a kind of community unity. It amazes this columnist, for example, how many people refer to the team as "we," as in, "We beat the Cubbies last night," or "We need to pick up another bat at the trade deadline," et al. Nobody I know works for the team, yet "we" is a commonly used plural pronoun when it comes to the Major League baseball franchise housed at Busch Stadium.

By way of contrast, no one would use the word "we" to describe the stock price of Procter & Gamble, e.g., "We saw a rise in the stock Friday," unless you were actually employed at P&G or held stock in the company.

Someone I used to supervise in the church once asked, "Why doesn't the church summon forth the kind of enthusiasm or passion as the Cardinals?"

Maybe one reason is the Cardinals are tangible. We can see them in person or on television. We can get their autographs at public events. In the early '90s, a church at which I served as an associate pastor had a utility Redbirds outfielder -- a guy who rarely got off the bench -- as a speaker for a men's dinner, and the room was jam-packed. He had little of interest to say, but it didn't matter.

Just being in the same room with someone who currently wore the uniform, the one with the birds on the bat, was enough.

God, though, is unseen. There is no address to which we can go and see God in person. But where two or three are gathered, you would remind, there is Jesus in the midst of them (Matthew 18:20). That's a faith statement, of course. Jesus doesn't actually appear in the room, but we can believe, by faith, that he is present.

Sitting there listening to this seldom-used, fairly uninteresting Cardinal outfielder in a room without a single seat unoccupied, the thought occurred if we had invited the world's most knowledgeable and revered theologian to speak that evening, there wouldn't be nearly as many in attendance. Those of us who live in this part of the world are less passionate, in the aggregate, about our faith than we are about the Cardinals.

Yes, I accept this fact -- and do not see it changing. So to my former employee, I offer this: The Cardinals may well summon passion and enthusiasm greater in you than does your faith. Disappointing, but I grant the point.

The Cardinals, however, are decidedly earthbound. They bring joy in the moment, as do so many sensate pleasures, but offer nothing truly transformative.

A Cardinal "W" or "L" will not change your everyday life in the here and now, nor does the team offer anything of hope beyond the grave. There's only one thing I'm aware of that does that. May those who have eyes to see, let them see.