I went to the Barnstormers game(s) the other night and Carl Everett became one of my new favorite baseball players of all time. Here’s more or less how it went down.

I walked in a few minutes late, at the beginning of the second inning, and as the first batter I saw on the opposing team came back to the dugout, I thought to myself, he looks familiar; he looks like Carl Everett. So I looked it up in the game program, and sure enough, he was in fact on the roster. I made this known to the others. Now, Carl was the designated hitter, which means he doesn’t play in the field. During innings when he was not hitting, he’d stroll down to the bullpen to chat with the relief pitchers. This gave us ample opportunity to yell his name at the top of our lungs, being right behind the dugout as we were. We also yelled when he batted. One time he got a double. Then, since his team was the enemy, we all cheered for his teammates to get out.

Anyway, the one time when he was walking we were so persistent in our yelling that he looked into the crowd, and while not seeing us in paricular, gave a two-finger wave/salute in our general direction.

This was like pouring gas on the fire for us.

It was a double-header the other night so between games I walked home to put on a jacket since it got chilly when the sun went down. I also went on Wikipedia and printed out the page about Carl. Good golly, there’s some wild stuff on there, namely his controversial quotes about dinosaurs and the moon and homosexuality, and his tendency to get in fights.

So from then on when he would bat or walk past we would yell and hold up a page from the print-out. I gave Wendy page four, with references and other boring stuff. Sorry Wendy. We also began yelling things about dinosaurs, using the nickname he got in Seattle, “C-Rex.”

Paul had caught a foul ball, so later in the second game we agreed to move a few rows down and take some seats right behind the dugout in hopes of getting Carl’s autograph. Paul had earlier been reprimanded for sitting on the steps down by the field, so props to him for still agreeing to go down towards the field again. As Carl made his way back to the dugout for his final at bat, we got his attention. Paul had to ask for the autograph on the ball first, since it was a slightly more reasonable request than my own, even though Paul is in his mid-twenties and is asking a minor league player for an autograph, which is funny. But Carl agreed to sign Paul’s ball and at this point I moved in and presented him with the Wikipedia print-out.

Me: “Could you sign this too?”
Carl: “A piece of paper?”
Me: “It’s Wikipedia.”
Carl: “You don’t have nothin’ better to do with your time?”

I’m still figuring out how to frame the autographed Wikipedia print-out. As you can see, it’s pretty epic.

I’m currently reading three books. First, Being White, which explores ethnicity and the implications for those of us who, for better or worse (but not by chance), are white North Americans. Second, The Heart of Racial Justice, which as the subtitle suggests, is about “how soul change leads to social change”. Finally, I’m also reading Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, the heart-breaking account of unspeakable brutality against the Native American peoples at the hands of our European forefathers upon arrival in the New World.

Even as a white guy who has spent a great deal of time in multi-ethnic and multi-cultural settings, and as one with a great deal of interest in - and respect for - those of other cultures, I admit that I easily slip into the mentality that being Caucasian is somehow ethnically neutral.

It’s not.

If you’re reading this and you’re white, have you ever wondered what significance your ethnicity has in the eyes of God? Further, have you ever considered the significance of the picture of heaven we have in the Bible, with a gathering of people from every tribe and tongue and people and nation?

If the story God is telling culminates with people from every culture worshiping Jesus together, as citizens of the same Kingdom, and we’re told this is an immeasurably good thing, what does it mean for us today? If we’re honest, do we really even want anything to do with that sort of Kingdom? If so, how proactive are we in getting to know people from other cultures? How seriously do we take humankind’s tragic (and ongoing) history of racial conflict? Do we ever consider the extent to which racism angers and pains the heart of God? Have we repented of our own (perhaps latent and subtle) racism? What are we doing to humbly, lovingly listen to the stories of those who are different than us, and often, members of minority groups? As much as it depends on us, are we seeking to heal these wounds?

Many white women go tanning because they believe darker skin is beautiful. Meanwhile, women in parts of Asia commonly go to extremes to have their skin lightened, believing as they do that white skin is in fact what’s beautiful. Is it possible that God gave some of us white skin, and he gave dark skin to others, not as some cruel joke, but as a way of demonstrating his own infinite, multi-faceted beauty? Is there such a thing as ethnic stewardship?

Could it be that the redemption and reconciliation of humankind to God and to each other, while certainly far more than skin-deep, also has significant and undeniable epidermal implications?

Two facts and a conclusion.

Fact one: half of the world’s population now live in cities, and the percentage is growing.

Fact two: the story of the Bible begins in a garden, but ends in a city.

Conclusion: cities are really, really important.

In Signs of Emergence, Kester Brewin writes that cities clearly embody “all that is wrong and right with humanity, precisely because it is in cities that engagement with ‘the other’ is unavoidable.”

Engagement with “the other” - whether it is someone from a different ethnic background or political affiliation or religion or sexual orientation or economic standing or musical preference - is rarely comfortable (but of course, engagement with “The Other”, that is, God, isn’t always comfortable either).

We speak of going to the mountains to tune out the noise and hear from God, and there is a place for this. Face to face with God’s magnificent, untouched creation, we’re reminded of his power and creativity, not to mention his existence. But, as Brewin says, “If our only answer to the obvious pain, greed, and ugliness that the city presents to us on a daily basis is to remove ourselves, then there is no hope for improvement.”

Rather than escaping the pollution and crime and overcrowding and yes, even the rap music pounding through your bedroom wall from the apartment next door as you try to sleep - as followers of Christ we must go to the cities, learn to listen for God there, begin to see God there. The Incarnation models for us a “moving in” rather than a “getting away,” and to the extent that we follow Christ, our lives and our families and our churches will be marked by the very same principle.

But most of all, we don’t give up hope; we know how the story ends.