Reflection on Reflections

In seminary, one of my professors admonished us to consider Scripture first as a way to more fully understand God, and then as a mirror reflecting back to us who we are, especially in light of what we learn about God. Jesus’ brother, James, said something similar in chapter 1 of his letter: 

^“23 Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror ²⁴ and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. ²⁵ But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do.”

In support of this notion, philosopher Søren Kierkegaard taught that when studying Scripture, we should imagine receiving a letter from a loved one written in a different language. Wanting to know what it said, we would use the best dictionaries and lexicons to decipher its meaning. But if that scholarly effort was mistaken for the main message of the letter, we would miss the deeper meaning of it – namely, the words of love written to us by our loved one. 

What does all of this have to do with baseball?

This morning on Baseball Prospectus I read the following quote in an article by Nathan Grimm:

“I’m a box score addict. Like many, it’s how I really got into baseball at a more advanced level than just going to and enjoying the games themselves. If I’m on my phone during baseball season, it’s usually the thing I’m looking at. Some people can’t stop scrolling Facebook; I can’t stop checking box scores.”

Wow. If ever a quote has read me, reflected back to me my true nature, this is the one! Perhaps you can resonate.

Our iPhones now have the ability to reflect back to us the amount of time we spend on them (want to talk about loves?!?!), and during baseball season my screen time is an advertisement for MLB the app. But not because I am watching the games. No, my main drug (to use Grimm’s analogy) are box scores.

So much of the story of a game can be told in a simple box score. And today’s box scores – using advanced data including exit velocity and pitching velocity, launch angle and spin rate – only adds layers to the story old in those symmetrical lines filled with names and numbers.  

But sometimes I wonder if my love of box scores impedes my ability to consider the beauty of the game itself. To draw on Kierkegaard’s analogy, am I missing the love letter being written for me (and for anyone who will slow down enough to watch a game) by seeing only the numerical product and not the art being performed nightly on the diamond? 

I hope not.