First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
You may have noticed that the sermon titles have begun to appear in the newspaper, and are included in the ad we place in the Thursday edition of the Eccentric. And you may have also noticed that, from time to time, the titles (themselves) are more than a little bit eccentric. But, believe it or not, I have had people wander into the sanctuary, drawn by a title, wondering what in the world I am going to say about some off-the-wall subject. Perhaps there is just such a person here today, wondering where the "zone" is.
Some of you may have wondered. And some may think you know. I have heard any number of guesses. The idea most often mentioned is "the twilight zone." Those people figure that I am going to talk about things that are ethereal and fourth dimensional. Running a close second is "the Fretter Zone." Those people figure that I am going to talk about VCRs, microwaves, and give away five pounds of coffee if I can't beat somebody else's best deal. I have had suggestions of "the combat zone" and "the demilitarized zone," generally from hawks and doves respectively. The more athletically inclined have mentioned "the end zone," "the strike zone," and the "2/3 match up zone." One lone environmentalist has come at things from left field and speculated that I was going to talk about "the ozone." And those were just a few of the suggestions. Not every suggestion was printable.... or preachable. And none was correct.
Actually, the people who came at things athletically were pretty much on track. All you have to do is go back to the local sports pages about three weeks ago. The place was Grand Rapids. The event was one of those Senior's golf tournaments, put together so that people who are as old as me can still win lots of loot. The golfer was Butch Baird, who (on the first day of the tournament) shot a 63. Now Butch has never been mistaken for Arnie, Jack or even Chi Chi Rodriguez. And Butch did not go on to win the tournament. But for one day, nobody played better. So it was fitting that he should command all the media attention. For thirty minutes every reporter asked a variation on the same question: "Hey Butch, how'd you do it'?" And after fumbling for a variety of ways to explain the unexplainable (because if he really knew how he "did it," he'd go out and do it tomorrow), he finally put the questions to rest by saying: "It was unreal out there today. It was like I was in a zone where everything was easy.... everything was pure.... and where I couldn't do anything wrong."
And the fascinating thing is that Butch didn't make that up. For one of the newer terms in sport's jargon is “the zone." And what is "the zone?" It is that semi-mystical place...or moment...where there is almost perfect harmony between mind, body and the environment. The "zone" is where nothing is impossible.... where everything goes right.... and where the athlete enjoys a feeling of complete confidence and mastery.
Since this concept is athletically foreign to me, I can't tell you what it is like to enter "the zone" personally. But others can. One of the best descriptions of this phenomenon was offered by Pele, the now-retired Brazilian soccer immortal. Pele said that in a match one day he felt a strange and eerie calm. He described it as a kind of euphoria. He said he felt as if he could run all day without tiring and that he could dribble right through the defenders, every last one of them. It was almost as if he could pass through them physically. He felt that he could not be hurt or injured. It was a feeling of near-total invincibility.
In that same essay, shared with me by my San Diego colleague, Mark Trotter, there was a similar testimony from John Brodie. Some of you know John Brodie as a TV commentator. Others of you know him as a near-scratch golfer. But if you go back a ways, you will remember that John Brodie once quarterbacked the San Francisco 49'ers. Listen to his remembrance from that era: “There were occasional moments in games when time seemed to slow down in an almost uncanny way. It was as if everyone were running in slow motion. It would seem like I had all the time in the world to watch the receivers run their patterns, yet knowing that the defensive line was coming at me just as fast as ever."
It would seem that similar feelings can be experienced in virtually every sport. Just two weeks ago (in response to a question about whether John Olerud could conceivably hit .400), our own Cecil Fielder talked about "the zone." He said that there are days when he can't help but hit.... when the ball comes to the plate in slow motion.... when he can see the seams, count the threads, and hear it crying 'kill me."
Then there was this amazing testimony by an inter-collegiate gymnast named Carol Johnson. She was talking about performing on a balance beam. That's the little thin board from which one does flips and cartwheels. Now I don't know about you, but it's been 35 years since I last did a flip or a cartwheel from the ground, let alone a beam. And I probably wasn't very graceful, even then. But Carol Johnson says: " There are days, in competition, when the beam seems to grow so wide, that any fear of falling completely disappears."
That's far out stuff. But that's what is known as "entering the zone." There comes a time when everything comes together and falls into place exactly as it should. Fear passes. Anxiety recedes. You know that you are going to be able to do whatever it is that you need to do. And you know that nothing is going to be able to stop you.
Think back to that amazing year when the Michigan Wolverines (in the first 6 games of Steve Fisher's coaching career...after that infamous night when Bo broomed Billy) swept through the NCAA tournament and captured the national title. Do you remember how they won it? With 2 seconds to go, the Wolves were 1 point down to Seton Hall. And Rumeal Robinson (their dyslexic point guard) was on the free throw line. Robinson needed 1 to tie and 2 to win. But he had to sink the first to get the second. And earlier in the season he had missed a pair of free throws with 8 seconds to go, costing Michigan a key game against Wisconsin. But with the title on the line, Robinson swished both. Afterward he said that there was no doubt.... no fear.... never a question in his mind. He knew that he wouldn't miss, because he knew that he couldn't miss. He had entered "the zone."
Moments ago I read you a very different version of the same phenomenon. I read you the 23rd Psalm. And you probably snoozed through it, because if any slice of scripture can be too familiar, the 23rd Psalm can be too familiar.
But I read you some amazing stuff. I read about walking through the valley of the shadow of death. I read about spreading a table and sitting down to eat in the midst of one's enemies. I read about fearing no evil. Isn't that like "entering the zone?" It sounds like pretty much the same thing to me. It sounds like fear and anxiety fading away. It sounds like being filled with extraordinary confidence. It sounds like not knowing the outcome, but figuring that whatever the outcome may be, that things are going to be alright.
One of the neat things about studying scripture is that you never get the Bible completely figured out. You keep finding new things. And one of the things I never knew until recently is that the 23rd Psalm is called a "pilgrim's psalm." It was originally written for use by travelers who had to pass through dangerous stretches of country, facing both hardships and enemies on their way to the high holy festivals in Jerusalem.
Such treks to the temple were called "pilgrimages." And they were as difficult as they were necessary. Prudence often said: "Don't go this year. It's a dangerous trip." Duty responded: "If I forget you, 0 Jerusalem, let my right hand whither and let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth." In other words: "If I fail to go to Jerusalem, let me be as a crippled, speechless man." So they went to Jerusalem, carrying these psalms. No doubt they sang them en route. The pilgrim psalms served as a confidence-building, faith-reinforcing talisman.
My dad had such a talisman. It was a St. Christopher medal that he pinned to the roof liner of every car he ever owned. Don't ask me why. My dad wasn't Roman Catholic. He didn't believe in saintly intervention. And he didn't believe in St. Christopher. But somebody gave him the medal and he probably figured, "It can't hurt." Which was pretty much my father's philosophy about religion in general.... that "It couldn't hurt." At any rate, when he died the St. Christopher medal just kind of disappeared. I didn't look for it. I don't use such things. I am told that contemporary Catholics don't either. But I don't disparage those who do.
The 23rd Psalm said (in effect): "On the way to the temple, things will not be easy. But you will make it there. And you will make it back." I especially like the line about "preparing a table in the midst of mine enemies." What an amazing image of confidence. One usually runs from enemies.... hides from enemies.... goes out of one's way to travel where enemies are not likely to be.... or travel at a time of day when enemies are likely to be occupied elsewhere. One does not march right into the midst of enemies, unfold a picnic table, spread a tablecloth, and sit down to eat. That's preposterous. No one takes time out for a Big Boy in the midst of the bad boys. To sit down to eat in the midst of one's enemies implies that the opposition is totally immobilized. It's like Pele said earlier: "It was as if I could dribble right through the defenders, every last one of them, and absolutely nothing could hurt me." We are talking about "entering the zone."
Consider Psalm 121, another pilgrim's psalm. Bruce read it for you just moments ago. That's the one about lifting one's eyes to the hills and looking for help. Recall the line: "He will not let your foot be moved." Now cut to Carol Johnson (the gymnast) who said: "On good days the balance beam grows so wide that any fear of falling completely disappears." Both psalmist and gymnast seem to be saying the same thing, are they not. "My foot will not slip. It will not slip as I walk the narrow beam. It will not slip as I walk the narrow road. It will not slip as I walk the narrow way. And it will not slip as I straddle the narrow precipice where snares and dangers lurk on either side."
Consider Psalm 27. "Though an army (an entire army, mind you) pitches its camp against me, my heart will not fear. Though war be waged with me as its target, my confidence will not be shaken. For, in times of trouble, He will shelter me under his awning.... hide me deep within His tent.... or set me high upon a rock where my enemies will not be able to reach me."
Or consider Psalm 91. "No disaster will be able to overtake you. No plague will come near your tent. He will put His angels in charge of you. Should you dash your foot against a stone, they will lift you up on their hands."
And what of Psalm 139? Listen to some of its language. "Where can I go, 0 God, where You are not? If I climb to the heavens, You are there. If I lie down in the watery pit, You are there as well. If I fly to the point of the sunrise or dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, Your hand will still be guiding me.... holding me.... leading me."
That's an amazingly confident statement. But the Psalms speak of such confidence eloquently. And they speak of it frequently. They also sound like the testimonies of the athletes who talk about "entering the zone" .... where calm prevails.... where anxiety diminishes.... where mastery come to the fore.... and where there is a growing certainty that everything is going to be alright."
Now a fair question might be: "How does one acquire such confidence?" How does one "enter the zone?" In the article about the athletes, the researchers studying this matter came up with a theory. They said that the key is concentration. That's how you enter the zone. You concentrate. And concentration consists of a couple of major elements. First, one needs to feel at home where one is. Whether it be the batter's box, the balance beam, the free throw line, the first tee, or even the pulpit, one needs to feel comfortable there. I suppose that practice plays a part in that. After so many repetitions you say: 'There is nothing strange about this place.... nothing I have not seen before.... felt before.... overcome before.... mastered before." Concentration is a product of comfort. And comfort is a product of familiarity.
But it takes more than that. Concentration also requires that you become supremely focused, to the degree that you permit no distraction. This requires you to put everything from your mind, save for the objective at hand. Have you ever noticed when a basketball game is in the hands of someone at the free throw line in the final seconds, what the opposition does? The opposition calls time out. Why? To "ice the shooter," that's why. And what does "icing the shooter" mean? It means: "Let him cool off. Let him think about what he is about to do." There are times when the most devastating thing an athlete can do is think too much. Someone once asked Yogi Berra whether his knowledge of pitchers (gained from years of catching pitchers) helped him once he stepped into the batter's box. To which Yogi is alleged to have said: "Darned if I know. I can't think and hit at the same time."
Concentration! For an athlete it means blocking out all distractions and permitting no thought to enter, save for the one that is locked on the objective. That's why, when John Brodie was "in the zone," those crashing defensive ends didn't exist. Those lumbering tackles, who looked like sequoias in shoulder pads, didn't exist. Those quick-footed blitzing linebackers didn't exist. Those lithe and lean cornerbacks, who stuck to his receivers like glue, didn't exist. What existed? Nothing, save the quarterback and the wide receiver streaking toward the corner of the end zone. The rest was suspended animation. That was life "in the zone."
But we need to switch gears one more time. We need to go back to the Psalms and compare notes. How does the psalmist think we "enter the zone?" What does the psalmist believe produces this sense of diminished anxiety and elevated certainty? What does the psalmist think will generate that sublime trust that, though the outcome be unknown, the unknown need not be feared? What, to the psalmist's way of looking at things, enables one to believe that it is possible to sit down and eat a four course meal in the enemy's lair, with death and destruction lurking on every side?
Is it concentration? Is it suspension of thought? Is it blocking out all distractions? Is it cultivating such an extreme sense of singularity so that nothing else exists at that moment, but you? No! It isn't any of these things. What it is, is a cultivated sense of the presence of God. That's the secret, says the psalmist. Go back and read the pilgrim psalms once more. Listen to what they say: "I can get from here to there.... I can go to Jerusalem and back.... I can pass through whatever lies in my way.... for thou art with me." For the psalmist, it is not so much an issue of what you block out, but Who you let in. What an incredible affirmation this is. For the psalmist would seem to be saying: "There is no place you can go where God is not There is no environment so hostile so as to exclude the possibility of God's accompanying you there. There is no physical condition.... no emotional crisis.... no mental breakdown.... no spiritual malaise.... no loss.... no guilt... no sorrow.... no valley so impenetrable.... so as to defy God's ability to lead you through."
Let's wrap this up and put it to bed with one last story about an athlete. Given all he has been through, I am an unabashed fan of this man. His name is Orel Hershiser. He pitches for the Los Angeles Dodgers. And this particular story grows out of one of the more memorable World Series in recent history.... the one where Kirk Gibson limped up the dugout steps to take Eckersly deep and claim Game One for the Dodgers over Oakland. Now, however, it is Game Five. The Dodgers are up three games to one and Orel Hershiser has already won two of those games. Yet, here he is, pitching Game 5 on little or no rest. Somehow, he is in command through seven innings.
Now, however, it is the eighth inning. He is tiring. He is losing control. He begins walking people. Howell and Pena are heating up quickly in the bullpen. Lasorda is fidgeting in the dugout, trying to make a decision between his tiring star and two unreliable relievers. The Oakland crowd, mocking the chant of adoration that Hershiser often hears in LA, begins jeering (in sing-song fashion): "Orel.... Orel.... Orel." Hershiser looks at the stands....looks at the bullpen....looks at Lasorda. Then he steps off the mound, closes his eyes, and (for several seconds) takes a series of deep breaths. Then he steps back on the mound, gets Jose Canseco on a foul pop, closes out the eighth inning, retires the side in the ninth, and becomes the World Series MVP.
I suppose you could say that he "entered the zone." I suppose you could say that stepping from the mound, closing his eyes, and breathing deeply were acts of intensely focused concentration. I suppose you could say that he was blocking out 51,000 Oakland fans.... blocking out a trio of Oakland base runners.... blocking out Canseco at the plate.... blocking out Howell and Pena in the pen.... and blocking out Lasorda in the dugout.
Except that's not what he said. Maybe we should let Orel Hershiser finish his own story. After the game he was asked: "What about that tension in the eighth inning? What were you doing out there?" To which he answered: "When my adrenalin begins to race, I put my head back.... I close my eyes.... and (get this) I sing hymns." In other words, his is not an act which blocks everybody out, so much as it is an act which lets Somebody in.
My friends, when life gets rough.... when you get tired.... when there's a pilgrimage to be made.... when
the road to some Jerusalem forces you to pass through enemy territory.... when you are up against
giants.... when you have got to try and keep your balance in some narrow and perilous place.... or
when you feel like your life has entered the late innings and you are fading fast
Step aside.
Close your eyes.
Throw back your head.
And start singing
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come.
'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far
and grace will lead me home.
