Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

faith & spirituality

Ron Santo could teach us a lot about believing in faith

“Oh, no.”

My husband uttered those words minutes after waking up and per his usual morning routine, logging on to ESPN’s Web site for the morning’s sports news. Whenever he says, “Oh, no” I think something must have happened in our family or to a close friend or something. I forget that in some cases, sports is like family to him. “The Tribune is reporting that Ronnie died,” he said.

“Ron Santo?” I asked in disbelief. I knew that must have been who he was talking about. There are no other “Ronnie”s in our life.

Though I never met him, I felt a bit of grief come over me. And a longing to be in Illinois. I prefer to grieve with those who grieve and in Illinois we would find no shortage of baseball fans grieving this loss. In Pennsylvania, we might find a handful of fellow Cubs fans who will miss the fun Santo provided to radio listeners. Mostly, though, we will process this loss alone. And the grief may not be as heavy as it would be if we were in Illinois.

He wasn’t family or a close friend, so maybe it seems weird to be affected by his death, but anyone who listened to radio broadcasts of Cubs games felt a connection to Ron. His whole heart and soul was in every game, even if they were losing by 10 or mathematically out of the pennant race by July. He lived and breathed the Cubs. Now the Cubs will have to go on without him.

What saddens me most about his death is all the accomplishments he won’t get to see. He died without seeing the Cubs win a World Series. He died without being voted into the Hall of Fame. Those things may yet happen, but he won’t be around to celebrate them.

The Bible has its own “Hall of Fame” in Hebrews 11. The writer of the book lists people who accomplished great things for God, who suffered great things for Him. Yet, it says this about them: “These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised.” (Hebrews 11:39)

Seems unfair, right? To live a life of faithfulness and service and never see the end result.

Hebrews also says this: “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (11:1) and “without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.” (11:6)

Ron Santo epitomizes faith to me. I don’t know his personal beliefs about God, Jesus or heaven, but in terms of the Cubs, he had faith in the tough times. He never gave up on them. He faithfully did his job day after day, believing that someday the reward would come. Sure, he had his ups and downs. He was openly disappointed about the close calls, the failed seasons and the mistakes. But that didn’t stop his faith in the Cubbies.

I am a Cubs fan, but I don’t pin my hopes on them for anything. My hope is in the living God, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is infinitely more faithful than a sports team could ever be. (That feels like the world’s biggest understatement.) But I’m humbled by the faith of this baseball legend, wholly committed, fiercely loyal to his team. My faith in God should be as such, whether I ever see the reward this side of heaven or not.

Sick people

“Mommy, are people sick here?”

The young boy’s question caught my attention as we sat in the waiting room of the counseling center. I didn’t hear his mother’s answer, but I wondered the same thing myself the first time we went for counseling. The people waiting with us that day looked so normal, I remember thinking. If I’d met any of them on the street, I wouldn’t have thought they needed to see a counselor. People might say the same thing about my husband and me.

We’re not outwardly having problems, but we’re seeing a counselor to help us with our marriage. I don’t have to tell you that, but I want you to know that things aren’t always what they seem.

I forget that all the time. Never more than when I walk into my church building on Sunday mornings.

Honestly, I’ve never thought to ask my Father, “Daddy, are people sick here?”

Some people are more obvious about their needs, their failures, their weaknesses than others, but even if those things aren’t visible, we all walk around with some kind of sickness. In college, I remember interviewing a girl who used a wheelchair. I can’t exactly remember the reason, but I won’t ever forget what she said: “We all have handicaps. You can just see mine.”

We’re all sick with something: pride, envy, prejudice, lust, unforgiveness, worry, fear … you name it.

I’ve heard it said that churches are to be like hospitals where sick people get well. Instead, we walk around dismembered, disfigured and dying, figuratively speaking, pretending like nothing’s wrong.

I’m guilty of telling people I’m fine when I’m not, and I’m guilty of assuming everyone else has their lives all together when they don’t. And I forget to treat people with compassion because I can’t see their injuries, their sicknesses.

Are there sick people here? Oh, yeah. And I’m one of them.

Jesus answered them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” (Luke 5:31-32, NIV)