It Ain’t Boring, You Just Don’t See it!

What we can learn about church from baseball.

Baseball is a lot like church — many attend, few understand.” – Leo Durocher

Leo Durocher was a three-time All-Star, four-time World Series champion, and Hall of Famer. But he’s perhaps best remembered for his sharp tongue and quick wit. They called him “Leo the Lip” for good reason — he’s the one who famously coined the phrase “Nice guys finish last.”

But it’s another quote of his that’s stuck with me:

“Baseball is a lot like church — many attend, few understand.”

Now, to be clear, Leo wasn’t known for being a man of faith. But I think he said more than he knew.

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I’ve been a baseball fan for as long as I can remember. How could I not be? I grew up in the ’90s watching the Atlanta Braves dominate the NL East on TBS. Even though I wasn’t a Cubs fan, I’d still come home from school and watch the Cubs on WGN—anything to see more of the game.

From the time I was four, I had a ball in my hand. I watched the steroid era unfold before my eyes—McGwire, Sosa, and Bonds crushing records. I watched legends like Bobby Cox get ejected more than any manager in history. I admired heroes like Chipper Jones, Greg Maddux, and John Smoltz.

I played, too. And I wasn’t bad. I spent hours in the backyard hitting off a tee or a pitching machine. I made all-star teams and earned starting spots. I grew up on the edge of the new travel ball era. By the time I was 14, I was playing rec ball, travel ball, JV, and even some varsity—over a hundred games a year.

That’s why I still find myself shocked when people say things like, “Baseball is boring.”

How can baseball be boring?

Baseball is a duel — a man-to-man showdown. Pitch after pitch, over 150 times per game, two athletes at the peak of their powers face off. Every pitch is a miniature world of strategy, psychology, timing, and skill. An infinite number of factors can shift the outcome. Every single play is spring-loaded with potential.

But here’s the thing: people say the same thing about church.

They say church is boring.

Even among believers, we’ve been trained by entertainment culture to crave the spectacular and miss the sacred. But if you’ve ever really seen what’s happening when the church gathers, you know: something miraculous is taking place.

Even if there are no lights or fog machines.

Even if the preacher stumbles through his notes.

Even if the music is out of tune or there’s a crying baby in the back row.

When the church gathers —

– to sing songs that glorify God,

– to lift up prayers in faith,

– to hear the Word faithfully proclaimed,

– to break bread and greet one another in Christ —

Heaven is breaking into earth.

It doesn’t matter if it’s an old country church tucked in the backwoods of the South,

or a church plant in the living room of a major city.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a megachurch with a professional worship team,

or a persecuted underground gathering in a third-world nation.

There are two things that make church miraculous:

1. The Presence of the Lord

2. The Communion of the Saints

And Scripture makes this plain.

“You have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem… to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn… to God, the Judge of all, to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant.”

– Hebrews 12:22–24

In other words:

When we gather as the church, we’re stepping into something cosmic.

We’re not just attending — we’re participating in the heavenly liturgy.

We’re surrounded by saints and angels. Not just the ones we see but all saints from all time living and dead. The heavenly host is present in your church.

We’re meeting with the living God. We are meeting with the King of all Kings.

So no, church is not boring.

Baseball isn’t either — not if you really understand what’s happening.

But just like with church, you have to pay attention.

You have to love it enough to learn the rhythms,

to see the beauty in the patience,

to marvel at the moments of glory,

and to understand the cost of each play.

Many attend.

Few understand.

But once you do — you’ll never be the same.