|
First Published by Crosscourt News
Chicago IL
Sammy
was a theology student and also an accomplished tennis player.
As a junior he had a national ranking, and then he went on to
play four years on scholarship at UCLA. After that Sammy entered
theology school, and he hung up his rackets. But now, two years
later, and almost finished with his studies, he had begun to
play tennis again.
As for theology, Sammy was more of an observer of
religion than a participant, and as such he had a circle of
friends that included interesting people from all the major
religions of the world. It was true, members of some of these
various groups had been known to be intolerant of each other,
but around the charismatic Sammy, they were in perfect spiritual
harmony.
Quite naturally, Sammy’s multitude of friends increased
with each passing day. Some of them even took up tennis after
Sammy introduced them to the sport. And they stuck with it, so
much was their love for the game, and for Sammy. But whenever
they got good enough to play in tournaments, there was a problem
for some
- if they got past the action on Saturday, they would have to
default on Sunday because they couldn’t miss church, so fierce
was their religious |
commitment. For some the conflict was Saturday,
but for most it was Sunday. Sammy had been working with two
promising juniors who could never play weekend tournaments for
this very reason, and that saddened him.
One afternoon as he walked home from the theological
institute, Sammy pondered the dilemma - organized religion
versus organized tennis, and never the twain shall meet. What a
shame, he thought. After all, it wasn’t like tennis players
weren’t spiritual, or church-goers weren’t sportsminded.
These thoughts nagged at Sammy as he came to a peaceful
stretch of University Avenue. Then suddenly he stopped - he was
surprised to see that the small church on the corner was for
rent. Sammy had always liked the quaint little church. There
were big shade trees behind it, and along one side was a
blacktop parking lot about the size of a tennis court. Sammy’s
heart thumped; he knew what he had to do.
He moved in immediately and began to fix the place up.
He put lines on the parking lot and then he put up a net. With
the help of eager friends, a fence was made of chicken wire, and
behold, the little church had a tennis court! |
That was six years ago. Now there was new paint and a sign out
front that said:
SUNDAY
MORNING
TENNIS CLINIC
WEDNESDAY
NIGHT
SERVICES
All
Religions Welcome
On Wednesday night, Sammy usually wore a visor when
he passed the plate to his broadly mixed tennis congregation.
The small church was beginning to bulge at the seams. And on Sunday
mornings the parking lot tennis court was overflowing with players
from all over the city, so inspirational were Sammy’s tennis
teaching talents.
“We’ll soon be moving to a bigger church,” Sammy told
the packed congregation one Wednesday evening, “and we’re going
to have four new tennis courts.”
Excited murmuring filled the little church. Sammy
waited for the noise to subside, then he finished the sermon in
his usual quiet way. “Now remember,” he said, “hitting tennis
balls is just a small part of it. So let’s all take a moment of
silence, to think in our own private way, about this beautiful
thing we call Life.” |
