In honor of the Opening Day of baseball season (which should be a national holiday, beeteedubs), let’s talk about how baseball and church fight the same battle.
We love the story. We love the tradition. We love the way it used to feel—when the seats were cheaper, the heroes were larger, and nobody had ever heard the phrase “engagement metrics.”
And then… someone changes something. A rule. A lineup. A worship style. A service time. The carpet color. The app. And suddenly we’re all unpaid historians, defending sacred tradition like the fate of Western civilization depends on it.
Baseball basically runs on nostalgia as a business model. The “Field of Dreams” game wasn’t just a regular season matchup, it was a full on emotional support throwback: cornfields, vintage uniforms, cinematic speeches, the whole thing. MLB literally leaned into the vibe, calling it “plenty of nostalgia” that “harkens back” to the movie. And I get it. Hall of Famer Rogers Hornsby once said, “People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball… I stare out the window and wait for spring.” That’s not just a quote. That’s a spiritual discipline.
Church folks do the same thing—just swap “spring” with “the way we did VBS in 2009 when attendance peaked” or “that worship set when the room felt electric.”
But nostalgia has a dark side: it turns preferences into principles.
MLB introduces change, and fans immediately go into mourning. In 2023 alone, baseball rolled out a pitch timer, shift restrictions, and bigger bases—basically saying, “We’re keeping the soul, but we’re adjusting the pace.”
And a chunk of the fanbase clutches their pearls.
Max Scherzer captured the tension perfectly when he complained about having “the clock shoved in everybody’s face,” saying the game wasn’t “normal” anymore because everyone was “living and dying by the clock.”
If you’ve ever tried to change anything at church—order of service, volunteer structure, staffing, songs, signage—you’ve heard the same sermon in different words:
“Why do we have to be so… rigid about this?”
Even the designated hitter is a perfect church analogy. The American League adopted it in 1973; the National League held out for decades, and then finally added it as part of the 2022–26 CBA. Translation: “We are never changing.”
Here’s the leadership gut check: what if the thing you’re defending isn’t actually a doctrine… it’s just your favorite era?
“Nostalgia is a terrible senior pastor. It always tries to grow the church backward.”
So honor the past—tell the stories, celebrate the legacy, thank the people who built the thing. Mickey Mantle once said, “baseball was real good to me,” reflecting on 18 years in Yankee Stadium. That kind of gratitude is healthy.
Just don’t confuse gratitude with guidance.
Because your mission isn’t to preserve a memory. It’s to reach the people who aren’t here yet.
(oh, and GO GIANTS!)
dc.
