The Official Scorer

He attends every Major League baseball game, but he doesn't have to pay for his ticket.

He pays careful attention to every play on the field, but hardly anyone pays attention to him.

He's an essential part of each game, but he doesn't wear a uniform and his name never appears in the newspaper's box score—although the box score wouldn't exist without his efforts.

Most of us don't know exactly what he does, and even the most knowledgeable baseball fans couldn't name three people who do his job.

He knows the rules forward and backward, but he's neither a player nor an umpire.

Such is the behind-the-scenes role of the official scorer. We all have heard about great hitters like Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle, but how many can name the official scorer for the New York Yankees?

The official scorer usually is appointed by the home team, but he's expected to be unbiased because he has to make judgment calls about fielder's choices and passed balls. He'd better have thick skin because his decisions cause anger, relief, or consternation. He can single-handedly raise or lower a player's batting average or fielding percentage. With a stroke of his pen he can ruin a pitcher's no-hitter or end a batter's hitting streak. As one baseball columnist noted, "Hell hath no fury like a ballplayer scored out of a base hit he feels he deserves, or charged with an error he feels he doesn't."

The Bible says, "Love keeps no record of wrongs" (1 Corinthians 13:5). Ah, but we do.

We like to keep score. Our minds are file cabinets filled with folders labeled "Grudges" and "Hurts" and "Wounds." We keep mental scorecards filled with others' errors, wild pitches, and stolen bases. We remember the time we were slighted by a friend. We jealously recall the special treatment a coworker received. A family member's harsh words and selfish deeds remain there in the scorebook, recorded with indelible ink. We not only take note of misdeeds; we take them to heart. "To err is human," and to forgive is . . . well, unnatural.

In Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, the character Shylock expresses his thirst for revenge by exclaiming, "I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him . . . Cursed be my tribe, if I forgive him." The problem is, when we feed our grudges, resentment doesn't consume our enemies; it consumes us.

Scripture says, "Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you" (Colossians 3:13). What does it take to live like that?

It takes a heart changed by God's grace.

It takes a willingness to view each day as a fresh chance to honor God, not to rehash yesterday's failures.

It requires a voluntary choice to approach those who offend us with an attitude that says, "I relinquish my right to hold this against you."

Louis Armstrong said, "If you have to ask what jazz is, you'll never know." And so it is, I suspect, with forgiveness. It's one of God's greatest blessings, providing peace not only for the one who receives it but also for the one who gives it.

In the big picture, the ultimate official scorer is the Lord himself. For if our names are written in the Lamb's book of life, that's the only scorecard that counts.