victory

We were all standing, clapping and cheering at the top of our lungs, including me. The St. Louis Cardinals were one out away from winning the 1982 World Series. The noise in Busch Stadium that evening was deafening, and shivers kept going up and down my spine.

This was beyond cool. It was the most awesome, most exciting, and most exhilarating moment of my life. I knew it then, and still know it. Six rows from the field, halfway between first base and the right field wall. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Ready to explode. Needing to explode. All 50,000 of us.

Bruce Sutter, the team’s ace reliever, is on the mound. Ninth inning. Two outs. Cards 6, Milwaukee Brewers 3. Three balls and two strikes on Gorman Thomas.

“Bruce, Bruce!” we all yelled. The shivers kept shooting up my spine, anticipating what would happen next.

But Thomas wouldn’t go quietly. He fouled off pitch after pitch after pitch until the crowd was wound up like toddlers full of sugar on Christmas morning. Most of our faces were now as red as our shirts and caps. We wanted this thing to happen, and to happen now.  



St. Louis Cardinals catcher Darrell Porter jumps
into the arms of reliever Bruce Sutter after
cliniching the 1982 World Series.

And so it did.

Swing and a miss. Game over. Cardinals win. Let the celebration begin.

A sea of red-clad players swarmed the mound like bees on honey. They hugged, high-fived and jumped all over one another. I knew at that moment that the money shelled out for my precious ticket had been so worth it.

But we in the crowd wanted to celebrate, too. Yelling and jumping up and down in our tiny piece of real estate—our stadium seats—wasn’t very satisfying. At least to me.

It wasn’t very satisfying to others, either. Despite dozens of police officers patrolling the playing field on horses, hundreds of people were scaling the walls, oblivious to what may happen. Remarkably, the police decided not to intervene or arrest anyone.

Seeing that there were no negative consequences for disobeying the rules, I skipped down the stairs and jumped over the wall as well. To those who may disapprove, well, seventh game of the World Series and we just clinched. Enough said. (By the way, for those who may be bothered with preacher boy disobeying the rules, I wasn’t a Christian back then.)

So there we were—hundreds of us—running around the field like maniacs, yelling, screaming, high-fiving each other and hugging total strangers. And the whole time fireworks are exploding overhead and the scoreboard flashing, "We win!" "We win!" "We win!"

Victory.

The excitement of that evening makes me smile to this day. In fact, I’ve had a big old grin on my face while writing this.

But remembering the Cardinals’ World Series win also reminds me of an even greater victory, a spiritual victory.

We remember our Lord’s victory at Calvary. He didn’t just die on a cross—He rose from the dead.

"You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen!”1

Just as the fans at Busch Stadium that night—and Cardinal fans everywhere—got to celebrate the team's victory, as Christians we get to celebrate Jesus' victory. We even get to participate in it.

·         Jesus’ victory over sin means we’re victorious over sin.

·         Jesus’ victory over death means we’re victorious over death.

·         Jesus’ victory over Satan means we’re victorious over Satan.

So why not take a moment and revel in what Jesus has done for you? Why not take a moment to celebrate the victory to end all victories?

After all, the World Series of the spiritual realm is over and Jesus won. And that means you win.

“He has risen!”

1  Mark 16:6