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							It was a September Sunday in 1998. 
							The St. Louis Cardinals had no hope of making the 
							Major League Baseball playoffs, and yet the ballpark 
							was packed. It’s been this way for weeks now. Packed 
							stadiums. Why? One name . . . Mark McGwire.
 McGwire was catching what many considered an 
							untouchable record of 61 home runs in a single 
							season. For 37 years, no one had done it. And now, 
							McGwire had already tied Roger Maris’ home run 
							distance record with a 430-foot shot off the stadium 
							club window.
 
 Since the first record of 61 home runs in a single 
							season had been considered untouchable, everyone 
							wondered if Mark might be able to do the 
							unthinkable. After all, there were still a few games 
							left to play.
 
 Now it’s Sunday, 46,000 fans in the park as well as 
							half America watching on TV. The pitcher is nervous. 
							Mark is on deck. As McGwire steps into the batter’s 
							box, the fans go crazy. And then, sure enough, the 
							crack of the bat, fans jump to their feet in a roar, 
							and the ball is going . . . Going . . . GONE! The 
							record is broken.
 
 On every news program, headlining on every sports 
							show, all over world, the name of Mark McGwire was 
							being proclaimed. People just couldn’t stop talking 
							about the man. With the few games left, McGwire kept 
							hitting home runs. For thirty-seven years, no one 
							could hit more than 61 homers; now the St. Louis 
							slugger had hit 68. And he wasn’t even finished! 
							Number 69 landed in the left field seats. It takes 
							two curtain calls to silence the crowd. Home run 
							number 70 comes in the seventh inning. The fans were 
							on their feet before he came to bat; they stayed on 
							their feet long after he crossed home plate. They 
							cheered the home runs. They cheered the new record. 
							They cheered the season. And they cheered something 
							else too. They cheered the man!
 
 
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							Now enters Jesus. All of heaven 
							responds the same way. The question for us; am I 
							applauding the man Jesus? Don’t we all want a life 
							that cheers Him more than ourselves? Why? Because no 
							one is greater than Jesus. Out of every historical 
							name throughout time, more people know the name 
							Jesus than any other. His story is told more, 
							questioned more, scrutinized more, believed more, 
							attacked more and taught more than any other. 
							Clearly, Jesus has no seconds. 
 Jesus never had a beginning and he will never have 
							an end. Jesus always was and always will be. 
							Everything around us is so fragile . . . so tied to 
							time . . . but not him . . . he is eternal. While 
							everything else in the cosmos will one day come to a 
							stop . . . he never will. His power knows no limits; 
							he only speaks and the lame walk, blind eyes are 
							opened, deaf ears hear, storms cease and angry seas 
							come to a calm.
 
 I watched the night McGwire tied the record with the 
							61st home run. I remember jumping to my feet in 
							front of the TV. I remember feeling pride for Mark 
							as I watched him run the bases. I remember getting 
							choked up seeing him swoop down and lift his 
							10-year-old son, Matt, between third and home and in 
							celebration with his fellow players. Both benches 
							emptied. Both teams mauled him with congratulations. 
							Mark, with son in arms, stepped away from his 
							teammates and began searching the crowds. He pointed 
							toward the seats behind home plate to an older man 
							standing there. It was Mark’s father.
 
 As we think back on that moment isn’t that what we 
							all want to do? Lift the Son as we point people to 
							the Father.
 
 Ron Otto, Preaching 
							minister at Lincoln Christian Church
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