Baseball history was made last night.  In the entire 135 year history of major league baseball there had been only 20 perfect games; only twenty times when it had been 27 up, 27 out, end of story.  Last night was the 21st.  Only it wasn’t.

The pitcher was a 28 year old man named Armando Gallaraga.  He seemed a most unlikely candidate for major league history.  Growing up in Venezuela he signed a baseball contact at 16 but took five years to get out of the rookie league.  He bounced from team to team before ending up in Detroit. 

And there, on a warm night, he was pitching a perfect game.  26 outs had already been recorded.  One more and there would be the first perfect game in the Tigers 107 year history.  And then there was a ground ball to the first baseman, who fielded it cleanly.  The stadium was quiet, sensing that this was it, they were about to see perfection.  Gallaraga ran to cover the bag and took the perfect toss from the first baseman, stepped on the bag, and threw his hands in the air in joy.  The throw was not even close, he was clearly out, and perfection was in the bag and the history books.

Only it wasn’t.  Inexplicably the umpire, Jim Joyce, signaled safe.  On ESPN they showed the reply over and over again in high definition slow motion.  The call was a “no-brainer.”  He was clearly out and one of the game’s best umpires had totally blown the call.  It will go down in history as one of the worst calls in a critical setting in baseball history.  Even Joyce, heartbroken, admitted it later.  “I blew the call.  I cost that kid a perfect game.” 

Today the baseball world is abuzz with the story.  The theme is “He was robbed!” There are calls to allow instant reply to allow the call to be overturned.  Calls to fire a long-term and very good umpire.   For all I know, there are probably calls for the invention of a time machine so we can go back and do it over.  But for me the best story occurred right after the blown call.

The camera had cut to Gallaraga’s face to record his joy in the game and instead caught his reaction to the injustice.  He slumped his shoulder and….smiled.  No screaming.  No stomping.  No protests.  After the game he said that he wasn’t sure about the call but that he was proud of his game and looked forward to telling his son about it.  When told of Joyce’s admission and remorse he wanted to tell him not to worry, that people make mistakes.

There may have been better games pitched in baseball history.  But I don’t think there has been a better example of grace.  In truth, there is no such thing as a perfect game, or a perfect anything in our human world.  Gallaraga seems to know, perhaps from his hard life, what many of us forget; that life will always be imperfect.

I am sure there is an ache in Gallaraga’s heart today and even more sure there is an ache in Joyce’s heart.  But on a warm Detroit night we saw something even more important than perfection.  We saw the grace of forgiveness exercised by a young Venezuelan pitcher.

Our hearts yearn for forgiveness and grace.  And God gives it generously.  But last night we saw that we too can give it when it is most needed.  Oh for the grace of God to express grace like Armando Gallaraga.