What Gene Robinson Can Learn From Jackie Robinson by Bruce Kluger--Time.com

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13, 2003

What Gene Robinson Can Learn

From Jackie Robinson

The new Episcopal bishop is successfully taking

a low-key

approach to his

detractors, notes Bruce Kluger —

just like the

legendary

Dodgers infielder

ruce Kluger

With the Episcopal Church in a

perilous

state of fracture, one would

expect that

Gene Robinson—

whose consecration

as the first ever

openly homosexual

Anglican

bishop

instigated the rupture—

would use

this landmark event to

strengthen

the

public case for gay

rights, both

in and out of the church.

This has not been the case. Indeed,

since his appointment, Bishop

Robinson

has responded to the

condemnation of thousands of fellow parishioners—including

that of the Archbishop

of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, himself—not with proud

chest-thumping or a

passionate polemic on the need for tolerance, but instead with

empathy

even

support

for his adversaries.

“There are faithful, wonderful Christian people for whom this is a moment of

great

pain and confusion and anger,” Robinson said. “If they must leave [the

church],

they will always be welcomed back.’”

Why the humble self-control? Wouldn’t it better serve Robinson—and the

church

itself—to celebrate his consecration with a flashy, public victory lap, if not

the sweet

retribution of a pointed “I told you so?”

Not necessarily. In fact, Robinson’s silence may be his smartest move yet. Half a

century ago, a similar strategy was employed—with remarkable success—by a man

who coincidentally shares the Bishop’s surname: Jackie Robinson.

When Jackie Robinson first took the field for the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947, he

did

so having made a promise to the team’s president, Branch Rickey. Two years

earlier, Rickey had met with Robinson

then a star in the Negro Leagues

grilling

him for three hours over whether he could endure the personal pain of being the

first black man to play Major League Baseball. A devout Christian, Rickey wanted to

test Robinson’s ability to—as they say in the Bible—turn the other cheek.

Replicating the ugly bigotry of the time, Rickey shouted at Robinson, hurling at him

a litany of venomous epithets and racial slurs.

Ultimately, Robinson withstood the mock attack, and vowed to Rickey that, were

to be invited to join the club, he’d remain silent for three years, no matter how

vitriolic the personal and professional assaults.

True to his word, Robinson kept his feelings to himself, and went on to become

star, in the end using his bat and base-running wizardry to silence those unable

see past the color of his skin. Only after the three-year promise had elapsed

would

Robinson begin to talk back. But by then he’d already achieved his and

Rickey’s

mission: the American Pastime was well on its way to becoming

desegregated.

Like baseball’s Robinson, the church’s Robinson arrives in the major leagues

with

glowing stats. Over the years, he has launched and sustained countless

programs

geared at educating and enlightening congregants of all ages; his

ecumenical and

interfaith resume has taken him to the cradle of his faith—the

Middle East—where

he has worked tirelessly with Christians, Jews and Muslims

alike; and his unflagging

community outreach efforts have tackled a host of social

ills, from unaffordable

housing to inadequate health care to the scourge of

HIV/AIDS.

These are the accomplishments that brought Bishop Robinson to the

international

stage—not his sexual orientation—and it would be a shame if he or his

newly

expanded parish allowed those works of humanity to be upstaged by the

antics of a

mob of angry bleacher bums.

Like the integration of baseball, organized religion’s centuries-long practice of

discrimination—of women, of gays—will come to an end in our lifetime. Those in

Bishop Robinson’s corner know this to be true, as do those who oppose him. It’s

now simply a matter of waiting for the storm to pass.

That’s why it’s okay for

Gene Robinson to resist the temptation of facing off with his

enemies, and, instead,

letting them fight it out among themselves as he quietly

goes about his work. Just

as the Brooklyn Dodgers’ number 42 achieved the

greater objective of integrating

baseball through the smaller but significant acts of

sharpening his lead off first and

perfecting his swing, let us hope that Bishop

Robinson will remain unbowed by the

heckling from the pews, and continue to

grace the world pulpit as a shining example

of decency and goodness.

The baseballer and the bishop: Jackie and Gene Robinson.