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Some folks luck out in life and land a plum job that’s definitely a notch above working in a salt mine.
That was me during my salad days as a sports columnist for the Reading Eagle when I wrote about the Eagles and NFL, the Phillies and MLB, the 76ers and NBA, heavyweight boxing champions such as Muhammad Ali, Joe Frazier and Larry Holmes as well as marquee college sports like Penn State football and Villanova basketball.
I learned then that some star athletes can be as shallow as a sheet of sweat.
But there are those special ones whose fingers don’t have to be pried from secular goodies, people who don’t mind being outcasts from the mainstream if they can ease restive souls by preaching the gospel.
Pat Kelly, a major league outfielder for 13 seasons who played in the 1973 All-Star game and in the 1979 World Series with the Baltimore Orioles, was one of those special athletes.
As a player, he didn’t hide his religious convictions away in the attic or the basement. He wasn’t shy about waxing reverently about his savior, Jesus Christ.
When Kelly was with the Orioles, he once had this exchange with hard-boiled manager Earl Weaver:
“Skip, don’t you want me to walk with the Lord?” Kelly asked.
To which Weaver replied: “I’d rather you walk with the bases loaded.”
Well, Pat Kelly walked with the Lord. And now he’s been in heaven with the Lord for 20 years this month.
He died way too young from a heart attack at 61. Still, I wonder if God did the rest of us a disservice by taking Pat so early from this world.
Because Pat Kelly was a special man who ushered salvation unto others.
He was a minister for Lifeline Ministries in Maryland, an evangelist with a locomotive’s heart. Which is why I found it so ironic he died from a heart attack.
I met Pat in the fall of 1997 at the Berks Bible Church, 1228 N. 10th St in Reading. I was a Berks & Beyond columnist at the Reading Eagle in those days, and I went there to interview him.
Frankly, though, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the timing of our chat. It was a Sunday afternoon and the Eagles were playing. I know, I was being secular and superficial. Still, pro football is like a religion to me.
But work often intrudes on our personal lives, so I punted on the Eagles game and had an enlightening, charming conversation with Pat in the tabernacle quietness of the Berks Bible Church.
I found Pat to be a fascinating subject. He oozed passion and conviction. His faith was as strong as Gibraltar. But he wasn’t oppressive or suffocating about it. Indeed, our souls made a connection. I can’t say he made me a saint during our long chat, but he certainly left a powerful impression on me that we all need God on our team.
Pat was a dynamic minister because he excelled at being a messenger. It’s not easy being a messenger. There’s more to it than simply sending a text or an email or delivering a message on Zoom.
If you deliver bad news, people might want to smack you. If you deliver the words of salvation, people might ignore you.
But if the messenger has the magnetism and glow of a sports star, he may have a fighting chance of getting his message heard.
People usually listened to Pat’s message because he had the neon glow of a star. He drew people to him like a light bulb attracts moths. He had a captivating aura.
And he took his message globally, traveling as far as India and Africa to make his pitch for Christianity.
Despite his hectic schedule, he even found time to call me a couple years after the interview to see how I was doing. I was flattered that he even remembered me. After all, I’m certain he found more receptive sheep than me in his flock.
Still, he cared as much for the people as he did for their souls. And he adroitly piggybacked his sports background onto his missionary work, grafting his celebrity into the zeal of his ministry.
Sometimes a person’s past sneaks up on him like a zipper closing. But not with Pat.
“Athletes have a tremendous platform,” he told me in 1997. “People will come if it’s Pat Kelly or Reggie White or Evander Holyfield. Some simply will come to get autographs. They will listen to us because of who we are. If they truly listen to us, it’s a whole new ballgame for them.”
Pat’s personal whole new ballgame came in 1975, at the peak of his baseball career. That was the year Kelly teetered on the verge of a nervous breakdown, unable to cope with the pressures of life in the big leagues.
Admitting you are not strong enough to cope is a harsh and heavy judgment for a man to place upon himself.
“I had reached all my goals in baseball, but in the midst of all that, there was an emptiness,” he recalled. “Accepting Jesus Christ changed my life and gave me real peace and real joy. But it’s not utopia. Christians aren’t perfect.”
Pat actually resisted becoming a preacher for sometime. He turned a deaf ear to the pulpit’s siren, considering himself unworthy.
So after retiring from baseball, he worked for a Christian outreach organization for four years before finally becoming an evangelist in 1986. The drumbeat that had started and swelled within him wouldn’t quit until it rose to the power of a symphony.
“I didn’t think I was cut out to preach,” he said. “But I felt the presence of God’s hand upon me. And I finally realized I wouldn’t have full peace until I surrendered to God’s will.”
I firmly believe that Pat Kelly has been enjoying the bounty of eternal bliss for two decades. And because of him, so many other souls are resting in peace as well.
I pray that Pat puts in a good word for me with the Lord and all of you who have been gracious enough to read this column.
Mike Zielinski, a resident of Berks County, is a columnist, novelist, playwright and screenwriter.