In the Big Inning

May 1, 2024

MLB chaplains bring God’s grace and their love of baseball to the big leagues

By Columbia staff

May 1, 2024

Father Burke Masters, chaplain of the Chicago Cubs, rounds third base during a workout with the team at their spring training complex in Mesa, Ariz., in March 2016. (Photo by Edward Maillard)

“Baseball is like church. Many attend, few understand.” This saying, often attributed to Hall of Fame manager Leo Durocher, speaks to both the popularity of America’s beloved pastime and the subtle pleasures it offers to its most devoted aficionados. But it might hit home in a different way for the Catholic priests whose job it is to bring “church” to the players, coaches and employees of a Major League Baseball club.

With support from Catholic Athletes for Christ, Sunday Mass is celebrated at 27 MLB ballparks by chaplains who seek not only to keep players close to the sacraments during the peaks and valleys of a 162-game season, but also to accompany them and help them grow in faith and understanding of God. Three of these priests, all members of the Knights of Columbus, spoke with Columbia about how they strive to bring God’s grace into the clubhouse.

‘We Know God Is Here’

Born in Queens, New York, Msgr. Thomas Machalski grew up cheering for the 1969 Miracle Mets and getting autographs from the likes of Willie Mays, Tom Seaver and Tug McGraw. His love for baseball never faded, but it was surpassed by a desire to serve the Church as a priest, and he was ordained for the Diocese of Brooklyn in 1985. In 2001, he was one of the first priests ministering at ground zero in the aftermath of 9/11. Now pastor of Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Bayside, Msgr. Machalski served as chaplain to the New York Mets from 2007 to 2011 and resumed that post in 2023. He is a member of Ridgewood Council 1814.

Msgr. Thomas Machalski (Photo by Matt Greenslade)

My dad was a mailman, a letter carrier. This man had to get up at 4 a.m. for work, but he’d take me to Mets games and wait with me at the clubhouse door until 11:30 p.m., midnight, as I asked for autographs after the games. So I was a big Mets fan, just like my dad and grandparents. My brother and the rest of my family are all die-hard Yankees fans, so it was very contentious at times. The Yankees were constantly winning, and the Mets were always losing, but I always stuck with the Mets. And then in 1969, it all kind of jelled together. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to call them the Miracle Mets.

Until I made my first Communion, I told everybody I wanted to be a farmer. For a kid who grew up with a cement backyard and a cement front yard, it was a funny thing to say. But from the time I made my first Communion, I said, “I want to be a priest.” And that really didn’t waver very much.

I’ve been a priest now for almost 39 years, and I’ve had a whole series of different experiences. I’ve been a parochial vicar and a pastor. I’ve worked in a seminary and on the marriage tribunal of the diocese. And I was one of the first clergy who ministered to the first responders of 9/11.

Shortly after the attacks, a call went out from the Federal Emergency Management Agency to the Archdiocese of New York and the Diocese of Brooklyn; they wanted to make sure there were two Catholic priests at ground zero at all times. So there was never a moment, from the very beginning until the last day of cleanup, that there were not two Catholic priests on duty, 24/7. About 400 of us priests volunteered, and we took six-hour shifts. During the first of four shifts I took — I always had the 12-6 a.m. shift — I was standing right on that smoldering pile that you see in photos and videos, as they were literally pulling buckets filled with pieces of people from that rubble. They would take them into a makeshift morgue, where we would have a small prayer service and bless the body parts, and then go back onto the pile again.

We were there, really, to provide emotional and spiritual support to the police officers, the firefighters and those who volunteered. They would say things like, “We know that you don’t have an answer to this, Father. Nobody does. But we just know God is here when we see you.” They saw the collar, and that was a sign that God was there with them.

I think our presence also gave a great deal of solace to people who lost family members — to know that if their loved ones’ remains were found, there was a priest who prayed over and blessed them.

When I went home and thought about it later, it would bother me that such evil could exist in the world and be perpetrated by one human being against another. But Christ’s example of redemptive suffering allowed me to make sense of what had happened and minister better, I think, to those who were left behind.

On Sept. 21, the Mets played their first game since the attacks, and I had a ticket to the game. It was against Atlanta, our biggest rival, and we were losing in the eighth inning. But then [Hall of Fame catcher and lifelong Catholic] Mike Piazza got up, and he whacked a home run like you wouldn’t believe. Once he hit that ball, I knew it was gone. That place just — I’m getting emotional just thinking about it — it just exploded. And we won that game. I still look at that moment and think that was God saying, “You guys need this” — not the Mets, but the people of New York.

Several years later, Bishop Ignatius Catanello, an auxiliary bishop of Brooklyn who was serving as the Mets’ chaplain, asked me to fill in for him when there was a conflict with his episcopal schedule. Eventually, he had to step away, and I began serving as the Mets chaplain full-time. I did that for several years before taking on a new assignment as rector of a seminary. I returned to Brooklyn in 2017, but another priest was serving as chaplain at the time, so I just resumed as chaplain last year.

Every time I walk into the stadium, I say, “What did I do to deserve this?” God is so good to have put this in my path.

As chaplain, my primary responsibility is to celebrate Mass before Sunday home games for players, coaches and stadium employees. [MLB pitcher and Knight of Columbus] Trevor Williams, who was with the Mets for a couple years — his oldest son used to be my altar server. It’s a great service to the players and the men and women who work in that stadium, who otherwise might not be able to fulfill their obligation. I’ve also had people in the organization come to my parish for confession or spiritual direction; I’ve celebrated baptisms for them, and even celebrated a wedding Mass for one of the players.

Through my involvement with Catholic Athletes for Christ, I’ve participated in Bible studies with players, and I organized a group of current and former players, front office personnel and umpires to consecrate ourselves to St. Joseph.

There’s a lot of similarity between sports and faith. Both are trying to build character, to focus someone on a particular goal, whether it’s being the best athlete or the best Christian you can be. I’m so filled with respect for players like Deacon Darrell Miller, Mike Piazza, Mike Sweeney, Jeff Suppan, Trevor Williams and others. They’ve made it to the top. And yet, they have not forgotten their faith, that what they have is from God. And they’re not afraid to talk about it and live it.

‘Padre for the Padres’

Father Pedro Rivera, a member of Resurrection Council 9897 in Escondido, California, moved to Los Angeles in 1976, when he was 4 years old. Over the next five years, the Los Angeles Dodgers advanced to the World Series three times, winning it all in 1981, and young Pedro became a Dodgers fan for life. While Father Rivera still bleeds Dodger blue, he now serves a different ball club, the San Diego Padres, as their chaplain. He also directs the Newman Center at San Diego State University, and he sees a striking similarity between the college students and big leaguers with whom he works: They’re all searching for truth, and many are finding it in the Catholic Church.

Father Pedro Rivera (Photo by Matt Furman)

I’m the third of five children and was born in Guatemala. My parents moved us to the United States, settling in Los Angeles. We would go to church on Sundays, but that was the extent of our family’s faith life.

We did attend Catholic school growing up, however, and I remember when I was about 9 or 10, I was serving Mass; there was a moment during the consecration when I was watching the priest, and I had this desire to do what he was doing.

When I was in middle school, my parents told me they couldn’t afford to pay for me to continue in Catholic school. I went to the principal’s office, crying, and asked her if there was some way I could stay at the school. It turned out that the Los Angeles Dodgers Foundation funded a scholarship for my school that paid for me to continue there through eighth grade. As part of the deal, I had to help clean classrooms and restrooms after school, and along with other students who received scholarships from the team, would have to help hand out promotional items whenever the Dodgers had a giveaway day.

My post was always by the clubhouse, right by the owner’s office, because I was a quiet kid and the people in charge didn’t think I’d get starstruck or bother any of the important people who stopped by. And because of that, I got to meet a lot of the players and Hollywood stars. I also got a baseball autographed by most of the 1987 Dodgers, including Orel Hershiser, Steve Sax, Pedro Guerrero — many of the same players who were on the 1988 team that won the World Series. The scholarship students got to stay for the games, and it was just so awesome being at the field, hearing the roar of the crowd, watching the fireworks afterward. This all made me a big baseball fan, which I still am today.

Besides Dodger Stadium, however, my parents didn’t really let me go anywhere, so I jumped at the chance to go on a weekend visit to a local seminary. I ended up entering high school seminary at 15 to discern a vocation to the priesthood with the Vincentians but left the community after 10 years. I moved to San Diego and became a teacher, but I still felt God calling me to be a priest, although I thought he was calling me to join a religious community with a teaching charism. My spiritual director challenged me: “Have you asked what God wants?” And the more I prayed about it, the more I felt a call to serve the people of the Diocese of San Diego; there was a huge need for Spanish-speaking priests at the time.

I was ordained a priest in 2006, and I moved six times in my first 10 years, including serving as a pastor and vocations director, before coming to SDSU in 2016. In 2013, Father Edward Brockhaus, who was the Padres’ chaplain, was nearing retirement, and he asked me to help take on some of the Masses at Petco Park before Sunday home games. A couple of years after that, I took it over full-time.

At first, it was a little disappointing because hardly any players would come to the Mass. But Father Edward would tell me, “Think of this as mission territory. The players might not be coming right now, but they need someone who’s going to be faithful.”

My responsibilities as chaplain include celebrating Mass on Sundays when the team is in San Diego or finding another priest to cover for me. And afterward, the players all know I’m available for confession or spiritual direction. I’m also there for the players when they’re going through a hard time emotionally. In 2016, a pitcher for the Miami Marlins, José Fernandez, was killed in a tragic boating accident on a Sunday morning. Several Padres were friends and former teammates of his, and someone let me know about the accident as I was heading to Petco Park to celebrate Mass. That day, I was able to just talk with the players who needed to talk and be there with them.

When Craig Stammen, a relief pitcher, joined the team in 2017, that was a real turning point. He was turning 33 that year, and I joked with him, “You know, that’s the year Jesus died. I think you’re being called this year to do a lot more for Christ.” And he said, “Don’t worry, I will.” And because of his witness, more people — players, coaches and stadium staff — started coming to Mass.

One of the things I see both at SDSU and in my ministry with the Padres is a lot of questions about God and the faith. Young people are searching, longing for the truth, and longing for the beauty of the Church. I always tell them not to let others call them “the future of the Church.” They’re not the future; they’re the present.

One of the things I see both at SDSU and in my ministry with the Padres is a lot of questions about God and the faith. Young people are searching, longing for the truth, and longing for the beauty of the Church.

There have certainly been some personal highlights being the team’s chaplain, or the “Padre for the Padres,” as a lot of people call me. Legendary Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully, God rest his soul, would come to the ballpark Mass when he was still traveling with the team. He’d always show up 30 minutes early, and of course, I had to ask him to be a lector. For me, who grew up a Dodgers fan, hearing his voice proclaim Scripture was just amazing.

Craig arranged for me to throw out the pitch before a game a couple of years ago. Some of the students talked to me beforehand and said, “Father, don’t embarrass us. You have to pitch from the top of the mound, not the base.” It was a baseball fan’s dream come true. It’s so true when the Lord says that if we give up everything for him, we can have a great abundance of gifts we could have never imagined for ourselves.

Mass at Baseball’s ‘Cathedral’

Father Burke Masters, a member of Father Gaffney Council 1555 in West Chicago, had his eyes set on making the big leagues since he was a kid. But after a legendary college career at Mississippi State, his stint in professional baseball was short-lived. A few years later, still trying to break into baseball as a front office executive, he came to realize that God was calling him to the priesthood. Ordained for the Diocese of Joliet, Illinois, in 2002, Father Masters finally got the call to the big leagues in 2013, when he was asked to become the Catholic chaplain for the Chicago Cubs. He has also served as pastor of St. Isaac Jogues Parish in Hinsdale since 2022.

Father Burke Masters (Photo by Spirit Juice Studios)

My parents came from different Protestant traditions, but as our family grew, they just kind of fell out of practice. We were still raised as Christians, though, and my parents sent me to a Catholic high school because it had the best baseball program around.

It was there that I was exposed to the Catholic Church. I was intrigued by it all, to the point where I became Catholic a week before my high school graduation. A big part of that was a junior year retreat I attended. I had never been in a Communion line before, so I didn’t know to put my arms across my chest and ask for a blessing. When the visiting priest, who didn’t know me, said, “The body of Christ,” I opened my mouth to say, “I’m not Catholic,” but before the words came out, in went my first Communion. At that moment, I felt the power of God in such a way that I went home and told my parents I had to become Catholic.

I went on to Mississippi State University, where I studied math and played infield for the Bulldogs. In 1990, I got really hot as we entered the regional tournament. We needed to beat Florida State to advance to the College World Series, and we were losing 8-7 when I came up with the bases loaded and one out in the ninth inning. I worked the count to 3-1 and got a pitch right down the middle. As soon as I hit it, I knew it was gone. I just remember floating around the bases, with my teammates and probably 15,000 people in the stands going crazy.

That moment, I believe, was something God gave me to say, “Enjoy this. This is your major leagues. I’ve got other plans for you.” No MLB team drafted me after that year, but I signed with the Chicago White Sox as a free agent. My time with the White Sox didn’t go as planned, and at the end of that season, I finally had to realize that my baseball dream was over.

Looking back, there were inklings that I might be called to the priesthood. But it wasn’t until my girlfriend at the time invited me to go to Eucharistic adoration that it really crossed my mind. That’s when I heard this inner voice tell me, “I want you to be a priest.” I entered seminary in 1997, when I was 30 years old, and was ordained a priest five years later.

In 2013, I got a call from Catholic Athletes for Christ asking if I’d be willing to become chaplain to the Cubs. God has a real sense of humor; I grew up a Phillies fan, my parents rooted for the Cardinals, and I played in the White Sox system. I like to tell people that I’ve had two major conversions in life: one was becoming Catholic and the second was becoming a Cubs fan, and the second one was harder.

But by the time the Cubs made their World Series run in 2016, I had started to bleed “Cubbie blue.” In Game 1 of the National League Championship Series, Miguel Montero, the catcher, hit a grand slam to help win the game. That was a Saturday, so when I celebrated Mass the next morning, a lot of media were there to get a photo of Miguel receiving the Eucharist. When the Cubs made it to the World Series, ESPN wanted to interview me before the final two games and asked me to give the team a blessing. I just prayed that the Cubs would play to the best of their abilities, stay free of injuries and that the best team would win. I was so excited for the guys when, after 108 years, we finally won.

I like to tell people that I’ve had two major conversions in life: one was becoming Catholic and the second was becoming a Cubs fan, and the second one was harder.

The ballpark Mass begins at 9:30 a.m. and is celebrated every Sunday home game, which occurs about twice a month. For the first year, we had Mass in the Cubs’ family lounge. But then they did some big stadium renovations, and we had to move. So we have Mass in Section 209 of Wrigley Field, along the left-field line. Some people call it Mass at the “Cathedral” — I don’t want to be disrespectful of cathedrals, so I always use air quotes, but it is a beautiful place.

It’s a 30-minute liturgy because there will be players, management and stadium staff attending who need to get to work. It’s so powerful to see a big-time ballplayer sitting next to a popcorn vendor. I think it’s really important for the players and everyone else to see that in God’s eyes, the playing field — pun intended — is even.

Afterward, I go to the clubhouse and make myself available to anyone who wants to go to confession or talk. I walk around talking to the guys, getting prayer intentions. When they hear that I played a little bit of minor league baseball, they are more open to talking with me. In fact, I got to work out with the team during spring training in 2016. I was worried I’d make a fool of myself, that I’d lose any credibility as a former ballplayer if it backfired. But I managed to hold my own, and guys were able to see me in a different light.

I’ve been a member of the Knights since seminary. When I was vocations director for the diocese, I couldn’t go to many local council meetings, but I worked closely with Knights to promote and support vocations. As a pastor, I see the Knights as such an integral part of a parish and diocese. They’re willing to do anything to help the pastor and the spiritual needs of the parish, which is what Father McGivney envisioned they’d be — critical support for our priests and bishops.

Look at what Jesus did — strengthening, teaching and then sending forth — and that’s what the Knights of Columbus does with its men for fraternity, faith and charitable works.

LeRoy Jackson makes a catch for an 85-yard touchdown against the Baltimore Colts on Dec. 8, 1962.

In the Big Inning

‘We Know God Is Here’

‘Padre for the Padres’

Mass at Baseball’s ‘Cathedral’

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