“We can’t fight our way through this, Robinson. We’ve got no army. . . . We can win only if we can convince the world that . . . you’re a great ballplayer and a fine gentleman.”[1]
The words came from Branch Rickey, president and general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers. It was the late 1940s, and baseball—like much of America—was segregated. No Black athlete had played in Major League Baseball since 1884. Rickey, however, a devout Christian, had made a radical decision: He was going to break the color barrier by signing the first Black player in modern MLB history.
But America was not ready. He needed the right person: someone who wasn’t just a great ballplayer, but who could also withstand the wave of opposition, insults, and threats that would come his way.
That someone was Jackie Robinson.
Rickey laid it out plainly. “Can you do it? There will be insults. Cheap shots. Pitchers will throw at your head.”
Confused by Rickey’s question, Jackie asked:“Mr. Rickey, do you want a Negro who’s afraid to fight back?”
Rickey’s response was steady. “I want a ballplayer with guts enough not to fight back.”[2]
Jackie Robinson was more than talented enough to play major league baseball. But he was being called to something greater: to play by a different set of rules. To succeed at this game, he would need to treat others unlike they treated him. To hold back when everything in him wanted to fight back. To stay dignified when others hurled hatred at him. In that same conversation Rickey quoted a bible verse:
“Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil” (Matt. 5:38, 39, KJV).
Jackie’s call for restraint was about more than just changing the game of baseball; it served as a test of character, a measure of whether he would choose to embrace a higher principle that has echoed through history. His story reminds me of another. A different moment, centuries earlier. A garden, torches lighting the night, a friend’s betrayal. A disciple who wouldn’t accept defeat reached for his sword and swung.
“Put your sword back in its place.” (Matt. 26:52)
Jesus had all the power in the universe at His command. An army, legions of angels, stood ready (verse 53). He didn’t have to be arrested, nor was He compelled to suffer. He could have taken control, defeated His enemies, and set the world right by His might. Instead, the Lion of Judah chose to be taken captive, to be led as a lamb to the slaughter. Not because He was weak. Not because He was outnumbered. But because He knew the only way to transform the world was through the subversive power of love, demonstrated through death on a cross.
But why? If He is God, if He makes the rules, why can’t He just change them? Why choose the painful way? Why not reset the game, rewrite the script? Why let love look like pain and weakness, and surrender look like defeat? Why choose rules of engagement against evil when evil doesn’t play by those rules at all?
God’s Choice to Be Constrained by Love
As I reflect on this week’s lesson, I’m reminded that at the heart of the Christian faith is a truth that does not align with our human logic: the idea that God, though all-powerful, chooses to limit Himself to certain rules within His creation. This seems like an oxymoron. Why would an all-powerful being be constrained by anything? If God is all-powerful, wouldn’t He use His power to achieve His will?
In his book The Heavenly Trio Ty Gibson makes an important distinction between God’s omnipotence and what we often mistake for God’s omnicontrol:
“If there is anything the Almighty doesn’t want, it’s control. God possesses all power and yet does not employ all of His power to always get His way. . . . For God, love is ultimate, not power. God has power, but God is love.”[3]
Gibson challenges a fundamental assumption that many hold about God: that absolute power means absolute control. Unlike human rulers, who see power as dominance, God possesses all power, yet He does not use it to impose His will on the universe.
If power primarily defined God’s actions, then His will would be enforced immediately and universally, without opposition. Instead God voluntarily constrains His power, choosing to work within the boundaries of love rather than coercion. He does not overpower human will, even though He could. He does not force obedience, even though it would be easy. God’s actions are defined primarily by love.
And so He plays the long, drawn out, inconvenient game that is love.
God voluntarily constrains His power, choosing to work within the boundaries of love rather than coercion.
To call it a “game” seems tone-deaf, because we’ve seen how choosing integrity over shortcuts, faithfulness over expediency, has played out time and again in history. Martyrs who burned at the stake rather than deny their faith. Families who hid Jews in their homes, knowing discovery meant death. Mothers and fathers who forgave the murderers of their children, bearing unthinkable grief yet refusing to let vengeance have the final word.
And yet the choice to restrain rather than retaliate is much more than being a passive participant in a cruel game. It is, in fact, deliberate. It represents resolve, not resignation. Jackie Robinson was not passive; he acted intentionally, knowing that his integrity would speak louder than any act of retaliation. His silence was not a sign of weakness but part of a broader strategy to change the game, not just for himself but for generations to come. Such leaders as Martin Luther King, Jr., did not merely endure hardship; they acted with purpose, engaging in strategic efforts to create meaningful change. Likewise, God is never inactive. Psalm 121:4 tells us that He shall “neither slumber nor sleep.” Jesus Himself did not simply yield to suffering; He acted with intention, healing, teaching, and demonstrating love even in the face of hatred.
Scripture reminds us that choosing what is right, even when it appears ineffective, lies at the very heart of God’s work. His restraint is not neglect; it is the patience of a master gardener—cultivating, waiting, and working so that all might be saved. As He says in Isaiah 5:4: “What more could have been done to My vineyard that I have not done in it?” Although He refuses to act outside the bounds of love, His love is boundless, always striving to save to the utmost.
History shows the outcome of playing by the rule of love. Jackie Robinson was once labeled weak, yet in 1997 the MLB honored him by retiring his number, 42, throughout the league, marking the first and only time this has occurred in baseball history. He became a symbol of courage that outlived the opposition. Peter believed victory was about fighting, but his true strength revealed itself when he laid down his sword and embraced the guidance of the Holy Spirit. And Jesus? He serves as our example, conquering death itself and paving the way for all to live.
Power doesn’t last forever. Hatred may be loud, but it never sustains. Empires rise and fall. Conquerors gain control, only to lose it. But love outlasts them all. In the end, love wins. As Martin Luther King, Jr., said:“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil.”[4]
The real question is whether we choose to believe that love, even when it looks like loss, is still the better way.
[1] R. Kahn, Rickey & Robinson: The True, Untold Story of the Integration of Baseball (New York: Rodale Books, 2015), pp. 107,108.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ty Gibson, The Heavenly Trio: Exploring the Views of Ellen White and the Adventist Pioneers Regarding the Trinity (Nampa, Idaho: Pacific Press Pub. Assn., 2020), p. 10.
[4] https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/peace/1964/king/acceptance-speech/