And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Acts 2:6

Baseball’s World Series begins in spring training. Thousands of hopeful prospects gather in Arizona or Florida every February and March to compete, scrutinize, criticize, and evaluate. 

If that sounds like the church preparing for heaven, then the church needs some adjustments. 

This past spring, in celebration of many things in our family, we gathered in Phoenix for the spring training experience. My three grandsons with their parents flew in. My wife and I drove. 

I was overwhelmed with the volume. There are ten huge stadium complexes dedicated to a few weeks in the spring. There are thousands of coaches and prospects. There is traffic and enterprise. It is a big deal. 

What caught my eye was the fear in the faces of the players. Every move they make is evaluated. Every at bat, every pitch, every error is computerized. Every player is rated by a sophisticated system. Metrics. Analytics. All that scrutiny begins to show on the faces. 

The games are like typical major league contests. The ticket prices and the crowds are the same as in July. The food is as healthy as later in the season. 

But the practices are different. They are free, and the crowd is gone. 

My eight-year-old grandson, Cash, was eager to get some autographs on a few baseballs he brought from home. At the games, there was no chance. Bigger kids easily pushed him aside. But at the practices, there were hundreds of players and only a few “big kids.” 

Cash has a gift of making friends. He can strike up a conversation with almost anyone. He puts others at ease easily. At his aunt’s wedding reception when he was five, he grabbed a whole table with the opening phrase, “You can call me Cash or you can call me Cash money.” 

At spring training practices, he was in his sweet spot. He could walk up to a whole group and ask, “Are you guys players or coaches?” They would laugh and begin a conversation that ended with all their autographs. 

He walked up to one, and asked politely for an autograph. The player was kind, but said it would have to wait until after the scrimmage because he was pitching. A spectator saw the interchange, walked over to Cash and said, “Don’t worry kid, my nephew will sign your baseball.” 

It was then I realized that some players have an entourage. There are friends and family there to encourage and support. 

Others had only one, like the catcher who tossed a couple of baseballs at Cash’s feet. His girlfriend was there. Both of them looked tired. He said he had no idea where he would be assigned in a few short weeks to play for the summer.  

But many are alone, like Daniel Flames, a teenager from Venezuela. Alone under a huge spotlight. 

During the scrimmage, Flames hit a ground ball to the shortstop, and shattered his bat. He picked up the pieces and walked back to the dugout. Cash watched. 

After the scrimmage, Cash asked a coach if he could have Flames’s broken bat. The coach said he would have to ask Flames and that he would be right out. 

Flames walked out alone with his head down carrying his duffel bag and two bats, one broken and one not. 

I didn’t hear the conversation. I watched it.

First, Cash said something and Flames didn’t notice. Then Cash said something and Flames stopped and turned. Then Cash said a lot. Then Flames dropped his bag and knelt down, signed a baseball and the biggest piece of the broken bat, spoke to Cash, and smiled. They talked a little more and then they both moved on. 

Cash told me that he couldn’t translate what was said. He goes to a language immersion school where everything is in Spanish, even the worksheets. When he realized Flames didn’t speak English, he asked him in Spanish if he could have his broken bat. And he wanted him to sign it. And he would treasure it. And he would remember him and follow his career. 

I asked Cash if he wanted me to carry the broken bat in my car because it wouldn’t fit in his luggage on the plane home. “No way,” he said. “It is going with me.” He felt like he had won the World Series.

I think Flames, if only for a moment, felt like he did too. Someone spoke his language in a challenging time. 

Isn’t that what the church is supposed to do?

*Yes, baseball nerds, we realize that spring training likely will not begin in 96 days, due to the almost certain lockout. For now, just go with the poetry.