The Ball That Became a Bridge
The first Episcopal congregation I served in planting did not begin inside a church building. It began on a football field, with a football and a group of young men whose names I did not yet know. Only a few months later, some of those same young men would become part of that new community of faith.
Shortly after my ordination to the priesthood, I was sent to plant a new church. There was no established congregation waiting for me, no building filled with people, and very few resources. Like many young priests, I wondered where to begin. God’s answer surprised me. It began with a football.
Growing up, football had always been part of my life. My father had been a professional football player and a member of Guatemala’s National Team. Like so many children, I grew up kicking a ball in the streets, watching every World Cup I could, and falling in love with what Brazilians call jogo bonito—the beautiful game. I never imagined that one day God would use that love as part of my ministry.
I joined local football matches. At first, I simply wanted to meet people. After the games we stayed talking. We laughed together, shared meals, and gradually friendships began to grow. Someone would ask about the church. Someone else would ask for prayer. Another would invite me to visit his family. Little by little, trust was born. Little by little, a congregation was born.
At the time, I thought I was simply playing football. Looking back, I realize that God was planting a church. That football became one of my first sermons—not because I preached on the field, but because the relationships formed there opened doors that no sermon alone could have opened. Sometimes God begins His work long before we recognize what He is doing.
Jesus often taught that the Kingdom of God begins with small things: a mustard seed, a handful of yeast, a fishing net, a coin, a cup of water. Ordinary things became windows through which people encountered the extraordinary grace of God.
The Christian faith has always believed that God delights in working through ordinary things. Water becomes the sign of new birth. Bread and wine become signs of Christ’s presence. Oil becomes a sign of healing and blessing. Looking back, I cannot help but wonder if, in those early days of ministry, God also chose to work through something as ordinary as a football.
Perhaps that is why this World Cup has meant so much to me. These reflections were never really about football. They were about seeing God at work in ordinary life.
A goalkeeper from Cape Verde reminded me that God often works through the smallest voices. Hospitality in Houston reminded me that love is stronger than every flag. A stadium moving together in a wave reminded me that we were created for communion. Teranga reminded me that we belong to one another. Japanese supporters carrying blue bags reminded me that gratitude is expressed in the way we care for what has been entrusted to us. Four women carrying whistles reminded me that the greatest vocations often seek no applause. Garrincha reminded me that God delights in using gifts the world sometimes overlooks. A seat beside my son reminded me that love is stronger than death and that memory can become a quiet form of hope.
None of those stories were really about football. Football simply became the window through which I caught a glimpse of something much greater. Again and again, the World Cup reminded me of the Kingdom of God.
As the stadiums slowly empty and another World Cup becomes part of history, I find myself grateful. Grateful for a father who first taught me to love the beautiful game. Grateful for a football that helped a young priest build friendships before he built a congregation. Grateful for a ministry that taught me that the Gospel is often proclaimed long before a sermon is preached.
Every football eventually stops rolling. Every World Cup eventually comes to an end. Every stadium eventually grows quiet. But the Kingdom of God never stops moving. Quietly. Patiently. Faithfully. It continues to transform ordinary lives through ordinary people willing to place their gifts in God’s hands.
Looking back, I no longer believe football simply helped me plant a church. I believe God took something I loved, placed it in His service, and used it to bring people closer to Christ.
Perhaps that has always been God’s way. He takes ordinary things—water, bread, wine, a seed, a fishing net, a cross, and yes, even a football—and through them quietly reveals the beauty of His Kingdom.
Perhaps that has been the most beautiful game of all.
