The Most Dangerous Man Isn’t Always Who You Think

Power doesn’t always look like power!

There are a lot of ways to move through the world.

You can push. You can force outcomes. You can try to bend the moment your way with

enough strength, enough volume, enough control.

That’s the way we’re taught. Be decisive. Be strong. Take control.

And sometimes that works. But not always.

I’ve been watching a baseball tournament this week—the World Baseball Classic—and it’s full

of players who look like they were built for power.

The kind who step into the batter’s box looking like superheroes. The kind who can hit a ball

450 feet and make it look easy.

And then there’s Luis Arraez who plays for team Venezuela.

He doesn’t look like that. And yet… he might be the one shaping the game more than anyone

else.

He’s hitting everything. Not crushing everything. Just… hitting.

A soft line drive. A flicked single. A stubborn at-bat that refuses to end.

And suddenly, he’s everywhere.

He’s not trying to crush the ball. He’s trying to touch it into life.

Crushing is about force. Touching is about feel—attention, timing, relationship.

Arraez doesn’t attack the baseball so much as meet it, guide it, stay with it just long enough.

And the game begins to open up around him.

In a game obsessed with power, he reminds us of something older:

Not everything meaningful happens through force.

Some things only come alive through presence.

And when the moment tightens—when pressure builds—when things begin to slip—he’s the one you want at the plate.Because he doesn’t rush. He stays.

There’s something almost spiritual about that.

We tend to think impact comes from force, from the biggest voice in the room.

But sometimes the most transformative presence is quieter—the one who pays attention, the one who refuses to rush the moment.

It reminds me of someone I have tried to follow for most of my life. I think uou may be trying to follow him, too.

Not powerful in the way empires understand power. Not coercive. Not overwhelming. But

relentlessly present.

He touched things into life.

A hand on a shoulder. Mud on blind eyes. Bread broken and shared. A pause long enough to

really see someone.

And again and again, life emerged—not through force, but through attention, through

nearness, through love that stayed.

Luis Arraez doesn’t overwhelm the game. He inhabits it. And in doing so, he changes it.

And it makes you wonder…

Where in our own lives are we trying to force things into being—when what’s needed instead

is a quieter kind of presence?

A little more attention. A little more patience.

Just enough to touch something into lIfe.

Your friend and pastor, thankful for those who have touched me into life, Brook