There is something disarming about a room full of power brokers that chooses, almost instinctively, to start a conversation with baseball.
That was the scene recently at the Vatican, where Pope Leo XIV welcomed a delegation of mayors from his native Illinois for a 45-minute private audience. Before policy, before diplomacy, before anything resembling formality, the conversation found its way to the Chicago White Sox.
“I asked him, hopefully he can help out the White Sox, and he said, ‘Well, they could use a few more wins,’” said Brad Stephens, the mayor of Rosemont, Illinois, and a Republican state representative. “And I said, ‘Well, they got the right guy here.’”
It is a simple exchange. A throwaway line, maybe. But it is also everything.
Because in that moment, the distance between the Vatican and suburban Illinois disappeared. The robes, the titles, the weight of global leadership all took a back seat to something far more universal: the connective tissue of shared experience. Baseball.
There is no official doctrine that says the Pope has to know the standings or crack jokes about a struggling franchise. But there is something deeply human about the fact that he does. A Chicago-born pontiff who still carries a piece of home with him, even within the walls of one of the most sacred institutions in the world. And that is what makes this moment resonate.
The delegation itself reflected that hometown pride. Alongside Stephens were Angelo ‘Skip’ Saviano, who presented the pope with an Elmwood Park Police Department chaplain badge, and Phil Stefani, whose ties to the Vatican now extend into hospitality at Castel Gandolfo. Brian Burch, though unable to attend due to a hospital stay, rounded out the American connection. Different roles. Different paths. Same roots.
As I write this on Easter Sunday, that detail feels even more significant.
Easter is about renewal, but it is also about connection. About understanding that, despite our differences, we are bound together in ways both profound and simple. Sometimes those bonds are spiritual. Sometimes they are cultural. And sometimes, they are as straightforward as a shared frustration over a baseball team that cannot quite get it right. There is a lesson in that.
We spend so much time focusing on what separates us, politics, geography, ideology, that we overlook the power of what brings us together. A conversation about baseball will not solve global challenges. But it can open the door. It can create a moment of ease, of trust, of familiarity.
It can remind us that before we are leaders, or officials, or even figures of faith, we are people.
For Americans especially, Pope Leo XIV has quickly become one of the most relatable holy figures in modern history. Not because he diminishes the role, but because he enhances it with authenticity. He carries Chicago with him. He talks baseball. He meets people where they are.
He reinforces something that often gets lost in the grandeur of institutions: relatability is not a weakness in leadership. It is a strength.
That 45-minute meeting at the Vatican was not just about Illinois mayors visiting their hometown pope. It was about the quiet, powerful ways in which connection happens. Not a bad way to spend a Monday. Not a bad reminder for the rest of us, either.
Chris R. Vaccaro, a media executive, author, and professor from Long Island, is a senior editorial advisor for World Baseball Network.
Photo via Vatican News
