On May 8th, amidst a crowd of global pilgrims, I stood in St. Peter’s Square as the new Pope was chosen. The unforgettable roar that followed the white smoke from the Sistine Chapel resonated deeply.
The ground trembled as the basilica bells rang, announcing the unexpected election of the new Vicar of Jesus Christ.
A nearby nun questioned, “Who is it?”
Confident in my knowledge, I replied, “It’s Robert! He’s American, one of us.” The cardinals had selected a Midwesterner as the successor to Saint Peter.
As the St. Peter’s bells chimed and the balcony curtains opened, we recognized it as the start of a new epoch for both the Church and, in some ways, America.
For the first time, the most well-known American isn’t a president, celebrity, or tech mogul, but the Pope.
This signifies more than just a Catholic achievement; it marks a cultural turning point for the United States. In a culture that often links American influence to power, wealth, or fame, our primary global representative is now a modest man promoting love, justice, and compassion.
News of an American Pope sparked excitement back in the U.S., along with attempts to claim him as aligned with various agendas. Politicians quickly voiced support, each with their own angle. Progressive Democrats emphasized his social justice, immigrant rights, and anti-poverty advocacy, while Conservative Republicans highlighted his traditional Catholic views on abortion and religious freedom, seeking spiritual validation. (Although, some MAGA supporters appear ready to already .) This struggle to claim the Pope politically seemed unavoidable.
However, this misses the true essence of Pope Leo XIV. Like any good priest, he will offer comfort and challenges to all, regardless of political affiliations.
Vatican insiders suggest Pope Leo XIV could be to what Paul VI was to John XXIII, or Benedict XVI to John Paul II. He’s viewed as capable of bringing structure, discipline, and concrete reforms to solidify his predecessor’s prophetic vision. Pope Francis spent the last decade igniting an evangelical passion within the Church, emphasizing the marginalized, mercy, and care for the less fortunate.
Despite the grand historical comparisons, the everyday nature of this moment is striking. After the white smoke cleared and the crowds dispersed, I did something ordinary: I texted an old contact from a decade ago—who is now the Pope.
I sent the message, feeling a mix of disbelief and pride. Almost instantly, the message failed to deliver.
Of course. Father Bob had exchanged his iPhone for the Fisherman’s Ring, and his private number was likely deactivated by the Vatican soon after Habemus Papam.
I chuckled at the thought of texting the Pope, but the impulse reveals much: Americans are accustomed to being able to reach their leaders easily, and momentarily, I forgot that my fellow citizen on the balcony was now a universal shepherd with a completely different existence.
Yet, the mere fact that the new Pope was in my contacts list highlights his accessibility and American identity.
For an American Catholic like myself, this hint of shared background is both appealing and reassuring. It reminds us that the papacy isn’t just an abstract concept; it’s held by a person who now happens to be one of us.
Pope Leo’s election immediately makes Vatican rituals feel somewhat more familiar to Americans—and possibly makes the concept of holiness feel a bit more within reach.
Beyond the novelty and pride, many are looking to this new Pope with a deeper hope: could this be a time for moral and institutional revival in America? It’s no secret that our country has faced serious divisions lately. We’ve weathered difficult political battles, a crisis of truth and civility, even an insurrection and the continued temptation of authoritarian politics. Trust in institutions is at a historic low; even faith communities are fractured by conflict. In short, Americans are yearning for healing—a return to integrity in our public sphere and compassion within our communities.
In this context, the first American pope feels like a fortunate development. Who better than an American, grounded in the principles of liberty under God, to remind the world that faith and freedom go hand in hand against isolation and loneliness?
Don’t be surprised if he soon uses his moral platform to gently, but firmly, push back against the alluring promises of authoritarian leaders—whether they’re on the global stage or lurking in our domestic politics. His voice, coming from an American who cannot be easily dismissed as “anti-American,” might uniquely awaken the conscience of our nation. At the very least, his example of servant leadership—prioritizing the poor, engaging in dialogue with opponents, and rejecting worldly power—offers a much-needed alternative to the cynical power struggles we’ve become used to.
Without dwelling too much on the divisiveness of the recent past, it’s safe to say that America’s image was often associated with aggressive nationalism and a personality cult. How fitting, then, that as we move forward, the global spotlight turns to an American known for quiet service and spiritual depth. Pope Leo XIV’s rise doesn’t erase our nation’s problems, but it does offer a new vision of what American leadership can represent.
It suggests that America’s most significant contribution might not be its entertainment or weapons, but its potential for idealism and moral vision.