At first, I thought the crowd started cheering because of the birds. Giant flat screens, focused on the chimney atop the Sistine Chapel, were showing a trio of gulls hopping about the barrel tiles in and around the chimney. One was a baby with fuzzy grey feathers. Soooo cute! But the crowds became louder and louder, very quickly, and then I saw it myself—the white smoke, fumata bianca. And to make sure there was no confusion in the already full and roaring square, men began ringing the great bells that flank the crimson-draped balcony of St. Peter’s. Within minutes, it felt like the rest of the city had arrived and every police car, ambulance, and helicopter was paying tribute with their sirens and blades.
In this holy chaos, my first feeling was joy. I didn’t know who it was, or what this new pope portended for the life of the Church, and it didn’t matter. We have a pope again. Onward we go. Already, rivaling readings are seeking to situate Robert Prevost, now Pope Leo XIV, on the left-right continuums of both the Church itself and world affairs, readings based on his chosen name, on his life story as an American who spent his formative years as a priest and bishop in Peru, on his having been close to Pope Francis himself, as demonstrated by Francis’s elevating him to cardinal just last year and naming him to a series of important leadership roles in the Church. Yeah, yeah, yeah, all of that commentary, and I’m contributing to it, too. In fact, I was on live television killing time with expert commentary when the white smoke burned and the bells rang.
I was asked, in that interview and in several more that first day of Leo XIV’s papacy, what I made of the election happening when and as it did. Every journalist invited me to comment both personally, as a believing Catholic, and professionally, as someone who writes about Catholicism. I was only half-successful. I spoke almost completely in a professional capacity. You might expect me to tell you that I regret this—regret that I wasn’t able, as a Catholic, to express my personal joy at the election of a new pope because of all the media noise. But I’d be lying if I told you that. Because, without fully realizing it in the moment, I think I was relieved to professionalize my response. This felt safer, easier, than having to explain, beyond naming joy itself, how my believing, practicing self actually felt about being here in Rome, for the election of a new pope.
Better, instead, as I took interview requests while moving around the jammed, multilingual media set-up on the rooftop of the Augustinian Order’s headquarters in Rome—AV cords snaking everywhere like the tomb scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark—to comment on the holy coincidence of being in this specific building for the election of the first Augustinian pope in history. I also opined confidently on the clear demonstration of unity on the part of the cardinal electors, despite their great demographic-geographic diversity, as attested to by such a swift election. But in between some dozen sessions with radio and televisions stations in Canada and the UK, I went crazy with my phone. I sent pictures and comments to family, friends, colleagues. I Zoomed with my fourteen-year-old daughter’s religion class.
I told myself I was doing all of this for them, that I was sharing in my good fortune of being so close to such action. And I was. But also, I was doing it for myself. I have never been so close to such a momentous occasion in the universal life of the Church, and after feeling a real and pure joy, I flinched from dwelling on that, never mind describing it to others. It was just easier to be here as a professional rather than a pilgrim on the day a new pope was elected. I hope I have the courage to speak and write less in the coming days, the courage to pray more, first for our new holy father, and for the rest of us, including, yes, for myself.
