I am ecstatic about Pope Leo. I was driving to physical therapy, checking Instagram nonstop to see if there was white smoke. As my caregiver drove, I hit refresh a million times. About five minutes into the drive, I shrieked.
“White smoke, Liliana,” I said to my caregiver.
“Really? Are you kidding?” Liliana exclaimed.
I nodded.
I was barely Catholic when Pope Francis was elected. This truly felt like my first conclave. I was really hoping the new pope would be someone like Francis, because we desperately need compassion in this world. Pope Leo embodies that.
My favorite moment was when Pope Leo cried on the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica. I know he will be a leader unafraid to show emotion, and I think that’s a wonderful quality. I even journaled some thoughts. Here they are:
As a little boy, he played Mass instead of baseball. What we often deem “not normal” could actually be holy. What if being different is actually holy? People who are different are often labeled “weird.” It reminds me of Jesus. He wasn’t normal—he was born in a barn and died the most brutal death imaginable.
Peter was the first pope. Jesus asked him three times, “Do you love me?”—as if to say, Do you love me enough to build my Church? Peter had denied Jesus three times. There’s a parallel here. Yes, Peter denied him, but if love covers a multitude of sins, then Peter is redeemed. Pope Leo has sinned; he’s human, after all. He just has to do what Peter did—love Jesus. Love him so deeply that he serves the Church and the world as Jesus would. I wouldn't want that responsibility.
Pope Leo’s two biological brothers have expressed both grief and joy. Cardinal Robert has died; Pope Leo is born. They watched him step onto that balcony and knew everything had changed. Christmas dinner? They don’t know. Easter brunch? They don’t know. If my brother David were elected pope, I don't know how I would feel.
Father Tony—the priest who confirmed me and who is dear to my heart—always says that we’re constantly dying to our old selves. There’s always a resurrection happening in our lives. The conclave is simply a larger version of that. It reminds us of the little resurrections we experience each day.
I hope Pope Leo brings hope to the world—especially to the United States. We may be the most powerful country, but morale has been low. Every day brings crazy, unwelcome news. Thankfully, we’re protesting and speaking out. That little boy who played Mass in his Chicago home is now the Pope. It’s the epitome of the extraordinary.
This election has given me hope. The world feels heavy, and I wish I could wave a magic wand to let justice and compassion rain down. The world is starving—sometimes literally—for justice. I hope Pope Leo’s soft power makes a difference. I believe it will. Whether you’re Catholic or not, I hope this moment puts a little pep in your step.
Plus, he’s from Chicago. How cool is that?
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