The Resurrection of hope: Pope Leo XIV and the return to Christianity’s roots

There are moments in history that catch the world off guard—not because they are wholly unexpected, but because they signify a deeper, almost primal longing for change. The election of Pope Leo XIV, formerly Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, is one of those moments. As the white smoke billowed above the Sistine Chapel, signalling the conclave’s decision, it wasn’t just a choice of leadership; it was a resounding call back to the essence of faith—unadorned, raw, and deeply human.

Pope Leo XIV is a man who bridges worlds. Born in Chicago to a French father and an Italian mother, and later a missionary in Peru where he earned citizenship, he embodies a mosaic of cultures. But it’s not just his passport stamps that matter; it’s his life’s work—a tireless devotion to the margins of society, the very places where Christ himself walked and healed. Peru’s President Dina Boluarte called it a “historic moment for Peru and the world,” acknowledging that he is “a Peruvian citizen by choice and heart.” When he spoke in Spanish to his former diocese during his first address, there was an authenticity that resonated—not a gesture of political convenience but of genuine connection.

The Underdog’s Day and the Legacy of Leo XIII

Make no mistake, this is a victory for the underdog. Pope Leo XIV’s election is a torch carried forward from the windswept hills of Assisi to the barrios of Lima. His predecessor, Pope Francis, shattered conventions with his humility and his insistence that the Church serve the least among us. He took on the curia, challenged political norms, and knelt to wash the feet of prisoners and refugees. Pope Leo XIV’s rise signals not a departure but a resurrection of that very spirit—a commitment to serve, to build bridges, and to remind the Church of its original mission: to heal, to love, and to serve without judgment.

It is no coincidence that Cardinal Prevost chose the name “Leo.” Historically, the name Leo is a clarion call to social justice and radical compassion. Pope Leo XIII, who led the Church from 1878 to 1903, is widely regarded as the father of Catholic social teaching. His encyclical Rerum Novarum was a thunderous declaration that the Church stood with workers, the poor, and the marginalised—a manifesto that echoed the teachings of Christ himself. Leo XIII redefined the Church’s role in the modern world, dragging it from its aristocratic isolation into the grime and struggle of industrial life. Pope Leo XIV is poised to do the same, but this time in a fractured, digitised, and deeply divided world.

The Great Reformers: Echoes of John XXIII and Gregory the Great

To understand the magnitude of Pope Leo XIV’s election, it’s worth stepping back into Church history. In 1958, the cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church elected a man they assumed would be a gentle caretaker of tradition: Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli, who took the name John XXIII. What the world did not anticipate was the Second Vatican Council—a seismic shift in the Church’s relationship with the modern world. John XXIII threw open the windows of the Vatican, letting fresh air into its ancient halls. He called for aggiornamento—a bringing up to date—allowing the Church to engage with contemporary society in a language it could understand.

Pope Leo XIV’s mission hints at a similar spirit. His global perspective, his experience in the slums of Peru, and his insistence on unity echo John XXIII’s bold outreach. Like the Second Vatican Council’s sweeping changes, Leo XIV’s papacy could well be a new aggiornamento—not just for the Church’s politics but for its soul. His seamless switching between Italian and Spanish during his first speech signalled more than linguistic fluency; it was a statement of inclusivity, a sign that this papacy would speak to all corners of the globe, especially the forgotten ones.

Then, there is the legacy of Gregory the Great, a sixth-century pope who reshaped the papacy itself. Gregory understood that to lead spiritually, the Church had to lead socially. He reformed the Church’s structures, sent missionaries to pagan England, and brokered peace with invading Lombards. Gregory’s papacy marked the beginning of the Church as a stabilising force in the chaos of medieval Europe. Pope Leo XIV’s election whispers of this same stabilising potential in our fractured world—an anchor in the storm, a beacon for the marginalised.

The Jesus Line: A Direct Connection

Both Francis and Leo XIV seem to have tapped into a line of communication that bypasses the bureaucratic entanglements of Vatican protocol. Their messages are blunt, clear, and disarmingly honest. For Pope Francis, it was his call for humility and his challenge to the entrenched power of the Church. For Pope Leo XIV, it’s the continuation of that legacy with an eye toward unity and healing. During his speech, he made it plain: “We can all walk together towards that homeland God has prepared for us.” It was an echo of Francis’s own words—an invitation, not a command.

When he addressed the crowd in St. Peter’s Square, he didn’t speak of grandeur or legacy. He spoke of peace. “May peace be with you,” he said, and you could almost feel the collective exhale. Ave Maria followed, and as the crowds joined in, a deep hum resonated across the square—a spiritual vibration that felt like a heartbeat. It was a stark reminder of Christianity stripped of its gilded edges, returning to its simplest, most profound form.

Trump’s Dilemma and the Navel of Leo

There is a poetic irony in the reactions from world leaders. Donald Trump called it a “great honour” to have an American pope, but the reality is far from his understanding of nationalism. Leo XIV may be American by birth, but his soul is global. His formative years were spent in Peru, living among the poor, the indigenous, and the displaced. This is no “America First” pope. His vision is profoundly universal, echoing the Jesuit calling of his predecessor. In Leo XIV, you can almost see the “resurrection” of Pope Francis—not as a mere legacy but as a spiritual continuum. Argentina and Peru are kindred spirits for Francis and Leo, a reminder that Catholicism’s heart often beats strongest far from the marble halls of Rome.

Back to Basics: The Lubricant of Ritual

Here’s the real revolution: Pope Leo XIV, like Francis, seems intent on stripping the faith back to its bare essentials. The Vatican’s rituals and splendour, its vast institutions and political sway, are to be seen not as ends in themselves but as mere lubricants for the true engine of the Church—faith and service. His message is clear: the gold and marble are not the message. They are the vehicle.

It is a return to Christ’s own methods—walking among the poor, embracing the sick, and confronting the powerful. In Leo XIII’s time, it was the rise of industrialism and labour oppression. Today, it is climate collapse, mass migration, and social fragmentation. Leo XIV’s mission appears to be the same: confront power with compassion, heal with humility, and remind the world that Christianity, at its core, is radical, subversive love.

The Underdog’s Hallelujah

So, yes, it is a good day for the underdog. Pope Leo XIV’s ascension is a call back to the basics: humility, service, and unity. It is a reminder that the essence of Christianity is neither pomp nor politics but the simple act of reaching out—building bridges across divides that have long seemed insurmountable. And perhaps most importantly, it’s a reminder that the Church, at its best, is a reflection of Christ’s love, not just in gilded cathedrals but in the dirt and dust of everyday life.

The spirit of St. Francis lives in Leo XIV. The voice of Leo XIII echoes in his choice of name. The heart of Pope Francis beats on, now through the navel of Leo. Watch the underdog rise. Hallelujah.

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