By Father Joseba Kamiruaga Mieza, cmf
Since May 8, I have been asked the same question repeatedly: “What do you think of the new pope?” It is a question I have also posed to myself. In truth, I do not yet know. All I can say is that I liked his expression—his gentle, emotional smile—and the piece of paper he held, likely hastily prepared, for his first Urbi et Orbi blessing.
Pope Leo XIV’s first words echoed the final words of Pope Francis: “Peace be with you all! This is the peace of the Risen Christ, a disarmed peace and a disarming peace.” In this opening message lies a sense of continuity—a reaffirmation of a peace rooted not in strength or rearmament, but in vulnerability, in trust, and in courageous gentleness.
There is much to hope for. One hopes that Pope Leo will echo and deepen the voice of his predecessor—often described as weak but brave—in proclaiming peace not only between peoples and nations, but within human hearts. The temptation to seek peace through weapons or power must be resisted. True peace—Christ’s peace—comes only when we disarm both hands and hearts.
The pope also spoke of Christ not as someone to be sought elsewhere, but as one who always “goes before us” with his light. This is an Easter message. The Risen Christ does not trail behind us. He is ahead of us, drawing us toward hope. Evangelisation, then, is not about conquest or correction. It is about walking with those already touched by Christ’s light, building bridges through encounter, dialogue, and mercy.
Peace be with you all! This is the peace of the Risen Christ, a disarmed peace and a disarming peace
Pope Leo XIV
This vision of the Church—as a builder of bridges, open to all—is especially vital in an age dominated by individualism, fear, and rising nationalism. In a world where sovereignty is increasingly emphasised in ways that isolate and divide, Pope Leo’s reminder of our true “homeland”—the city of God—is striking. He did not speak of nations or alliances, but of a greater, transcendent destination. That city of God is not mapped by borders, but by communion and faith.
His papal name also invites reflection. In Islamic tradition, God has 99 names—the 100th is known only to him. In Church history, “Leo” has carried both glory and controversy. Friar Leo was the close companion of St. Francis. Pope Leo I turned back Attila the Hun. Pope Leo XIII gave the Church its first major social encyclical. Yet other Leos contributed to division or conflict—Pope Leo X excommunicated Martin Luther, Pope Leo IX died before the East-West Schism, and Pope Leo III crowned Charlemagne, binding Church to empire.
So which Leo will Robert Francis Prevost become? That remains to be seen. But his request that we “help ourselves and help him” points to a shared journey. If he is to lead a Church of disarming peace, one guided by Christ’s light and detached from worldly power, then we must walk with him.
Cardinal Prevost is American by birth, but his experience is anything but narrowly national. He spent years as a missionary in South America, is an Augustinian friar, and holds a doctorate in canon law. His formation is shaped by dialogue, pastoral service, and humility. His life reflects the Church’s growing awareness that it must listen more, learn more, and lead less by force than by faith.
Before the conclave, media profiles sought a kind of “synthesis pope”—someone who could be theologian, pastor, reformer, and diplomat. Cardinal Prevost does not fit that perfectly, but perhaps that is the point. He brings together many threads without pretending to be all things to all people. He is a face made of many smaller faces.
That city of God is not mapped by borders, but by communion and faith
From now on, the mutual process of acclimatisation begins. The pope must learn how to be pope. The Church must learn how to receive him. He cannot be everything. No pope can. And yet, he is called to represent the whole Church—its unity, its diversity, and its mission.
Pope Leo XIV’s Church must be a synodal Church. The Greek word ekklesía means assembly, convocation—literally “being called together.” The Church, then, is not a fortress or a hierarchy but a people summoned by God to listen, to share, and to discern. Today, when differences are more visible and communion more difficult, this mission is urgent.
Synodality will demand great patience—from the pope and from us. He must grow into his vocation, and we must grow in how we walk with him. He is not a hero, not a saviour, not a perfect symbol. He is a pilgrim among pilgrims, entrusted with a unique role, yes, but still one of us.
The Church must resist the temptation to dream of a perfect pope. Instead, we are invited to embrace this one—this man, with his limitations and gifts, his past and his future. If we do so with maturity, we will discover that even disappointments, if borne in love, can bear fruit.
Pope Leo XIV begins his pontificate in the shadow of giants and the weight of hope. But he also begins it with a clear message: Christ goes before us, peace is possible, and the Church must open its arms wide to the world.
Let us, then, walk with him—not with illusions, but with faith. Not demanding everything, but offering what we can. In the small acts of welcome, listening, and solidarity, we too will help shape the Church of tomorrow—a Church that builds bridges, follows Christ’s light, and walks together, as one body, toward the city of God.
