Pope Leo XIV's First Mass and Homily as Pope - and Looking Ahead

 As Aleteia commented:

Beautiful: There's hardly another word for Pope Leo XIV's first Mass. The vibrant colours of the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel contrasted with the dazzling white vestments of row after row of cardinals, punctuated in places by a brightly-dressed cardinal of the Eastern Churches.

The perfectly intoned melodies of the men and boys of the Sistine Chapel choir and the precise careful movements of the monsignors in charge of papal ceremonies. It is the Church in all her splendor, proud and joyous with her new Successor of Peter.

The new Pope then began his first homily in English:

I begin with a word in English -- and the rest is in Italian -- but I want to repeat the words from the Responsorial Psalm: "I will sing a new song to the Lord because he has done marvels." And indeed not just with me but with all of us, my brother cardinals, as we celebrate this morning, I invite you to recognize the marvels that the Lord has done, the blessings that the Lord continues to pour out upon all of us. Through the ministry of Peter -- you have called me to carry that cross, and be blessed with that mission. And I know I can rely on each and every one of you to walk with me as we continue as a Church, as a community of friends of Jesus, as believers, to announce the good news, to announce the Gospel.

And then he turned to his prepared text in Italian:

“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16). In these words, Peter, asked by the Master, together with the other disciples, about his faith in him, expressed the patrimony that the  Church, through the apostolic succession, has preserved, deepened and handed on for two thousand  years. 

Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God: the one Saviour, who alone reveals the face of  the Father. 

In him, God, in order to make himself close and accessible to men and women, revealed  himself to us in the trusting eyes of a child, in the lively mind of a young person and in the mature  features of a man (cf. Gaudium et Spes, 22), finally appearing to his disciples after the resurrection with his glorious body. He thus showed us a model of human holiness that we can all imitate,  together with the promise of an eternal destiny that transcends all our limits and abilities. 

Peter, in his response, understands both of these things: the gift of God and the path to follow in order to allow himself to be changed by that gift. They are two inseparable aspects of salvation entrusted to the Church to be proclaimed for the good of the human race. Indeed, they are entrusted to us, who were chosen by him before we were formed in our mothers’ wombs (cf. Jer 1:5), reborn in the waters of Baptism and, surpassing our limitations and with no merit of our own, brought here and sent forth from here, so that the Gospel might be proclaimed to every creature (cf. Mk 16:15). 

In a particular way, God has called me by your election to succeed the Prince of the Apostles, and has entrusted this treasure to me so that, with his help, I may be its faithful administrator (cf. 1  Cor 4:2) for the sake of the entire mystical Body of the Church. He has done so in order that she may be ever more fully a city set on a hill (cf. Rev 21:10), an ark of salvation sailing through the waters of history and a beacon that illumines the dark nights of this world. And this, not so much  through the magnificence of her structures or the grandeur of her buildings – like the monuments among which we find ourselves – but rather through the holiness of her members. For we are the people whom God has chosen as his own, so that we may declare the wonderful deeds of him who  called us out of darkness into his marvellous light (cf. 1 Pet 2:9). 

Peter, however, makes his profession of faith in reply to a specific question: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” (Mt 16:13). The question is not insignificant. It concerns an essential aspect of our ministry, namely, the world in which we live, with its limitations and its potential, its questions and its convictions. 

“Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” If we reflect on the scene we are considering, we might find two possible answers, which characterize two different attitudes. First, there is the world’s response. Matthew tells us that this conversation between Jesus and his disciples takes place in the beautiful town of Caesarea Philippi, filled with luxurious palaces, set in a magnificent natural landscape at the foot of Mount Hermon, but also a place of cruel power plays and the scene of betrayals and infidelity. This setting speaks to us of a world that considers Jesus a completely insignificant person, at best someone with an unusual and striking way of speaking and acting. And so, once his presence becomes irksome because of his demands for honesty and his  stern moral requirements, this “world” will not hesitate to reject and eliminate him.

Then there is the other possible response to Jesus’ question: that of ordinary people. For them, the Nazarene is not a charlatan, but an upright man, one who has courage, who speaks well and says the right things, like other great prophets in the history of Israel. That is why they follow him, at least for as long as they can do so without too much risk or inconvenience. Yet to them he is only a man, and therefore, in times of danger, during his passion, they too abandon him and depart disappointed. 

What is striking about these two attitudes is their relevance today. They embody notions that we could easily find on the lips of many men and women in our own time, even if, while essentially identical, they are expressed in different language. 

Even today, there are many settings in which the Christian faith is considered absurd, meant  for the weak and unintelligent. Settings where other securities are preferred, like technology, money, success, power, or pleasure. 

These are contexts where it is not easy to preach the Gospel and bear witness to its truth, where believers are mocked, opposed, despised or at best tolerated and pitied. Yet, precisely for this  reason, they are the places where our missionary outreach is desperately needed. A lack of faith is  often tragically accompanied by the loss of meaning in life, the neglect of mercy, appalling violations of human dignity, the crisis of the family and so many other wounds that afflict our society. Today, too, there are many settings in which Jesus, although appreciated as a man, is reduced  to a kind of charismatic leader or superman. This is true not only among non-believers but also  among many baptized Christians, who thus end up living, at this level, in a state of practical atheism. This is the world that has been entrusted to us, a world in which, as Pope Francis taught us so  many times, we are called to bear witness to our joyful faith in Jesus the Saviour. Therefore, it is essential that we too repeat, with Peter: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16). It is essential to do this, first of all, in our personal relationship with the Lord, in our commitment to a daily journey of conversion. Then, to do so as a Church, experiencing together our  fidelity to the Lord and bringing the Good News to all (cf. Lumen Gentium, 1). I say this first of all to myself, as the Successor of Peter, as I begin my mission as Bishop of Rome and, according to the well-known expression of Saint Ignatius of Antioch, am called to preside in charity over the universal Church (cf. Letter to the Romans, Prologue). Saint Ignatius, who was  led in chains to this city, the place of his impending sacrifice, wrote to the Christians there: “Then I will truly be a disciple of Jesus Christ, when the world no longer sees my body” (Letter to the Romans,  IV, 1). Ignatius was speaking about being devoured by wild beasts in the arena – and so it happened  – but his words apply more generally to an indispensable commitment for all those in the Church who  exercise a ministry of authority. It is to move aside so that Christ may remain, to make oneself small so that he may be known and glorified (cf. Jn 3:30), to spend oneself to the utmost so that all may have the opportunity to know and love him. 

May God grant me this grace, today and always, through the loving intercession of Mary, Mother of the Church.

Let us join our prayers with for Pope Leo XIV as he begins his pontificate in difficult times for the Church.

Leo XIV and the Best-Case Scenario

Here is a well-balanced perspective on the new Pope, written by Dan Hitchens for First Things In essence, he sees the choice of Cardinal Prevost as a safe choice by the conclave given the need for stability in the Church. It’s also worthwhile following the links in the article.

The subtext of his analysis is, as they say, “interesting” concerning Pope Francis.

Robert Prevost—as he was until yesterday—is unlikely to fulfill the liberal cardinals’ nightmare of a pope who would rip up Francis’s legacy. He seems to be well-liked by the more progressive cardinals—some of whom appeared beaming with delight on the balcony of St. Peter’s yesterday. But conservatives, too, expect a less harmful pontificate than a Pope Francis II would have delivered. Leo XIV’s first choices—the traditional name and traditional papal dress—are in themselves a retreat from his predecessor’s example. And he was, after all, spotted last week “entering Cardinal Burke’s house for a very secret summit.”

Trawling the Holy Father’s Twitter history, as one does, suggests a churchman who has made it to the age of sixty-nine without feeling any need to choose a side in the Catholic culture wars. Yes, he is outspoken on the rights of migrants; but he’s also seriously alarmed about the trans issue. Yes, he retweets the more progressive Catholic publications; but he also shares writings from the sturdily orthodox Cardinal George and Archbishop Chaput. Yes, he admires Pope Francis and likes the idea of “synodality”; but (unlike some people) he does not seem to regard either as a kind of inspired update on the gospel that calls into question what the Church has been doing for the last two thousand years.

To be clear, this is not a call for complacency. The Church is at an incredibly perilous moment, attempting to recover from a pontificate that actively fostered major doctrinal errors. If Leo XIV continues in this line, however cautiously and diplomatically, it means a deepening of one of the most severe crises in Church history. But you know all that already. So here is a case for optimism.

In interviews, the then Robert Prevost seems to gravitate naturally toward one theme: that it’s not about him. Interviewed as prior general of the Augustinians, he says members of the order are “called to live a simple life at the service of others.” As for his own spirituality, Prevost says it is inspired by St. Augustine’s Confessions—and once again he defines it in terms of self-abnegation. In a “highly individualistic” age, Prevost observes, people seek happiness in the wrong places. “Authentic happiness has to include others. And concern for others.”

As prefect of the Dicastery for Bishops, Prevost sums up the bishop’s role as being “called to be humble and suffer with his people.” As cardinal, addressing parishioners at a Chicago church, he riffs for a little while before telling them: “I’m so convinced that if we open our lives and our hearts to serve others, we indeed—like the Gospel says—receive a hundredfold in this life. That certainly has been the case for myself.” Not wildly original content, I know, but the repeated theme is significant; and he doesn’t sound like he’s just saying it.

For twelve years, Catholics endured a pontificate in which a single person put himself at the center of events, so that even the law of Christ seemed less relevant than what feverish commentators referred to as “the agenda of Pope Francis.” It was an age when one leading episcopal ally of the pope said that “Whoever wishes to discover what the true will of Christ is for him, the true heart of Jesus . . . must ask the Pope. This Pope, not the one who came before him, or the one who came before that.”

A Vatican aide, meanwhile, claimed that Pope Francis “breaks Catholic traditions whenever he wants because he is ‘free from disordered attachments.’ Our Church has indeed entered a new phase: with the advent of this first Jesuit pope, it is openly ruled by an individual rather than by . . . its own dictates of tradition plus Scripture.” Those were extreme examples, but it was a trend. And the way Francis acted certainly encouraged such statements, by going to the verge of denying Church teaching and then treating reasonable concerns as unforgivable insults.

As Amy Welborn has brilliantly observed, the word “humility” has been thrown around a great deal of late. But in the context of Church leadership, humility is mostly about what you don’t do.

“Not to impose oneself, one’s own identity and personal causes as superior, but to allow oneself, one’s talents, gifts and yes, concerns, to be absorbed into this Body of Christ, and be used by God in whatever way He sees fit. To allow oneself to be shaped and re-shaped, not to enter the embrace of St. Peter’s determined to do the reshaping in one’s own image.”

Perhaps Prevost knows this too. In his homily this morning, the new pope said that “first of all,” the papal mission is “to move aside so that Christ may remain, to make oneself small so that he may be known and glorified, to spend oneself to the utmost so that all may have the opportunity to know and love him.” If he actually does that—and as I say, I’m talking best-case scenario here—he will be a great pope.

Pope Francis was a man of formidable intellect, superhuman energy, and dazzling rhetorical gifts, who ruled with an iron will and altered everything he touched. He was the very image of a strong pope, and the result was a disaster. My prayer is for Pope Leo to teach us the meaning of humility; to make us understand the meaning of St. Paul’s words: “Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.”