Vatican City – Today, Pope Leo XIV turns seventy. An anniversary that certainly brings the joy of celebration, but also demands a deeper gaze: who is this man whom Providence has placed at the helm of the Church of God? What challenges await him?
Robert Francis Prevost, born in Chicago on September 14, 1955, grew up amid diverse cultures, with Italian, French, and Spanish roots. As a young man, he chose the Order of Saint Augustine—a choice far from secondary, for that charism shaped his understanding of the Christian life. From 2001 to 2013, as Prior General of the Augustinians, he did not simply lead an institution, but a worldwide community made of real people, with stories, hopes, and fragilities. During those years, he learned the patience of discernment, the art of listening, and the quiet firmness of decisions taken after walking together. Not a man of proclamations, but a brother who knew how to mediate, accompany, and console.
Today, those same traits are evident in his words and gestures as Pontiff. Already in his inaugural Urbi et Orbi he declared: “We are all in God’s hands. Therefore, without fear, hand in hand with God and with one another, let us go forward! We are disciples of Christ. Christ goes before us. The world needs His light.” A statement at once simple and disarming, one that reveals his spirituality: not complicated strategies, but trust; not hegemony, but discipleship. In the months that followed, he repeated that hope is not illusion, but a reality carved in depth: “Hope is rekindled when we dig deep and break through the crust of reality, when we go beneath the surface.” It is an invitation not to stop at appearances, not to resign ourselves to a world of conflicts and fears, but to seek the hidden spring that can still generate the future.
A thread runs through his reflections: peace. Not as a slogan, but as a daily path woven from small gestures. “Peace is not a spiritual utopia,” he said, “it is a humble path, made of daily gestures, interweaving patience and courage, listening and action.” These are not the words of a man eager to display power, but of a religious accustomed to sharing life with others, aware that harmony is built not with decrees, but with the sacrifice of closeness.
Looking at him, one is struck by his gentleness. Not a fragile temperament, but the calm strength of one who knows life’s harshness, who has witnessed divisions and suffering, yet has not surrendered to hardness of heart. A gentleness that becomes a pastoral style: not to impose, but to guide; not to demand, but to accompany.
The future of the Church under Leo XIV will not be free of challenges. There are internal wounds to heal: ideological divisions, reforms to remove and others to strengthen, a sometimes domineering laity, and a weary clergy asking for closeness. There will be a need to restore balance between opposing forces, to restore dignity to monastic life and attention to vocations, to confront the abuse of power by certain newly appointed bishops who are driving not a few priests to leave their dioceses. Order must also be brought to the phenomenon of wandering clerics and to a canonical justice now often perceived more as an obstacle—fertile ground for injustices and favoritism—than as an instrument of equity. To these internal tensions are added the calls of the international community on global conflicts, the struggle to safeguard faith in a secularized world, and the fragmentation that frequently wounds the ecclesial body. Yet Leo XIV does not seem intent on responding with the language of complaint or with hasty, heavy-handed decisions. His style points instead to another path: to rediscover the courage of hope, the strength of what is essential, the sobriety of one who refuses to be trapped by oppositions, entrusting himself instead to what truly endures.
Seventy years is not the age for sudden adventures, but for wisdom. And on this birthday, the Church receives a gift: a man who does not need to appear, who has already walked many roads, and who now, with a gentle and steady step, continues to point the way toward God.
F.P.
Silere non possum