When Robert Francis Prevost, the Chicago-born cardinal, ascended to the papacy as Pope Leo XIV, many anticipated a papacy that would embrace modernity, with a distinctly American flair. Few, however, could have predicted that his first viral moment as pontiff would involve a baseball-style catch in St. Peter’s Square.
On May 28, during one of his early public rides through the crowd in the popemobile, the day was bright and peaceful, and the crowd was in high spirits. Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone tossed a small handmade cloth doll into the air—dressed in miniature papal vestments and a white skullcap, resembling the pope himself. Without hesitation, Pope Leo reached out and caught the doll with one hand. The crowd burst into laughter and applause.
The video spread online in minutes. “Pope’s got reflexes!” one user joked. Others hailed it as “the most American thing ever seen at the Vatican.” As it turned out, the doll had come from a Chicago White Sox fan visiting Rome—a nod to the city where Pope Leo had grown up. In that fleeting moment, the pope’s unexpected catch captured something profoundly human: a blend of humor, warmth, and a touch of baseball nostalgia on the world’s most formal stage.
But as the video continued to gain traction, the tone of the conversation began to shift. Security experts and concerned Catholics pointed out something others had overlooked in the laughter: the breach of protocol. “Adorable, yes,” one tweet read, “but his security definitely slipped.” Another warned,
“A soft doll today could be something else tomorrow.” Vatican watchers agreed that, while the moment was charming, it also highlighted the risks of spontaneity in an era where even the most innocent gestures can carry unintended consequences.
Pope Leo, however, seemed unbothered. When asked about it later that afternoon, he simply smiled and remarked, “It was instinct. I grew up around baseball. Sometimes you just reach for what’s coming your way.” That casual response encapsulated much of what the public had already come to love about him: approachable, quick-witted, and unmistakably American—even within the solemn confines of the Vatican.
Since his election on May 8, Pope Leo XIV has stood out for much more than his quick reflexes. His papacy began with a bold call for global peace. In his inaugural address, he appealed for an end to the war in Ukraine and urged both sides in Gaza to agree to a ceasefire. He also praised the peace agreement between India and Pakistan, calling it “proof that reconciliation is possible when we remember our shared humanity.”
What has equally captured attention, however, is his early focus on technology—particularly artificial intelligence. In a speech to cardinals and scientists, Pope Leo compared today’s AI revolution to the Industrial Revolution of the 19th century. He invoked the legacy of Pope Leo XIII’s 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum, which addressed the social upheaval caused by industrialization and championed workers’ rights.
“The Church,” he stated, “must respond to artificial intelligence as it once did to the machines of the Industrial Age—with courage, wisdom, and an unshakable defense of human dignity.” His words struck a chord far beyond the Vatican. Tech leaders and ethicists lauded his message, praising his call for “ethical algorithms” and “moral oversight” in the development of AI systems.
Pope Leo XIV seems to be walking the delicate line between tradition and modernization with a grace that few expected. Where his predecessors were cautious and measured, Leo brings a refreshing informality—without compromising the gravity of his office. He has been described as “Francis’s spiritual successor with Benedict’s intellect and John Paul II’s energy.” Often referring to himself as “a servant in sneakers,” he swaps his papal loafers for plain black shoes.
His Midwestern roots are unmistakable. Born in Chicago in 1955, he was raised in a working-class neighborhood, where his mother taught school and his father worked long hours at a steel mill. Friends from his youth describe him as “the guy who always listened more than he spoke.” Before entering the priesthood, he studied psychology and philosophy, later serving as a missionary in Peru. Those years, he often says, taught him that “the Church exists not in marble halls but in dusty streets.”
Even now, as the leader of the Vatican, he hasn’t lost that connection to the real world. On his first week as pope, he quietly visited refugees outside of Rome—no cameras, no press. Witnesses said he spent nearly an hour speaking with families in Spanish, listening more than talking. His staff only confirmed the visit afterward, saying, “He didn’t want attention. He just wanted to be present.”
However, his relaxed, open approach presents challenges for the Vatican’s famously cautious security teams. While the doll incident seemed harmless, it raised questions about how close he allows himself to get to the public. Vatican officials were quick to announce that “protocols are being reviewed,” though some sources privately admitted that Pope Leo himself often pushes for less separation. “If I cannot touch the people,” he once told aides, “then I cannot serve them.”
That tension between openness and protection may ultimately define his papacy—just as much as his theology. He is a pope of accessibility in an age of anxiety, preaching peace while living under constant scrutiny. His one-handed catch, whether viewed as risk or charm, perfectly embodies this duality.
What makes Pope Leo’s rise so striking is the timing. The Church faces a world fractured by politics, divided by faith, and uncertain about technology. His approach—part pastoral warmth, part intellectual grounding—seems to resonate with those weary of polarization. He’s neither rigid nor reckless, and his American upbringing gives him a relatability rare in papal history.
In recent weeks, he’s continued to echo Pope Francis’s calls for humility and compassion. “The Church,” he said during his Pentecost homily, “must not be a fortress that guards itself but a home that welcomes the wounded.” Those who know him say this line encapsulates his vision: a Church that heals, not lectures; that leads through example, not fear.
Even his symbolic gestures—like that brief catch—seem to reflect his theology. Faith, to him, isn’t about avoiding risk; it’s about engagement, participation, and the willingness to reach out. “The Pope’s reflexes,” one columnist wrote, “might just be a metaphor for his approach to leadership—responsive, instinctive, and rooted in trust.”
Of course, there are critics. A few conservative voices within the Vatican have expressed discomfort with his casual language and his early willingness to address issues like AI and environmental policy. But so far, public response has been overwhelmingly positive. The image of him laughing, doll in hand, surrounded by smiling guards, has already become one of the most circulated photos of the year.
For millions, that moment wasn’t about security or spectacle—it was a glimpse of something refreshing: a pope who catches what the world throws at him, both literally and figuratively, with grace and humanity.
Whether he’s addressing the ethics of technology or the challenges of war, Pope Leo XIV is redefining what it means to lead with faith in a modern world. And perhaps that’s why, despite the criticism and caution, people can’t stop replaying that brief, unexpected moment—the American pope in the heart of Rome, smiling under the Italian sun, doll in hand, catching the world off guard in the best possible way.