Why did he choose the name Leo XIV? Will he follow the late Pope Francis’ lead or will he chart a different course? How will he address certain Church issues, like women in ministry? Who are the Augustinians, the religious community to which he belongs? People even wanted to know if he is a fan of the Chicago Cubs or White Sox baseball team. 

In this edition, we will look at some of those issues and recount some highlights of the conclave and election. We will also share people’s reactions to the election and their hopes for the future of this papacy (see “A New Pope, a New Ministry.”)

At a Mass prior to the conclave, Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, dean of the College of Cardinals, expressed his hope that whomever the cardinals elected would be exactly “whom the Church and humanity need at this difficult and complex turning point in history. . . . Let us pray that God will grant the Church a pope who knows how best to awaken the consciences of all and the moral and spiritual energies in today’s society, characterized by great technological progress but which tends to forget God.” 

In the end, we must remember that it was the Holy Spirit who led the cardinals to elect Pope Leo XIV. And it is in the spirit of St. Peter and all the previous popes that the current pope will serve as an example of how to live out our faith. 

God bless Pope Leo XIV! 

As Pope Leo XIV begins his ministry, what are some people’s hopes for his papacy? 

At 6 p.m. on Thursday, May 8, Father Greg Friedman, OFM, began to make his way into St. Peter’s Square. He and a fellow American moved slowly through the crowd that had gathered, awaiting the results of the conclave. Five minutes after joining his friends by the obelisk in the square, white smoke began to pour out of the chimney atop the Sistine Chapel. 

“I could not believe events conspired to land me in St. Peter’s Square at the moment of the white smoke,” recalls Father Greg. 

For the next hour, he stood among an estimated 100,000 faithful, anticipating the announcement of the next pope. Who would it be? That was the question on everyone’s mind. The previous days had been filled with speculation about Pope Francis’ successor. News outlets around the world culled lists of cardinals they thought were front-runners. 

Father Greg recalls that the long hour passed with eyes trained on the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica. Suddenly, a movement of the curtains signaled Habemus Papam! (We have a pope!). 

At first, Father Greg says he couldn’t identify the name when it was announced. “Then I heard ‘Prevost,’ the American-born cardinal, part of the Roman Curia, former missionary in Peru—and an Augustinian friar—a religious like Pope Francis. I was surprised! And yet in a heartbeat, the choice felt right,” Father Greg recalls. “[The pope’s] opening address confirmed my feeling. As a fellow friar said, the new pope ‘hit all the right notes.’ I felt the same.” 

A Papal First 

Many people were surprised that a cardinal from the United States—the first ever—was chosen. 

He is a native son of Chicago, Illinois, an unlikely place to find a pope, and served there for many years. He also spent years of his ministry in Peru. In fact, along with his US citizenship, he is also a citizen of Peru. While in Peru, in addition to serving the people of the region, the future pope served as a formation director for the Augustinians. He also was the prior provincial for the Province of Our Mother of Good Counsel, located in Chicago. 

His work with his Augustinian community is yet another aspect of the new pope’s ministry that spoke to Father Greg as a Franciscan. “In religious life, there is a sense that a good major superior is a listener, someone who has extensive experience of caring for brothers or sisters. I like that in this pope,” he says. 

In 2019, then-Bishop Prevost moved to Rome after being appointed to the Vatican’s Congregation for the Clergy. Six years later, Pope Francis named him a cardinal. 

An Unlikely Choice 

Brother Lawrence Hayes, OFM, provincial minister of the Our Lady of Guadalupe Province, was surprised that someone from the United States was elected, “especially at this historical moment—after several non-Italian popes and with a College of Cardinals marked by much greater international representation, thanks to Pope Francis.” Even so, the newly elected pope’s nationality is not something he finds important. 

“When I think of the role of the pope, I think rather of a pastor who guides a worldwide flock with care for all peoples and all nations and with a vision that, of necessity, far transcends that of any one country,” says Brother Lawrence. 

Father Greg also didn’t think a US pope would be elected. But he did think that Cardinal Prevost would make a good successor to Pope Francis. He says the cardinal “was an ‘insider,’ but [also] a missionary, someone committed to the synodal process, a moderate progressive, and a religious. But an unlikely choice as an American,” he says. “The pope’s wish to be ‘a missionary Church, a Church that builds bridges and encourages dialogue’ and a ‘synodal Church,’ confirmed the positive emotions flooding me as I listened,” he recalls of Pope Leo XIV’s first speech after his election. 

Given the pope’s work outside the United States, Sister Margaret Carney, a member of the Sisters of St. Francis of the Neumann Communities and former president of St. Bonaventure University, says she hopes that “Catholics in the United States can come to a better understanding of what it means to be a global Church. We need to hear—really hear—and learn from the needs and hopes of other cultures and nations when it comes to changes in discipline and doctrine.” 

Darleen Pryds, PhD, an associate professor at the Franciscan School of Theology at the University of San Diego, says she would like to ask the new pope “how his capacity for presence and listening was deepened by living in Peru. No doubt he has been influenced by the people he served in Peru. I would benefit from hearing him talk about what he learned from the people there and how his experiences with them changed him.” 

What’s in a Name? 

As soon as Cardinal Prevost’s papal name was announced—Leo XIV—people immediately began speculating as to why this pope would choose that name. Some insight came when the pope met with the College of Cardinals after his election. He told them he chose the name Leo “mainly because Pope Leo XIII, in his historic encyclical Rerum Novarum, addressed the social question in the context of the first great industrial revolution. 

“In our own day,” the pope continued, “the Church offers to everyone the treasury of her social teaching in response to another industrial revolution and to developments in the field of artificial intelligence that pose new challenges for the defense of human dignity, justice, and labor.” 

The pope’s choice of Leo XIV for his papal name is insightful, says Father Greg. “Following the 19th-century Leo XIII—a secular Franciscan, by the way—who pioneered the Church’s contemporary teaching on social justice, we get a sense of this Leo’s ‘program.’” 

Moving the Church Forward 

Following his election, speculation quickly began as to what Leo XIV’s papacy would look like. Will he follow the path of Pope Francis, or will he set off and forge his own? That is yet to be seen. But many people have hopes for what is possible. 

Pryds says she hopes Pope Leo will help us all “to live in a mutually respectful way with an understanding and appreciation that we are interdependent, with one another and with all of creation. I think all the other issues on my mind ultimately flow from that. Without mutual respect and awareness of our interdependence, we easily lose our way.” Brother Lawrence hopes that the new pope “will continue on the path forged by Pope Francis.” He was heartened, he says, by Pope Leo’s address to the College of Cardinals, when he told them that “he wants the Church to renew together our complete commitment to the Second Vatican Council. 

“He further endorsed several fundamental priorities championed by Pope Francis: the primacy of Christ in the evangelizing mission of the Church; the essentially missionary nature of the Church; the importance of collegiality and synodality in Church governance; respectful attention to the ‘sense of the faithful,’ including its manifestation in various forms of popular piety; loving care for the least and the rejected; and courageous and prophetic dialogue with the contemporary world.” 

As for Sister Margaret, she believes “we need to learn a lot more about doing effective dialogue with those others if we want to see substantial changes in areas like sexual ethics, the role of women, etc.” 

Messages for the New Pope 

When asked what he would tell the new pontiff if they sat down together for a talk, Brother Lawrence said he would ask him to “stay close to the poor as you did in Chiclayo, Peru. Please radiate joy, hope, and openness to all: todos, todos, todos! Please continue to pursue the synodal path that Francis has opened for the Church. Please do not be afraid of allowing the tradition of the Church to develop in ways that are faithful to the heart of Christ and responsive to the advances in human rights and modern science.” 

Pryds says she would “ask him how he cultivated his capacity to listen deeply and to be present with others,” especially in a world with so many interruptions and interrupters. “I am relieved when I experience someone who can listen without interrupting me and others,” she says. 

“I would very much like to hear how he has cultivated this ability to be grounded and present without the tendency to be reactive or defensive,” says Pryds. “I sense that so many of us, especially those who hold leadership roles in the Church or in our communities, would do well to learn from Pope Leo’s behavior and help model this way of listening deeply to the concerns and experiences of others without imposing judgments, which only lead to reactivity and defensiveness.” 

Yet to Come 

As for Father Greg, he is still unpacking his experience from the election. “When the new pope began to speak, my shaking cell phone steadied and captured his words: ‘God loves us. God loves you all, and evil will not prevail. We are all in the hands of God. Without fear, united, hand in hand with God and among ourselves, we will go forward. . . . I am an Augustinian, a son of St. Augustine, who once said, ‘With you I am a Christian, and for you I am a bishop.’” 

That day, people lingered in St. Peter’s Square long after Pope Leo XIV departed, says Father Greg, “not wishing to abandon a shared moment of joy, faith, and history, an unforgettable experience, an unexpected gift.” In that spirit, he says, “Let’s pray for [Pope Leo XIV] and for all of us affected by his election—whether believers or not.”

This writer shows the value of using the beatitudes in today’s world, navigating challenging issues and assessing our own spiritual development. 

Christianity is in the news on a regular basis these days. Where I live, in Texas, there is increasing pressure to legislate teaching the Bible in public schools. Elsewhere we hear more about book banning. Our president once marketed a version of the Bible from which he made money. Not long into his presidency, he publicly attacked a minister who urged him to deal with such issues as immigration from a position of compassion. 

I find myself wondering what Jesus would think of the modern version of the religion and teachings named after him. I wonder if he would even recognize it. In my own distress over the current state of Christianity, I return to the core of Jesus’ teachings—the beatitudes—to see what light they would offer me. 

In Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, he outlines the essence of a Christian lifestyle. It is more than a guide for how to treat others; it is a reference point for all of us in assessing ourselves as Christians. As with many things Jesus said, it can also be twisted to serve one’s own purpose. 

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Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Clearly, Jesus looked with compassion on the poor as well as the marginalized and called us to do the same. In these divisive times and as we search for solutions to difficult issues such as immigration, it is important to note that Jesus called us all to reach out with compassion to those whom society might judge. He was on the side of AIDS patients when they were being judged. He is also on the side of the oppressed immigrant seeking safety for his or her family. 

Jesus is calling us to also address our attachments. Fortune. Fame. Power. Unhealthy attachments such as drugs, alcohol, self-centered sex. Jesus calls us to free ourselves from such attachments. 

It’s apparent to me that many Christians today exhibit considerable attachments to wealth and power, attachments that are at odds with being poor in spirit. 

Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted. Jesus, being human, mourned. When confronted with the death of his friend Lazarus, Jesus wept. At times, we are faced with dying to some part of ourselves. Perhaps we are faced with limitations through failure. Perhaps our health is challenged. Perhaps we are addicted. You might think it odd, but in many recovery programs, the recovering addict has to grieve the “death” of the addict. Often we must grieve before moving on to a new chapter in our lives. 

Jesus also suggests here that the loss I mourn will not be magically undone. In times of loss, none of us can fix the loss. What we can offer to one another is presence and comfort. We cannot minimize loss with thoughts about God’s will. What we can do is listen. 

When my mother died unexpectedly some years ago, I do not recall what different people said to me at her funeral. But I remember who was there. I remember the comfort I found, not in what they said, but simply in their presence. 

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land. Meek is a troublesome word since it is often associated with weakness. In fact, the closest synonym for meek is humble. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, the opposite of meek is egotistical or arrogant.  

To be humble is not to be groveling. It involves having a balanced view of oneself, being able to admit to our character defects while at the same time embracing our gifts. It also includes a capacity to admit when we are wrong and to be willing to make amends. Such qualities are sadly missing in many who aspire to lead us. 

Meek does not mean being passive. What meekness does involve is a well-tuned, humble awareness of what we do and do not have control over. For the meek, the Serenity Prayer is central to their spiritual journey. Read the text of the prayer here: bit.ly/the-serenity-prayer. 

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied. Righteous is a word that would indeed be invoked these days to justify stances that, upon further examination, seem decidedly unchristian. According to Merriam-Webster, righteous means to act in accord with divine or moral law. 

The ultimate reference point for our righteousness is the teachings of Jesus. Remember that Jesus challenged the legalism of the Judaism of his day, instead advocating a morality that was based on compassion and forgiveness. This is the kind of righteousness to which we are called. 

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. To be merciful is to be kind and forgiving. We are not called to be passive or to minimize wrongdoing. But this beatitude, along with the call to righteousness, asks us to perhaps hate the sin but to love the sinner. 

Jesus, for example, never excused the behavior of the adulterous woman about to be stoned. But he did not judge her and encouraged her to change her ways. Note also that Jesus did not attach an “except for” (e.g., except for homosexuals, Muslims, etc.). Mercy knows no limits. We are called to be merciful to all, even to those with whom we do not agree. 

Being merciful also includes being forgiving. Harboring resentments would be the polar opposite of being forgiving. Forgiving, however, does not mean condoning. It does not involve making excuses for someone. It simply means that I do not let the poison of resentment eat away at my soul. 

Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God. The Catholicism of my youth unfortunately associated purity as having to do with sex. Purity of heart goes far beyond vigilance against lust. Jesus made it very clear that he was about more than changing one’s behavior; he  advocated a change in one’s heart. 

This is not only a matter of emotions. Purity of heart has to do with motive and intention. If I am pure of heart, I don’t say one thing and do another. When my heart is pure, then my sense of God in my life is clearer. Remembering that Jesus proclaimed that the kingdom of God is within us, when my heart is pure and my intent is to live a righteous, God-centered life, then I am seeing God. 

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Time and again, Jesus challenged the use of violence to resolve issues. The call to be a peacemaker clearly involves embracing nonviolence but goes beyond that. To be a peacemaker does not mean to be passive. It does mean seeking solutions, finding a path that all can agree on. A peacemaker objects to any war as a solution and the use of violence to advance a political agenda. 

This beatitude also calls us to foster inner peace. If I aspire to inner peace, I address resentments. I strive not to judge. I strive to quiet that inner chatter that can often be either fearful or aggressive. As a peacemaker, I embrace as my daily guide the psalm that states: “Be still and know that I am God.” 

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Sadly, there are at least a few prominent Christians who claim they are being persecuted. Whether you agree with that or not, this beatitude does not speak to the issue of fair trials. It speaks to the issue not only of justice as fairness but justice as moral. 

Thus, a current example of persecution for the sake of justice is the attempt of the state of Texas to shut down a program in El Paso. Annunciation House has been a program of welcome for immigrants, legal or otherwise, for over 40 years. They are currently facing accusations ranging from harboring terrorists to being a stash house. Annunciation House has been a beacon of social justice. Because of persecution, it may be forced to close its doors. 

Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you [falsely] because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven. Thus they persecuted the prophets who were before you. The closing paragraph offers clarification on the issue of persecution. Jesus is comforting those who are persecuted in his name. The beatitude then refers to those who act and challenge others based on Jesus’ teachings. People such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Maximillian Kolbe suffered death because they stood up to Nazism. I think of Dorothy Day or Daniel Berrigan, persons who were imprisoned because they spoke out in the name of peace against a warring government. These and others were persecuted because they spoke out in Jesus’ name. 

Jesus links the persecuted to the prophets of old. These men spoke out and challenged the leaders of their day for not living in accord with God. Among many things, prophets spoke out against the worship of false gods, and for that they were persecuted. The prophets of today also speak out against the false gods of profit and control. 

To live by the beatitudes is not to be silent. In this day, we see that those who speak out not from positions of judgment but from positions of compassion are nonetheless persecuted. Recent examples include the Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde, who made direct pleas to President Trump during her sermon at the inauguration prayer service, calling on him to have compassion and mercy toward the fearful and vulnerable. The late Pope Francis himself was attacked in part because of his compassion toward persons such as divorced Catholics who have been marginalized by the Church. 

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The beatitudes present us with guidance on being a true Christian. They can help us discern those of our leaders who are actually leading Christian lives rather than claiming to as part of advancing their political agendas. 

But the beatitudes are most important in helping me assess my own progress as a Christian. The beatitudes can indeed be the lamp unto my feet if I embrace them. 

For some, the idea of not putting roots down and staying in one place may seem daunting—even impossible. But for this author, it’s part and parcel of her Franciscan identity and response to God’s call. 

In her “First Letter to St. Agnes of Prague,” St. Clare of Assisi writes: “O blessed poverty, who bestows eternal riches on those who love and embrace her! O holy poverty, to those who possess and desire you, God promises the kingdom of heaven and offers, indeed, eternal glory and blessed life! O God-centered poverty, whom the Lord Jesus Christ, who ruled and now rules heaven and earth, who spoke and things were made, condescended to embrace before all else!” 

The words itinerant and itinerary come from the same Latin root (iter or itiner, meaning “journey” or “road”). Yet these two very similar sounding words have come to have almost opposite meanings in our current usage—an itinerant is someone who goes from place to place, a wanderer who journeys and meanders, while an itinerary conveys a set route with detailed plans. For nearly three years, I have lived that paradox—as an itinerant without an itinerary. I live on the road, going from place to place, every couple of days or every few weeks, living out of a bag or two. 

A Twist in the Path 

This was not a planned life, by any means. When I began this journey, I had no idea what I was doing or what it would become. I had no agenda and had not spent any time even thinking about it. I had just finished an intense and exhausting 18 months caring for my ailing father until he passed away. Additionally, with the complications of COVID-19, getting through the funeral was an ordeal, and I was completely worn out, both physically and emotionally. All I could think about was getting away for some rest and rejuvenation. 

By then, I had been laid off from my parish job due to the pandemic, and I had very few other responsibilities in the area. So with little thought, I packed a small bag and went to visit some friends out of state. And it was perfect—fun, relaxing, heartwarming, and refreshing. Great, I thought, I need more of this. So from there, I went to see a cousin in another state . . . and then more friends . . . and another cousin . . . and more friends in Seattle . . . then Minnesota, Texas, Chicago, Arizona, Italy, Korea, Slovakia, and so many places in between—big cities, rural states, farm towns, domestic and international, by rivers and beaches and deserts and mountains. 

After a few months of these back-to-back trips, people began to ask, “How long are you traveling?” I didn’t really have an answer. “Um . . . I’m not sure.” Another month? Two? But in reality, I had no need to rush back home. And so I just continued on. I stayed with friends, family, and religious communities. In intentional community houses, urban condos, suburban family homes, guest rooms and living rooms, attics and basements, in convents, friaries, priories, and hermitages. And one night—and only one night—in an airport. That is a story for another time. I rode on planes, trains, buses, and cars. I walked. I slept. I laughed. I cooked and I ate. I cried. And I recovered. 

Who Am I? 

To be clear, I was already a seasoned traveler. Going to these places was not something novel for me. I had long enjoyed (or some would say suffered from) a heavy dose of wanderlust. But the more I moved from place to place, in the particular way that I was doing so, it became clear that it wasn’t about going to different cities or about satisfying that wanderlust. It was something else. It has become what I have come to call a “a wonky life,” something that is certainly not for everyone. It is something I did not know was even for me. It has surprisingly turned out to be a life in which I not only survived such an instability of place, but also one in which I absolutely thrived. This was because it brought a kind of freedom and liberation I had never known. 

When I was 8 years old, my family and I landed at San Francisco International Airport, having picked up our entire life back home and plunking ourselves down in an unknown country to start a new reality of liminal life. And like so many immigrant kids, I worked in our family businesses. From the time I was 9 years old until I was laid off from my job during the pandemic, I had worked. I had always worked, and more often than not, I had two or more jobs at a time. As I became an adult, I had lived independently and responsibly, paying my rent, car insurance, groceries, taxes, and so much in school loans. I lived a regular American life. 

But suddenly, when the pandemic hit, I was without a job. And having lost my mother to cancer decades ago, when my father passed away, I was suddenly a single person without the usual societal markers of identity—no parents, no job, no kids, no husband, and no mortgage. I found myself questioning my own identity. I had to redefine myself without these usual references, norms, or definitions. I had thought that I knew myself, but I was suddenly unsure. Through my spiritual formation and prayer life, I had long ago learned that I was a beloved child of God, so I knew whose I was. But who was I without those societal tethers? 

Strengthening the Tethers 

Through my time on the road, my tethers slowly began to come into focus. At every stop in my sojourn, my friends hosted me, greeted me with open arms, and encouraged me to stay longer or to come back soon. Each visit reinforced, reinvigorated, and reaffirmed those relationships, and I left each place stronger and more certain of myself. I was loved, appreciated, and held up for who I was, for my vocation, my itinerant life, and how I was attempting to give myself more wholly and sincerely to the world. My tethers grew stronger and my identity clearer. 

I began to deeply understand that I belonged not only to God, but also to those with whom I am in relationships. Family—certainly, that I knew. But there were also friends—far and wide, near and close, religious and lay, gay and straight, and from across the country and world. “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Gal 3:28). 

Through Christ, we are one in our friendship, the holy longings in our hearts, our specificity of creation, with the unbelievably sticky glue that is the Holy Spirit. I believe that these kinds of relationships cannot survive solely on the phone, email, or even Zoom calls. Not solely. They can only be fully nurtured in person, face-to-face, through live interactions of sharing food, conversations, breathing the same air, and affirmations of a common global existence. 

Gospel Poverty 

Richard Rohr, OFM, once wrote: “Poverty is not just a life of simplicity, humility, restraint, or even lack. Poverty is when we recognize that my self—by itself—is powerless and ineffective. . . . The transformed self, living in union, no longer lives in shame or denial of its weakness, but even lives with rejoicing because it does not need to pretend that it is any more than it actually is—which is now more than enough!” 

On the road, contrary to the zeitgeist of video meetings and virtual events, I was living counterculturally. It was certainly a chosen poverty of finances, as I was not living a full-time, professional life with a bimonthly paycheck. Perhaps more importantly, it was also a poverty of housing, as I went where I was welcomed, invited, and given hospitality. I would eat what was generously given and accept the space and company that was offered. There were some fancy homes to be sure, luxurious accommodations, and amazing food.

But more often, I had old friary beds, questionable convent food, small spaces, freezing rooms, creaky floors, and leaking roofs. But I was grateful and surprised by the abundance of hospitality offered. So I followed the mandate (somewhat falsely) attributed to Francis to “preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words” by really preaching through my life, witnessing an itinerant and mendicant life completely dependent on others. 

Like the theology of monetary poverty, in my poverty of steady housing and home, I have found a tremendous amount of foundational stability, trust, and comfort. I never had to worry about not having a room at the inn. “Look at the birds in the sky; they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are not you more important than they?” (Mt 6:26). My friends, connections, networks of people, cohorts, and associates—they were all Jesus to me, in caring and feeding me, welcoming me, loving me through hospitality. 

This was Gospel poverty. It is absolute, sheer, overflowing wealth. What is more valuable than knowing that if I am somehow unable to feel the love of God in my life, all I need is to spend a day in the loving home of a friend to know that they understand my vocation and this weird countercultural life I am incredibly blessed to have? I am incredibly privileged and I am exorbitantly rich amid this wonky life of a chosen poverty. 

Life in Constant Motion 

Father Murray Bodo, OFM, writes, “Poverty was never an end in itself, but a means to the indwelling of God and a way of life that makes present the kingdom of God.” 

Many people along the way have shared with me their opinions about this particular life I have been living. Some are shocked, some intrigued, some envious. Some roll their eyes. And some are inspired to try a small version of it, someday, somehow. Some have commented on how ingenious, different, and novel an idea like this is. But to be clear, this is not new. I did not invent this life. In fact, it has very clear connections to the early Franciscan movement. 

The origins of the Franciscan Third Order group of followers can be traced back to the sixth century. These were ordinary everyday people (known as penitents) who sought ways to be holy in their daily lives and everyday work. This took many forms, including pilgrimages, building and repairing churches, and caring for the needy. The first Franciscans were these penitents, living in Assisi. They were people who lived in the area and who were attracted to the lifestyle and spirituality of Francis, but who could not leave their families and homes to live in community or become mendicants. 

Francis began his rule for the friars with this line: “The Rule and Life of the Lesser Brothers is this: to observe the Holy Gospel of Our Lord Jesus Christ.” So, if the main rule is to live the Gospel and to live simply, it means that the most important thing for a Franciscan is to be a good Christian. For me, the most important aspect of being a good Christian is living fully into my individual incarnation, my haecceitas, my specific created identity. 

As it turns out, I am particularly good at living this specific identity, my itinerant life, moving constantly, living both from and into this inertia of constantly being in motion, with only a bag of stuff and without much money. From this stripped-down, unplugged, and simple lifestyle, two things became clear: First, poverty (of money, material things, burdens, or control) can bring great freedom. And second, trust (in friends, in my vocation, and in God) can invite opportunity for the spirit to work. In our society, we are so often driven by a fear of one kind or another: fear of not being enough, fear of failure, fear of being judged, fear of scarcity, fear of a lack of control. We are driven by these fears in most of our major decisions. We try to mitigate any potential setbacks and maximize having control. 

But through this experience, this itinerancy without an itinerary, I have learned just how generous people can be, if given a chance. So many are willing—and wanting—to share what they have, in hospitality, with food and housing, and with their time. They drove me to airports, train stations, and other people’s homes to hand me off for my next leg of accommodations, packing me snacks, making sure I had water, checking in on my departures and arrivals. God’s generosity, kindness, and pouring of Godself was incarnated in those beautiful humans with whom I have had the privilege of being able to spend every day of these three years. 

These are brothers and sisters in Christ with whom I share affection, values, and vision. They are my poverty, my Gospel joy, my Emmanuel, and my love. I am blessed beyond measure, and I live in gratitude.

But soon thereafter, even more came to light about this soft-spoken man of faith: He’s from Chicago, but is he a Cubs fan or a White Sox fan? He’s a Midwesterner, but his mother’s roots reach deep into the multiracial cultural identity of the Creole people in New Orleans. He’s an American, but he has spent more of his life outside of the United States than in it, and his decades of ministry and service in Chiclayo, Peru, resulted in him becoming a Peruvian citizen in 2015. This complexity of Pope Leo XIV’s background, which almost takes the form of duality, is very much a part of his appeal and approach to the faith, and likely had a hand in his election. 

When we look around our Church today as the global entity that it is, many of the seemingly disparate facets of the new leader of our faith start to congeal and make sense for a pope at this time in history. And though many groups can legitimately claim him—Americans, the Augustinian Order to which he belongs, Peruvians, and White Sox (or is it Cubs?) fans—his identity as a missionary remains the central hub. 

From Chicago to Chiclayo 

“We must seek together how to be a missionary Church, a Church that builds bridges, dialogue, always open to receive like this square [St. Peter’s Square] with its open arms, all, all who need our charity, our presence, dialogue, and love,” said Pope Leo. With two additional mentions of “mission” or “missionary” in his short speech, it’s clear how important this point is for him. 

For our new pope to lean into the Church as a mission is really at the core of the Gospel. Early on, St. Paul took missionary zeal to another level, spreading God’s word far and wide. In a sense, St. Francis of Assisi was a missionary—and certainly not a crusading knight, as he once hoped to be—when he met and dialogued with Sultan Malik al-Kamil in Egypt. Pope Francis explicitly called for “a missionary Church that walks with her Lord through the streets of the world” (concluding Mass of the October 2024 Synod on Synodality). 

What I believe Pope Leo and so many before him are trying to impress on us, the people of faith, is that every interaction, every relationship we have, can have some element of mission service to it, if we shift our thinking. Yes, there are those whose mission is at the outer rings of the margins. But our loved ones, coworkers, and neighbors can also be where our mission is. Whether via Chicago or via Chiclayo, Pope Leo XIV’s mission of love now extends to the whole world, which so desperately needs healing. 

For 20 years, this global ministry has combined physical labor and spiritual formation to rebuild lives, communities, and the Church itself. 

Mike Johnson had his own law firm. The house, the jacuzzi, the tennis court. He sat on 13 boards and committees. His dream? To become a judge. That was five years before. Now it was his first day inside El Abra—a maximum-security prison tucked into a valley in the Bolivian Andes. The journey of Brother Mike Johnson, OFM, from successful lawyer to Franciscan friar arose from a pattern in his life: his vocation expanding as he ventured outside his comfort zone. But nothing had stretched him like this. 

El Abra was raw, harsh, the kind of place where the weight of despair settles in the air. “The whole place just felt desolate,” he remembers. “Prisoners were wandering around, looking wasted. I’m guessing many of them were. There wasn’t much else to do back then.” Upon first stepping foot inside El Abra, every fiber within Brother Mike hoped it would be a onetime visit. “If I came back, what was I to do?” he reflects on the feeling of helplessness in a place so heavy with despair. 

But not long into that first visit, an inmate approached him. Brother Mike would later learn this man—Ronald—was one of the most notorious murderers in Cochabamba, Bolivia. He would be killed in El Abra eight years later. “You’re a Franciscan?” Ronald asked, nodding toward the brown habit. Then he revealed a Franciscan tau cross around his own neck. Before losing his way, Ronald had once belonged to a Franciscan parish. 

In that moment, a quiet connection passed between them. A thread of shared identity, fragile but real. “That was your ‘leper moment,’” a friend told him later, referring to the pivotal moment when St. Francis embraced a leper in the valley below Assisi. What began as discomfort grew into a deep calling. What began as presence became participation. Brother Mike returned the next day . . . and the next . . . and every day for months after. From the heart of a Bolivian prison came the seeds for a ministry called St. Francis Builds (SFB). 

The Physical and the Spiritual 

“If I came back, what was I to do?” The answer, Brother Mike discovered, was to build. Inmates gravitated toward him—the personable, outgoing, lawyer-turned-friar who poured his heart into his chaplaincy role at El Abra. One unique aspect of El Abra, and many Bolivian prisons, is that the interior is largely self-governed by the inmates. The guards stay along the perimeter. Inside, it is its own society. 

Brother Mike leaned into this system, inviting inmates to share their ideas: What could they build? What could they sell? What trades did they want to learn? What would make their community stronger? With his legal background, he negotiated with government agencies to approve projects. Funding came largely from friends and generous parishioners at St. Camillus Parish in Maryland, where he served part of the year. 

Together, they built a library with classrooms. They built a metalworking shop, a vehicle repair garage. Local universities invested in experimental farming on the fertile valley soil near El Abra. One inmate made false teeth. Another, jewelry. Another, shoes. One group of 50 inmates secured a contract to make soccer balls. The projects came with one condition: Anyone working in a shop had to teach others. And they did. By the time Brother Mike was asked to return full-time to Maryland, more than 75 percent of the prisoners were working on some kind of project or business. The prison became a model of rehabilitation, even recognized by the Cochabamba government. 

This construction wasn’t just about infrastructure. It was about meaning-making. Inmates serving long sentences, haunted by their pasts, began to rediscover purpose, dignity, and creativity. They worked not only for survival, but for community, for their families, and for the possibility of something new. “It was the happiest five years of my life,” Brother Mike says. “It’s the closest I’ve ever been to God. We were building the whole time. By the end, we had 13 different kinds of workshops.” 

One afternoon, an inmate said to him: “You know, I’ve always been told I was a rat. My family told me that. My friends did. I started to believe it. But you come here every day. You work with us. You eat with us. You treat us like brothers. I’m starting to think maybe I’m not a rat.” “You’re not a rat,” Brother Mike said gently. “Did you do something wrong? Sure. But that doesn’t define who you are—or who you can become.” These weren’t just surface-level exchanges. They were soul-level conversations that happened while building something real. The physical labor opened space for honesty, healing, and deep spiritual and leadership formation. 

Entering the ‘Risk Zone’ 

When Brother Mike was called home to Maryland in 2005, it was difficult. El Abra had been the great adventure of his life. He had fallen in love with the work, with the dreaming and the building, with the people. 

Wanting to continue that spirit of service in mission, he tried a trip with Habitat for Humanity International. While on a Habitat trip to Guatemala, he noticed something familiar: strangers becoming companions through the act of building. But something was missing. The intentional focus on spiritual depth, on inner formation, on sacred reflection—personal development that had emerged so naturally at El Abra—wasn’t quite present. What if he began leading trips that combined the physical act of building with spiritual formation? What if he took the lessons from El Abra around the world? St. Francis Builds was born. 

Unlike some mission trips that center on preaching with words, SFB (StFrancisBuilds.org) flips the script. It asks participants: How is this local culture transforming you? What can you learn from the people you’re serving or those with whom you are serving? How can your physical act of building make way for spiritual connection and formation? Just like El Abra. 

Each trip is preceded by three potlucks for the participants. These are actually “formation sessions” that use the book St. Francis and the Foolishness of God (Orbis Books) as a model for spiritual discovery. These pre-trip gatherings ground the coming physical work in prayer, reflection, and spiritual intention. In these sessions, the group is asked to reflect on what Francis himself had to strip away—and how that stripping opened him to receive what God most wanted to give him. One thing becomes clear: Spiritual growth on the trip will unfold outside one’s comfort zone. This mirrors Brother Mike’s journey, St. Francis of Assisi’s journey, the apostles’ journeys. 

“One of the first activities we do together as a group is talk about the zones of safety,” says longtime volunteer and leader Beth Hood. “The risk zone is the most important one, as that’s where we all grow.” What will participants have stripped as they put their faith into action? And what will they receive in return, simply because their hands are now open? 

‘Church Outside the Walls’ 

Celebrating its 20th anniversary in 2025, SFB has completed nearly 60 trips in 11 countries. Its mission is simple but profound: to incarnate the Gospel through hands-on solidarity—building homes, schools, and hope alongside those in need. But more than that, it’s to build relationships, communities, and a deeper awareness of God’s presence in the margins. 

“It’s Church outside the walls,” says Brother Mike. “It’s Church in mission. The motto on every participant’s shirt reads: ‘Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words only if necessary.’” This “Church in mission” has also helped enhance parish life. Beth Hood’s story is an example of that. 

In college, Hood read the writings of Dorothy Day. She served for a semester at the Catholic Worker in New York City, founded by Day and Peter Maurin. She was so inspired by how faith in action brought healing to the world that she converted to Catholicism. She went all in. But Hood found it difficult to find this same kind of community in parish life as she entered adulthood. She was confronted with the impersonal aspects of American Catholicism. Her spiritual life felt stagnant. 

Then came SFB and the opportunity to go on one of its first trips to Guatemala. “That first trip completely realigned the trajectory of my life,” Hood reflects. “The social action piece is essential for me and a lot of Catholics to feel integrated within ourselves.” After Guatemala, Hood was hooked. Over the next two decades, she would go on over 30 trips with the organization. “That’s 90 potlucks,” she laughs. 

The architecture of SFB serves as a major asset to parishes that can sometimes struggle with equipping their parishioners to both take their faith deeper and become more connected in their parish communities. “These trips are about action, contemplation, and community,” she says. “I think this is a great ministry for a parish because it brings people together: People who they see at Mass all the time but have never really talked to—now they’re spending a week together serving others and sharing personal things about their lives. When you return home . . . you want to stay in relationship with these people, and so [people] often turn to other Church ministries to stay in connection.” SFB has rebuilt homes in US communities affected by poverty and natural disasters, including seven missions to Puerto Rico since Hurricane Maria. In the past 18 months alone, it’s built seven schools in Oaxaca, Mexico. 

Hood has no shortage of stories. She has witnessed celebrations in small Mexican villages after SFB completed the building of a school. She has been on Native American reservations and seen an 88-year-old SFB volunteer connect with a tribal leader and learn that they fought in the same battle in the Korean War. She has seen young people enter the trip self-conscious and insecure and emerge as leaders. She has seen volunteers awaken to how their gifts and talents can be used in practical ways, like hydroponic gardening being established at worksites in Puerto Rico and Jamaica. 

Over the past 10 years, lay leaders like Hood have taken on key roles in shaping and sustaining the ministry. The ministry has welcomed over 1,000 volunteers and is now led by multiple teams of lay leaders. “Every group we take is multigenerational and multicultural,” Brother Mike shares. 

“It’s a beautiful thing to witness—people stepping outside their comfort zones, encountering those who are different, and forming real community. Everyone has a ‘leper’—someone or something they struggle to approach. These trips give people the chance to name that, face it, and maybe even embrace it.” 

Full Circle 

When SFB launched 20 years ago, Brother Mike returned to El Abra with one of the first groups. It would be eight more years before his pastoral duties would allow another visit. He worried the work they had done might have faded. But when he arrived, nearly everything was still running. 

Only the farm had changed—replaced by an evangelical church. But the rest? Still alive. Still functioning. In fact, 100 percent of the inmates were either studying or working. They had built on what they started. “The guys there were so proud to show the group everything they had built,” he says. “It still represented who their community could be.” 

Brother Mike can trace the arc of his faith and vocation through a series of yeses that pulled him outside his comfort zone. His first ministry was an AIDS outreach program he reluctantly joined just to get a priest off his back. But there, he experienced the quiet holiness of simply being with people in their pain. From there came retreats. Then pastoral planning, parish council, and eventually, religious life. 

He hadn’t wanted to go to Bolivia either. “I was hoping for somewhere they spoke English, and maybe near Cancun!” he laughs. Instead, he landed in the last place he wanted to be. And it changed his life. “The older I get,” he reflects, “I realize there is nothing that is random.” Now, two decades later, he sees what God was doing all along. Every block laid, every community formed, every hand extended across cultures and comfort zones—it was never just about buildings. It was about becoming. About building the Church not only with stone, but with people who are awake to grace. 

“God builds on the lessons learned in our earlier stages—and invites us to keep building,” Brother Mike says. “In the trenches of life, on the edges of comfort, with mortar in our hands and hope in our hearts, we’re always becoming.”