During the tense days of the Conclave following the death of Pope Francis, many were overcome with skepticism. Dark jokes circulated, such as one referring to Aesop’s famous fable: “The mountain has given birth to a mouse.” Fears of a dull or radicalized election hovered over Rome. But history, as it often does, took an unexpected turn with the action of the Holy Spirit: what the Conclave gave birth to on May 8 was a lion.

And not just any lion, but one with a serene countenance, a genuine smile, and a profoundly evangelical spirit. The Church, moved but hopeful, welcomed as Peter’s successor a man of disarming peace, quick-witted, lucid in judgment, wise by experience, a missionary by vocation, and a pastor of souls. A man who leaves a scent wherever he goes and a footprint wherever he treads.

His name: Robert Francis Prevost, cardinal born in Chicago in 1955 and naturalized Peruvian in 2015. His papal name: Leo XIV.

An unexpected profile

The election, a month ago, caught him amidst the archives, reports, and discernments, while he was serving as Prefect of the Congregation for Bishops. Prevost wasn’t a name that appeared in the most popular polls, but his career was impossible to ignore.

From his years as a young Augustinian, through his time as a missionary in northern Peru, to reaching the highest positions in church government, his path was marked by silent dedication, constant joy, and unwavering fidelity.

“He was born in the United States, but he was trained in Peru,” was a phrase that became popular in the early days of his pontificate. Peru was not only his mission, but also his spiritual home. There he discovered the radical nature of the Gospel. There he learned to listen in Quechua and ride along dusty trails to reach forgotten communities. There—many say—was born the pastoral heart that now beats from Rome.

Images that tell a story

Shortly after his election, images of his past began to circulate: the young seminarian with long hair; the joking priest among friends; the enthusiastic professor in the classroom; the bishop surrounded by people; the Christmas carol host… In all of them, one unmistakable feature: his smile. A smile that was always genuine, spontaneous, never forced.

This inner joy—so consistent with the “Joy of the Gospel” promoted by his predecessor—was also his hallmark as bishop of Chiclayo, the Peruvian diocese to which he was sent after serving two terms as superior general of the Augustinians.

There he was seen serving meals in Caritas soup kitchens, walking among flood victims in his rubber boots, and touring rural communities on horseback.

He was also heard raising his prophetic voice against corruption and the indifference of political authorities, with a tone that was never aggressive, but firm, clear, and evangelical.

In a particularly moving video, he is seen speaking to a group of young confirmed believers, warning them—with tenderness and determination—that they should prepare for the “mockery of the world,” encouraging them to be brave, protagonists, and not spectators of a challenging time.

A different pontificate

Pope Leo XIV arrived without promising ruptures or revolutions. His mere presence is a renewal. He shows himself to be deeply human, speaks several languages, enjoys music, retains his love of mathematics, goes to the stadium, works out regularly at the gym, and has a solid foundation in canon law.

He has endearing qualities, like his predecessor, but the two are different. Attempts to identify him as “the successor of Francis” died down as quickly as they began. What if he were? Would continuing the path of a pontificate that returned the Gospel to the center be reprehensible?

The Holy Father Leo XIV did not enter the throne of Peter with fanfare or slogans. He arrived with conviction and serenity. He did not polarize or stir up internal tensions. On the contrary, from his first blessing as pope, he has called for unity, dialogue, and the building of what he himself calls a “disarming peace”: a way of being that disconcerts the violent, dismantles xenophobia, disarms revanchism, and melts the arrogance of the powerful.

The official photo of his pontificate portrays him with a peaceful half-smile. He seems to tell us, without words, that he wants to build—with everyone—a more joyful, more festive, more engaging Church. A missionary community that proclaims the Good News with conviction and is always “on the move.”