Waiting for Leo

For an American, yesterday was not an ordinary day in Rome.

A recent photo taken at the Vatican of our family dog, Zabaglione, offers a stark contrast to the crowds that hoarded St. Peter’s square yesterday after the first American pope in history was elected.

Although Rome might be a booming metropolis with a population of 4.3 million, it turns into a village the day that white smoke puffs from the Vatican’s chimney tube. Yesterday, within minutes of the Vatican sending its SOS post-Conclave symbol to the world, many in Rome dropped everything to make it in time to St. Peter’s Square for the Catholic Church’s balcony announcement of the next pope.

At a little after 6pm, everyone around me started running towards the Vatican as if they were in an apocalypse — clergy in cassocks and habits, women in heels, men in three-piece suits, tourists in flip-flops, dogs tugged on leashes by their owners. Cars honked, church bells rang, and traffic became instantly more congested than usual, grinding to a halt within a mile of the Vatican. Only mopeds, bikes, scooters and motorcycles were able to zip through grid-lock in order to reach the balcony in time to hear the much-anticipated “Habemus Papam.”

In an era where everyone seems to watch most news, performances or sports events after-the-fact through streaming, it was endearing to witness that tradition and real-time are still respected by many. Likewise, the hundreds of thousands who flocked to St. Peter’s still believe that a front-row seat isn’t necessary but osmosis is everything. To say you were there — albeit with the verification of a selfie — is still a thing.

With much of the rest of the world, I was shocked to hear that an American was elected. Some Italians I know were even disappointed, ever hopeful for one of their own after all these years. Their reaction has led me to question what I think is really at stake underneath all this buzz:

I understand the excitement for this choice as he’s the first American pope ever elected in the history of the Catholic Church. But, for me, the real question is what does it mean to be American today as the pope? Furthermore, how will this pope’s American heritage ultimately influence him in his leadership, especially with his dual citizenship from Peru, a country where his formative years as a missionary also shaped who he is today?

I know something about what it’s like to be American even when you haven’t lived in America for a long time. At this stage of my life, I’ve spent more time living outside of America than in it.

So I’d be curious to hear how Pope Leo feels about being called The American Pope. Everyone loves a label. But, in his case, is it accurate? How do we even define being American these days? Pope Leo may originally be from Chicago but he’s also of Spanish, French and Creole descent. In addition to time spent in Italy, Pope Leo lived in Peru for 20 years. I can’t help but think that the excitement about his being American derives from a hope that he might represent an America that once defended the marginalized — an America recently absent from such behavior.

As I listened to Pope Leo’s welcoming address to the world, I stood proud that my compatriot showed his solidarity to his two adopted countries through learned language. Oddly, he didn’t speak a word of English. That was a conscious choice of his. Everyone may herald his being American but it’s clear that his heart also pulses comfortably in Italian and in Spanish. He may play Wordle, but I bet he also fills out Italy’s weekly crossword puzzle La Settimana Enigmistica and a Peruvian equivalent.

He’s the type of American that I love to meet while abroad: one who speaks multiple languages, maintains a curiosity for cultures beyond America, and listens with the inherent belief that other voices should be heard.

Since January 2025, it hasn’t been easy living as an American in Italy. I feel the disgrace many Italians now hold for my nation, and, quite frankly, I share it. And, over the past few months, I’ve never felt more distanced from the values represented in my country than now.

But I still love my homeland, and will forever remain loyal to it. Like this new pope, I was raised and formed in one country but I’ve matured in another. Daily, I question what it means to be American, and whether I’m to be defined by my heritage or by my experiences living in other countries.

Although I did not make it to St. Peter’s Square to hear the cardinals share their verdict this time, I managed to get there in 2005. Back then, word traveled quickly on the street that white smoke had drifted from the Vatican’s chimney so I tooted over the river on my moped, which I used to then drive. Within minutes, I reached the square, waited about an hour, and succeeded in hearing the announcement that Cardinal Ratzinger had been elected Pope Benedict XVI. Among the crowds of thousands of people, I stood alone, moved by the emotion and commotion of the moment.

Until someone tapped me on my shoulder, and called my name. I turned around, and, of all people, the American priest who had married me to my husband stood before me. At the time, he had been living in Rome for almost 30 years, and taught at the Pontifical Gregorian University. He, too, had heard about the white smoke, popped on his moped, and showed up at the square. It felt providential, as we hadn’t seen each other in months, even though he had married us the year before.

We all had cellphones then but none of them took decent photographs. Fortunately, he had the good sense to bring along a camera with film in it. We agreed we needed someone to take our photograph to commemorate the historic moment. We stopped a stranger and asked her to snap our picture. She could tell we were mystified to have bumped into each other amidst the chaos. Just before she pushed the button of the camera, she asked us how we knew each other. Father Michael, a Jesuit with a twinkle in his eye, answered,"She’s my illegitimate daughter.” And here’s the photo, taken 20 years ago on St. Peter’s square in Rome:

Yesterday, as we were both waiting for the new pope to be announced, Father Michael texted me the moment the white smoke appeared heavenward to tell me he was thinking of me and that special moment we had shared together 25 years ago. Once we each gathered that the elected pope was American, our message exchange went wild. Father Michael was texting me from New York, where he’s from and lives now. Hearing from him in that very moment made me feel right back at home — somewhere between Italy and America.