I recently took a trip with my grandmother to Rome, where we attended the first audience of Pope Leo XIV. The trip was a pilgrimage that I blindly accepted when my mum had to have emergency surgery (all was fine, nothing too serious), and my grandmother needed accompaniment. I thought to myself, ‘hey, free trip to Rome’ – not considering I was going to the most Catholic place in the world, on a pilgrimage, and I haven’t practised the faith since I left home six years ago. Suffice it to say, it was strange, and the Pope’s audience served as the dramatic denouement to the whole experience. All I’ve thought about since is the absurdity of how the devotion to the figurehead of the Catholic Church plays out.
To start with, let’s paint a picture. You wait in a queue for half an hour, then you’re ushered through security like cattle, with everyone eager to move ahead and be amongst the first ones in. One woman pressed herself so far into the back of my grandmother’s wheelchair that I had to ask her to make room so I could push it. Very considerate of her, I thought.
Then, as we walked to the seats, people were racing ahead, running between everyone. And then, as the Pope comes out—waving to his adoring fans—people are standing on their chairs, shouting and screaming. Quite frankly, it was like they were losing their minds. It felt so surreal that at one point, I swear everything went into slow motion, as I watched people moving up and down aisles, crying out as he drove past. I just thought it would feel more, well, reverent.
Rather than a service, it would be accurate to say that the spectacle more closely resembled a gig or a festival. Imagine crowds of people clamouring to the barriers at the front of the concert so that they can get the best view of Alex Turner, or Matty Healy, or whoever, and you get the idea. But the Pope is not a celebrity. And perhaps if, like me, you come from a Catholic or religious family, you’ve been warned by pious relatives not to idolise fame, power, and wealth. Not to create false idols. Because isn’t idolatry a mortal sin?
At this point, the Pope’s role has transcended Catholicism. He is not just seen as the figurehead of the Church but a public figure who carries significant political influence, and whose image has been impacted by various representations in the media. When Pope Francis died, it was the headline of every news channel across the globe, but even in popular culture, the role has taken on its own character. The recent success of Conclave (2024) has cemented the image of a highly responsible role similar to depictions of monarchs or political figures, further emphasising the idea that the role has become associated more with power and politics rather than the teachings of the church. In the film, these same sentiments can also be seen when Cardinal Vincent says, “We have shown ourselves to be petty men, we have seemed concerned only with ourselves, with Rome, with these elections, with power.”
Of course, the Pope would not be seen as a false idol to Catholics. As the leader of the Church, he is the representation of Christ on Earth. Devout Catholics across the world love and trust in him as they are taught to love and trust in Jesus Christ and follow his teachings. Therefore, perhaps the sheer size and excitement of the crowd should not have been all that surprising. At the end of the day, the Catholic Church is the largest branch of one of the largest religions in the world. Of course it would be busy, and of course people who devote their lives to the religion would be excited to see the person who they fundamentally believe is Christ’s successor on Earth. Furthermore, any figurehead of a major world religion is likely to gain celebrity-like status in this media age, as the 14th Dalai Lama proved when he made a surprise appearance at Glastonbury Festival in 2015.
Given how I was raised and what my parents taught me about the faith, it still felt very strange. I have a lot to figure out about my own beliefs, but I will always respect my parents. Their faith has only lovingly expressed itself, so I didn’t experience the strict, traditional stance taken by some in the church that at times expresses itself in a hateful way. All my parents (as well as family friends and school teachers) would drill into me was to love and be considerate of one another, treating others as you would want to be treated. These, I was to understand, were the fundamental messages of Christ. But my experience in Rome felt so far away from this. Those in the audience barely had a thought for the people around them. It honestly made me question whether this is what Jesus would have wanted.
At this point in my lifetime, there has never been so much suffering in the world. Yet there was no prayer for Palestinians being killed in Gaza, no prayer for an end to the war in Ukraine or help for Sudanese people facing the worst humanitarian crisis in the world. Pope Francis had always been an advocate for peace in these areas, using some of his last moments to call for a ceasefire in Gaza, and Pope Leo has already used his new role to address some of the same issues. But it seemed significant that concern for the amount of suffering facing so much of the world’s population today was vacant at his first audience. There was only joy and excitement. A huge celebration at the centre of a church whose core message is to take care of one another. Shouldn’t the Pope be encouraging his followers to go out and help instead of basking in his deification as a modern celebrity? Even the beauty in Rome can speak to this. The basilicas are spectacular, but so ostentatious. This is what Jesus wanted? The humble king born in a manger to nothing?
Because of the way I was taught about Catholicism, I have always been able to recognise the distinction between the faith and the institution. I understand the Catholic Church is an institution like many others, but it is distinguishable in that it preaches a message of morality, humility and love. I would expect the Pope’s actions and those of his billions of followers to reflect these characteristics more than those you would associate with a celebrity or king.
Words by Anna Whyte
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