An American Pope. But Not the One They Dreamed Of

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When Pope Leo XIV—born Robert Francis Prevost—was elected, conservative America rejoiced. “Finally, an American Pope!” came the chorus, from Fox News to evangelical radio stations. Donald Trump rushed to offer his congratulations. Ohio Senator JD Vance, a proponent of “spiritual America First,” beamed with satisfaction. For a moment, it seemed the Christian right in the U.S. had found its new global ally in the Vatican. But it only took a few hours for that dream to turn into panic.

The source of the disruption? Pope Leo XIV himself—or rather, his digital past: the X (formerly Twitter) account of Robert Francis Prevost. Post after post, a portrait emerged of a man deeply committed to Catholic doctrine, but not to the ideological extremes of Trumpism. His words—public, documented—took firm positions: against Trump’s deportation policies, in favor of justice for George Floyd, defending migrants, the climate, and the poor. And above all, one phrase that quickly went viral: “Jesus doesn’t ask us to rank our love.”

That statement landed like a punch to JD Vance’s rhetoric, which claimed Christian love should be directed first to fellow citizens, and only maybe later to others. A nationalistic take on charity—clearly and simply rejected by the new Pope. No need for theological exegesis—just read his words.

The backlash was swift and brutal. Laura Loomer, known for conspiracy theories and ties to the alt-right, branded Pope Leo XIV a “Marxist puppet.” Steve Bannon, chief ideologue of Trumpist populism, called the election “a disaster for MAGA Catholics, a vote against Trump disguised as the Holy Spirit.” The tone turned aggressive, almost hysterical, as if the papal election had been a failed political campaign for the nationalist right.

Yet no one could truthfully call Pope Leo XIV a progressive across the board. On issues like abortion and LGBTQ+ rights, his views remain staunchly conservative. He even voted in the Republican primaries. But he’s not a man in the service of white supremacist America. He’s not a Pope who’ll let himself be used as a mascot by those trying to turn the Gospel into an identity-based weapon.

In a time when power is bought and faith is wielded like a club, the election of Leo XIV reminds us that there’s still a line between conviction and manipulation. He’s not the left’s Pope—but he’s not the right’s either. First and foremost, he is the universal shepherd of a Church that—despite its contradictions—still seeks to speak to all of humanity, not just to one side.

The fact that he’s American sparked illusions. But his American identity didn’t mean what many thought it did: ideological loyalty, cultural complicity, political alignment. If anything, it’s a challenge—a sign that one can come from the United States without being a product of its tribalism. That it’s possible to belong to a nation without serving its interests.

Pope Leo XIV is indeed an American Pope. And that’s exactly what makes him dangerous to those who thought they had found a kindred spirit. He is the opposite of what they dreamed of.