It’s never happened before: the election of an American Pope. Normally, Pope’s are chosen from the ranks of Italian cardinals and bishops – and indeed, an American Pope would have to be a cardinal – and no older than 80, normally, even to be considered. There are just 17 cardinals currently serving in the US Roman Catholic Church, and some may be too old to qualify. But there is good reason to believe that the moment for an American Pope might finally have “arrived.” The main one? The desire of the Vatican in Rome – and indeed, many people worldwide – to send a powerful signal to the United States following Donald Trump’s re-election, now that the full scope of Trump’s policy agenda – with its gross violation of global norms if not outright abrogation of international treaties – has become disturbingly clear.
Naming an American Pope would likely place the American Church in the heat of the current battle, undoubtedly enraging some Catholic conservatives that supported Trump last November while emboldening liberals and the left to raise their voices of opposition much higher – not just with political fervor but with something resembling theological and Scriptural gravitas. There are some amazing candidates to choose from – including 9 US cardinals that are part of the so-called Conclave of 138 electors, giving an American Pope a strictly mathematical possibility of 6.8% of being chosen. In fact, the odds are much lower. Given US domination of worldwide Catholicism, and the world generally, there’s been a long-held assumption that choosing a non-American Pope is important symbolically, as a sign of the church’s own willingness to cast off the jackboot of Western colonialism.
But there’s been a counter-movement of sorts in recent years that could well defy these time-worn expectations. Pope Francis, the first Latin American Pope, was a welcome choice in 2013, but his selection wasn’t expected, either. Even more shocking, perhaps, Irish-born Cardinal Sean O’Malley, then the Archbishop of Boston, and a long-time hero to the Hispanic Catholic laity, was also given serious consideration as Pope. So traditional nationality considerations, while not by any means moot, may not carry the day.
O’Malley, because of his age and resignation from the Boston Archdiocese last year, is no longer formally a part of the Conclave that elects the next Pope. But that may actually boost his chances further. Of the 9 American cardinals theoretically in contention, he’s the prelate that was closest to Pope Francis, with whom he shares a religious pedigree. O’Malley is a Capuchin priest in the Franciscan Order, whose primary mission – indeed, only mission – is humble service to the poor. Pope Francis, an Argentinian whose given name was Jorge Mario Bergoglio, chose the papal name “Francis” to celebrate the legacy of St. Francis of Assisi, the same inspiration behind O’Malley’s Franciscan order. In part due to that affinity, after his ascension, Francis assigned O’Malley a number of key roles at the Vatican, which raised the American cardinal visibility and stature still further. While no formal line of succession exists, the Irish-born prelate may be considered the “first among equals” when it comes to American-born candidates for Pope. The upshot? While there are plenty of top Italian candidates – and several are considered favorites – no one would be completely shocked or surprised were O’Malley to emerge from the pack triumphant.
There are some really powerful reasons for naming O’Malley, who is widely regarded in the US as the sentimental favorite among liberal and left-wing Catholics, especially Hispanics, given his long history of forceful advocacy on behalf of undocumented immigrants, as well as minors that were abused by Catholic priests. O’Malley oversaw the troubled Boston Archdiocese following the forced retirement of Cardinal Bernard Law, a towering figure in the American church who was found to have covered up the sexual abuse of thousands of children by hundreds of priests ostensibly in his care. Law took over the Archdiocese in 1984 and fancied himself a mini-Pontiff, probably thinking he might one day be named Pope himself. But his earthly power never reached that of his predecessor bishops to whom politicians had regularly bent their will in Boston for decades. Law, a diehard conservative, exhorted the state legislature to pass bans on abortion and public funding for parochial schools – and he failed miserably on both counts. The church had already evolved demographically and politically and had largely soured on Law’s brand of Catholic orthodoxy. When the abuse crisis struck, and Law was exposed, having shuttled accused priests around the diocese to escape judgment, his fall was swift. By the time O’Malley arrived, the Archdiocese had fallen into disgrace. Many doubted it would ever recover, but thanks to O’Malley, who reached out to church victims and orchestrated generous settlements of their claims, it did. Under his nearly twenty-year reign, the Archdiocese has rebounded and its ranks have grown. Nearly everyone credits O’Malley’s forceful but unassuming style and his forthrightness about past Church abuses for Boston’s diocese’s spiritual renewal.
That said, it’s O’Malley history as a champion of immigrant rights dating to his years as a young priest in the Archdiocese of Washington, DC that really sets him apart from nearly all the other candidates. O’Malley, who studied and became fluent in Spanish as well as Portuguese, championed the plight of undocumented Salvadorans in the late 1980s who were fleeing the US-based counterinsurgency war of terror in their native land. O’Malley didn’t just preach – he got his hands dirty. The Hispanic Catholic Center whose founding he spearheaded became a critical reception point for Salvadoran refugees and a source of Spanish-speaking employment referrals and health services that allowed the refugees and their families to get stabilized. Washington, DC wasn’t officially a sanctuary city – but O’Malley’s parish, Shrine of the Sacred Heart, in Columbia Heights, where thousands of refugees lived and worked under the threat of arrest and deportation, almost certainly was. He not only pushed back against local immigration authorities, he also pushed his church to shed its caution and become more vocal and supportive. O’Malley predicted – rightly, of course – that Hispanics would come to dominate the ranks of the US church. And though he was intent on integrating Hispanics and non-Hispanics into common parish worship and lay ministries, he defended demands for the creation of all-Hispanic “national” parishes modeled on the ethnic churches formed by earlier generations of immigrants, including his own Irish ancestors. The shift, while controversial, gave Hispanics greater “ownership” over their own faith experience and empowered a new generation of Hispanic immigrant priests and lay leaders to assume more visible roles in the Church.
Though born in the White heartland of Ohio, O’Malley’s deep immersion in the daily lives and troubles of poor and working class Central Americans in exile made him over time virtually indistinguishable, culturally, from his flock. He became fluent in Spanish as well as Portuguese, and as a Capuchin monk (a division of the Franciscan order) he dressed in a simple brown smock and lived modestly, forswearing the usual emblems of priestly privilege, which further endeared him to his parishioners. Much like El Salvador’s own Oscar Romero, O’Malley became more than a respected and beloved priest. Many considered him an authentic “voice of the people,” who inspired true reverence among those with whom he served and guided, and the thousands to whom he ministered. In retrospect, it’s not hard to see why Pope Francis – with his own modest unassuming style and steadfast dedication to service to the poor – had a special affinity for him.
But O’Malley’s baptism by fire in the nation’s capital in the late 1970s and early 1980s also earned him enormous respect within the US Catholic leadership. He was soon rewarded with elevations to the rank of bishop – first in the Virgin Islands in 1985, and then at the Dioceses of Palm Beach, FL and in 1992, Fall River, MA, before becoming Boston Archbishop in 2003. As always, he made his name by reaching out to the abused and neglected – for example, he opened the first homeless shelters and the first sanctuary for AIDS victims in Palm Beach. But he also continued to focus much of his pastoral work on outreach to the Central America immigrants and refugees that were congregating at Catholic churches virtually everywhere by now. After his elevation to Cardinal, O’Malley began exhorting his fellow bishops to take more vocal public action on immigration, including in 2014, by organizing an unprecedented US-Mexico border protest in Nogales, AZ. To be sure, O’Malley, as he rose in prominence, could also be restrained in his use of power, and rarely struck the posture of a firebrand. He sought to bridge the bitter divisions on immigration by acknowledging the rights of nations to control their borders but still insisting that they must do so “justly and humanely,” treating all would be entrants, legal or not, as a “blessing” rather than a “burden,” usually compelled by war and economic circumstances to flee. Mass deportations, even of alleged criminals and terrorists, were simply out of the question.
Pope Francis, it turns out, was well aware of O’Malley’s reputation for achieving miracles on difficult and divisive issues facing the Church. After his election as Pope, he asked O’Malley to join his exclusive policy advisory council – one reserved for just 8 cardinals worldwide. A year later, Francis appointed O’Malley to head a New Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors, solidifying the church’s commitment to atoning for its past sins – and honoring O’Malley’s leading role in making public amends with generous settlements to the church’s victims. For much of the last decade O’Malley’s name has been bandied about for a number of other top positions at the Vatican that would have added to his influence – for example, a Pontifical commission to redefine the rights and roles of religious orders, including his own. But O’Malley has seemed content to remain in the US. In fact, many Vatican watchers say a man of his temperament and feel for daily ministry would likely chafe in a Rome-based bureaucratic role. But being named Pope and placed in charge of the Church’s worldwide flock of 1.4 billion adherents – and growing? That’s not an offer any Catholic cardinal could refuse.
Still, with so much growth in the church occurring in Latin America and Asia, most observers consider O’Malley’s possible ascendance to Pope as something of a long-shot. But not all. The church may well decide that 2025 is an extraordinary conjuncture, not just for itself internally, but for its role on the global scene. In 2013, when his name first surfaced as “Pope-able,” O’Malley was asked by reporters how his newfound star status in Rome might affect his Ministry back home. O’Malley, amused, quipped. “I’m hoping it might mean more free dinners in the North End.” It was the Obama years, of course, and a decided shift in the American presidency toward greater openness toward the world – and toward support for environmental protection, social justice and migrants – had left many American Catholic leaders – like their foreign counterparts – hopeful of a positive change in global politics.
That was then. Today, after Trump’s return to office – and with dark political clouds hovering over Europe and the US – a new mood of sobriety has set in. There’s a dawning sense that the global church needs to step up and meet the challenge of a renegade American president who has the audacity to claim Jesus as his inspiration and God as his personal guardian. Naming an American crusader like O’Malley would likely be perceived as a shot across the bow of the new administration but one coming from within America’s own borders – not from a foreign-born prelate but from a native priest steeped in American cultural traditions. That could pose a unique challenge to Trump, who celebrates nativism at every turn. Trump said he felt deeply honored and blessed to meet Pope Francis back in 2017. Will he listen as respectfully to O’Malley’s insistence that we are bound, Scripturally, to “welcome the Stranger,” and respond to his fellow American’s call for a “comprehensive” immigration reform that includes a generous legalization program?
This is a Pope “transition” like few before it. Cardinal O’Malley is already 80, which means under church law he is now too old to vote for the next Pope – but he’s not too old to receive the honor himself, should a majority of the electors choose him. In theory, another better-known American cardinal – for example, Timothy Dolan, the former archbishop of New York and one of America’s most recognized Catholic officials – could get the nod. But Dolan represents the cultural orthodoxy of the past – a mainstream American largely identified with White Catholics. O’Malley, despite his age, reflects the church’s forward-looking quest for unity amid diversity, with Spanish-speakers clearly in the forefront. And while no formal line of papal succession exists, O’Malley seems to represent a natural evolution from the reign of Pope Francis. A priest who never lost his common touch and who still exudes a fervent passion for grassroots ministry.
Other prelates from abroad preaching sympathy for immigrants might not get as fair a hearing among a broad swath of American voters as O’Malley can. Hailing from Ohio, and sporting a full gray beard and pasty Irish complexion, O’Malley might be the perfect anti-MAGA Catholic populist to go head to toe with the likes of JD Vance and his boss.
It may not happen, but with O’Malley, the church of Rome has a rare opportunity to name a Pontiff that could transform US-Vatican relations for an entire generation. A Pope that can meet the global moment, and compel the world’s leading power – and its president – to humble themselves. It’s a tall order, one that only a man of unshakable faith in himself, his flock, his God – and his country – can possibly handle. For the Church, it’s a roll of the dice at a time of great foreboding – when extraordinary faith and courage are called for. Are the great Pontiffs of Rome up to the challenge?
