Faith and Method

Pope Leo XIV just completed his apostolic journey to Spain — 7 days, 4 cities, more than 2 million people.

This restlessness is a gift that God himself has given us: we are made for the infinite.
— Pope Leo XIV
Fernando De Haro A week with Leo XIV in Spain.

Fernando De Haro - A week with Leo XIV in Spain.

Leo XIV proposed not a doctrine but a method: cultivate the heart’s restlessness rather than flee from it. Over a week in Spain—Madrid, Barcelona, the Canary Islands—even those who do not share his faith felt no need to agree or disagree. It was enough to watch how he lives.

“I didn’t want to be Pope, neither when I was young nor now that I’m old, but when the Lord calls, you have to say yes.” Leo XIV confided this in Barcelona, answering questions from Renzo, a six-year-old boy. Allow an exaggeration, a simplification: a year in, Pope Prevost began his pontificate on this trip to Spain. You don’t learn to be Pope overnight.

In Madrid, Barcelona, and the Canary Islands, Leo XIV let the crowds cheer him; he stood at the center of long hours of celebration; he prayed and listened to the stories of many wounded people. He blessed dozens of children, improvised, laughed, wept, talked with nonbelievers, and—as a bishop—offered Parliament a few suggestions. He enjoyed himself. And, above all, he proposed a way to “be men and women of flesh and blood” in a world “in the face of which the feeling of having lost our bearings can prevail.”

For the week of his visit, Spain felt a flash of joy. The gestures and words of that shy man were disarmingly beautiful; they showed that the “unarmed and disarming peace” he preaches is real, not a utopia.

Many who wanted to hear him and speak with him are not Catholic, are not believers, and do not agree with everything—or even most—of what he proposes. The most striking case was the actor Antonio Banderas. Few felt any need to spell out where Leo XIV was right or wrong. In the end, what came through was how a person can live, and it was plain that he lives well.

This confirms that Spain is a post-secular society where the search for meaning runs deep. Leo XIV said as much to the bishops: “Many men and women of our time do not simply reject God; they often carry in their hearts a deep thirst for meaning (…) even when they do not know how to name it. The Church is called to recognize these desires, to listen to them with respect, and to offer (…) the treasure entrusted to her.” Far from what some have called “the illusion of unanimity,” it was clear that the Church does not presume to impose its own worldview from a position of dominance. Leo XIV embodied what he proposed: he stood “at the service of the human heart’s thirst—not in an imposing way, but through evangelical witness.”

At the Congress of Deputies, and on the Canary Islands docks where migrants come ashore, he insisted across his speeches on the need to “respect human dignity.” But that alone would not have been enough had he not pointed to a method for recognizing that dignity precisely where it is most often obscured: within one’s own self. And here Leo XIV again turned—as he has all year—to St. Augustine:

“Our desire for truth and happiness needs a broader horizon,” he told young people in Barcelona. “And this restlessness is a gift that God himself has given us: we are made for the infinite, and for this reason every finite horizon, every step—while satisfying us—at the same time invites us to keep searching.” His direction was precise. First: “we must cultivate this healthy restlessness.” Second: “It is in this world that we must cultivate this restlessness, not in another.” No escape, then, from our circumstances, no surrender to lamenting the darkness of the present. The “place where God makes himself present and where we must find his footprints” is always the reality in which we find ourselves. Earlier, he had told young people in Madrid: “Be certain that God knows your voice well—your voices: He hears you and will answer you. Do not be afraid to express what you feel in your hearts.”

To turn this restlessness into a journey, Leo XIV proposes neither a moral code nor a doctrine but the “experience of faith.” “The Church shares”—he stressed—“with humility, but also with firmness, what she has discovered in the experience of faith: that Jesus Christ answers the great questions about human life and its fullness, already in this world and culminating in eternity.” That experience, he said before the Holy Family, “remains today a work in progress, reminding us that the Christian life is always a journey, because it is a project that God is carrying forward. We do not, therefore, dwell in an unfinished work, but in a temple still under construction. Its imperfection is not a flaw, for it bears witness to a desire; it does not signify a lack, but expresses a promise.”

This dynamic keeps us “from closing ourselves off within the group or environment where we already feel safe, among people who always sing the same tune.” To “reach the heart of the city, we must cultivate the awareness that truth is symphonic and always transcends us, and we must cultivate the desire to encounter the Risen One, who always goes before us—and perhaps is already present where we have not yet sought him. For this reason, seeking and following him is the condition for pointing to him: otherwise, there is no evangelization.”

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