Pope Leo XIV's First Homily: A Bold Witness of Faith in a Disoriented World

In his first homily, Pope Leo XIV sets the tone for a pontificate rooted in Gospel simplicity and unwavering spiritual clarity. Speaking from the altar of St. Peter’s Basilica, he reaffirms Peter’s ancient confession—“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16)—as the Church’s enduring mission, especially in a modern world tempted by relativism, distraction, and despair. For American Catholics living in increasingly secular environments, his words are a profound call to courage and joy: to be witnesses of Christ not only in worship but in every corner of daily life. This homily is more than a message—it is a mission.

Homily

May 9, 2025

(In English, improvised)
I will begin with a word in English, and then continue in Italian. But I want to repeat the words of the responsorial psalm: “I will sing a new song to the Lord, for He has done wondrous deeds.” And indeed, not only I, but all of us—my brother cardinals—as we celebrate this morning, I invite you to recognize all the wonders and blessings the Lord continues to pour out upon us, upon the ministry of Peter. You have called me to bear this cross and to be blessed by this mission. And I know I can count on each of you to walk with me, as we continue, as Church, as a community of friends of Jesus and of believers, to proclaim the “Good News.”

(In Italian, reading)
“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16). With these words, Peter—questioned by the Master along with the other disciples about the faith he holds in Him—expresses in synthesis the patrimony that the Church, through apostolic succession, has preserved, deepened, and transmitted for two thousand years.

Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God—that is, the one and only Savior and the revealer of the Father's face.

In Him, God, in order to draw near and become accessible to humanity, revealed Himself to us in the trusting gaze of a child, in the awakened mind of an adolescent, in the mature features of a man (cf. Vatican II, Pastoral Constitution Gaudium et Spes, no. 22), until He appeared to His own, after the Resurrection, in His glorious body. Thus, He showed us a model of holy humanity that we can all imitate, with the promise of an eternal destiny that surpasses all our limitations and all our capacities.

In his response, Peter grasps these two dimensions: the gift of God and the path to be followed in order to be transformed—inseparable elements of salvation, entrusted to the Church so that she might proclaim them for the good of the human race. Entrusted to us, chosen by Him even before we were formed in our mother’s womb (cf. Jer 1:5), regenerated in the waters of Baptism and, beyond our limitations and without any merit of our own, brought here and sent forth from here, so that the Gospel may be proclaimed to every creature (cf. Mk 16:15).

In particular, God—by calling me through your vote to succeed the First of the Apostles—entrusts me with this treasure so that, with His help, I may be its faithful steward (cf. 1 Cor 4:2), for the benefit of the whole Mystical Body of the Church, so that she may increasingly be the city set on a hill (cf. Rev 21:10), the ark of salvation sailing the waves of history, a beacon lighting the world’s darkest nights. And this, not so much thanks to the magnificence of her structures or the grandeur of her buildings—such as those in which we now stand—but through the holiness of her members, of that “people whom God has made His own, that they may declare the wondrous deeds of Him who called them out of darkness into His marvelous light” (1 Pet 2:9).

Yet, before the conversation in which Peter professes his faith, there is another question: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” (Mt 16:13). This is no trivial question—it touches on an important aspect of our ministry: the reality in which we live, with its limits and potentials, its questions and convictions.

“Who do people say the Son of Man is?” (Mt 16:13). Reflecting on the scene before us, we might identify two possible answers to this question, corresponding to two distinct attitudes.

First, there is the world’s response. Matthew notes that Jesus’ conversation with His disciples about His identity takes place in the splendid city of Caesarea Philippi, rich in luxurious palaces, nestled in an enchanting natural setting at the foot of Mount Hermon, yet also home to ruthless power structures and scenes of betrayal and infidelity. This image evokes a world that sees Jesus as utterly insignificant—at best, a curious figure who may amaze some with His unusual way of speaking and acting. But when His presence becomes inconvenient—due to His demand for honesty and morality—this “world” will not hesitate to reject and eliminate Him.

Then there is another possible response: that of the people. For them, the Nazarene is not a charlatan; He is an upright and courageous man, eloquent and truthful—like the great prophets of Israel's history. That is why they follow Him, at least so long as it brings no great risk or inconvenience. But to them, He remains just a man—and so, at the hour of danger, during the Passion, they abandon Him and walk away, disillusioned.

What is striking about these two attitudes is their enduring relevance. They embody views that can easily be found today—perhaps expressed in different terms, but identical in substance—in the mouths of many men and women of our time.

Even today, in many settings, Christian faith is considered absurd, something for the weak-minded or naive. Other certainties are preferred—such as technology, money, success, power, and pleasure.

These are environments in which bearing witness to and proclaiming the Gospel is not easy—where believers are ridiculed, persecuted, despised, or at best tolerated and pitied. And yet, for that very reason, the mission in these places is all the more urgent—because the lack of faith often leads to tragedies such as the loss of meaning in life, the forgetting of mercy, the violation of human dignity in its most painful forms, the crisis of the family, and so many other wounds from which our society suffers deeply.

Even today, there are settings in which Jesus, although admired as a man, is reduced to a sort of charismatic leader or superman—and not only by non-believers, but also by many baptized persons who, at this level, end up living in practical atheism.

This is the world entrusted to us—a world in which, as Pope Francis has repeatedly reminded us, we are called to bear joyful witness to faith in Jesus the Savior. That is why, for us too, it is essential to repeat: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16).

It is essential to do so first and foremost in our personal relationship with Him, through the commitment to a daily path of conversion. But also, as Church, by living together our belonging to the Lord and bringing the Good News to all (cf. Vatican II, Dogmatic Constitution Lumen gentium, no. 1).

I say this first of all for myself, as the Successor of Peter, as I begin my mission as Bishop of the Church in Rome—called to preside in charity over the universal Church, according to the famous expression of St. Ignatius of Antioch (cf. Letter to the Romans, Prologue). Led in chains to this city, the place of his imminent sacrifice, he wrote to the Christians who lived here: “Then I shall truly be a disciple of Jesus Christ, when the world will no longer see my body” (Letter to the Romans, IV, 1). He was referring to being devoured by wild beasts in the arena—and so it happened—but his words also point more generally to the unconditional commitment required of anyone who exercises authority in the Church: to disappear so that Christ may remain, to become small so that He may be known and glorified (cf. Jn 3:30), to spend oneself to the very end so that no one may miss the opportunity to know and to love Him.

May God grant me this grace—today and always—through the tender intercession of Mary, Mother of the Church.