MAKING POPE LEO

How a kid from the Midwest became the leader of the Catholic Church

- By Belinda Luscombe/Chicago

“I’M TICKED,” SAYS JOHN PREVOST, THE RETIRED Midwestern high school principal who is now, abruptly and without warning, globally famous and in demand. “I didn’t want to be, but I’m so angry.” He’s sitting at the table of Denise and Rob Utter, who have invited a bunch of people from their local Catholic parish, about 45 minutes south of Chicago, to talk about their friend and John’s kid brother Bob, whom they have known for decades, over pizza. Sometimes they call him Father Bob. Occasionally they remember to call him by his new name, Pope Leo XIV, but it’s unfamiliar to their tongue. One of the guests accidentally calls him Pope Pius.

It’s probably not all fun and games to be the spiritual leader of 1.4 billion people from very different cultures at a time when the Catholic Church is recovering from multiple scandals, riven from within, financially ensnarled, and, especially in the so-called developed nations, wrestling with a growing disinterest in the stuff it does best—ancient ritual, obligatory gathering, biblical exegesis. But it’s also a teensy bit of a drag to be his brother.

Pope Leo XIV, 69, is the person to whom lots of people look when they want to come in contact with God. John Prevost, 71, is the person to whom they look when they want to reach the Pope. His mailbox is inundated. A local accounting firm sent him a 30-page pitch deck on how it would sort out the Vatican's finances. Another opportunist sent him two baseballs, asking for them to be forwarded to His Holiness, newly anointed as the world’s most famous White Sox fan. “Dear Mr. Prevost, please have your brother sign these baseballs,” the accompanying letter said, according to its recipient. “You can keep one and run a fundraiser.” His mail carrier is sympathetic, advising him to hire someone to handle the paper blizzard.