Pope Leo XIV opens up on conclave election, hints at diplomatic efforts in Middle East

Thirty thousand feet above the Mediterranean, Pope Leo XIV sat down with reporters for the first time to talk about the moment his life changed forever. It was Tuesday, flying home from his inaugural journey to Turkey and Lebanon, and the pontiff seemed at ease in a way he hadn't been in his earliest weeks—answering questions in English, Spanish, and Italian, deflecting with humor, speaking with the ease of a man who had made peace with an outcome he never quite expected.

The conclave that elected him in May had moved with unusual speed. Four ballots on the second day. By the third round of voting, it was clear to everyone in the Sistine Chapel that Cardinal Robert Prevost, a Carmelite friar who had spent two decades as a missionary in Peru, was going to be pope. He would be the first American to hold the office. When Leo saw the arithmetic of the votes turning in his direction, he did what his entire spiritual life had prepared him to do: he let go. "I resigned myself to the fact when I saw how things were going," he told the reporters. "I said 'This could be a reality.'" But in that moment of acceptance, he had spoken to God in the plainest language he could find. "I took a deep breath. I said 'Here we go Lord. You're in charge and you lead the way.'" It was the theology of surrender, lived out in real time.

Leo had spent years cultivating this kind of spiritual posture. He recommended to the assembled press a seventeenth-century book called "The Practice of the Presence of God" by Brother Lawrence, a Carmelite friar whose entire spiritual project was about giving one's life to the Lord and allowing the Lord to lead. "If you want to know something about me, that's been my spirituality for many years," Leo said. He had lived it in Peru during the years of terrorism there. He had lived it when he was called to places he never imagined serving. The conclave was just the latest test of a faith that had been forged in harder circumstances.

What struck him most about his first papal trip was the young people. In Lebanon, crowds had gathered—large enough that journalists thought they saw surprise on his face. Leo pushed back gently. "My face is very expressive but I'm oftentimes amused by how the journalists interpret my face," he said, with a smile. "Sometimes I get really great ideas from all of you because you think you can read my mind or my face. You're not always correct." But when he talked about the young Catholics he encountered, the amusement fell away. Their enthusiasm was, he said, awe-inspiring. "I think to myself, 'These people are here because they want to see the pope.' But I say to myself, 'They're here because they want to see Jesus Christ and they want to see a messenger of peace.'" He hoped he would never grow tired of that gift.

On the question of Venezuela, Leo urged the United States toward restraint and dialogue. Military threats were not the answer, he said. Economic pressure, yes. Conversation, absolutely. But the voices coming from Washington shifted too often, changed course too readily. "I believe it's better to look for ways of dialogue, perhaps pressure—including economic pressure—but looking for other ways to change, if that's what the United States wants to do." It was a careful formulation, the language of a man who understood that the papacy speaks to power but does not wield it.

He also hinted at quiet diplomatic work happening behind closed doors. In Lebanon, there had been behind-the-scenes discussions about Hezbollah and Israel—conversations that suggested the Vatican was positioning itself as a channel for communication in one of the world's most intractable conflicts. Leo did not elaborate, but the fact that he mentioned it at all signaled that this pope intended to be active in the world's hardest places.

Looking ahead, Leo outlined an ambitious travel schedule. He hoped to visit Africa next year, with special attention to Algeria because of its role in Christian-Muslim relations and because of St. Augustine, the fifth-century theologian whose work had inspired Leo's own religious order. After that, he wanted to return to Latin America—to Argentina, Uruguay, and Peru, where he had lived as a missionary. Argentina especially had been waiting. Pope Francis, elected in 2013, had never gone home. Leo would go. It was a way of saying that this papacy would be rooted in the places that had shaped him, and that it would move outward from there into the world.