My favorite early fact about Pope Bob from Chicago comes from his talkative brother John. Local reporters found John right after the world met Pope Leo XIV. Fake news, I may have initially repeated that the new pontiff is a Cubs fan. His bro set the record straight: Forever White Sox, much to the disappointment of Wrigley Field, which had already identified him as their man.
But, about the sacrament that’s not on a diamond: “He took our mom’s ironing board and put a tablecloth over it, and we had to go to mass,” John said. “He knew everything. He knew his prayers in Latin. He knew his prayers in English, and he did that all the time and he took it totally serious.” John explained that it was “not a game” to Rob, as he has referred to his brother. “He was dead serious about it.” For cradle Catholics, it’s not an unfamiliar memory. Some used potato chips, others used crackers. Some of us have made the mistake of gifting a child a pre-prepared Mass play kit. All is pious and lovely until “Fr.” decides he’s had enough and throws the pretend consecrated hosts all over the basement, leading even the most conservative young women to wonder why Jesus put men in charge of his priesthood. Mercifully, God Himself actually is.
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