Ten years ago, when Jorge Mario Bergoglio was elected pope and his image first appeared in St. Peter’s Square with a look of quiet astonishment, a writer in this newspaper began a quiet conversation with readers. He recalled Chesterton’s idea that Jesus Christ founded the Church on Peter not because Peter was the best or wisest, but because he was simply a real man with flaws, faults, sins, and also achievements. This reflection, though it framed a biographical inquiry into a relatively unknown priest, suggested a broader intent: to examine a man who was not easily categorized as a centrist, yet carried a certain evolution in the mind of the Church. Early accounts from Argentina offered a blend of unsettling accusations, such as a journalist’s claim of complicity with a painful dictatorship, alongside more surprising assessments. The narrative hinted at a figure admired by the progressive wing of reformers and perhaps conversely distrusted by others who had long watched him closely. It was clear that his ties with the religious order known as the Jesuits had not always been smooth, and a prominent official biographer, Austen Ivereigh, did not shy away from acknowledging blind spots in the early portrait of this new pope. The public record suggested a man who could spark renewal, yet his path and his methods remained debatable. The central questions arose again: is he a reformer in the spirit of the Second Vatican Council, or a leader who moves by cautious steps in a tradition that respects continuity? Does he lean toward Liberation Theology or resist its more radical impulses in different contexts? What are his true views on power, and how do those views shape the direction of the church he leads?
Ten years later, the mystery around Bergoglio, now Pope Francis, endures in a way that reflects the complexity of his influence. Catholicism has grown into a global presence that resembles the expansive leadership of John Paul II in its reach, yet Francis projects a future-facing energy that invites ongoing interpretation rather than definitive closure. Some observers see the pace of change as gradual, perhaps even too slow for certain publics and political bodies, while others feel the reforms fail to move quickly enough. Traditionalists have taken issue with the pope’s stance on the Latin Mass, while advocates of gender equality have pressed questions about the possibility of female ordination or the role of women in ordained ministry. Critics point to moments of apparent inconsistency or unpredictability in cardinal appointments, while supporters argue that a new College of Cardinals will likely shape the church for decades to come. The enduring fascination is not simply about specific decisions but about the overarching dynamic that Francis has introduced: a leadership style that invites dialogue, keeps doors open, and refuses to settle into a fixed, unyielding stance. When the present pontificate eventually concludes, the record may reveal a mix of decisions, conversations, and gestures whose full significance will be debated for years. The geography and the number of places where the conclave gathered, as well as the origins of those who will choose the next body, will form part of the historical memory. In this sense, the pope’s tenure can be seen as a shaping force for how the church envisions itself in the modern world, a period of change that many will look back on as a bridge between established practice and evolving faith.