On June 14, Donald Trump marked his 79th birthday with a military parade in Washington D.C. At the same time, in a far more humble setting—center field at Chicago’s Guaranteed Rate Field—Cardinal Blase Cupich gave what he called his “sermon on the mound” during a Mass celebrating Pope Leo XIV’s first month in office. The pope himself even appeared on a prerecorded video. And while Pope Leo didn’t mention Trump or his policies once, Cardinal Cupich most certainly did.
Before a crowd of more than 30,000, Cupich offered a searing critique of the administration’s immigration crackdown: “It is wrong to scapegoat those who are here without documents,” he said. “They are here not by invasion, but by invitation.”
The timing wasn’t accidental. The Mass doubled as a spiritual celebration and a thinly veiled rebuke. And while Pope Leo didn’t deliver the words himself, his silence wasn’t neutrality—it was orchestration.
Is Pope Leo anti-MAGA? No. Is he part of the Resistance? Not really. But will he stand as a moral bulwark against Trump’s worst instincts? Absolutely.
This new pope has proven himself a master of tone. He’s less blunt than Francis—less likely to throw rhetorical punches—but perhaps more effective because of it. His approach is grounded in restraint and strategic clarity, not performative outrage. And yet the implications of his early papacy are already profound.
As a cardinal, Leo (then Robert Prevost) helped draft the Vatican’s February letter denouncing mass deportation efforts, warning that nationalist ideology risks making “the will of the strongest” the “criterion of truth.”
Before Leo’s election, a now-deleted social media account tied to him regularly reposted critiques of Trump’s immigration agenda. The account highlighted stories of Catholic priests detained at the border, slammed the Trump-Vance worldview as un-Christian, and celebrated those working to shelter migrants with dignity. The then-cardinal’s values were clear, even if he never mentioned Trump by name.
This quiet resistance may be the most dangerous kind. Leo is not a culture warrior. He isn’t calling for Trump’s defeat. He’s calling for moral clarity. And that’s exactly what this moment demands.
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Cupich’s homily at the Chicago Mass came just days after House Republicans launched an investigation into more than 200 NGOs—including Catholic Charities and the U.S. bishops’ conference—accusing them of using federal funds to “facilitate illegal activity” by aiding migrants. Catholic Charities has been feeding, sheltering, and serving those fleeing persecution for decades. The Republicans’ investigation is not just political overreach. It’s a direct assault on the Catholic mission.
In that context, the Mass’ messaging mattered. Leo appeared only briefly in a recorded message, calling on Americans to prioritize building community over ego. But his absence from the fight doesn’t mean he’s absent from the strategy. He is choosing his moments—and his messengers—with care.
Pope Leo also has an unusual advantage: his Americanness. A pope from Chicago can speak to American politics in a way none of his predecessors could. He understands the cultural terrain, the tribal language, and the cable news rhythms. And because of that, when he talks about human dignity and border walls and our obligation to the stranger, Americans listen differently.
That power is already showing. A new AP-NORC poll shows that two-thirds of American Catholics have a favorable view of Pope Leo, and among all Americans, he’s viewed positively by a wide margin—44 percent favorable to just 10 percent unfavorable. That kind of popularity is extraordinarily rare in today’s polarized politics. Even more telling? Republicans and Democrats rate him similarly. He’s emerging as one of the only widely respected moral figures in American life.
That’s no small thing. Trumpism thrives in an environment of suspicion, where truth is relative and institutions are weak. But Leo represents a stubborn kind of institution—one that doesn’t play Twitter games or respond to every provocation, and that insists on the moral weight of facts, decency, and mercy.
Pope Leo won’t match Trump insult for insult. He won’t tweet in all caps. But he will show up in the places that matter—on the border, in the refugee shelter, at the baseball stadium—and use the tools of moral persuasion to remind the nation of its better angels.
And make no mistake: that kind of resistance can be more powerful than any slogan or soundbite. It’s the resistance of the Gospel. It’s the resistance of those who refuse to meet cruelty with cruelty, but who never mistake silence for surrender.
Pope Leo won’t be the Resistance. But he might be something more dangerous to Donald Trump: a spiritual leader the American people still trust—one who’s not afraid to tell the truth, quietly but boldly.
Christopher Hale is a Democratic operative from Tennessee. He led national Catholic outreach for President Obama’s reelection campaign and served as the cofounder of Catholics for Harris.
The views expressed in this article are the writer’s own.
