Conclave live: Black smoke signals no new pope yet; the seven cardinals most discussed last night
What's in a pope's name?
Much of the world probably hasn't heard of Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio - you knew him as Pope Francis.
Newly elected popes choose a papal name after their election - and the Argentinian took the name of the 13th-century St Francis of Assisi.
This was a man who had rejected wealth and wanted to care for the poor, so choosing his name was no coincidence.
Francis's successor will face a similar question: what name will he choose and what signal could it send?
John
John is the most common name chosen by past popes.
It is also a name Francis often suggested for his successor.
It would evoke Pope John XXIII (who led the church from 1958 to 1963), a man often referred to as "the good pope".
John helped work behind the scenes to de-escalate the Cuban Missile Crisis among his work as the pontiff.
Paul
The name Paul could honour Pope Paul VI (pontiff from 1963 to 1978).
He is generally seen as a more cautious figure and a careful consolidator.
Some cardinals say, quietly, that after Francis, a new Pope Paul is what is needed.
A Gregory, Clement, Benedict or Pius?
Other names previous pontiffs have landed on include Gregory, Clement, Leo and Pius.
There is also Benedict, Francis's conservative predecessor.
Or a new pope could even decide to be called Francis II, which would be taken as a clear signal of the continuation of the late pope's agenda.
Cardinal Albino Luciani, elected pope in 1978, decided he could not pick just one name.
He chose John Paul, to honour both of his immediate predecessors.
However, he died 33 days later.
The next pope, Cardinal Karol Wojtyla, chose John Paul II, honouring all three of the popes before him.
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The Independent
6 hours ago
- The Independent
Meet the 100-year-old Catholic priest who still performs daily Mass
The Rev. James Kelly, a venerable figure in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, has marked an extraordinary dual milestone, celebrating both his 100th birthday and the 75th anniversary of his ordination. The longest-serving priest in the archdiocese, his remarkable life of service recently faced a challenge, from which he emerged with renewed gratitude. Throughout his extensive ministry, Kelly has baptized thousands, officiated countless marriages, and provided solace to the sick in hospitals. His travels have taken him across the globe, fostering friendships with notable figures, including an opera superstar and, notably, a saint. Kelly's journey nearly concluded in 2024 following a health crisis that necessitated life-saving surgery. He attributes his recovery to divine intervention, expressing a profound sense of gratitude for the additional time he has been granted. "The Lord was wonderful to me to give me the health and the strength and the energy to travel, to meet beautiful things — God was always giving me surprises," Kelly says. Born on January 7, 1925, into a devoutly Catholic family in Philadelphia's Roxborough neighbourhood, Kelly's calling to the priesthood was evident from a young age. While other children harbored dreams of careers in sports or medicine, his aspiration was singularly focused on serving the church, a path he has faithfully followed for three-quarters of a century. 'When I was 4 or 5 years old, I'd play Mass,' he says, laughing, as he recalls that his parents were his first congregants. 'I always had a little altar in my room, and I'd have a glass, and some flowers in there, and I'd make a vestment, put a scarf on, and have some candy, and give Communion to everybody." Kelly wakes up at dawn to celebrate Mass at the retirement living community that he now calls home. He listens to opera. He bakes pies. Memories, parachute jumps and climbing a bridge to save a life Sitting in his room, Kelly flips through a photo album detailing his journey. He smiles with every page turn, pointing to black-and-white photos of him as a toddler and milestones as a Catholic — his baptism, confirmation and ordination as a priest. 'I turned down Hollywood!' he says, laughing as he points to the portrait of a dapper, young priest, his hair slicked and flashing a wide smile. He also points to the photo published by a Philadelphia newspaper of the time when he climbed in his Roman collar to the top of a bridge and dissuaded a man from jumping to his death. 'Nobody would climb there, so I climbed up — it was 400 feet high. It was a bitter cold day,' he says. 'I was able to talk to him and break him down emotionally, so he wouldn't jump. I told him, 'What's your grandchild going to say one day: Papa, why didn't you take me fishing?'" He points to other photos of the many ceremonies he proudly led during his 19 years as pastor of Saint Pius X Parish in Broomall, Pennsylvania, about 10 miles (16 kilometers) west of Philadelphia. There are images of him during a vacation in Mexico when he made a parachute jump. Or that one time, when he visited the majestic Iguazu Falls on the border between Argentina and Brazil, which he recalls as one of the most beautiful sights of his life. 'Everywhere you turned, there was a rainbow, there was a mist … the water gushing forth and spray and the colors," he says. 'It was, as the kids would say, awesome.' Imagination, friends and being grateful for the simple pleasures Imagination, he says, is one of his favorite words, recalling that he wrote his college thesis on it. 'Jesus used his imagination to teach,' he says, in what became an example when he prepared his own sermons. He treasures other memories, such as traveling to more than 100 countries and meeting Saint Teresa of Kolkata, also known as Mother Theresa. Kelly says the two became friends over the years after meeting in Philadelphia and running into each other at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. The centenarian also shared the time when he took a group of blind children to a live performance of his friend, acclaimed soprano Joan Sutherland. 'I've been fortunate to meet some of the most magnificent, good people in this world, and they've been most generous and gracious to me," Kelly says. These days, he enjoys simple pleasures: the taste of cherries, a beautiful song, or his favorite meal — roast chicken with mashed potatoes, fresh string beans, and corn on the cob. He loves learning and often attends lectures on music, art history and Egyptology at the Normandy Farms Estates retirement community where he resides in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania. His apartment is decorated with a painting of the Virgin Mary that he drew with chalk, a portrait of his mother, and a note signed by the late Pope Francis. On his bedside table, he keeps an image of Carlo Acutis, the Catholic Church's first millennial-era saint. Kelly is inspired by Carlo, who died at 15 in 2006, especially the teen's devotion and how he used his computer skills to create an online exhibit about scores of eucharistic miracles recognized by the church over centuries. The ritual of a humble daily Mass and the secret to a long life Every morning, he wakes up without the need of an alarm clock and says the same prayer: 'Lord, what surprise do you have for me today?' 'I hope it'll be a nice one that I'll love and enjoy. I never know, but I want to thank you for whatever happens today.' After a cup of coffee, he celebrates Mass in his apartment for a few residents of his community. 'When I moved here, I never thought I was going to have a private chapel!' Kathleen Quigley, a retired nurse, quipped after a recent service. 'I just love my faith, and he's such a stronghold of faith that it's wonderful for me to have. I just come right downstairs, have Mass, we talk, he shares his food.' Kelly once ministered to large congregations, but he feels the daily Mass in his living room is as important. 'It's not in a beautiful chapel or church. But it's here that I can offer my love and efforts to the Heavenly Father,' he says. After the final prayer, he always remembers to be grateful. 'That's all I can say — two words: thank you. It's wonderful that I have another day, and I might be able to eat some delicious cherries today, and meet people, new friends," he says. "God knows what surprises I'll encounter today.' His secret to longevity? 'I drink lots of milk,' he says, laughing. 'And I say lots of prayers.'
The Independent
a day ago
- The Independent
Tech founder and engineers among the latest class of Catholic priests
Under the Gothic arches of a cathedral, a dozen men prepared for their ordination Mass, marking a significant moment for the Catholic Church. On a balmy June afternoon, they rehearsed the intricate rituals of their impending priesthood, a culmination of six years of seminary and a lifetime of spiritual discernment. Their sheer number, the largest group ordained by the diocese in nearly three decades, presented a logistical challenge, barely fitting before the altar. Dubbed "the 12" by their bishop, a reference to Jesus's apostles, their collective presence has become a symbol of hope and renewal for a Church grappling with deep divisions, crises, and abuse. The diverse cohort includes engineers, a tech company founder, and two future military chaplains, with ages spanning from 28 to 56. While most are US-born, their origins also stretch to nations with strong Catholic traditions, such as Cameroon, Mexico, Peru, and Haiti. They are entering the priesthood at an exciting time, just as the first US-born pope begins his papacy. Yet, there remains an acute shortage of clergy like them. In the US, the number of priests has declined by more than 40 per cent since 1970, according to CARA, a research center affiliated with Georgetown University. During their final year of seminary, these 12 men have served as transitional deacons, offering baptisms, homilies and promising to live in obedience and celibacy. 'We've already made the promises that are, I guess, 'the scariest,'' said the Rev. Ricky Malebranche, one of the ordinands. Soon they will be entrusted with more sacraments. As ordained priests, they will work at parishes around northern Virginia, with the ability to consecrate the Eucharist, hear confessions and anoint the sick. For now, they shuffle side to side until they can fit in a row. Carefully they lie down to practice the act of prostration — arguably the most dramatic moment during an ordination ceremony. Elbows bent, hands cradling their heads, the men press their faces to the cold, marble floor. It's a position of vulnerability that signals absolute surrender. 'We're laying before the Lord,' the Rev. Mike Sampson, an ordinand, explained before the rehearsal. 'We're laying our lives down.' Searching for something more While neighboring dioceses have shuttered parishes and face dire budget shortfalls, the Diocese of Arlington is opening new churches. Its finances are solid. This year's class of new priests is the second largest in the diocese's 50-year history. The reasons behind that success 'are a little bit mysterious,' said the Rev. Michael Isenberg, the diocese's outgoing vocations director. He points to one factor helping the recruiting pool: vibrant parishes, full of young professionals drawn to jobs around Washington, D.C. Sampson, 42, was a government lawyer and raised a Protestant before he was baptized as a Catholic in 2013. Six years later, he enrolled in seminary to become a priest. The Rev. Tim Banach, 31, worked as a consultant in the same office complex as Sampson. 'I enjoyed the work I was doing, but there was something more that I desired." 'I had the dream job,' said the Rev. Alfredo Tuesta, 40, who earned a doctorate in engineering and was working at the US Naval Research Laboratory when he felt called to the priesthood. 'I had the job that I had trained many years to achieve — and it wasn't enough.' At a Sunday family dinner two weeks before ordination, Malebranche's father, Jacques, talked up these '12 great guys.' 'This kid already had two master's degrees,' he said, pointing to his son Ricky, 37, who worked as a counselor and coach at a Catholic high school before seminary. 'They had good lives. When they say they received a call, they mean it,' he said. 'They gave up a lot, and this is not easy.' A higher barrier to entry Prospective priests undergo a rigorous screening process. 'This is going to sound crazy, but they're normal,' said the Rev. Donald J. Planty Jr., who mentored several of this year's ordinands. 'They can talk to anyone.' In the wake of the clergy sex-abuse crisis, there is a greater emphasis on applicants' psychological health and emotional well-being. They go before an admissions board that includes women and laypeople, and as ordinands, meet with abuse survivors. They ultimately answer to Bishop Michael Burbidge, the diocese's avuncular prelate. 'A thing that has changed for the positive in the church is that bishops really know their men,' said Burbidge, who calls, texts and meets with seminarians regularly. 'When I was in seminary, there was no expectation that you would know the bishop.' Politically and theologically, young US priests are more likely to identify as conservative or moderate than their clerical elders who came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, according to a 2023 report from the Catholic Project at Catholic University. For these men in Virginia, the rightward tilt of the US Catholic Church is not a deciding factor in their priesthoods. They have pledged, though, to uphold the church's teachings, which remain conservative on issues such as gender identity, sexual orientation, contraception and abortion. 'I look at the young adults in our parishes, growing up in a world where in many ways the sacred has been removed,' Burbidge said. 'They're looking for something more. 'Give me beauty. Give me truth. Give me clarity.' I see that in young adults in our church, and these men are products of that.' The sacrifices of priestly life For many of the men, priesthood means forgoing dreams of an ordinary family life. 'I thought I was going to be a great dad and have a wonderful family,' Malebranche recalled. 'And I was like, 'Lord, why would you not want that for me?'' For many, there's a grieving process in letting go of that vision, even for deeply Catholic families. 'Every parent wants grandkids,' said Banach, whose career change initially surprised his supportive Catholic parents. Priests give up biological children, he said, but are privileged to raise 'spiritual children.' His fellow ordinand Malebranche ministers to families out of what he calls a 'deep love of my own for a family.' Two weeks before ordination, Malebranche channeled that love into a baptism conducted in Spanish, the parents' native tongue. He was nervous beforehand. A gregarious, gifted speaker, he is less confident in Spanish — though it's necessary in a diocese where nearly half the parishioners are Latino. 'It was a beautiful ceremony,' Gloria Marquez told him after, beaming and holding her 9-month-old. She said she and her husband had tried for nearly 20 years to have a baby. Malebranche teared up, grateful to be part of the longed-for moment. He wants the Catholic Church to be welcoming, especially for those who have been hurt. 'I really just want to make Catholicism warm,' he said. Like all the ordinands, he is very aware that in his clerical garb, he represents the church and the presence of Jesus. 'I have to be on every time I'm in this collar,' Malebranche said. 'That is a fitting weight for the gift of the priesthood, but it is a weight nonetheless.' A new chapter Ordination-day morning had the nervous energy of a wedding, an apt parallel for the impending commitment and pageantry. Anxious parents took their places in pews alongside friends and family who traveled from around the world to witness the ceremony. The evening would bring receptions in honor of the new priests, who would then have two weeks off before their new ministry assignments began. Sampson was going to Italy with a priest friend. Banach was hiking part of the Appalachian Trail with a small kit for the Eucharist in his pack. Tuesta was flying to Lima, Peru, his birthplace, to celebrate with family. Malebranche planned to visit loved ones in his native Virginia. 'I'm kind of looking to show off,' he said, laughing. 'I'll have my confessional stole on me at all times.' When their ordination Mass got underway, it was standing room only, with more than 1,200 well-wishers crowded into the cathedral. As part of the three-hour service, nearly 200 priests lined up to embrace and welcome into the fold their new brothers, now cloaked in ivory and blue robes. At the close of Mass, they walked down the aisle to cheers and applause, and the 12 priests were sent out, like the apostles who had come before them.
The Independent
a day ago
- The Independent
Meet the men who just became Catholic priests in Virginia
At a time when the U.S. Catholic Church is grappling with a severe shortage of priests, the Diocese of Arlington, Virginia, recently ordained 12 new priests — its second-largest class ever — in a joyful Mass at its cathedral. Ahead of the ceremony, The Associated Press spent time with the men, who explained what drove them to choose a life of celibacy, obedience and devotion. Here are four of their stories. A rare kind of leader As a teenager active in youth ministry, the Rev. Ricky Malebranche was often encouraged by adults to consider the priesthood. He assumed it was just what Catholics told religious, young men. At the end of college, he thought seriously about seminary. But it would take another nine years, he said, before God told him: 'I want you to be my priest.' By then, he had built a career as a high school counselor and coach. He owned a home and hoped to one day marry and have children. 'Oh no, you missed your chance, Jesus,' he thought. After he finally decided to apply to seminary, he felt a profound sense of peace. He later enrolled at Mount St. Mary's, a Catholic institution in western Maryland where the diocese sends some of its seminarians. The son of Haitian immigrants, Malebranche now joins a small group of Black American priests. Though rich in tradition, Black Catholics make up 5% of the U.S. church, and account for less than 1% of U.S. priests. 'I am very cognizant of it every time I do anything in ministry, that I represent a larger group than just me,' Malebranche said. 'I have this desire to not let them down,' he said. 'I want to be able to bring pride to a people who don't always see themselves represented.' A military chaplain Before he ever considered ordination, the Rev. Mike Sampson, without conscious thought, made the sign of the cross — a decidedly Catholic ritual. 'I looked up and laughed,' he recalled. Though raised Protestant, he took the moment as a prompt from God to explore Catholicism. The California native practiced law while volunteering at his local parish in Arlington, Virginia. Six years after his conversion, he enrolled in seminary to become a priest. 'Very proud,' is how his mother, Diane Sampson, described feeling after her son's recent ordination. His call to the priesthood was initially difficult for the Protestant family. 'One of the things that I think even most Catholics are challenged by is the idea of celibacy and not getting married and not having kids and the family name not carrying on," the Rev. Sampson said. In three years, he will begin a five-year stint as a military chaplain with the U.S. Navy. Fellow seminarians describe Sampson as a mentor. They say he is well-suited to the discipline of military life, despite not serving in the armed forces before seminary, when he was commissioned as a lieutenant. For now, he will serve at a parish close to the office complex where he once worked, and where he occasionally went to noon Mass. He is 'coming back,' he said, 'but in a very different way.' A Peruvian connection Pope Leo XIV, the first U.S.-born pontiff, spent decades in Peru. In his first public appearance as pope, he addressed his former diocese in Spanish. 'I frankly couldn't believe it,' said the Rev. Alfredo Tuesta. 'He greeted us in our language. It was just beautiful.' Born in Lima, Peru, Tuesta immigrated to the U.S. at age 10. His family settled in Paterson, New Jersey, a hub for the Peruvian diaspora. He attended Don Bosco, a nearby Catholic prep school. He was drawn to the priesthood from an early age, but as the firstborn son of immigrants, he felt he should support his family instead. 'Financially, we come from a very modest and humble background,' he said. 'And so, you want to make it. You want to provide.' It was only after he earned a doctorate in mechanical engineering and was living in northern Virginia that he rediscovered his calling. By then, both of his parents had died. He has since heard from his mother's friends that she thought he might become a priest. His ordination drew loved ones from all over the world to celebrate. The self-described introvert was hesitant to be the center of attention. 'We're not really there to celebrate me and my priesthood because it really isn't mine,' he said, noting it's shared among his brother priests and community. 'What we're really celebrating is everyone there — everyone who contributed to my discernment, to my vocation, to my faith, to my upbringing.' An adventurous life The Rev. Tim Banach is a thrill-seeker who enjoys the outdoors. With other seminarians and priests, he has hiked many mountain ranges and camped in the Badlands. The priestly life strikes him as an adventure too, where no day is the same. From weddings to funerals, priests serve thousands of people on their best and worst days. 'There are just these moments you get to share that can be overwhelming,' he said. 'But we're very privileged as well.' A native of Corning, New York, Banach first considered the priesthood while an engineering student at the University of Virginia. After graduation, he lived 'a pretty normal life,' he said, working at a consulting job and going on some dates. 'But that question never really went away.' The diocese eventually sent him to St. Charles Borromeo, a seminary near Philadelphia. He graduated in May. 'When I joined the seminary and met the kind of men that I could be serving alongside for the rest of my life, I was even more encouraged,' he said. 'Because they're exactly the type of guys that I want to be my brothers.' ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
