When Pope Leo XIV stepped out onto the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica and offered the world his first words, “Peace be with you,” there was something unmistakable about his presence. It wasn’t just the solemnity of the moment or the weight of the role he had just accepted. It was pure happiness. And since that moment, almost every photo of him has shown him smiling. He exudes a joy that isn’t performative or polished, but radiant and almost tangible. The kind that flows from a heart close to Christ. 

In a world marked by depression, division and disillusionment, that kind of joy is revolutionary. 

It’s not an exaggeration to say that the world is in the midst of a mental health crisis. When I scroll through TikTok for five minutes, I see influencers casually glorifying antidepressants or joking about “mentally spiraling.” Almost as if having a mental health diagnosis is part of their aesthetic.  

In 2022, I went to therapy for the first time. I was under pressure running an organization and navigating some difficult relational issues. I wanted tools. But by the end of the first hour, the therapist told me she suspected I had mild depression and suggested I consider medication. I laughed out loud. When did the regular stress of life become diagnosable as something so severe?  

I didn’t go back. Instead, I found a Catholic therapist. Turns out, I didn’t need a prescription. I just needed to take a few hours a week to decompress. Long walks. Silence. Prayer. Within weeks, the burden I had been carrying began to lift. And I couldn’t help but wonder: How many other people have that same first experience but without faith, or without knowing there’s another way? 

The statistics are clear. In the West, loneliness has become endemic. Young people are more anxious than ever. According to the CDC, 40% of teens reported persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness in the past year, and about 20% seriously considered suicide. Globally, suicide is now the third leading cause of death among those aged 15 to 29. And many Catholics around the world feel spiritually numb, caught between a secular culture that rejects God and a Church that often feels stalled by division and indecision. Amid all this, Pope Leo offers something the world has forgotten how to receive: the joy of the Gospel, lived without apology. 

From his first homily, Pope Leo made it clear that his mission is one of invitation, not intimidation. “We want to say to the world, with humility and joy: look to Christ!” he declared. “Draw near to him! Welcome his word that enlightens and consoles!” 

That is the language of a man who knows Christ personally and who wants the world to know him too. Perhaps we’ve forgotten that this is the whole point: to share the love and joy of Christ with the world. 

There is power in that simplicity. In a time when faith is often treated like a label or a performance, Pope Leo reminds us that it is first and foremost a relationship with the living God. And the joy that overflows from encountering the living God cannot be faked. 

His joy doesn’t come from ignoring the suffering of the world. It comes from seeing it through the light of the Resurrection. It does not deny the wounds of the persecuted, the cries of the poor, or the confusion in our culture. It simply proclaims again and again that Christ is not absent, and that in him, joy is still possible. 

At Pentecost, Pope Leo returned to the source of all Christian joy: the Holy Spirit. He reminded the Church that the Spirit “shatters inner chains” and opens hearts not by force, but by love. “Where we build walls,” he said, “the Spirit builds bridges. Where we close doors, the Spirit opens hearts.” In a world fragmented by fear, his message was clear. Joy is not the absence of suffering. It is the presence of God. The joy Pope Leo carries is not his own. It is the fruit of the Spirit alive in him, the same Spirit poured out at Pentecost, the same Spirit still at work in the Church today. 

The world doesn’t need another leader to echo its fears. It needs a shepherd who reminds us that hope is not dead. 

As American Catholics, we may feel a sense of closeness to this new Pope. But this moment isn’t about national pride, and the joy Pope Leo carries is not an export of American optimism. It is the fruit of Christian conviction. And it belongs to the whole world. 

That joy, like Christ himself, is both a gift and challenge. A gift to the weary. A challenge to the cynical. And a call to the Church to remember who she is — not a political institution or a cultural relic, but the living Body of Christ in the world. 

In Pope Leo’s joy, we glimpse the joy of the early Church. The joy that drew converts not through coercion, but through witness. The joy that made martyrs sing in prison. The joy that turns strangers into brothers and sisters. 

We are desperate for that joy today. By God’s grace, we have a pope who carries it. 

May we have the humility to receive it — and the courage to reflect it.