Everyone is pointing out the same issue as Pope Leo catches bizarre gift from member of the public

When Robert Francis Prevost, the Chicago-born cardinal, became Pope Leo XIV, many expected a modern papacy with an American touch. But few imagined his first viral moment as pontiff would involve a baseball-style catch in St. Peter’s Square.

It happened on May 28, during one of his first public rides through the crowd in the popemobile. The day was bright and calm, the crowd cheerful. Then, out of nowhere, someone tossed a small cloth doll through the air—handmade, dressed like the pope himself, complete with miniature vestments and a white skullcap. Without missing a beat, Pope Leo reached out and caught it one-handed. The crowd erupted in laughter and applause.

The clip spread online within minutes. “Pope’s got reflexes!” one user joked. Others cheered the “most American thing ever seen at the Vatican.” The doll, as it turned out, came from a Chicago White Sox fan visiting Rome—an homage to the city where Pope Leo grew up. For a moment, the gesture captured something deeply human: a mix of humor, warmth, and a hint of baseball nostalgia brought to the world’s most formal stage.

But as the video gained traction, the tone online began to shift. Security experts and concerned Catholics pointed out what others had missed in the laughter: the breach in protocol. “Adorable, yes,” one tweet read, “but his security definitely slipped.” Another warned that “a soft doll today could be something else tomorrow.” Vatican watchers agreed—the catch was charming, but it also underscored the risk of spontaneity in an age where even a harmless gesture can carry hidden danger.

Pope Leo, however, seemed unfazed. Later that afternoon, he smiled when asked about it by a journalist, saying, “It was instinct. I grew up around baseball. Sometimes you just reach for what’s coming your way.” That casual remark summed up what many have already come to love about him: approachable, quick-witted, and unmistakably American, even in the Vatican.

Since his election on May 8, Pope Leo XIV has stood out for more than just quick reflexes. His papacy began with an immediate call for global peace. In his first address, he appealed for an end to the war in Ukraine and urged both sides in Gaza to agree to a ceasefire. He also praised a new peace agreement between India and Pakistan, calling it “proof that reconciliation is possible when we remember our shared humanity.”

What’s drawn equal attention, however, is his early focus on technology—specifically artificial intelligence. In a speech to cardinals and scientists, Pope Leo compared today’s AI revolution to the Industrial Revolution of the 19th century. He invoked the legacy of Pope Leo XIII’s 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum, which addressed the social upheaval of industrialization and championed workers’ rights.

“The Church,” he said, “must respond to artificial intelligence as it once did to the machines of the Industrial Age—with courage, wisdom, and an unshakable defense of human dignity.” His words struck a chord far beyond the Vatican. Tech leaders and ethicists applauded the message, praising his call for “ethical algorithms” and “moral oversight” in the creation of AI systems.

In many ways, Pope Leo XIV is walking the line between tradition and modernization more gracefully than anyone expected. Where his predecessors were careful and measured, Leo brings a touch of informality—without losing gravity. He’s been described as “Francis’s spiritual successor with Benedict’s intellect and John Paul II’s energy.” He calls himself “a servant in sneakers,” often swapping his papal loafers for plain black shoes.

His roots are unmistakably Midwestern. Born in Chicago in 1955, he was raised in a working-class neighborhood where his mother taught school and his father worked long hours at a steel mill. Friends from his youth describe him as “the guy who always listened more than he spoke.” Before joining the priesthood, he studied psychology and philosophy, later serving as a missionary in Peru. Those years, he often says, taught him that “the Church exists not in marble halls but in dusty streets.”

Even as the Vatican’s newest leader, he hasn’t lost that touch. On his first week, he quietly met with refugees outside Rome—no cameras, no press. Witnesses said he spent nearly an hour speaking to families in Spanish, listening more than talking. His staff only confirmed the visit afterward, saying, “He didn’t want attention. He just wanted to be present.”

Still, his relaxed, open manner poses challenges for the Vatican’s famously cautious security teams. The doll incident, harmless as it seemed, raised questions about how close he allows himself to get to the public. Vatican officials were quick to insist that “protocols are being reviewed,” though sources privately admitted that Pope Leo himself often pushes for less separation. “If I cannot touch the people,” he once told aides, “then I cannot serve them.”

That tension—between openness and protection—may define his papacy as much as his theology. He’s a pope of accessibility in an age of anxiety, preaching peace while living amid constant scrutiny. His one-handed catch, whether you see it as risk or charm, perfectly embodies that duality.

What makes Pope Leo’s rise so striking is the timing. The Church faces a world fragmented by politics, divided by faith, and uncertain about technology. His approach—part pastoral warmth, part intellectual grounding—seems to resonate with those weary of polarization. He’s neither rigid nor reckless, and his American upbringing gives him a relatability rare in papal history.

In recent weeks, he’s continued to echo Pope Francis’s call for humility and compassion. “The Church,” he said during his Pentecost homily, “must not be a fortress that guards itself but a home that welcomes the wounded.” Those who know him say that line encapsulates his entire vision: a church that heals, not lectures; that leads through example, not fear.

Even his symbolic gestures—like that split-second catch—seem to reflect his theology. Faith, to him, isn’t about avoiding risk; it’s about engagement, participation, the willingness to reach out. “The Pope’s reflexes,” one columnist wrote, “might just be a metaphor for his approach to leadership—responsive, instinctive, and rooted in trust.”

Of course, critics argue that his informality could invite problems. A few conservative voices within the Vatican hierarchy have grumbled about his casual language and his willingness to discuss topics like AI and environmental policy so early in his tenure. But so far, public reaction has been overwhelmingly positive. The image of him laughing, doll in hand, surrounded by smiling guards, has already become one of the most circulated photos of the year.

For millions, that moment wasn’t about security or spectacle—it was a glimpse of something refreshing: a pope who catches what the world throws at him, literally and figuratively, with grace and humanity.

Whether he’s addressing the ethics of technology or the turmoil of war, Pope Leo XIV is redefining what it means to lead with faith in a modern world. And perhaps that’s why, for all the criticism and caution, people can’t stop replaying that brief, unexpected moment—the American pope in the heart of Rome, smiling under the Italian sun, doll in hand, catching the world off guard in the best way possible.