A pope who walks on water

In Church circles, the tale is told about a congregation seeking a new pastor. A notice was posted listing the ideal candidate’s qualities: young, yet experienced; a captivating preacher whose sermons are mercifully brief; equally at ease with youngsters and the elderly; deeply spiritual, yet eminently practical; devoted to prayer, yet always available; respectful of tradition, yet brimming with innovation.

The list was exhaustive.

At the bottom, a sharp-witted observer added the following: “The ability to walk on water will be considered an asset”.

As cardinals prepare to enter conclave after Pope Francis’s death, one could be forgiven for wondering whether a similarly impossible list of expectations awaits the next Bishop of Rome.

For Catholics, the pope is not merely a moral figurehead or religious executive. He is the successor of Peter, the fisherman-disciple tasked by Christ to “feed my sheep”.

But the role has long held a broader significance. In a fractured and often cynical world, the pope is one of the few remaining global moral authorities whose reach extends across cultures, continents and political divisions.

Pope Francis, elected in 2013 after the resignation of Benedict XVI, was a man shaped by the margins.

The first Jesuit pope, the first from Latin America and the first to take the name Francis, he brought with him a pastoral tone and an emphasis on mercy, poverty and inclusion. His vision of the Church as a “field hospital” was both bold and disarming.

His papacy was marked by a reorientation of attention: toward the poor, the planet and those who somehow felt excluded from the Church’s embrace.

But the next pope will inherit not only Francis’s themes but also the tensions they stirred. Underneath the warmth of pastoral gestures lies a Church wrestling with internal polarisation.

From liturgical debates to divergent views on moral teaching and authority, the Catholic Church – like much of the world – is struggling to hold together a unity that feels increasingly elusive.

Underneath the warmth of pastoral gestures lies a Church wrestling with internal polarisation

The conclave will thus face a delicate challenge: to elect a man who can both honour Francis’s legacy and lead the Church beyond it. He must be more than a caretaker. He must be his own man, and a man of the Church.

Among the many pressing issues: pursuing the synodal process of consultation and dialogue without losing doctrinal clarity; confronting ongoing wounds from the abuse crisis while restoring credibility and trust; guiding a Church that is aging in the West but rapidly growing in the Global South; unravelling the Gordian knot of Vatican finances; continuing to reach out to the peripheries without inadvertently creating new ones. 

The next pope will also face a shifting world order. He will be confronted with war and mass migration, ecological collapse, the rise of the far-right, technological upheaval and a generation of young people disillusioned with institutions but still searching for meaning.

His challenge will be to show the Church is not a fortress in retreat but a pilgrim body still capable of journeying with humanity. With populist politicians promoting division, the Church needs a leader whose voice is loud and clear. Faced with all these realities, walking on water sounds like the easy part!

Because, in truth, what the Church needs is not a manager or a diplomat  but a shepherd: someone with the inner freedom to govern, the humility to listen and the courage to speak with clarity and compassion.

At the heart of the Catholic faith lies a profound paradox: that true strength is revealed in weakness and that genuine leadership is expressed in service.