For the first few hours of his papacy, I believed Pope Leo XIV was also a jazz musician. 

Soon after the white smoke cleared and the new pope stepped out, a meme circulated among my jazz-loving friends that the former Cardinal Robert Prevost had been a wicked jazz trombonist in his younger days, playing in music festivals in decades past (“wicked” here in the cool, slang sense, akin to “bad” or even “killer,” refreshingly subversive ways to describe such an exalted one). 

He was even rumored to keep a trombone in his private quarters. 

Before that illusion was dashed as falsehood by fact-checking colleagues, I had already reflected with no small excitement on the implications of a jazz-playing pope. And I wasn’t just thinking about syncopation in liturgy or improvised homilies. Or even Latin hymns arranged for a brassy trombone. 

Jazz began in the African-American community as a form of cultural resistance. Jazz greats have historically been at the forefront of civil rights and other political movements. 

Embraced globally by musicians and audiences who prize its individual expression and democratic collaboration, jazz has transcended borders, aligning itself with multiculturalism and an openness to “the other.” 

Before this essay gets carried away, let’s remember: Pope Leo XIV is not, in fact, a jazz musician. In truth, there's so little known about his private life that there’s no credible reporting on his musical tastes —though we do know he’s a former math teacher. And recalling my own stern math teachers, I can't picture the new pope even nodding his head to the beat at a jazz club. But we can imagine him championing the inclusivity and personal freedom intrinsic to the jazz world. 

Even as cardinal, his social media posts became a platform for pushing back against the persecution of migrants, his words echoing the gospel call to welcome the stranger. It’s a stark contrast to the deafening silence in other corners of the Church, evoking a path of faith that is not just one of prayer, but of active, inclusive solidarity.

More than being inclusive though, Pope Leo XIV needs to be creative, willing to improvise outside the box of dusty doctrine, and he needs to be brave. 

In the days leading up to the conclave, Vatican analysts pointed out an uncomfortable truth: few if any of the candidates for pope stood up for victims of clerical abuse, the perennial scandal that continues to stain the Catholic Church world-wide. The lack of accountability among the clergy harms their moral ascendancy, leaving a vacuum in a world in turmoil.

There is also the challenge of relevance. Many in the Philippines, one of the largest Catholic nations in the world, closely followed the rituals of choosing Pope Francis’s successor. But for such a ritualistic religious society, more than a few church goers have trouble following basic church teachings such as, “Thou shalt not steal,” or even, “Thou shalt not kill.” 

The church and its allies in the Philippines have been successful in blocking social reforms such as a divorce law, yet has not exerted the same influence in rooting out corruption. Church leaders keep reminding the flock to vote wisely. Yet political behavior persists with little sense of morality.  

Many can recall Pope Francis’s awe-inspiring visit to the Philippines in 2015, mobilizing millions in what felt like a national spiritual retreat. Yet the very next year, many of the same papal fans voted for president a candidate who promised plenty of killing and even cursed the Pope. 

Such are the contradictions in a famously devout nation where churches are full, unlike European countries where religion is fading yet are touted as models of social welfare. 

Will the new Pope be a beacon of progress or a barrier to change? He could simply follow the notes laid down centuries ago, or dare to improvise and create like the jazz musician he never was.