Shepherding the Streaming Age

By Herman M. Lagon

It was almost poetic. In 1925, the year when Pope Pius XI instituted the Feast of Christ the King to reaffirm spiritual authority during rising secularism, the average life expectancy globally hovered around 35 years. The world was recovering from war, electrification was still trickling into rural homes, and childbirth remained a perilous gamble for many. Nearly a century later, in 2025, we scroll through papal announcements on smartphones while sipping third-wave coffee, under the soft buzz of solar-powered lights. Pope Francis, now laid to rest, left behind a Church more grounded than triumphant, more open than ornamental, and now, Pope Leo XIV takes up the torch not merely to replicate, but to reignite.

Much has changed in a hundred years. In 1925, Iloilo’s Barotac Nuevo was a quiet agricultural town with muddy roads and rice fields as playgrounds. Today, it thrives as the “football capital of the Philippines,” its youth more likely to quote Messi than memorize catechism. This is not a tragedy but a transition. The Church of Pope Francis knew this, saw the new terrain of reality, and rather than retreat, chose to engage. Pope Leo XIV, in his first address, did not just nod to this legacy; he urged the world to carry it with both humility and determination.

This is not mere sentiment. The numbers back it up. A study by the Pew Research Center in 2024 showed that among Filipino youth aged 18 to 25, 61% viewed Pope Francis as a “moral leader who listens,” a statistic almost unheard of in earlier decades. The late pope’s emphasis on dialogue, simplicity, and authenticity resonated with a generation raised on transparency and noise. His was a papacy shaped not by prestige, but by proximity—a pope of selfies and slums, not silk and scepters. For teachers, especially in public schools in provinces like Iloilo or Antique, this translated into values they could finally echo in classrooms: inclusion, dignity, and a faith that interrogates as much as it comforts.

Pope Leo XIV, born Robert Francis Prevost, enters the scene not as a break from this mold, but its most promising continuation. Having served as a missionary in Peru, a mathematician fluent in six languages, and shaped by both canon law and common poverty, he is both Vatican and village. Cardinal Luis Antonio Tagle, recalling their time in the conclave, described him as “a calm listener, molded by silence and service.” That kind of temperament is not just refreshing; it is necessary. In a time when moral certainty often comes packaged as ideological noise, Pope Leo’s deliberate quietude offers something countercultural.

Let us not forget, 2025 is not an easy time to lead. Misinformation travels faster than homilies. Artificial intelligence disrupts not only labor but human identity itself. Mental health crises echo louder than Sunday bells. Still, Leo XIV’s first move as pope was not to legislate but to listen. He opened the floor to fellow cardinals—a gesture both symbolic and strategic. It was a declaration: This papacy will not be a monologue. Nowadays, this kind of leadership makes sense.

The contrast between 1925 and 2025 is staggering, but perhaps not surprising. Technology has rendered the world smaller yet more complicated. Education is more accessible, but also more fragmented. Families are redefined, economies fluctuate, and identity is fluid. What remains is the human ache for meaning—a thirst not just for survival, but for significance. Pope Francis saw this and lived it. Pope Leo seems determined to scaffold it.

One cannot talk of continuity without mentioning Vatican II. Pope Leo did not mince words when he said, “Let us renew together our complete commitment to the reforms of the Second Vatican Council.” This is a papacy that reads the signs of the times not with fear, but with fidelity to its essence: that the Church must be missionary, merciful, and modern in method if not in doctrine. When the pontiff invoked the late Pope Francis’ call for “courageous and trusting dialogue,” it was not mere rhetoric. It was a reminder that doctrine is only alive when people are.

Consider this: in a recent 2023 Ateneo study on public trust in religious institutions among Filipino college students, 74% said they valued Church statements that addressed mental health, climate action, and social equity. This is what Pope Leo inherits—a generation that demands relevance without abandoning reverence. His focus on artificial intelligence, as stated in his first message, was telling. He recognizes the ethical vacuum that new technologies create and the urgent need for moral frameworks that do not feel medieval. In classrooms from Batad to Bacolod, teachers now face questions about deepfakes, data privacy, and digital fatigue. It helps when their Church speaks to those same realities.

Some may argue that popes should not be too modern. That the seat of Peter should not sway with social winds. But that is a misunderstanding of legacy. To continue a legacy is not to duplicate its every word, but to discern its heartbeat. Pope Francis’ papacy beat with humanity. It spoke of migrants, of bridges not walls, of mercy over might. Pope Leo XIV seems to understand that to carry that forward means to speak in new languages—not just linguistic, but cultural and technological.

This is where Pope Leo’s story becomes our own. In small towns, in crowded schools, in the cluttered rooms of teachers juggling lesson plans and side hustles, there is a shared calling: to serve. Not for recognition, but because someone has to show up. Pope Francis did that. He showed up in prisons, refugee camps, and Zoom calls with students. Now, Pope Leo must show up in synods, algorithms, and street protests. The terrain has shifted, but the task remains: walk with people, not ahead of them.

There are no guarantees. History has a way of surprising even the most hopeful. But the election of a pope who carries Francis in name, spirit, and mission is a sign worth noting. From Jaro to Vatican City, from public school corridors to theological symposiums, the message resounds: the legacy continues not by chance, but by choice.

And that is what hope is. Not a vague optimism, but a decision—sometimes quiet, often costly, always courageous. Pope Leo XIV may be new to the Chair of Peter, but he is no stranger to the weight of the world. If he walks with the same grace that shaped his journey from the missions of Peru to the balconies of Rome, then the path Francis paved will not be erased, but extended. And for a weary, watching world, that is a reason to keep walking too.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ‘student of and for life’ who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world that is grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views herewith do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.