(ZENIT News / Chicago, 06.15.2025).- It wasn’t the World Series, but for thousands of Chicagoans packed into the stands of Rate Field, Saturday 14 june felt like a spiritual home run. In a blend of faith and civic pride, the city hosted a Mass honoring Pope Leo — Chicago’s native son and the first American to lead the Catholic Church — in the same ballpark where he once cheered on his beloved White Sox.

The seven-minute video message from Pope Leo, broadcast on the stadium’s towering jumbotron, was informal but deeply felt. “We need to find ways to come together and spread a message of hope,” he said, his English carrying the soft edges of a Chicago accent that years in Rome hadn’t quite erased. The crowd erupted with cheers, some waving rosaries, others White Sox pennants, as the pontiff briefly tipped a Sox cap — the same one he had accepted from a fan just days earlier in St. Peter’s Square.

The event, organized by the Archdiocese of Chicago and led by Cardinal Blase Cupich, drew a colorful tapestry of the city’s faithful: nuns in blue-and-white habits, priests in clerical collars, vendors hawking “Da Pope” caps, and children in miniature Sox jerseys lining up for communion under the late spring sun.

Thousands gather at White Sox park on the South Side of Chicago for a celebration of Pope Leo XIV and to hear a special message from the first American pope.

Yet the Mass unfolded against a complicated national backdrop. Elsewhere in the city, demonstrators gathered in Daley Plaza to protest immigration policies under President Donald Trump, while Washington, D.C., prepared a military parade for the president’s 79th birthday. Pope Leo, ever careful with his words, chose not to address politics. Instead, he spoke directly to the city’s youth, calling on them to be “builders of bridges, not walls.”

The choice of venue wasn’t random. While much of Chicago’s Catholic infrastructure has been shrinking—parishes closing, pews emptying—the city’s spiritual identity remains tightly bound to its neighborhoods and immigrant stories. “In Chicago, people still tell you what parish they’re from before they tell you the street,” said Fr. Tom McCarthy, an Augustinian preacher known for his dynamic homilies. “This isn’t just civic pride. This is something deeper.”

Churchgoers receive communion during the Archdiocese of ChicagoÕs Catholic mass hosted at Rate Field, home of the Chicago White Sox.

The connection to Pope Leo runs even deeper. Before becoming bishop and then cardinal in Peru, the future pontiff walked the streets of Chicago as a seminarian. “That seed was planted right here,” noted Sr. Barbara Reid. “This celebration is about hope, unity, and possibility. And right now, we really need all three.”

In a gesture to the pope’s strong ties to Latin America, the celebration began with the Peruvian national anthem, followed by a rendition of the U.S. anthem performed by the Leo High School choir — whose recent performance on «America’s Got Talent» had already brought national attention to the Catholic school.

Cardinal Blase J. Cupich, Archbishop of Chicago, walks off the field during the Archdiocese of ChicagoÕs Catholic mass as it concludes at Rate Field, home of the Chicago White Sox.

The White Sox, who in 2024 recorded the worst modern season in MLB history (39-121), have little to celebrate these days. But fans hoped that Saturday’s spiritual lift might help. “Hey, if there’s such a thing as papal momentum, we’ll take it,” said one fan clutching a rosary and a scorecard.

Tickets for the event — sold at \$5 apiece — vanished within minutes of going on sale. Scalpers later listed them for upwards of \$1,200, a surreal twist for a team currently sitting at the bottom of the American League standings. Proceeds helped cover the stadium rental, but the atmosphere inside was anything but transactional.

Churchgoers attend the Archdiocese of ChicagoÕs Catholic mass hosted at Rate Field, home of the Chicago White Sox.

The Pope’s brother, who still lives in a nearby suburb, reportedly watched from the stands alongside former teachers, classmates, and neighbors. “To see someone who grew up here speak to the world — and bring it back here — is something we’ll never forget,” one former parishioner said.

After the final blessing, a spontaneous chant broke out among fans still in their seats: “Let’s go, Leo! Let’s go!” It wasn’t clear whether they meant the pope or the team. In Chicago, for now, they might just be one and the same.

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