When Pope Leo XIV Was Just Six, a Prophecy Was Spoken: “You Will Be the First American Pope”

In a moment that shocked the world and redefined the future of the Catholic Church, Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost of Chicago became Pope Leo XIV, the first American pontiff in the Church’s 2,000-year history. But according to his older brother, the seeds of this historic event were planted much earlier than anyone imagined — not in Rome, not even in seminary, but on a quiet neighborhood street in Chicago when Robert was just a first grader.

A neighbor, in an almost mythical moment of foresight, told the family he would become the first American pope. At the time, it seemed more fantasy than prophecy. Now, it reads like destiny.

In an interview with ABC News, John Prevost, one of Pope Leo XIV’s two brothers, reflected on the moment their family received a prediction that would linger in memory for decades. “I don't know how many people will find it interesting,” he said, “but when he was in first grade, a woman across the street that we used to play with the kids, and a woman down the street said he would be the first American pope.

In first grade, they said that.” The story, shared with the kind of quiet awe reserved for legends, adds a remarkable chapter to the growing lore surrounding the new pope.

Born in the Chicago suburbs in 1955, Robert Prevost displayed an early and unusual spiritual focus. According to his brother, he knew even in childhood that his life belonged to the Church. “He knew from that age he was going to be a priest,” John Prevost recalled.

That conviction never wavered. While other children spent summers at home or playing outside, young Robert was already walking a path apart. “After eighth grade graduation he went immediately to the seminary,” John explained.

“So he was in Holland, Michigan, at the Augustinian seminary for four years, and then he went into Villanova University, which is an Augustinian university. So he wasn't home a lot. Summer vacations he was home.”

His absence from home wasn't a sign of detachment, but dedication. As other teenagers navigated adolescence, Robert was immersed in spiritual formation, philosophy, and community service. It was a calling that required sacrifice — not just for him, but for the entire family. “We didn’t see him much growing up,” John admitted. “But we knew where he was going.”

Despite this, John Prevost never believed his brother would one day wear the white robes of the papacy. “To tell you the truth, no,” he said when asked if he expected his brother to be chosen. The idea of an American pope had long been considered improbable, even impossible.

“Because I kept hearing there will never be an American pope just because of politics and the United States has too much world power — now they don't need also [power] into the Church. So I did not expect it.”

That doubt only began to shift when international speculation started placing Cardinal Prevost among the frontrunners in the conclave that followed Pope Francis’s death on April 21. But even then, Robert dismissed the notion. “I spoke to him Tuesday before he went into the conclave,” John said, “and he just kept saying, ‘No, that’s not true. That’s not true.’ So he's pushing it away, hoping that it would go away, and it didn't go away.”

Indeed, it did not. On May 8, 2025, white smoke emerged from the Sistine Chapel, and the Church announced that Robert Francis Prevost would henceforth be known as Pope Leo XIV. At 69 years old, the former Archbishop of Chiclayo and Prefect of the Dicastery for Bishops became the 267th pontiff and the first American in the Vatican’s highest office.

His ascension came after years of service in Peru, decades of teaching and leadership in the Augustinian order, and a deep-rooted belief in the Church’s mission to heal, guide, and serve.

During his first public address from the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica, Pope Leo XIV struck a tone of humility, continuity, and spiritual clarity. He paid tribute to his predecessor, Pope Francis, whose death marked the end of an era. “We still keep in our ears that weak but always courageous voice of Pope Francis blessing Rome,” Leo said. “The Pope who blessed Rome gave his blessing to the world, to the whole world that morning on Easter Sunday.”

Then, with his own voice, he issued a promise that reverberated far beyond the cobblestones of Vatican City. “Allow me to follow up on that same blessing: God loves us, God loves you all and evil will not prevail.”

These words, bold yet gentle, affirmed his intention to build upon Francis’s legacy of compassion, inclusion, and moral clarity — themes he had echoed for years through his social media and ministry work, often challenging the ideologies of power, nationalism, and exclusion.

Yet for all the political attention his election has drawn — particularly criticism from MAGA supporters and right-wing pundits — the most revealing narrative about Pope Leo XIV may not come from his theological treatises or his positions on immigration and global justice. It may come from the quiet prophecy spoken by a neighbor when he was just a boy.

In an age where institutions are often questioned and leadership is scrutinized for every word, gesture, and policy, the story of the neighbor’s prediction resonates because it suggests something deeper — something almost mythic. That even amidst political storms and global skepticism, sometimes, fate whispers early and speaks true.

The question now facing the Church and the world isn’t whether that prophecy has been fulfilled — clearly, it has. The question is what Pope Leo XIV will do with the weight of history now placed on his shoulders. Will he lean into the bridge-building he’s promised?

Can he guide a divided global flock with the same clarity and conviction he had as a first grader, when he already knew he wanted to serve?

If his past is any indication — from seminary in Michigan to the Amazonian missions of Peru, from defending the poor to confronting global powers — Pope Leo XIV will not shy away from the challenge. And perhaps that woman on the street all those years ago saw more than just a boy in uniform. Perhaps she saw a shepherd. Perhaps, even then, the Church’s future was already beginning to speak.