At 19:06 Rome time, white smoke. The crowd in St. Peter’s Square, damp and cold from a persistent rain, erupted. The bells of St. Peter’s began to ring, confirming the election. The waiting was precise, measured in conclaves and ballots. The announcement, when it came, was a sequence of established facts.
Cardinal Protodeacon Jean-Louis Tauran appeared on the loggia. ‘Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum.’ I announce to you a great joy. ‘Habemus Papam.’ We have a Pope. He gave the name: Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio of the Society of Jesus. A pause. Then the chosen name: Franciscus.
The choice was the statement. Jorge Bergoglio was the first Jesuit Pope, the first from the Americas, the first from the Southern Hemisphere. He took the name of Francis of Assisi, the saint of poverty, humility, and care for creation. The facts were presented without commentary. The cardinal gave the name. The new Pope appeared. He asked for a silent prayer. He asked for the crowd to pray for him.
There were no lengthy speeches. The event was a delivery of information. A man from Argentina was now Pope Francis. The historical firsts were implicit. The theological and pastoral direction was implied by a single word. The power of the moment resided in what was not said, in the space between the announcement and the interpretation, in the quiet that followed the bells.