by Kayla August
If I’m honest, it’s not always easy to be Catholic—especially as someone from a minority group. Being both Black and Catholic often means standing in the minority in both the Catholic Church and within the broader Black community. I find myself constantly explaining to others, both inside and outside my communities, the beauty of the unique intersection that is the African American Roman Catholic experience.
It doesn’t stop there. As a faith-filled young adult in a world that’s increasingly “spiritual but not religious,” I often face questions and skepticism. Let’s be real: the Church sometimes doesn’t make it easy to defend her. People wonder how I can remain committed to an institution that preaches love, yet often fails to show it to those who are most in need.
So, why do I stay? Because I’ve felt God’s undeniable presence within this Catholic community. I’ve experienced it personally—through a hymn during Mass, a preacher’s words on retreat—and communally, in moments where the Spirit stirred something powerful and unexpected across the Church.
Recently, I traveled to the Chicago Theological Union (CTU) for a conference on reconciliation practices in the Church. As a theological doctoral student, I had immersed myself in preparing for my presentation. While en route, white smoke erupted from the Vatican. The global Church was stirring. I watched the livestream on my phone, surrounded by the buzz of excitement from friends—Catholic and non-Catholic alike.
In my Lyft from the airport, the young Black driver was curious. “We’re waiting for the pope!” I said with joy. “You must be Catholic,” he replied. “I don’t know much about the Catholic Church.” I smiled. “Well, this is a BIG moment for us—and you’re part of it now.” As we drove, the livestream showed people in Vatican City waving flags from across the world. I knew: this moment was best shared in community.
When I arrived at CTU, the faculty, staff, and Augustinians were gathered together. Excitement filled the room. Then he appeared—our new pope. An American. A Chicago native. A graduate of CTU. The energy was electric. My heart was bursting with joy. My group chats were blowing up. “Look what God has done!” we texted. A Chicago native, with roots in Peru and New Orleans—my home sweet home.
As the new pope spoke, his eyes welled with tears. He recognized the weight of his new calling, yet stepped forward humbly. While the Church can feel irrelevant to some of my friends, this moment pulled many back in. We were all surprised by the outcome. And I remain, because the Spirit never ceases to surprise. Human institutions fail, but God? God still moves.
As a theologian and preacher, I intentionally place myself in spaces where those disaffiliated from the Church gather. Pope Francis once said that we must “smell like the sheep.” I don’t know what sheep smell like, but I do know the scent of bars where I perform comedy, or the warm aroma of baked goods I bring to share with students in the dorm. Each space is holy when we remember that the Spirit is alive there, too.
After Pope Francis passed, I was surprised by how many “used-to-be” or “never-would-be” Catholics reached out—mourning his loss or curious about who might come next. They were drawn to something bigger than themselves. Even if they couldn’t name it, I could: the Spirit at work in this imperfect yet powerful global Church.
This Church spans continents, languages, traditions, races, and more. And the Spirit moves through them all. May 8 reminded me: if you’re a White Sox fan from the South Side of Chicago, you can become the Holy Father. That truth reminds me that God can and will work through anyone—especially when we’re open to surprise.
Kayla August is a doctoral student at the School of Theology and Ministry at Boston College. The article was originally published on the USCCB website.