Reclaiming the Church’s African Roots and Imagining Its Future

I never thought I’d live to see an American pope. And yet, here we are: Pope Leo, a humble son of Chicago, a scholar steeped in the Augustinian tradition, and a surprising symbol of unity following the death of Pope Francis. His elevation is not just a milestone for American Catholics but a sign that the Church’s gravitational center is shifting westward, outward, and perhaps southward.

George Cassidy-Payne

As I watched Pope Leo step onto the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica, I was struck by his poise and serenity. His warm smile radiated not triumph but trust. Then he spoke—in Spanish—honoring the people he had served in Peru. That simple gesture, paired with his fluency in English, Latin, Italian, and Quechua, revealed a pope who listens before he speaks, a man whose life, like that of St. Augustine, has crossed borders, intellectual, cultural, and geographic.

His election stunned many Vatican watchers. An American? An Augustinian? Yet this unusual consolidation of support tells us something vital: the center of the Church is no longer Rome alone. It is becoming the living body of Christ, diverse, diasporic, restless for renewal.

But while I celebrate this moment with hope and awe, a deeper question rises with the incense wafting through the basilica: When will the Catholic Church be ready for an African pope?

A Personal Encounter with Augustine

When I was studying religion at St. John Fisher College in Rochester, New York, one book profoundly changed the course of my life: Augustine’s Confessions. Here was a man wrestling with God and self in a way so raw, so human, that the centuries dissolved. Augustine’s introspective honesty and spiritual searching spoke directly to my own questions about faith, identity, and purpose.

At the time, I did not fully grasp the significance of Augustine’s African roots. Yet, as I reflected on his journey, I began to understand the deep, often forgotten ties between Christianity and Africa, ties that reach far beyond colonial-era narratives or simplistic racial categories. Augustine’s Confessions was not just a spiritual classic; it was a bridge to a Church history rooted firmly in African soil.

Pope Leo’s deep engagement with Augustine invites us to remember who Augustine was: born in 354 CE in Thagaste, a Roman town in Numidia, modern-day Algeria. Augustine was ethnically Berber, part of North Africa’s indigenous population. Roman by citizenship, he wrote in Latin and was immersed in the Greco-Roman intellectual tradition. His mother, Monica, was a devout Christian; his father, Patricius, was a pagan Roman official.

No surviving physical descriptions, busts, or frescoes confirm his appearance. But given his ancestry and geographic origin, he likely had brown or olive skin, with features familiar to many North Africans today. This fact disrupts the usual Eurocentric image of Church Fathers.

This brings complexity. Our modern racial categories—“Black,” “white,” “of color”—did not exist in Augustine’s time. Augustine would not have identified racially as we do now. Was he Black? In an American framework, probably not, as that term typically refers to people of sub-Saharan African descent. But was he African? Absolutely. Augustine was an African bishop, not symbolically, but literally. This fact matters.

The Forgotten Foundations of the Church

Long before cathedrals rose in France or basilicas dotted Italy, Christianity thrived in North Africa. Cities like Alexandria, Carthage, and Hippo were centers of vibrant theological thought and spiritual leadership.

Tertullian, from Carthage, coined the term Trinitas  (Trinity). Cyprian, bishop of Carthage, shaped the Church’s understanding of unity amid persecution. Origen of Alexandria, with his wild theological imagination, still influences Christian thought. Augustine himself walked the shores of Hippo Regius as a bishop, crafting some of the most enduring works of Christian theology.

Africa was not a mere backdrop to early Christianity; it was a crucible for its development.

Yet colonialism and European Christendom’s rise gradually erased this legacy. The Church that once flowed naturally through African cities became increasingly Roman, white, and Western in identity. This racialized shift in ecclesial structures narrowed the imagination of leadership and belonging.

In forgetting Africa’s foundational role, we lose a fuller understanding of Christianity’s intellectual and spiritual architecture. The roots of our faith are not just Mediterranean—they are African.

The Vibrant Church of Today

The story of the Church in Africa is not only history—it is the present and future.

As of 2023, Africa is home to approximately 281 million Catholics—roughly 20% of the global Catholic population—a surge from fewer than 1 million in 1910. This rapid growth is unmatched anywhere else in the world.

The continent boasts the world’s largest seminary in Nigeria, underscoring its commitment to nurturing future Church leaders. In 2022 alone, Africa added over 1,600 priests, bringing the total to more than 53,000. This contrasts sharply with Europe and the Americas, where vocations are declining.

Beyond numbers, the Church’s institutional influence is profound. Catholic schools educate the majority of primary and secondary students in many African countries. Hospitals and social service agencies run by the Church provide critical community support in places often underserved by governments.

African voices are rising in Church governance. With 29 African cardinals and a growing share of bishops, the continent’s influence on doctrine, liturgy, and justice debates is unmistakable.

The growing prominence of African Church leaders brings theological tensions between progressives and traditionalists, between local realities and Vatican priorities. These debates are signs of a living, breathing Church engaged in its own renewal.

African bishops and cardinals are no longer quiet observers. They raise their voices on questions central to the Church’s mission, offering perspectives shaped by experiences often overlooked in Western discourse.

This vibrancy challenges the Church to reimagine itself as truly universal, not just in theory but in practice.

Is the Church ready for an African pope?

This question reveals more than it asks. Why would it not be ready? What justifications exist for “not yet”? What assumptions lie beneath those two small words?

Some point to Vatican politics, others to media perception or fear of backlash in the West. But these are not theological reasons; they are excuses born of inertia, fear, and a lingering colonial gaze that still views Africa primarily as a mission field, not a source of leadership.

What if we allowed ourselves to imagine differently?

What would it mean—for the Church, for the world, and us—if the next occupant of the Chair of Peter were a son of Africa? What would it say about the universality of the Gospel, about the Church’s listening heart, if it recognized Africa as not just a place where the Gospel is planted but where it blossoms and spreads?

A Flowering Yet to Come

Pope Leo’s election is a beautiful step forward. It is a moment I will tell my grandchildren about. But if the Church’s heart truly beats for the margins, if it listens to the Holy Spirit whispered in many tongues, it must one day look to Africa not merely as a recipient of faith but as a source of the Church’s future.

Augustine walked the shores of Hippo Regius long before cathedrals rose in Europe. The roots of the Church run through African soil.

Perhaps the next great flowering will too.

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George Cassidy Payne is a freelance journalist, poet, and crisis counselor based in Rochester, New York. He writes extensively on faith, culture, and social justice, weaving together perspectives from philosophy, theology, and lived experience. George’s work has appeared in local and national outlets, and he is passionate about exploring the intersections of religion and community in a rapidly changing world.