It’s a strange day when the most powerful religious figure in the world is a Kevin. And yet, here we are. Following an unexpected papal resignation, the Church has appointed an interim pope — and his name is Kevin. Kevin.
Reactions have been, predictably, giddy. It’s not that Kevin isn’t a perfectly respectable name (hello, Kevin Costner, Kevin Bacon, every third boy in a 1980s classroom). It’s just that Kevin doesn’t sound like someone who should be addressing the faithful from the balcony of St Peter’s Basilica. Kevin sounds like someone who’s going to fix your Wi-Fi, not deliver a blessing Urbi et Orbi.
There’s a certain weight we subconsciously expect from a pope’s name: a Gregory, a Benedict, a Pius. Names that carry the weight of history, persecution, martyrdom — or at least a strong Latin declension. Kevin, bless him, is fighting an uphill battle against decades of sitcom dads, earnest HR managers, and that one mate you call when your car won’t start.
The Church, of course, insists that holiness is not a matter of branding. A Kevin can be just as saintly as a Leo or a John Paul. Still, there’s something gently comic about the idea of Cardinal Kevin donning the papal robes, looking slightly uncomfortable, as if he’s about to ask if you’ve tried turning the confessional off and on again.
Perhaps it’s exactly what we need: a Pope Kevin to remind us that sanctity is for everyone — not just the Gregories and the Clements, but also the Kevins, the Brians, and the Sharons. Holiness in a hoodie. Redemption for the everyman.
Still, if they elect a Pope Darren next, we might have to have a word.