I must admit I was surprised, as I awaited Magnifica humanitas, the first encyclical of Pope Leo XIV, published on the 25th May 2026, I was not quite sure what to expect or why he had chosen to focus specifically on artificial intelligence. As I read through the courageous and lucid pages of the document, I realised that Leo opens up a much broader horizon than AI alone. He neither demonises technology nor celebrates it naively; rather, he reminds us that it is never neutral, because it bears the imprint of those who design it, fund it, and use it. And he issues an invitation that has stayed with me: to “disarm” AI and place the human person back at the centre.
The greatest surprise, however, came afterwards. I followed the reactions—not only from theologians and pastors, but especially from many lay people: researchers, entrepreneurs, leaders in the technological world, including non-believers, all willing to engage seriously with the text. At the Vatican presentation, several of them were seated alongside the Pope. It was a powerful image: when the Gospel addresses the deepest human questions, it draws attention far beyond our usual boundaries.
One hundred and thirty-five years after Rerum novarum, Pope Leo brings the Church once again to the crossroads of a new revolution, just as his predecessor did in the face of the Industrial Revolution. What is at stake is not merely a technology, but the meaning of work, the quality of human relationships, and the dignity of the person. Before us, he writes, lies a choice: to build another Babel or to build a city where God and humanity dwell together. We are called to remain critical of a technocratic paradigm concentrated in the hands of a few and seemingly destined to prevail, while seeking the common good and promoting integral human development.
I find myself asking: how does all of this speak to us, Franciscans of the twenty-first century? We can no longer think of AI, and everything that comes with it, as someone else's concern. We are already immersed in it. We use it to write, translate, study, and communicate. But are we certain that, while our machines become more intelligent, our ability to listen to ourselves and to others is growing at the same pace? What about our capacity to perceive reality and all that is truly human?
I now understand even more clearly the significance of choosing AI as one of the themes of the 2027 General Chapter. We do not want to remain standing at the threshold, either frightened or fascinated. We want to enter this new frontier with the Gospel in our hands. We want to allow ourselves to be challenged by what it can preserve of our humanity and by what it may place at risk—beginning with its use in warfare, which Leo denounces in unmistakable terms.
St Francis was not afraid of the challenges of his age. He crossed boundaries that seemed insurmountable and approached others without weapons or defences. Today, we are asked to show a similar courage—not to reject what is new, but to guide it toward the good, toward communion, and toward peace.
My mind keeps returning to that room in the Vatican, filled with men and women from the worlds of science and digital technology, listening attentively. If they are willing to let themselves be challenged by an encyclical, why shouldn't we be? To live through this moment as believers, with our eyes open and our hearts free: that is the boldness that the Year of St Francis asks of us.