ROSARIO, Argentina (OSV News) -- When Pope Leo XIV was elected to the papacy on May 8, 2025, few felt the change more personally than those who had known him long before he stepped onto the balcony of St. Peter's Basilica.
"For me," said Armando Lovera, a Peruvian writer who lived with then-Father Robert Prevost for years in an Augustinian seminary, "there was even a sense of loss. I lost a friend -- in the sense that you can no longer just call him, drop by, speak without protocol."
And yet, as the first anniversary of his election approaches, Lovera and others who knew the pope in Peru insist that, beneath the weight of the office, the man himself has not changed.
"He is still Roberto," Lovera said. "The same friend, the same person -- only now with a much bigger mission."
That conviction is echoed across Chiclayo, the northern Peruvian diocese where the future pope served as bishop from 2015 until 2023, when he was called to Rome to lead the Vatican office responsible for appointing bishops.
In Chiclayo, among priests, lay leaders and friends, a consistent portrait emerges: a pastor marked by closeness, a missionary instinct and a quiet but steady leadership -- traits now visible on the global stage.
The same traits are recognized by his Augustinian brothers.
"When he came out on the balcony, he said, 'I am a son of Augustine, an Augustinian,'" recalled Father Robert Hagan, prior provincial of the Province of St. Thomas of Villanova. "We know what that means: to love God and love our neighbor. That's what he does."
If listening defined his leadership style, presence gave it flesh -- and nowhere was that clearer than in Chiclayo's far-flung parishes.
Father Edwin Santa Cruz, a diocesan priest who worked closely with then-Bishop Prevost, remembers their first meeting lasting more than 40 minutes -- not because the bishop spoke at length, but because he listened.
"He taught me to listen and to wait," said Father Santa Cruz, who has lived with paraplegia for more than two decades.
Their paths crossed almost daily in Chiclayo's cathedral, where both celebrated Mass within an hour of each other. The bishop, he said, was always available.
"I always felt his closeness," Father Santa Cruz said. "Whenever I needed to see him, he was ready to receive me."
That attentiveness extended beyond clergy. Whether in parish meetings or pastoral visits, those who worked with him recall a man who resisted haste, preferring to hear people out before making decisions.
Others have described him similarly. Chilean Cardinal Fernando Chomali, speaking shortly after the election, said the new pope embodies a simple principle: "God gave us two eyes, two ears, one mouth."
"He has a great capacity to listen," Father Santa Cruz said. "I never saw him desperate. He makes decisions from objectivity and from a love of truth."
Showing up was only the beginning; in moments of crisis, he turned presence into action.
Chiclayo is a diocese of nearly 50 parishes spread across urban centers and remote rural areas. Father Santa Cruz recalls how the bishop made a point of visiting them all -- sometimes driving himself for hours, other times traveling on horseback to reach isolated communities.
"He would put on boots and go where help was needed," he said.
One moment in particular remains vivid. After torrential rains flooded the diocesan seminary during an El Niño weather event, Father Santa Cruz encountered the bishop at the entrance.
"He arrived in sneakers," the priest recalled. "I told him, 'Monsignor, everything is flooded.' He said, 'What do we do?' I said, 'I'll bring you boots.' He said, 'No -- let's go see.' And we went in."
The boots came later. The decision to enter could not wait. For Father Santa Cruz, the instinct to step into the flood captured something essential: "To feel our bishop so close, so willing -- that marked us deeply."
For Janina Sesa, who led Caritas in Chiclayo, that closeness took on life-or-death urgency during the COVID-19 pandemic.
"He offered spiritual support -- and more," she said.
Bishop Prevost rallied business leaders, civil authorities and ordinary citizens to fund the purchase of oxygen plants. The goal seemed daunting.
"I remember when he told me, 'Janina, we're going to buy an oxygen plant,'" she said. "I thought, 'How are we going to do that?'"
"He would say, 'Trust in providence,'" she recalled.
In the end, the campaign resulted in two oxygen plants providing free care to those most in need.
"When the plant arrived, people cried," Sesa said. "It gave us hope."
For those who knew him, the episode remains emblematic of a broader pattern: a leader grounded in faith who responds concretely to human need.
Long before he became bishop, and decades before his election to the papacy, Father Prevost had already lived a life shaped by mission. As an Augustinian priest and later superior general of the order, he traveled extensively across Africa, Asia and Latin America, visiting communities and strengthening missionary efforts.
"He has seen the Church in many realities," Lovera said. "He knows the peripheries."
That missionary instinct was not abstract. In Peru, it meant navigating difficult mountain roads to reach Quechua-speaking communities -- and even enrolling quietly in a language course to better communicate with them.
"I thought he had signed up just to greet us," Sesa said. "But no -- he was there as a student."
The gesture reflected a broader pattern: a willingness to meet people where they are.
"He would stop to bless children, to greet people, to touch hands," she said. "Just like he does today."
For those who knew him best, the transition from bishop to pope represents not a rupture but an expansion.
"What has changed?" Father Santa Cruz reflected. "Now he is no longer the bishop of a diocese, but the shepherd of the universal Church."
Father Jorge Millán Cotrina, rector of Chiclayo's cathedral, sees that continuity now expressed in the pope's universal mission.
"The pope is Peter among us," he said. "He is there to strengthen us in faith and fill us with hope."
While some observers expect rapid change, Father Millán cautioned against applying a culture of immediacy to the Church.
"We are not algorithms," he said. "People need time -- to listen, to correct, to grow."
He also recalled how then-Bishop Prevost responded to criticism. When a priest publicly spoke against him, the future pope used a customary monetary gift he had received after celebrating confirmations to buy new tires for the priest's car.
"He knows how to transform something negative into something good," Father Millán said.
For Lovera, one small story captures the essence of the man now known as pope.
In the 1990s, a homeless man would come regularly to the Augustinian house where they lived in Peru. The community fed him daily for years, but over time, no one remembered his name.
Lovera eventually reached out to his old friend. "Do you remember what he was called?" he asked.
At first, the pope could not recall. Hours later, a text message arrived: "Félix."
Decades had passed. The memory had not.
"He remembers people," Lovera said. "That's who he is."
Back in Chiclayo, that memory lives not only in anecdotes but in expectation. Catholics continue to follow his pontificate closely and hope one day to welcome him back. Peruvian church leaders have publicly expressed that hope, and though everyone pretends not to, because the Vatican has not confirmed any visit, the diocese he once led is preparing to welcome him in November.
In the meantime, the bond endures -- in prayer, in memory, and in a quiet sense of pride.
"We say it with joy," Father Millán said. "Peter was our bishop."
