Surprise! There’s an immigrant in the Vatican.

If someone has an accent, don’t judge them—it means they’re speaking a second language. That’s not a weakness; it’s a superpower.

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My admiration for all people different and foreign

I have always admired people on the fringes of life. It could be for their culture and beliefs, how they dress or appear. More importantly, it could be their experience and the stories they have to share. I believe my happiness in Europe is directly tied to the fact that most people here are different from me. They speak different languages, eat different foods, and hold values and beliefs that are similar, but not the same.

The recent election of Papa Leone XIV (Pope Leo, for short) inspired this month’s blog. He’s the first native English-speaking American Pope, and he’s an American immigrant in Italy. His parents hailed from French, Italian, and Spanish backgrounds — descendants of immigrants, nonetheless.

I had joined my friend Vivien for an aperitivo on the second day of the Vatican Conclave. We had no idea we would be watching live television in the bar as they announced the new Pope.
We were even more stunned — along with the Italians — when we realized he was an American from Chicago. It had to sink in for the Italian patrons.

“Papa Leone! Ma, è americano? No, non ci credo.” — “Pope Leo! But…he’s American? No, I don’t believe it.”

It was unforgettable moment as church bells rang out across Italy announcing the arrival of Papa Leone XIV.

I think Papa Leone is going to shake things up a bit in a world that is looking to close borders, slam doors, and end opportunities for those who are different. He was recently quoted as saying, “No one is exempted from striving to ensure respect for the dignity of every person — especially the most frail and vulnerable, from the unborn to the elderly, from the sick to the unemployed, citizens and immigrants alike.”

His words inspired me.

One can’t deny that his election and subsequent public comments have opened a door of hope for a world that feels dark, almost sinister at times.

The Pope wields tremendous influence over the 1.4 billion Catholics around the world. If he can lead by example and inspire his followers to do the same — I’m all for seeing the world become a kinder, gentler place for the most vulnerable, including immigrants who leave one life behind to seek another in unfamiliar, and sometimes unwelcoming, places.

Substance over status, any day

It seems the world wants to isolate itself now. It wants to highlight the differences instead of the commonalities. The judgement is based on the status of the individual over their substance.

Growing up in western Pennsylvania, “immigrants” was a word used to describe our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. They were all people who had arrived from a multitude of places across Europe and the world.

The word immigrant was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it was simply understood that everyone had come from somewhere else to be where we were. Our stories were similar: someone made a decision to strive for a better life and left home to come to America — whether from Italy, England, Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Mexico, or many other countries.

If someone was new to the area, there was genuine interest in where they came from — in what made them different, as much as what made them the same. There didn’t seem to be a divide between us and those who had just arrived. Immigrants were everywhere; our families were all from someplace else.

There’s something beautifully dignified to feel welcomed into something new, even when others know little about your story. It’s the treat-no-one-as-a-stranger philosophy I often try to emulate — failing as often as I succeed.

The life experience of being foreign has come full circle as I continue to fumble my way through life in Italy. Although I stumble less, I’ve found that my growing confidence with the language and culture often leads me into situations where I think I know what will happen — only to be hilariously proven wrong.

But those moments are often followed by something simple and human: a kind gesture, a shared smile, a moment of connection. That substance is often more than anyone expects from me — even if I am an immigrant.

Treating others with dignity isn’t “woke” – It’s human

When we last connected in my March post, I had just returned from a trip to Prague, where I was riding out a rather inconvenient terrace resurfacing project that had to be done due to poor construction of the terrace foundation.

Beginning in March and lasting all the way until the middle of May (11 weeks instead of the promised two weeks), the same four men were here working on my terrace. The delay wasn’t their fault — March and April became unseasonably wet. They had to stop working for several days while spring showers dumped torrential rain on the Italian Riviera.

As you can imagine, after 11 weeks, we became quite close. Early on, they told me they were long-time friends originally from Albania. (If you’re not a geography buff, Albania is a country on the Adriatic and Ionian Seas, between Greece and Montenegro.) They had immigrated to Italy together to find work in their field. In their home country, they were expert craftsmen in tile, flooring, and cement work.

They said the work situation in Albania is so difficult that they were willing to leave their families behind, hoping they could eventually reunite in Italy once they became stable in their new lives. They sacrificed a lot those first few years, living together in a shared apartment, but it was worth the sacrifice for the promise of a better life in Italy.

In my presence, they spoke Italian. However, when they were together, they spoke Albanian. Despite their efforts to teach me some words, I never quite caught on to their language.

They would salute people on the street below, take photos of themselves sunning on the deck at lunchtime to send to their families and friends in Albania. They would bring Sofia out to sit with them, and we would drink coffee in the morning and eat American-style cookies that I’d bake for them every so often.

I think they were wary of me at first, but after the first few weeks, we became friends under the messy circumstances. They were among the kindest people I’d met in Italy, and I reciprocated that kindness to help them feel comfortable.

One day, I asked if they needed anything, and their lead told me I was a very nice customer because I brought them cold water from the refrigerator on hot days and hot coffee in the morning. He said most customers made them drink from the garden hose or an outdoor spigot, and never allowed them to use the bathroom.

That just about floored me when he said that. I asked myself, “Where is the dignity in the world?”

They worked long days to try to catch up with the schedule and never once complained about the difficulty of the work, the rain, or the windy and sometimes dreary afternoons.

We shared something in common. They were immigrants like me — far from home and living in a foreign place. We were all doing our best to get by with dignity.

I hope you enjoy this latest entry. This latest update is a bit overdue. However, when the time comes to write, the words become clear. The summer is here in the Italian Riviera! I’m looking forward to sharing my summer stories with you in the coming months. In the meantime, enjoy your summer season and do something outrageously adventurous, but always with dignity towards others. Much love to you, Luke.