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I’m writing this blog the day after the Roman Catholic Church announced a new Pope, Leo XIV. While I’m not Catholic, I was struck by the interviews with those who had travelled to Rome to await the announcement.
Most of them had never met Robert Prevost, the man chosen. A reasonable comment might have been, “I don’t know him personally, but from what I’ve read, it seems a good choice.” Yet the joy they expressed went far beyond that. There was something deeply emotional, even spiritual, in their response.
This joy was clearly not about the individual himself but about what he represents. For Roman Catholics, the papacy symbolizes the very heart of their faith. It connects to generations of belief and practice, and to deep hopes and prayers for the life of the world. Even for those outside the Catholic Church—or religion altogether—the figure of the Pope often symbolizes a more compassionate world than the sometimes arid and unforgiving desert we seem so good at making for ourselves.
I was away when Pope Francis died, but even while visiting seafarers aboard ships, I noticed their interest and conversation around it. That’s not surprising. Most people in the world, whatever their background, assign symbolic meaning to certain people, rituals, or objects. During Easter, I witnessed seafarers’ joy when a visiting chaplain celebrated Communion with them. One later showed us a photo of a religious image he keeps on his wall at home and asked if we could find something similar for his ship’s quarters.
Mission chaplains are no different from anyone else in this human tendency to seek and recognize symbols. In the shipping industry—which understandably must maintain a strong focus on the bottom line—our chaplains and ship visitors represent something different. They come not with commercial agendas, but with concern for the well-being of every seafarer they meet. Our surveys, involving those of many different faiths and none, show that chaplains are seen as symbols of compassion, trust, and hope.
Symbols hold real power—for great good, and sometimes for harm. They must be used responsibly, never to control or dominate, but to support human dignity and flourishing. This principle is deeply embedded in the work of The Mission to Seafarers, which serves people unconditionally, according to their individual needs. It’s humbling when seafarers and their families tell us that we, too, have become for them symbols of comfort and care.
Let me share one story. While visiting a seafarer’s family in their home village, I sat laughing one evening with his mother. Her mood shifted suddenly to tears as she recalled a time when her son had been gravely ill, far away and unreachable. He was evacuated from his ship and rushed into surgery that he might not survive. She couldn’t be there, but a Mission chaplain, Thomas, was. He stayed by her son’s side before and after the operation.
When I said it must have been hard for her not to be there herself, she agreed—but said that in a very real sense for her, she had been. For her, Thomas became a living symbol of her own love and concern. Though she had never met him before, Thomas’ presence with her son and frequent communication with her meant everything.
This is the essence of our mission: to be there for seafarers and their families. Whether in moments of crisis or everyday life, our presence carries meaning far beyond what we sometimes realise. It’s a privilege and a responsibility we carry with great care.
