Personal Reflection from President Poon: Looking for Shade at the Vatican

The thing I remember most about meeting Pope Leo XIV wasn't the grandeur of the Vatican. It was looking for shade.

Rome was in the middle of a heat wave, and a delegation of presidents from Jesuit colleges and universities across Central and North America had gathered for a private audience with the Pope. Dressed in dark suits, we migrated from one shrinking patch of shadow to another outside the Vatican walls. Our strategic plans, fundraising campaigns, and enrollment goals took a back seat to a far more immediate mission: don't stand in the sun.

After the security check, we entered the Vatican through a private entrance and eventually arrived in the audience room. Then, we waited. University presidents spend much of our lives on tightly scripted schedules. Yet here we sat with nothing to do but wait. The anticipation was palpable. What does one say to the head of the Catholic Church? Do you address him as "Holy Father" or "Your Holiness?" Do you approach as a couple or individually? Should you rehearse something profound or simply say, "thank you"?

The photographers and videographer quietly took their places. We knew the moment had arrived. We stood and applauded as Pope Leo XIV entered. His first words were the same words I hear every Sunday at Mass. "May the Lord be with you."

The nerves disappeared. I was no longer standing before one of the world's most influential leaders. I was praying with another Catholic. That brief moment taught me something before the Pope had even begun his remarks. Great leaders know how to make people feel at home.

He then delivered remarks written for presidents of Jesuit colleges and universities, thanking the Society of Jesus for centuries of educating students while challenging us to continue that mission amid the defining issues of our age: artificial intelligence, environmental degradation, inequality, migration, and secularization.

His remarks were thoughtful and pastoral, but one sentence hasn't left my mind or heart, "The search for truth is never an abstract exercise but a path toward God and toward the service of humanity."

In higher ed, it's tempting to measure our success through rankings, research funding, graduation rates, athletic victories, and new buildings. And of course, universities should strive for excellence. But that's not why they exist. Universities exist to pursue truth and impart wisdom. For Catholic universities, that purpose has an added dimension: to form individuals who embark on that pursuit with hope, compassion, and solidarity. That simple idea feels surprisingly radical today when algorithms exalt the individual and social media dilutes thoughtful discourse into 15-second clips.

Pope Leo offered another vision. He spoke of our urgent responsibility to care for creation and warned against exploiting Earth's resources for private gain at the expense of the common good.

Living in LA, that's hardly an abstract theological concept. It's visible in the aftermath of devastating wildfires, prolonged droughts, declining biodiversity, and increasingly unpredictable weather. This proximity raises the stakes of the questions Pope Leo posed. So many of the technologies reshaping our world through artificial intelligence are being developed in tech corridors across our state. While A.I. promises extraordinary advances in medicine, engineering, education, and scientific discovery, it also raises equally extraordinary ethical questions. Can technology deepen human dignity rather than diminish it? Can innovation serve the common good rather than narrow interests? Can we educate students to build powerful tools while also exercising the wisdom to use them responsibly?

Universities are among the few places where computer scientists, philosophers, theologians, business leaders, artists, and sociologists still sit around the same proverbial table answering these questions. And that may be one of higher education's greatest contributions in the years ahead.

When Cathy and I finally approached the Holy Father, I thanked him for everything he is doing for our faith and for our world. It was a brief exchange…in English, and that may seem like a minor detail, but it made the encounter feel so personal. I wasn't listening through translation or formal diplomatic language. I was speaking naturally with the pastor of my Church.

As we returned to our seats, we prayed the Lord's Prayer together, and then Pope Leo blessed us, our families, and our work. Like most university presidents, I spend my days navigating uncertainty, difficult decisions, and competing expectations. Yet I left feeling lighter than when I had arrived. It's not that the challenges had disappeared, but I had been reminded why they are worth carrying.

I'll always remember looking for shade that June day in the Roman heat. At the time, I thought we were simply trying to escape the sun. Looking back, I realize we were preparing to receive something. In a world that often feels overheated - politically, technologically, and environmentally - I came home reminded that the work of a university is about so much more than generating knowledge. We are offering wisdom, cultivating hope, and, whenever possible, creating spaces where others can find shade.