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I’ve had my ups and downs with the church of my childhood. On the one hand, as a “cradle Catholic”, I’ve received the sacraments, often get to Sunday mass, and am the product of a Catholic education, right through Georgetown University, with its Jesuit history. My father was a “daily communicant” – he received the Eucharist every morning before heading to his law office; his sister, my aunt, was a nun, a Sister of Charity with a PhD in classic languages. On the other hand, I’ve felt both incapable and unwilling, for decades, to hew to the letter of the Catholic laws – there are so many of them, after all! – and have been appalled at the sexual abuse of minors by priests and the coverups. These have indelibly stained Catholicism for many years and pulled me away from the faith. In fact, because of my yoga practice and interest in eastern religion, I’ve even jokingly described myself as “a lapsed Catholic and a half-assed Buddhist”. But these days, I’m feeling more aligned with Catholicism than I have been since I wore a frilly white dress for my first communion in second grade. Why? To put it simply, I’m moved by Pope Leo’s consistent message of peace, and his stalwart courage in standing up to Donald Trump’s abusive rhetoric and lunatic behavior – including posting a meme of himself this week as a Jesus-like figure. (After the inevitable backlash, Trump took it down and strained credulity by claiming that he was trying to depict himself as a doctor.) The fact that Chicago-born Leo is the first American pope, an advocate for social justice and a basketball fan hasn’t hurt. But my conversion, if you will, is mostly about his courage and his inspiring words. I’m not alone in that. “That’s it – I’m gonna start going to mass again,” Dan Savage, the gay activist and sex columnist, vowed this week, after the pope – using his @pontifex account with its nearly 18 million followers – pointedly warned: “Woe to those who manipulate religion and the very name of God for their own military, economic, and political gain, dragging that which is sacred into darkness and filth.” But Savage suggested that he will need a trip to the confessional first, using the familiar words of the sacrament to suggest how that might proceed: “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. It’s been 45 years since my last confession. I hope you packed a lunch, father, because this is going to take a while.” The tension between president and pope sparked jokes: perhaps Trump would get his base to defect from Rome to a Maga Reformation with its own US-based pope that – naturally – he would appoint. Maybe he could tap his vice-president, JD Vance, a Catholic convert, who lectured the pope the other day that he should be more careful when talking about, yes, “matters of theology”. As with so much in Trump World, you can’t make this stuff up. Where are ordinary American Catholics coming down on this? Anecdotally, I can report that my Catholic friends are thrilled. “I love our pope,” one of them texted me on Easter, with a teary-eyes emoji. “Watching him this weekend. His humility … his surrender … his love.” The enthusiasm seems widespread, at least among those who lean left. As one commentator quipped the other day, who would have thought that, amid America’s ugly divorce, liberals would have come away with custody of Catholicism. More quantitatively, a public opinion survey conducted jointly by a Republican and Democratic pollster shows that, amid the war in Iran, Catholic support has dwindled for Trump, dropping below 50%. That’s a significant change from when he was elected in 2024, winning the Catholic vote by a 12-point margin, according to the National Catholic Register. If Trump and Leo are really in a “feud”, as many in the conflict-obsessed media insist on calling it, who’ll come out the victor? Let’s see, will it be the profane president, held liable for sexual abuse, who has threatened to destroy an entire civilization and bomb his enemies back to the stone ages? Or the peace-loving pontiff who stands up to a bully without flinching? I don’t pretend to be an omniscient God – let’s leave that to a certain president – but my collection-basket money is on Pope Leo. Margaret Sullivan is a Guardian US columnist writing on media, politics and culture