In an age of chaos and relentless geopolitical brinkmanship, the words of Pope Leo — the 267th Supreme Pontiff — rang out from St. Peter’s Square with a clarity that felt almost archaic.

On Palm Sunday, as Christians worldwide began the solemn commemoration of Christ’s Passion, the Pope delivered unusually forceful remarks condemning the ongoing war in Iran.

Citing the Scripture, he declared that God “rejects the prayers of those who wage war,” whose “hands are full of blood.” In a direct rebuke to those who invoke Christian language to justify military aggression, Leo gave a stark reminder: Jesus is the King of Peace, and He cannot be co-opted as a mascot for violence.

The question of whether the Pope’s admonitions are “effective” in this day and age invites reflection. For some 1.4 billion Catholics worldwide who look to the papacy as a moral compass, Leo’s words carry the weight of sacred tradition.

Yet, in the broader arena of international relations — where the United States and Israel are engaged in a deepening conflict with Iran — the reception is far more complicated.

When political leaders like US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth pray for “overwhelming violence against those who deserve no mercy,” they reveal a chasm between the Gospel of Christ’s Peace and a theology of retribution. In this context, the Pope’s voice is not that of a geopolitical broker but of a prophet: one who speaks truth to power.

History suggests that prophets are rarely heeded in their own time. Leo’s words, however, are not diminished by their political futility. Their effectiveness lies not in whether they can halt airstrikes, but in whether they can arrest the conscience of men.

By choosing Palm Sunday — the day that marks the beginning of Christ’s journey to the Cross — to admonish those blasphemously using the name of God to spur armies to wage war with “overwhelming violence against those who deserve no mercy,” Pope Leo framed his criticism within the ultimate narrative of nonviolence.

He reminded the world that the Passion of Christ took place in the Holy Land, the very region now consumed by war, death and destruction. Jesus, Leo noted, did not “arm himself” or “fight any war.” When confronted with violence in the Garden of Gethsemane, He rebuked the sword and prayed for His Father’s mercy on those who inflicted unimaginable pain and suffering on humanity.

This juxtaposition is jarring. As the Christian world venerates the site of the Crucifixion, the skies above that same land are filled with missiles and drones.

The “gentle face of God” that Leo invoked stands in stark contrast to the “overwhelming violence” prayed for by officials who claim the same faith. The Pope’s reprimand serves as a vital corrective, an insistence that the Cross to which the innocent Son of God was nailed cannot be turned into a sword.

Will the world listen? Perhaps not. The engines of war are driven by political calculus, not homilies. But the measure of a holy man’s words is not their immediate political impact — it is their ability to preserve moral clarity.

In an era of indiscriminate warfare and cynical manipulation of religious sentiment, Pope Leo has drawn a line in the sand. He has reminded believers that to follow Christ is to reject the logic of the sword, regardless of the righteousness of the cause.

As the Passion of Christ is remembered this week, Leo’s words echo the ancient cry of the prophets: a call to repentance.

Whether the world listens or not, the voice remains. And for those who believe, that voice — rooted in the Suffering Servant who died in the Holy Land — is the only one that ultimately matters.

In a week dedicated to the victory of life over death, the Pope’s message is a solemn reminder that one cannot worship the risen Christ while keeping their “hands full of blood.”