At the Vatican switchboard, nuns soothe anxious callers about Pope Francis

VATICAN CITY (AP) — How’s Pope Francis doing? Can you give him my get-well wishes? Can I speak with him directly?

The nuns who operate the Vatican’s switchboard are fielding a growing number of calls with questions like that as the pope remains hospitalized in Rome.

“They feel like children waiting to know about their father,” said Sister Anthony, who runs the operation in a spartan office steps away from St. Peter’s. Basilica. “We tell them to pray for him.”

The Vatican’s central number is public — and the sisters of the Pious Disciples of the Divine Master make sure all who call it get a real person, not the “press 1 for English, 2 for Latin” version of the automation that’s become the norm at major institutions and businesses worldwide.

“It’s the Vatican’s voice — a voice that despite the digitalization of communications, the Vatican wants to preserve as a human voice,” said Mother Micaela, the order’s mother superior.

The Pious Disciples sisters are part of the 100-year-old Pauline orders, which are focused on communications, including landmark Catholic publishing operations around the world. In spring 1970, they were called to operate the Vatican switchboard and instructed by the then-mother superior to be “a voice that does good because through the phone wire it communicates Christ himself.”

Today, often with headsets over their veils, the sisters cover the phones for 12 hours a day, seven days a week, in front of large monitors that show the incoming call's country of origin. Gendarmes, the Vatican’s police, take the night shift.

About a dozen sisters hailing from Italy, the Philippines, Poland and elsewhere take calls from around the world, predominantly in Italian, English and Spanish.

Many callers just need to be directed to the right Vatican office or official, and the sisters oblige with the aid of massive yearbooks and directories, as well as a solid knowledge of protocols and a hefty dose of discretion, Sister Anthony said.

Those who call asking for financial help are put through to the Vatican almoner’s office, which has provided aid recently to victims of war in Ukraine, floods in Brazil, and homelessness in Naples in southern Italy.

On a recent afternoon, standing by her office chair decorated with a flower-embroidered pillow, Sister Gabriella took a call from a priest inquiring about jointly celebrating a Mass with other priests as part of his jubilee pilgrimage. Since 2025 is a Holy Year for the Catholic Church, with 32 million pilgrims projected to visit Rome, related calls make up a large part of the 50-70 queries the nuns answer daily.

But then there are callers with questions the sisters can’t just look up or patch through — those in distress or angry or hopeless.

“We never get a call that’s the same as the previous one,” said Sister Simona, who’s worked the switchboard for 15 years.

Francis has built a reputation for eschewing formalities — from his way of dressing to his personal outreach to the poor and marginalized before his hospitalization — that projects more parish priest than head of state and leader of a global religion with 1.4 billion followers.

So some callers ask the nuns to just put him on the line.

“People of simple faith don’t understand that the pope cannot speak with everyone,” Sister Gabriella said.

Others need counseling or comfort. The sisters try to provide it within the boundaries of limited time and not being misconstrued as official Vatican spokespeople.

“But if I can give consolation or hope, I think that’s OK,” said Sister Anthony, who came to the Vatican a year ago from her native Philippines, where she was a provincial superior. “Some calls are very triggering.”

Among those calling with concerns about the pope recently was a woman who told Sister Anthony that she is Muslim but likes Francis, and wanted to inquire about his health.

“That’s very impressive for me,” the sister recalled, while adding that some callers are far less friendly. “Others are angry with the church, so we listen respectfully.”

Across the spectrum of callers, the sisters say they’re particularly happy to provide a woman’s touch.

“Pope Francis often reminds that the church is a mother,” Mother Micaela said. “And to be this voice, this sensibility, this feminine approach gives a sense of reliability.”

About 1,100 women, religious and lay, work at the Vatican. Francis has recently named a few to top posts, even though the priesthood and deaconate — and thus the majority of the church hierarchy — remain exclusively male.

The switchboard sisters find pride in both their unseen service and the increasing visibility of women at the Vatican.

“For me it’s a blessing to be in one community with the pope and serving the universal church,” Sister Anthony said. “Knowing there are more responsibilities for women, we feel very empowered.”

Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.

FILE - Pope Francis shares a light moment with "Telefono Amico" support hotline president Dario Briccola during an audience at the Vatican Saturday, March 11, 2017. (L'Osservatore Romano/Pool Photo via AP, File)

SEOUL, South Korea (AP) — Ahn Sung-ki, one of South Korean cinema’s biggest stars whose prolific 60-year career and positive, gentle public image earned him the nickname “The Nation’s Actor,” died Monday. He was 74.

Ahn, who had suffered blood cancer for years, was pronounced dead at Seoul's Soonchunhyang University Hospital, his agency, the Artist Company, and hospital officials said.

“We feel deep sorrow at the sudden, sad news, pray for the eternal rest of the deceased and offer our heartfelt condolences to his bereaved family members," the Artist Company said in a statement.

President Lee Jae Myung issued a condolence message saying Ahn provided many people with comfort, joy and time for reflection. “I already miss his warm smile and gentle voice,” Lee wrote on Facebook.

Born to a filmmaker in the southeastern city of Daegu in 1952, Ahn made his debut as a child actor in the movie “The Twilight Train” in 1957. He subsequently appeared in about 70 movies as a child actor before he left the film industry to live an ordinary life.

In 1970, Ahn entered Seoul’s Hankuk University of Foreign Studies as a Vietnamese major. Ahn said he graduated with top honors but failed to land jobs at big companies, who likely saw his Vietnamese major largely useless after a communist victory in the Vietnam War in 1975.

Ahn returned to the film industry in 1977 believing he could still excel in acting. In 1980, he rose to fame for his lead role in Lee Jang-ho’s “Good, Windy Days,” a hit coming-of-age movie about the struggle of working-class men from rural areas during the country’s rapid rise. Ahn won the best new actor award in the prestigious Grand Bell Awards, the Korean version of the Academy Awards.

He later starred in a series of highly successful and critically acclaimed movies, sweeping best actor awards and becoming arguably the country’s most popular actor in much of the 1980-90s.

Some of his memorable roles included a Buddhist monk in 1981’s “Mandara,” a beggar in 1984’s “Whale Hunting,” a Vietnam War veteran-turned-novelist in 1992’s “White Badge,” a corrupt police officer in 1993’s “Two Cops,” a murderer in 1999’s “No Where To Hide,” a special forces trainer in 2003’s “Silmido” and a devoted celebrity manager in 2006’s “Radio Star.”

Ahn had collected dozens of trophies in major movie awards in South Korea, including winning the Grand Bell Awards for best actor five times, an achievement no other South Korean actors have matched yet.

Ahn built up an image as a humble, trustworthy and family-oriented celebrity who avoided major scandals and maintained a quiet, stable personal life. Past public surveys chose Ahn as South Korea’s most beloved actor and deserving of the nickname “The Nation’s Actor.”

Ahn said he earlier felt confined with his “The Nation's Actor” labeling but eventually thought that led him down the right path. In recent years, local media has given other stars similar honorable nicknames, but Ahn was apparently the first South Korean actor who was dubbed “The Nation's Actor.”

“I felt I should do something that could match that title. But I think that has eventually guided me on a good direction,” Ahn said in an interview with Yonhap news agency in 2023.

In media interviews, Ahn couldn’t choose what his favorite movie was, but said that his role as a dedicated, hardworking manger for a washed-up rock singer played by Park Jung-hoon resembled himself in real life the most.

Ahn was also known for his reluctance to do love scenes. He said said he was too shy to act romantic scenes and sometimes asked directors to skip steamy scenes if they were only meant to add spice to movies.

“I don’t do well on acting like looking at someone who I don’t love with loving eyes and kissing really romantically. I feel shy and can’t express such emotions well,” Ahn said in an interview with the Shindonga magazine in 2007. “Simply, I’m clumsy on that. So I couldn’t star in such movies a lot. But ultimately, that was a right choice for me.”

Ahn is survived by his wife and their two sons. A mourning station at a Seoul hospital was to run until Friday.

FILE - South Korean actor Ahn Sung-ki smiles for a photo on the red carpet at the 56th Daejong Film Awards ceremony in Seoul, South Korea, June 3, 2020. (AP Photo/Ahn Young-joon, File)

FILE - South Korean actor Ahn Sung-ki attends an event as part of the 11th Pusan International Film Festival in Busan, South Korea, Oct. 13, 2006. (AP Photo/Kin Cheung, File)