The Pope's Twitter Guy
How does one get the gig of tweeting for the Pope? Here's how...
You’d be surprised how I got this job.
You’d think the 87 year old Head of the Catholic Church, you know, the guy just under God Himself, would have better, more important, more Holy things to do than scroll Twitter.
Guess again.
I was the Head of Social Media for Denny’s twitter account at the time (not as important as the Head of the Catholic Church, but in 2024, close). It was 7pm EST when I sent out the tweet, When your Mom says you can’t have a Denny’s Grand Slam for the fifth straight night in a row, accompanied with the classic Arthur meme where he’s clenching his fist in anger. You know the one.
Anyway, that tweet did numbers. I spent no more than 10 seconds thinking of that tweet. It might have been my least thought out tweet. And yet, boom, 35,000 likes in less than four hours.
Tweets are a lot like God. Hear me out. It doesn’t always make sense as to why certain tweets do huge numbers. You just have to do the work, hope, and keep tweeting. Likewise, it doesn’t always make sense why He does what He does in our world. But still, we keep showing up, we keep praying, and we keep the faith.
But I digress.
Out of those 35,000 likes, only one like mattered to me. A Holy Like, if I may.
The Pope.
I thought I was hallucinating. Why would the Pope like a Denny’s tweet? Must be some kind of mistake. The equivalent of a butt-dial. A butt-like. Plus, it was almost 2am local time in Rome when the like came in. The Pope is far too old and too busy to be up at 2am doomscrolling. That’s something us peasants would do. Not the great Bishop of Rome.
So I chalked it up to an anomaly. A pleasant anomaly, but an anomaly nonetheless.
That is until my tweet two days later. And then another one the day after that. And then a third one three days after that. THE POPE LIKED THREE MORE OF MY TWEETS IN LESS THAN A WEEK. This couldn’t be a mistake. Right?
So I did what all Gen-Z’ers are taught from an early age, I slid into his DM’s and shot my shot. From the Denny’s corporate account, of course. I’m not stupid enough to think he’d respond to my personal account lol.
I tried to keep it as formal as I could, while adding a small pinch of Gen-Z humor, as effusive as I could, without coming across as too desperate. But most importantly, I told him what I wanted.
Dear Your Holiness,
My name is Jonathan Reynolds of Spartanburg, South Carolina and I run the Denny’s Twitter account. I just wanted to express my extreme gratitude for your support of our tweets. I spend a lot of time and energy crafting these tweets, so it means a lot when I’m able to make anyone laugh or feel good. But as a devout Catholic, it means even more to me that I was able to bring a brief respite to the ever busy, ever demanding life of the one and only Pope. If you ever find yourself looking for a Head of Social Media, it would be the honor of a lifetime to be considered. I know it’s not the Head of the Catholic Church, but you must admit, it’s pretty close. Haha!
Sincerely and with the utmost gratitude,
Jonathan Reynolds
Okay, yeah, “devout Catholic” was doing a lot of heavy lifting. That may have better described my parents. I stopped going to Sunday Mass as soon as I was out of the house. It’s not that I didn’t believe in Him anymore, but with college, relationships, working my way up in the Social Media World, I just never found the time. Plus, I’d say I’m more spiritual than religious (says every Gen-Zer ever, am i right haha).
My parents were disappointed in my choices. Especially my Mom. She was old fashioned. She didn’t think social media was a “real job”, even though I had a salary larger than anything she or Dad ever had. But more importantly, she didn’t understand why I couldn’t find the time to balance my day to day life with my faith and all of its practices. She thought I’d lose my morals, lose my way. I can’t say that didn’t make me sad. I always wanted to make my parents proud.
So here was my chance. I imagined the scenario in my head too many times to count. My Mom picks up the phone, I ask her if she’s sitting down, then I tell her I’m the new Head of Social Media for... THE FREAKING POPE!!! This is how I’d be able to get through to them. To prove that not only was this a real job, but a Holy Job.
Days went by. Then weeks. Then months. I checked the Denny’s DM’s at least five times a day. Nothing. The dream was slowly fading. So was my faith in Him.
But as the wise 15th Century Saint Angela Merici once said, “Do not lose heart, even if you should discover that you lack qualities necessary for the work to which you are called. He who called you will not desert you, but the moment you are in need he will stretch out his saving hand.”
The saving hand came in the form of a phone call. My heart almost stopped when I saw the number pop up. I knew that number. I knew that number because in the small delusion of faith I was barely holding onto, I had looked up what number He might be calling from. It started with “+36”. Italy. And was followed by “06”. Rome. Fucking Rome.
I was frozen. I stared at it in disbelief. The call was probably two seconds away from going to voicemail. When I finally went to tap the answer button, my thumb was shaking so much I almost tapped the ignore button.
“Hello...?” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.
“Hello. Is this... Jonathan Reynolds?” The voice was too young to be the man Himself. But I certainly recognized the accent. Italian. I clung to my faith like one might cling to rosary beads during prayer.
“It is indeed.” Indeed??? I don’t think I’d ever spoken that word out loud in my life.
The next words from the caller almost gave me a stroke.
“Please hold for His Holiness.”
The sweat came pouring out of me.
I heard a feint cough and the clearing of a throat in the background. There was no mistaking that cough. The cough of an elderly, but Holy Man.
I waited patiently. I’d come this far after all. He could take as long as He damned pleased.
Finally it came. It came like the voice of God Himself.
“Hello. Is this, uh, Jonathan Reynolds?” His thick accent rang out like the bells of an angel. I thought I was blacking out for a moment.
“It is, Your Holiness. It is an absolute honor to speak to you,” I somehow mustered.
“Likewise, my son, likewise. I am a big, large fan of your, uh, tweet tweets.” As endearing as a sweet, old grandpa. I could tell he was smiling. I was too in shock to smile.
“Thank you so much, Holy Father. That means the world to me.”
“Yes, why of course. Your tweets,” he continued, “they are, how do you say, giving Elijah the Prophet. And everyone knows how much I stan Elijah. Haha! He is my favorite!”
Holy shit. Giving. Stan. It all made sense now. This man might be more online than me. I was more than impressed. I knew of Millennials who couldn’t say “giving” or “stan” without an earthquake of cringe to follow. But the Holy Father? It just worked.
“Haha, thank you, sir,” I was flustered. “I’m pretty partial to Elijah myself.” I had no fucking clue who Elijah the Prophet was.
“Oh that’s great, my son.” A moment. Then, “Jonathan?”
“Yes, Your Holiness?”
Oh my god. Was this it?
“How would you like...” he paused for dramatic effect. That beautiful bastard. “...to come be my, uh, Head of-a Social Media, as you put it?”
And that was it. The second I got off the phone, I walked into the Head of Marketing’s office at Denny’s corporate and quit. Then I called my Mom. She cried. My Dad cried. I cried. We cried together. As a family.
“We’re so proud of you,” she said. I’ll never forget that moment.
I was on a first class flight to Rome the very next day. I triple checked to make sure I packed my rosary beads.
I was off to tweet for the Pope.
And boy were we going to do NUMBERS together.
Wow what an awesome job that would be. Very interesting! 👍