Pope Leo Shakes Up NYC Catholic Stronghold, Ousts Beloved Cardinal Dolan

Paul Riverbank, 12/17/2025Pope taps Midwest reformer Hicks for NYC, ending Dolan’s era amid financial and spiritual crisis.

If the name Ron Hicks sounds more Midwest than Manhattan, there’s a reason. Born and raised in the suburbs of Chicago—Harvey and South Holland, corners where neighbors still shovel each other’s driveways—Hicks would be a new face for New York Catholics. Despite only four years in Joliet, Illinois, the 58-year-old’s reputation for unshowy competence seems to have caught the pope's eye. People sometimes joke about how the Church moves at a glacial pace, but this decision, rumored to come before the holidays, feels more like a winter storm barreling down on the city.

Dolan, meanwhile, will be closing a significant chapter. His fifteen-year tenure was hard to miss. You could spot him at charity events in Midtown, at somber press conferences after tragedies, or even bantering with journalists in St. Patrick’s shadow. No one doubts his warmth—he laughs at his own jokes and never minds pausing to shake an extra hand—but the end comes, as it does, in keeping with Vatican policy. Dolan turned 75 earlier this year, the age at which bishops customarily submit their resignations, though many have lingered on far longer before official word arrived.

Back rooms and parish halls are buzzing about why now. “Strong rumors,” county executive Rob Astorino shared with an online wink, and for once, the city’s loose-lipped grapevine seems onto something real. The church, some suggest, simply can’t afford to wait. New York’s archdiocese is balancing on a financial and moral tightrope—haunted by more than 1,300 abuse claims and pressed by court settlements that will demand hundreds of millions. The recent sale of land beneath the luxe Lotte New York Palace was headline enough, but behind the headlines, staff have been let go, and pastors worry aloud about looming budget cuts. Even sacred marble and storied wood can feel suddenly unstable.

For all that, the appointment isn’t just about balancing the books. When you talk to parishioners, or even a few skeptical clergy quietly nursing coffee outside the cathedral, there's a yearning for leadership that feels real—down-to-earth, present, neither evasive nor solely managerial. Hicks’ background—service-driven, molded by the pragmatic faith culture of the Midwest, and a stint as vicar general (essentially the local fixer) in Chicago—suggests the Vatican wants continuity over drama. Pope Leo XIV, no less, is himself an Illinois son, and the through-line from Chicago’s neighborhoods to Rome’s marble corridors suddenly seems less far-fetched.

If there's a hint of oddity in a beloved cardinal’s transfer before Christmas, veteran observers nod knowingly. The logic is practical: wounds don’t wait for the liturgical calendar, and the archdiocese badly needs a settled hand on the tiller as it enters yet another period of reckoning.

One confessor I spoke with, a survivor of multiple administrations, said the stakes have never been higher. “People need more than apologies. They need someone who listens—really listens.” It's a sentiment that persists at every layer—from pews filled with worry to rectories facing closure.

It’s tempting to see this as some grand narrative shift—a turning of the ages in Catholic America. Perhaps it is, at least in the sense that every new leader brings his own coloring to even the oldest traditions. Hicks is described by those in the know as a quiet reformer rather than a pulpit-thumper, someone who remembers the first names of cafeteria workers and talks baseball as easily as doctrine. In an earlier interview, he called the new pope “relatable,” just a “normal guy from a normal neighborhood.” One wonders if New York—never quite normal by any standard—could use just that sort of touch.

As the city waits for the official word—and, inevitably, a new era of both hope and hard questions—the words of another era linger: “Character over credentials.” The coming months will test whether that philosophy can hold up against the windblown reality of church finances, fading trust, and the ceaseless search for spiritual grounding. The archbishop’s chair may look the same, but for those watching closely, it’s the weight inside it that tells the real story.

Change has a way of landing in New York when the city seems least ready for it. And for the Archdiocese, that time might well be now—or in the next few days, if Vatican insiders are to be believed. Whispers have been swirling uptown and in digital corridors alike: Pope Leo XIV looks set to greenlight Cardinal Timothy Dolan’s departure, retirement papers signed and sealed, and open the door to Bishop Ronald Hicks.If the name Ron Hicks sounds more Midwest than Manhattan, there’s a reason. Born and raised in the suburbs of Chicago—Harvey and South Holland, corners where neighbors still shovel each other’s driveways—Hicks would be a new face for New York Catholics. Despite only four years in Joliet, Illinois, the 58-year-old’s reputation for unshowy competence seems to have caught the pope's eye. People sometimes joke about how the Church moves at a glacial pace, but this decision, rumored to come before the holidays, feels more like a winter storm barreling down on the city.Dolan, meanwhile, will be closing a significant chapter. His fifteen-year tenure was hard to miss. You could spot him at charity events in Midtown, at somber press conferences after tragedies, or even bantering with journalists in St. Patrick’s shadow. No one doubts his warmth—he laughs at his own jokes and never minds pausing to shake an extra hand—but the end comes, as it does, in keeping with Vatican policy. Dolan turned 75 earlier this year, the age at which bishops customarily submit their resignations, though many have lingered on far longer before official word arrived.Back rooms and parish halls are buzzing about why now. “Strong rumors,” county executive Rob Astorino shared with an online wink, and for once, the city’s loose-lipped grapevine seems onto something real. The church, some suggest, simply can’t afford to wait. New York’s archdiocese is balancing on a financial and moral tightrope—haunted by more than 1,300 abuse claims and pressed by court settlements that will demand hundreds of millions. The recent sale of land beneath the luxe Lotte New York Palace was headline enough, but behind the headlines, staff have been let go, and pastors worry aloud about looming budget cuts. Even sacred marble and storied wood can feel suddenly unstable.For all that, the appointment isn’t just about balancing the books. When you talk to parishioners, or even a few skeptical clergy quietly nursing coffee outside the cathedral, there's a yearning for leadership that feels real—down-to-earth, present, neither evasive nor solely managerial. Hicks’ background—service-driven, molded by the pragmatic faith culture of the Midwest, and a stint as vicar general (essentially the local fixer) in Chicago—suggests the Vatican wants continuity over drama. Pope Leo XIV, no less, is himself an Illinois son, and the through-line from Chicago’s neighborhoods to Rome’s marble corridors suddenly seems less far-fetched.If there's a hint of oddity in a beloved cardinal’s transfer before Christmas, veteran observers nod knowingly. The logic is practical: wounds don’t wait for the liturgical calendar, and the archdiocese badly needs a settled hand on the tiller as it enters yet another period of reckoning.One confessor I spoke with, a survivor of multiple administrations, said the stakes have never been higher. “People need more than apologies. They need someone who listens—really listens.” It's a sentiment that persists at every layer—from pews filled with worry to rectories facing closure.It’s tempting to see this as some grand narrative shift—a turning of the ages in Catholic America. Perhaps it is, at least in the sense that every new leader brings his own coloring to even the oldest traditions. Hicks is described by those in the know as a quiet reformer rather than a pulpit-thumper, someone who remembers the first names of cafeteria workers and talks baseball as easily as doctrine. In an earlier interview, he called the new pope “relatable,” just a “normal guy from a normal neighborhood.” One wonders if New York—never quite normal by any standard—could use just that sort of touch.As the city waits for the official word—and, inevitably, a new era of both hope and hard questions—the words of another era linger: “Character over credentials.” The coming months will test whether that philosophy can hold up against the windblown reality of church finances, fading trust, and the ceaseless search for spiritual grounding. The archbishop’s chair may look the same, but for those watching closely, it’s the weight inside it that tells the real story.