Scandal-Ravaged Church Gets New Boss: Hicks Replaces Dolan in Power Shakeup

Paul Riverbank, 12/17/2025Can Bishop Hicks heal New York’s scandal-rocked Catholic Church as its new archbishop?

For Cardinal Timothy Dolan, whose familiar smile has graced pulpits and political gatherings since 2009, the exit feels both stately and quietly melancholic. The bishop’s official resignation, sent to Rome earlier this year after Dolan passed the church’s age threshold, followed protocol. Yet in New York—where traditions are as ingrained as subway maps—no handover is ever just paperwork. Church insiders seem resigned to the fact that Pope Leo XIV will soon make it official, ending Dolan’s lengthy tenure. The only surprise is the timeline; most assume the announcement, already an open secret among archdiocesan staff, is about to become public.

This is more than a ceremonial baton-pass. Whoever sits at St. Patrick’s nowadays inherits a fractured legacy. Consider the context: over 1,300 abuse claims still shadow the Archdiocese, a staggering figure that has forced leaders to take drastic steps. They’ve trimmed back budgets, sent out pink slips to dedicated staff, and listed some of New York’s most valued real estate—the landmark headquarters on First Avenue and chunks beneath the Lotte New York Palace—to keep the settlement fund from running dry. Even so, the $300 million price tag for justice only postpones bigger questions about sustainability and faith.

Bishop Hicks, now in his late fifties and hailing from a Chicago background not so different from the current pontiff’s, walks into this storm with a resume built on both practicality and outreach. People who remember his earlier Chicago days paint him as approachable, someone who’d think nothing of sharing coffee with parishioners after Mass. He’s worked beyond U.S. borders, too, picking up a fluency with Latin American communities—no small asset in a city whose Catholic faithful increasingly speak to God in multiple languages.

The Chicago link between Hicks and Pope Leo is more than a quirk of geography. It signals a wider agenda, insiders suggest, focused on rebuilding credibility through everyday connection rather than grand pronouncements. Hicks’ style, some hope, could offer a measure of stability to a flock that’s seen more than its share of headlines and heartbreak. But local politics blur with church matters these days. The new archbishop’s association with Cardinal Blase Cupich—a name that reliably stirs debate—adds another layer of complexity, especially as persistent divides crack both city and national conversations.

Outspoken observers like Rob Astorino—former Westchester executive, veteran of many a local campaign—haven’t been shy about sharing buzz on the expected shift. “It’s going to happen,” he recently told anyone who would listen, echoing the low hum that now fills rectories from the Bronx to Staten Island.

Within the city, ordinary parishioners have started to look ahead with a mixture of optimism and anxiety. Hicks, still young by episcopal standards, might be at the helm for a generation or more. Some hope he’ll be a healer, a reconciler; others wonder if any single leader can shoulder what Dolan leaves behind. After all, Dolan’s energy—his ability to mingle tradition with approachable candor, to pray at city vigils or break bread with leaders across the spectrum—set a high mark.

For Hicks, the path forward will be watched with what could only be called New York intensity: every decision, every speech, parsed for meaning both sacred and political. The stakes are higher than any single diocese. In a city forever chasing the new, the arrival of a fresh leader at St. Patrick’s becomes more than a change of the guard. It’s a referendum on how an ancient institution can still matter.

“It’s never just about the title,” one church staffer put it between tasks at Midtown’s bustling Catholic Charities office. “Whoever takes that seat is picking up the burden of renewal, of trust—of proving we haven’t lost our soul.” As winter shadows lengthen and St. Patrick’s readies its decorations, local Catholics and casual onlookers alike have their eyes on one question: not just who will occupy that historic office, but what kind of shepherd he’ll choose to be.

It’s early December in New York, and a flurry of news—and no small amount of old-fashioned church intrigue—has begun to spread through rectories, city hallways, and the family kitchens where Catholic life is lived as much as it is worshipped. “Have you heard?” whispers one priest to another, as if the answer might be waiting just around the corner. A change is about to come to the city’s Catholic heart: the man most expect to become the next Archbishop of New York is Bishop Ron Hicks of Joliet, Illinois. Sources say the decision could land before Christmas—a nod, perhaps, to the idea that even great institutions, and the city itself, must keep moving forward.For Cardinal Timothy Dolan, whose familiar smile has graced pulpits and political gatherings since 2009, the exit feels both stately and quietly melancholic. The bishop’s official resignation, sent to Rome earlier this year after Dolan passed the church’s age threshold, followed protocol. Yet in New York—where traditions are as ingrained as subway maps—no handover is ever just paperwork. Church insiders seem resigned to the fact that Pope Leo XIV will soon make it official, ending Dolan’s lengthy tenure. The only surprise is the timeline; most assume the announcement, already an open secret among archdiocesan staff, is about to become public.This is more than a ceremonial baton-pass. Whoever sits at St. Patrick’s nowadays inherits a fractured legacy. Consider the context: over 1,300 abuse claims still shadow the Archdiocese, a staggering figure that has forced leaders to take drastic steps. They’ve trimmed back budgets, sent out pink slips to dedicated staff, and listed some of New York’s most valued real estate—the landmark headquarters on First Avenue and chunks beneath the Lotte New York Palace—to keep the settlement fund from running dry. Even so, the $300 million price tag for justice only postpones bigger questions about sustainability and faith.Bishop Hicks, now in his late fifties and hailing from a Chicago background not so different from the current pontiff’s, walks into this storm with a resume built on both practicality and outreach. People who remember his earlier Chicago days paint him as approachable, someone who’d think nothing of sharing coffee with parishioners after Mass. He’s worked beyond U.S. borders, too, picking up a fluency with Latin American communities—no small asset in a city whose Catholic faithful increasingly speak to God in multiple languages.The Chicago link between Hicks and Pope Leo is more than a quirk of geography. It signals a wider agenda, insiders suggest, focused on rebuilding credibility through everyday connection rather than grand pronouncements. Hicks’ style, some hope, could offer a measure of stability to a flock that’s seen more than its share of headlines and heartbreak. But local politics blur with church matters these days. The new archbishop’s association with Cardinal Blase Cupich—a name that reliably stirs debate—adds another layer of complexity, especially as persistent divides crack both city and national conversations.Outspoken observers like Rob Astorino—former Westchester executive, veteran of many a local campaign—haven’t been shy about sharing buzz on the expected shift. “It’s going to happen,” he recently told anyone who would listen, echoing the low hum that now fills rectories from the Bronx to Staten Island.Within the city, ordinary parishioners have started to look ahead with a mixture of optimism and anxiety. Hicks, still young by episcopal standards, might be at the helm for a generation or more. Some hope he’ll be a healer, a reconciler; others wonder if any single leader can shoulder what Dolan leaves behind. After all, Dolan’s energy—his ability to mingle tradition with approachable candor, to pray at city vigils or break bread with leaders across the spectrum—set a high mark.For Hicks, the path forward will be watched with what could only be called New York intensity: every decision, every speech, parsed for meaning both sacred and political. The stakes are higher than any single diocese. In a city forever chasing the new, the arrival of a fresh leader at St. Patrick’s becomes more than a change of the guard. It’s a referendum on how an ancient institution can still matter.“It’s never just about the title,” one church staffer put it between tasks at Midtown’s bustling Catholic Charities office. “Whoever takes that seat is picking up the burden of renewal, of trust—of proving we haven’t lost our soul.” As winter shadows lengthen and St. Patrick’s readies its decorations, local Catholics and casual onlookers alike have their eyes on one question: not just who will occupy that historic office, but what kind of shepherd he’ll choose to be.