My heart is heavy.
This morning at 7:35am, Pope Francis, the head of the Roman Catholic Church, died at the age of 88. He was recently hospitalized for several weeks as he was being treated for double pneumonia.
I remember exactly where I was when the white smoke puffed out of the Sistine Chapel’s chimney on March 13, 2013, signaling to the world that a new pope had been chosen. I was 25, visiting New York City for the first time with my then-boyfriend, now husband. We were sitting at table in a busy bar, discussing how compact NYC felt compared to the sprawling nature of Houston, when the bar TVs picked up on breaking news. A new pope, the first Jesuit and Latin American pope, had been elected. I had never heard of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, but I, like much of the world, was immediately drawn to this humble man.
Pope Francis’ 12 year pontificate was not without controversy, but his words spoke to me in a time in which I felt profoundly adrift in my faith. When I felt the Church was one of legalism, his emphasis on Jesus’ message of endless and unfathomable mercy drew me back in. When I felt like being a faithful Catholic was only about doctrine and policing the piety of others, the Holy Father reminded me that Jesus met his disciples where they were, accompanying them on the road to Emmaus {Luke 24:15}. When it seemed like being Catholic meant supporting a specific political ideology, Pope Francis’ unwavering support and care for the poor and vulnerable radicalized me to dive into the social justice teachings of the Church.
One of the most striking moments during his papacy was on March 27, 2020. As COVID-19 ravaged the world, Pope Francis slowly made his way in the rain to the center of a starkly empty St. Peter’s Square. There, he spoke words of hope and consolation to the world. He recalled the gospel of Mark 4:35, when Jesus and his disciples are caught in the tempestuous waves of the Sea of Galilee. We too, were caught, in the darkness of the pandemic. We, like the disciples, were understandably afraid. Many of us also cried out, “Teacher, do you not care if we perish?” Pope Francis, like the Good Shepherd himself, assured us that Christ “more than anyone, cares about us”, that even when it seems like God is asleep, He is always there, especially amidst our suffering. When we cry out for help, for mercy, for Love, we lay vulnerable at the feet of Jesus. We are reminded of our total reliance on Jesus, and of our common humanity, “our belonging as brothers and sisters”. He then lifted a golden monstrance, containing the consecrated host of the Body of Jesus, to the starry sky. I still get goosebumps, recalling how that moment brought hope to my desperate soul.
Pope Francis didn’t just talk the talk about our belonging to one another. He embodied Jesus’ words in the gospels, of mercy and forgiveness, of service and humility. Immediately after he was elected as pope, he took the bus back to his hotel, rather than the formal papal car. On his first Holy Thursday, he washed and kissed the feet of twelve youths in a juvenile detention center, including those of two girls and a Muslim, in remembrance of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples at the Last Supper; traditionally, this ritual had only included Catholic men. He showed profound care for our changing climate and those most vulnerable to its effects. He lived out the works of mercy, highlighted in Jesus’ convicting words in Matthew: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, visit the sick and imprisoned, bury the dead {Matthew 25: 31-46}.
In recent years, Pope Francis especially took up the charge of “shelter the homeless”. In a letter to the United States’ Catholic bishops just a few months ago, he reminded us that Jesus himself was a refugee, fleeing for his life to Egypt, living amongst a foreign culture and people. He convicted us to see people in imago Dei, the image of God, honoring the dignity in every person, without exception, including and especially the immigrant. While he recognized and asserted the need for a country to defend itself from those seeking to harm its people, the Holy Father cautioned us against collectively viewing immigrants, legal or otherwise, as criminals, especially when they are most often fleeing from unstable and dangerous homelands.
In today’s political climate, loving our neighbor feels like a radical act. Well, let us love defiantly, as mothers do. As Pope Francis did. Let us be the motherly face of the Church and of the world, embracing and consoling and serving those around us, without exception. Let us be, as Pope Francis exhorts, “not a seated Church, but a Church on her feet. Not a silent Church, but a Church that embraces the cry of humanity. Not a blind Church, but a Church enlightened by Christ, that brings the light of the Gospel to to others. Not a static Church, but a missionary Church that walks with her Lord through the streets of the world.”
Let’s be radical.
Requiescat in Pace, Pope Francis. You will be missed.
