His Holiness, Pope Francis, the 266th Bishop of Rome, head of the Body of Christ on earth, left this world for the next this Easter Monday. His passing concludes a pontificate of joy and determination, unstained by an age which sought to make controversy out of everything.
On March 13, 2013, the world came to know a bespectacled Argentinian on a balcony in Rome. He was a smiling white pillar, almost shy amidst the red and gold of an Italian dusk. Jorge Bergoglio became the first of the name “Francis” to occupy the chair of Peter and the first New World prelate to do so, as well. The Church was eager to get to know him, and within the coming months we received an indelible impression of his humility, his love of poverty, and his care for the troubles and suffering of his people. Catholic schoolchildren were read stories like Pope Francis Takes the Bus, and there was no population of the faithful that he did not address with special attention. Most famously, the pontiff declined to live in the typical papal apartments, insisting that the simpler atmosphere of the guest house, the Domus Sanctae Marthae, was better suited to the spirit of his office. By 2015, these initial themes were crystalized with his second encyclical, Laudato Si’, a landmark work of the Church’s social teaching within the twenty-first century context of systemic injustice and wide-ranging ecological crises.
Pope Francis will perhaps be chiefly remembered as a champion of the poor and a symbol of the universal Church’s globalization. As the first pope to come from the Western hemisphere, he elevated over one hundred cardinal-electors to the college, including many from countries which previously lacked representation. The pontiff made countless visits to unfrequented parts of the world, even to the most distant and downtrodden parts of Asia, Africa, and the Pacific. The first pope from Latin America, he was a symbol of regions where the Church is still young and growing; growing despite the social crosses of poverty and violence. He became the first pontiff to visit Iraq in 2021, standing in the exact spot in which the terrorist group ISIS had vowed to kill him years prior.
His pontificate was marked by an indisputable indefatigability. He frequently gathered the people of the earth to himself through his three World Meetings of Families and three World Youth Days. Never was his flock too much for him, and never did he let the great challenges of our time exhaust him. Rather, he was the father the world needed. The last twelve years have produced countless pictures of him embracing the young and destitute across the globe in his arms. The great energy and breadth of his heart allowed him to address the ecological, economic, and political needs of the Church even unto death. He was a great imitator of the care shown for “the least of these” (Matthew 25:40) that Christ exemplified in His earthly ministry.
In his most recent encyclical Dilexit Nos, promulgated in October of last year, the Holy Father elucidated for the faithful the importance of the Heart of Christ and our devotion to It. True to his style, the letter is deeply human. He reminds us that our “worship of Christ’s person is undivided, inseparably embracing both his divine and his human natures” (68). He picks up this theme of unity later, reminding us that we must stand in solidarity with the least of our brothers and sisters, asking “would it please the heart that so loved us, if we were to bask in a private religious experience while ignoring its implications for the society in which we live?” (205). Here his imitation of Christ, and Christian hunger for the hearts of the downtrodden, was on full display.
In this path, the pope followed closely in the footsteps of his patron, St. Francis. The saint is perhaps most popularly remembered for his connection to the natural world, an affinity reflected in the pope’s many exhortations to care for the created world, which found their culmination in Laudato Si’. However, both of their strongest passions were for the poor and suffering, in whom they saw the face of Christ.
Last November, on the World Day of the Poor, he urged us to a greater commitment to social justice, saying, “[O]ur faith should lead us to open our eyes to the sufferings of the world and the misfortunes of the poor, and so exercise the very compassion of Jesus Christ.” May we, inspired by his example, strive to become a more Franciscan Church, embracing poverty and bringing justice and care to a world which needs it now more desperately than ever.
Although the years he gave us were defined by joy, he left us thirsting for peace. The Holy Father’s final appearance on Easter Sunday was water mixed with gall. Finding only enough strength to wave, the pope’s address was delivered by an aide to the crowd, jubilant on their shepherd’s behalf. The brief message called for peace in Gaza and Ukraine—an expression of his concern for the physical wellbeing of the world’s most vulnerable populations, even as his own had declined. It was a touch of Good Friday on the day of our Lord’s Resurrection; a mixing of the two, needed in a world where it is so easy to forget and painful to remember. If he seemed troubled at all, it was not by the failing health of his body but by the fact that the father was still unable to shield his most vulnerable children. Yet in that last care he took, he joined human and divine suffering and glory. Like the two men he strove to imitate, he showed us his wounds, wounds which were first and foremost the injustices and violence endured by his forgotten members in body and soul.
For a brief time, we have been orphaned. Even though this period of vacancy is smooth thanks to the governance of the bishops and the direction of heaven, the Church on earth still experiences a bewildering feeling of headlessness. It is a reminder of the essential role that Christ’s vicar plays, and the unity that only he can bring. It is paradoxical that we should grieve him while the words of the Gospel, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” (Luke 24:5) still resound in our minds—in a year of Jubilee, no less. But this union of joy and grief is characteristic of the lives of the faithful on earth. These occasions let us peek into the mystery of Him who died and so conquered death.
As many of our Mount community move on this spring, whether as university graduates or as deacons preparing for the priesthood, we are each visited by a similar mix of emotions. In this great time of change in our lives and in the Church, we must pray for the Cardinals and for the repose of our Holy Father’s soul, yet may we be assured that his pastoral care is not bound only to this side of eternity.
