Although Roman Catholics and Christians from all denominations worldwide are currently in a time of joy and celebration after the election of the new Pope, Leo XIV, there is still palpable grief over the death of his predecessor, Pope Francis. This is not unexpected. A popular and charismatic leader, a great reformer, and a friend of the poor and marginalised, Francis continues to loom large over discussions about how the new Papacy will look. When Francis passed away on Easter Monday, there was widespread sadness and respect from world leaders, ministers, lay people, Catholics, Protestants, Atheists, Muslims, Jews, and anyone who had been affected by his ministry, one which was defined by mercy, love, and humanity. As a Methodist, I shared in this grief with Roman Catholics worldwide, reflecting on a Papacy of outreach, inclusivity, and reform. I may not seem an obvious choice to write this reflection on the Francis Papacy, but I myself have been deeply affected by Francis and his work, and although it was expected for a while, I was left distraught by his passing. A significant part of my faith journey, and my own calling to ordained ministry, was influenced by Pope Francis’ ministry of compassionate service, openness to change and reform, and vulnerability and honesty in shepherding his people. I know that many Catholics and non-Catholics alike have been inspired in a similar way, and I hope to capture the impact which even the smallest actions of humility and mercy on the part of Pope Francis have had on diverse groups of people worldwide.
What is it that made Pope Francis so popular? He had his conservative critics in the Church, but outside its walls, there has never been a Pope so loved by the world! Of course, his outreach efforts towards LGBTQ Catholics, his unshakeable support for Palestinian rights, and his advocacy for the poor and vulnerable contributed to an endearing and refreshing image of the Papacy, but I think the most powerful aspect of his Papacy was his profound humanity. In an office which had been so concerned with laying down the law, ensuring the clarity of Church dogma, and telling the world, ‘Thou shalt not’, tone matters, and change is subtle. From Pope Francis’ humble greeting on the balcony of St. Peter’s basilica, “Brothers and Sisters, Good Evening”, to his humble attire (shunning the traditional Papal robes and shoes, in favour of a simple white cassock and some black oxfords), down to the fact that after being elected Pope, he caught the bus back to his hotel to pay the bill, Francis embodied a powerful and moving image of humility and love which cuts to the heart of a world, and indeed a Church, preoccupied with possessions and status. In his actions and in his words, and in the simple way he lived his life, he shifted the tone of the Church from condemnation and clericalism to love, grace, and openness. He often asked his people to pray for him. He wanted to show the world that a white cassock and a different name did not make him someone new, someone ‘higher’, but a human like any other, who strived to live like Christ. He brought humanity and closeness to a role which had so often been distant and out of touch – even on his last day, he blessed the crowds on Easter Sunday, and drove amongst his flock one last time – “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.” (John 13:1). His Papacy was not about him, or even about the Church as we have traditionally understood it: his Papacy was about the people.
I was lucky enough to be able to experience his great love for humanity first-hand at a Papal audience in February of 2024. By some miracle (literally) my Catholic college had managed to secure close-up seats to see the Pope speak to Priests, nuns, schools, and pilgrims. This was one of the most incredible days of my life, and I feel so honoured to have been able to see someone so influential upon my life in person – I was even lucky enough to have my rosary beads blessed by Pope Francis himself. However, what I observed the most was a tangible sense of love. After Francis finished up his homily, he met with endless groups of visitors, lay and ordained, at the front of the chapel. Then, he proceeded to mount a wheelchair and spend upwards of two hours speaking to, and blessing, hundreds of pilgrims in the chapel. Perhaps the most powerful moment was when he brought a group of disabled adults from the back of the room to the front, and conversed with, blessed, prayed with, and held each one of them in turn. I feel no reservation in saying that in this room, seeing him engage with people so simply and with such humanity just a few feet away from me, it was obvious that the light of Christ flowed through this man in his joyful service to his people. This was, in some senses, a religious experience – not in the sense of a blinding light or extravagant vision, but that in experiencing firsthand the power of giving one’s heart to another in love, whether they are known to us or not, each person was deeply affected by the unique quality of unconditional Christian love, which Pope Francis carried in abundance. He was a living reminder that we cannot truly bring another to Christ through a desperate need to ‘convert’ them, but only through a deep desire to love them, and extending to them the grace of God to which each is entitled.
It is safe to say that Pope Francis’ approach was quite radical. Whether it was how he dressed, what he said, or changes he made to the organisation of the Church, he was, in some ways, un-orthodox. And yet, it was this approach that drew so many closer to faith, or back into the Church having been disinterested or rejected. Even his name, Francis, indicated from the start his commitment to the poor and vulnerable, and to our common home. He was also the first Pope to come from the Global South (a pattern we have seen continue in Leo XIV, who was born in Chicago but holds Peruvian citizenship), and used his experience of poverty, violence, and imperialism in Latin America to inform his theology. Whilst a military junta controlled his home country of Argentina between 1976 and 1983, Francis (known then as Fr. Jorge Bergoglio) sheltered students and trade union activists who might fall victim to the murderous regime, and is thought to have saved countless lives by covertly protecting vulnerable people, and helping those fleeing the regime over the border, even giving all of his personal documents to a man who bore a resemblance to him, helping him escape. He hailed from a region which gave us St. Oscar Romero, Fr. Gustavo Gutierrez, Fr. Leonardo Boff, and other dedicated fighters for justice in the Church, and the influence of liberation theology, which sees academic reflection as supplementary to Christian praxis, was plain to see in his outspoken support for economic justice, and for the rights of Palestinians:
“We cannot in any way accept the bombing of civilians … that children are freezing to death because hospitals have been destroyed.”
His Papal encyclical, Laudato Si, garnered widespread support from environmental activists and Christians around the world, using his office to advocate for greater action to stop climate change, and inspiring many young people to take action against those who have exploited our world for profit:
“Today, however, we have to realize that a true ecological approach always becomes a social approach; it must integrate questions of justice in debates on the environment, so as to hear both the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor.”
It is clear that he never ceased his central focus upon the wellbeing of the poor and those on the margins, unafraid to connect the exploitation of the planet to the exploitation of the poor, and widening economic inequality. These statements from a leader such as the Pope, in an institution so often complicit in injustice, rather than standing firm against it, were not only deeply radical, but part of Francis’ efforts to express that the Church is a Church of the poor. A Church which acknowledges that some things can only be seen through eyes which have cried, and thus, in its solidarity with the poor must be poor itself. A Church of the people, for the people, which is not out of touch, nor confined to the halls of power, but getting its hands dirty on the margins, where Christ is. This was reflected in one of his most controversial, but necessary, initiatives: synodality. In an effort to move away from the top-down clericalism that had alienated people from the Church, Francis pioneered a process of walking together in discernment, lay and ordained, drawing men and women from across the Church and across the world, from the centres of power and from the peripheries, to build a Church which is truly representative of the people of God. This replicates Christ’s approach of drawing disciples from all walks of life, and growing together in discernment and love.
Francis had an endearing, off-the-cuff style which sometimes drew the ire of conservative critics, but led us to some of the most powerful moments of his Papacy. He declared that if he looks at the Gospel sociologically, then he is a “Communist, and so too is Jesus”, as well as suggesting that “Hell is empty”, in contravention of the dogmas of the Church. Perhaps his best known moment of spontaneous grace and love was his response to a question about gay priests in the Vatican: “Who am I to judge?” This was a remarkable change in messaging from the Vatican, and began to prompt unprecedented reconciliation efforts between the Church and the LGBTQ community, with Francis later ruling that Catholic Priests could bless same-sex couples, transgender people could be baptised and serve as godparents. During his final send-off, transgender sex workers held white flowers as the Pope’s coffin made its final journey to the Basilica of Saint Mary Major. This was a Pope who was not scared to buck the trend, and was committed to reconciliation, as well as a leader who knew that evangelical preaching flows abundantly from the grace freely received from God, and given freely to others. Just as Christ did, Pope Francis knew that serving his people required self-giving love and true mercy, which does not come from dogma, but from the heart of those who know the love of God. Pope Francis said, “A little bit of mercy makes the world less cold and more just”, and it was his dedication above all to bringing grace and mercy to each person who he encountered that will hold fast in our memory of him.
I must admit, writing this in a local café, I became emotional on a number of occasions, remembering how deeply affected I have been by the ministry of Pope Francis. I have attempted to write from the heart as much as possible, and shared my own experience of one of the most forward-thinking, open, and radical Christian leaders in memory. In an institution which has often, regrettably, shirked its Christian responsibility to serve the poor and marginalised, and instead prioritised its own security and status, Pope Francis was a breath of fresh air, a man brimming with empathy and grace, always willing to give himself to another in love. For all the sermons he preached, and all the encyclicals he wrote, it will be his kissing of warring leaders’ feet, his dining with transgender people in the Vatican, his comforting a young boy who worried if his father was in heaven, his words of welcome to LGBTQ people, his washing of prisoners’ hands and feet, his daily calls to Gaza’s Catholic parish, and his unshakeable devotion to the poor, which will define his Papacy for centuries to come as one which always looked to the peripheries, always encountered Christ in the marginalised, and always served the people.
Rest in Peace, Pope Francis. The People’s Pope.
Written by Jacob Owen. Jacob is a theology student at Oxford University, an LGBTQ representative on SCM’s General Council, and a member of Wesley Memorial Methodist Church, Oxford.