Jorge Mario Bergoglio—Pope Francis—was the most politically disruptive pope of the modern era, not because he sought power, but because he understood that neutrality in the face of injustice is complicity. His papacy was defined by a radical conviction: that the Church must not merely preach to the world but stand in solidarity with it—especially with those at the margins.
From the moment he stepped onto the balcony of St. Peter's as a pope who took the name of a humble saint, Francis challenged us to reimagine what the Church could be. He refused the trappings of office, lived simply, and in countless gestures—washing the feet of prisoners, embracing the disfigured, making space for the homeless—he embodied the Gospel he preached.
Francis transformed Catholic Social Teaching into a program of action. In Laudato Si', his landmark encyclical, he taught that care for creation is inseparable from care for the poor. In Fratelli Tutti, he offered a vision of global fraternity that transcended borders, religions, and ideologies. He denounced the "throwaway culture" that discards both people and planet, and demanded "integral ecology" that recognizes their deep interconnection.
But Francis was no mere theorist. He reformed Vatican finances, opened paths for lay leadership, and confronted the Church's failure to protect children from abuse. He launched the synodal process not as consultation but as transformation—repositioning the Church as a listening, participatory body rather than a hierarchy of pronouncement.
His path was not without thorns. Curial insiders resisted his decentralizing reforms. Traditionalists saw his emphasis on mercy and inclusion as dangerous ambiguity. American Bishops rejected Mensuram Bonam. Progressives wanted faster, more decisive change. But Francis never claimed to resolve every tension. Unlike his predecessor Benedict XVI, whose papacy defended doctrinal clarity, Francis embodied a Church of praxis: a field hospital more than a fortress, where proximity to suffering mattered more than purity of ideas.
He believed the Church must be political—not partisan, not a party, but committed to the structural demands of the Gospel. His papacy gave voice to those the Church had long failed to hear. He did not leave behind a settled institution, but a more restless, outward-facing Church that understands its credibility depends not on its authority but on its authenticity.
As we bid farewell to this shepherd who smelled of his sheep, who challenged power not from above but from beside, the "people of good will" are called to carry forward his insistence: that a society that does not stand with the poor and vulnerable, that does not care for our common home, that does not reach across divides to build fraternity—is not truly reaching its potential.
May his spirit of compassion, openness, and courage continue to challenge us toward a more just and human world.
April 2025