We were all shocked when Pope Francis died the day after Easter. We had just seen him the day before, giving the Urbi et Orbi Blessing from the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica and then moving through the crowds in the square below in the popemobile.
On Easter Monday, as I was having coffee, I got a text message from a friend who works in the Vatican. “The pope has died,” it said. I was numb. Then, within what felt like just a few seconds, I began receiving messages from various media outlets asking if I was available to comment on the news. Throughout that entire day and the following one, I conducted radio interviews, primarily with the BBC, from the earliest hours of the morning until late at night.
It was not until Wednesday, April 23, that I finally had a few moments to myself and was able to process what had happened just two days earlier. Coincidentally, it was my birthday, and I became very emotional as I reflected on the death of a man who had gradually become extremely significant to my Christian faith over his 12 years as Bishop of Rome. One of the first things that came to mind was his opening greeting on July 22, 2013, when he arrived in Rio de Janeiro for World Youth Day. I was on the papal plane for the visit.
“In his loving providence, God willed that the first international trip of my pontificate should take me back to my beloved Latin America, specifically to Brazil,” the Argentine pope said. It was just four months after his election to the See of Peter.
“I have learned that, to gain access to the Brazilian people, it is necessary to pass through its great heart; so, let me knock gently at this door. I ask permission to come in and spend this week with you,” he continued.
Peace. Fraternal love. The precious gift of Jesus Christ.
That evening, I had dinner with Jimmy Burns, the son of one of the former editors of The Tablet. Jimmy had spent several years working as a journalist in Buenos Aires and he explained to me that the Brazilians were very intimidated by Argentine tourists who often came barging into their country, much like the proverbial ugly Americans. He told me that the pope’s words were so beautifully disarming. Here was an Argentinian asking permission to visit the people of Brazil, rather than forcing his way into their country.
“I have neither silver nor gold, but I bring with me the most precious thing given to me: Jesus Christ! I have come in his name, to feed the flame of fraternal love that burns in every heart; and I wish my greeting to reach one and all: The peace of Christ be with you!” said the Jesuit pope on that memorable occasion.
I reread these words on the Wednesday after his death and began to weep as I reflected on so many other things he had done during his time as chief pastor of the Roman Church. Peace. Fraternal love. The precious gift of Jesus Christ. A greeting and openness to all.
“Todos, Todos, Todos,” Francis would repeat in Spanish many times during his pontificate.
These are words that our new pope, Leo XIV, has repeated in the few weeks since his own election as Bishop of Rome. Judging by what we have seen him do and have heard him say in this short period, we can be confident that, even though his pontificate will likely be somewhat quieter and less disruptive than that of his Jesuit predecessor, the Augustinian pope will continue making the Church a place that is a welcoming and one that offers spiritual nourishment and friendship to all people.
From St. Peter’s Square to St. Mary Major
Wednesday is the day that all the popes of the past several decades have held their weekly general audience at the Vatican. And the crowds gathering there these days are quite large as people flock to spend time with history’s first-ever Successor of Peter born in the United States. This past Wednesday just before noon, I took advantage of the general audience to instead visit Saint Mary Major, my neighborhood across the Tiber River on the other side of Rome where Pope Francis is buried.
My instinct that there would be a lot fewer people at the famed Marian basilica than at St. Peter’s Square was spot on. The line to enter the church’s Holy Door was extremely short, even though once inside, people stood shoulder to shoulder and toe to heel as they waited to file past Francis’s tomb slowly. I had hoped to be able to spend a few moments in prayer there, but the Vatican gendarmes kept instructing us to keep moving.
Something strange happened to me inside the basilica. Before I had even arrived at the late pope’s resting place, I was overtaken by emotions. Tears began to well up in my eyes. They eventually gave away to uncontrollable sobs that were almost convulsive. I admit that I was embarrassed by this surprising and unexpected reaction. But I was also more than a little annoyed by the people in line who seemed to be concerned only with taking selfies and other photos of the artwork that adorns Santa Maria Maggiore, as the basilica is called in Italian.
A Jesuit pope and his Dominican and Franciscan predecessors
After a few seconds in front of Francis’s simple grave marker, I walked into the center of the church and tried to collect myself. I then made my way across the central nave into the chapel where two other popes are entombed — Pius V and Sixtus V.
Pius was a Dominican, later made a saint, who codified the Tridentine Rite. This was the liturgy celebrated for the 400-some years that spanned from just after the Council of Trent in the 16th century until the reforms following Vatican Council II (1962-65). I did not pray at his tomb, but at the one directly across from it — that of Sixtus V.
A Franciscan, whom no one has ever accused of being a saint, was elected pope after Pius’s immediate successor, Gregory XIII. He was known as “er papa tosto,” a description in Roman dialect that might best be translated as the bad-ass or hard-nosed pope.
In just a little over five years in office, he brought order to a violent and lawless Rome and a corrupt Vatican, establishing the current (and almost unchanged) governing structure of the Church’s central bureaucracy – the Roman Curia. Over the past 12 years, I visited Sixtus V’s ornate, monumental tomb on several occasions, specifically to pray for Pope Francis.
However, those earlier visits were in a much quieter basilica. This past Wednesday, it felt much more like a noisy museum, despite the frequent announcements in various languages reminding tourists to observe silence in what is supposed to be a place of prayer.
Another “papa tosto”
Despite his legacy as a gentle and kind pastor who famously said of gay priests, “Who am I to judge?”, and as one who opened the Church’s arms of mercy to the unchurched and those on the margins (he referred to them as the peripheries) of society, the world’s first Jesuit pope was also, in many ways, a “papa tosto”.
However, it was not the common folk who were the target of Francis’s wrath. Rather, he was most critical of the Catholic Pharisees—many of them priests and bishops—who, even today, continue to stand in harsh judgment of those they consider to be the world’s worst sinners.
I admit that I was often critical of Francis, and some of my colleagues were occasionally annoyed with me for this. However, the Italian–Argentine pope (there was not a drop of indigenous Latino blood in him) became, in a sense, my greatest spiritual guide. I criticized him much like I often criticized my own father. Just as my dad frequently annoyed me by telling off-colored jokes or making insensitive remarks, Francis disappointed me by doing similar things. He even irritated me with how he could be brutal with people working for him, telling them it was spiritually good for them to endure humiliation.
From Francis to Leo
But there’s no doubt that there was more wheat than weeds, much more good than bad, in this pope’s very generous heart. Francis tenaciously clung to the challenging words of the gospel, which were the lens through which he viewed the world. He also sought to live those words simply and faithfully, just like Francis of Assisi, the saint whose name he took when he became pope. We will probably never see another pope born as Jorge Mario Bergoglio, at least not for a very long time.
However, many contend that the first pope in history to take the name Francis made it possible for the election of Robert Francis Prevost, the pope who took the name Leo. That’s the name of the friar who was considered Francis of Assisi’s most devoted disciple and companion until death.
I hope to continue visiting Santa Maria Maggiore on Wednesdays. However, instead of praying at the large and ornate burial monument of Sixtus V, as I have done many times for Papa Bergoglio, I will go earlier in the morning when there are fewer tourists and pray at the simple tombstone marked “Franciscus”.
My prayers will be specifically for Papa Prevost.
With thanks to Union of Catholic Asian (UCA) News and Robert Mickens, where this article originally appeared.
