ACP Leadership Team: Pope Francis (1936-2025)
Inevitably, in the first rush of grief, we can over-egg the significance of the deaths of those who carry our hopes and dreams of the future. In 1881, when arguably the great figure of the nineteenth century Catholic Church, Archbishop John MacHale of Tuam, died in 1881, The Freeman’s Journal wrote: ‘A pillar has fallen in the Temple. A tower has tottered to the ground in Israel’.
By comparison, words to describe the death of Pope Francis seem beyond hyperbole. Since the death of Pope John XXIII during the Second Vatican Council, no pope has garnered not just the respect that almost inevitably is associated with the office of pope but the warmth and love of a man who captivated the world with his humanity and mediated the Gospel of Jesus through kindness, gentleness, mercy and, above all, through the hope he lived and represented in our world and in our Church.
The Jesuit theologian, Gerry O’Hanlon, called his book on synodality, The Quiet Revolution of Pope Francis, with the word ‘revolution’ though somewhat modified by the word ‘quiet’, retaining a clear sense of how (like John XXIII) Francis 1 was blowing a gale-force wind of change – albeit with its force almost silently and imperceptibly moving from a gentle breeze to what sometimes seemed a hurricane – through the reluctant corridors of the Church, its dioceses and its parishes.
The age-old image of the Church as a pyramid – with at the top the pope and then cardinals, then bishops, then priests, then religious and, finally, laity at its base – seemed secure and permanent. But suddenly, Francis, to illustrate the fundamental change that the Second Vatican Council represented, flipped the pyramid with the people of God at its pinnacle and the other parties as servants of ‘a People’s Church’.
Suddenly, the outline of a very different Church that he hinted at when he first introduced himself to the people as ‘the bishop of Rome’ became clear: a Church modelled on an inverted pyramid with processes of consultation, communal discernment of the promptings of the Spirit; communal decision-making in the service of the Church’s mission and an acceptance of the mutual enrichment between the Church and the world.
In essence, the reforms envisaged by the Second Vatican Council. It was – gradually at first as if he was just testing the waters – a comment here, a question there, often delivered with no more than a shrug and a smile, then clearly and unambiguously from what seemed just a few weeks ago his deathbed, setting forth a time-scale for their robust implementation.
More specifically he consistently and perseveringly drew our attention and the attention of the world to the core issues of a Gospel faith: care of the poor, mercy not fear of a loving God, simplicity of lifestyle, universality of belonging. More specifically his message was communicated through a series of simple though graphic images: ‘widening the tent of belonging’; ‘the Church as a field hospital’ with its impetus underlined by his prophetic personal choices: carrying his own bag; swapping the gift of a stunning Lamborghini for a modest Fiat; choosing to NOT live in the papal palace; kissing the wounds of a man suffering from a difficult skin disease; and drawing on the warmth of his own personality and his engaging and reassuring presence, invariably bringing a humanity and an empathy to bear on his dealings with others. And in the process Francis helped Catholicism to smile again.
So much done, so much still to do. Inevitably, no matter how much he achieved, there is the sadness that, even in a few more years, he might have achieved so much more. But that is not of our saying or doing. And indeed who would deny him moving ‘to the House of the Father’ on the cusp of commemorating the central belief of his life, the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
The priest-poet, Pádraig J. Daly, in his version from the Irish of the 16th century poet, Giolla Bríde Ó hEódhusa, captures our sense of Francis’ unfinished work in the words of ‘Planter’:
You who plant the tree,
Will you be there to see the apple?
When the branches grow and spread,
That you will view them, is it certain?
You may be gone before it flowers
In the green and lovely orchard.
Consider as you fix the stake,
That that is often how things happen.
from Afterlife (Dedalus press, 2010)
As he moved toward death his effective witness to the Gospel was concentrated in luminous and touching gestures: visiting the prisoners in Regina Caeli; phoning friends in Gaza as he did every evening since October 2023; dealing with Vance; telling a journalist he had not seen death but the approaches of death — “brutta cosa!” — with a joyful laugh; appearing before a delirious crowd on Easter Sunday (just yesterday!). I was in Rome when he was elected in March 2013 and I left Rome for the airport (misconstruing the 8.55 place for Beijing as a.m. rather than p.m.) as he was dying. These 12 meteoric years will never be forgotten.
Thank you Leadership Team and Joe, and Tony (below) too, for sharing this.
It is such a sad day especially as we saw him on our screens on the news last night.
With hindsight I think March 13th, 2013 was the best day of my Catholic life. (My friend Davie Gemmell and I met the evening Ratzinger was elected and we both agreed it was the worst day of our Catholic lives).
Like you Joe and Tony I remember the evening so well and where I was.
On my way home from the surgery I had to call to the Western General Hospital to treat a patient who had developed a dental problem.
I had heard the white smoke was seen so would I get home in time to see and hear “Habamus Papam”?
I did!!
There was an excellent programme on BBC1 tonight at 9.00pm.
All the contributors knew what they were talking about and we were able to put faces to names.
I think it was Robert Michens — I remember Tony trying to get his mike to work in the Regency — who ended the programme by saying that Francis “transformed a Church that was dying”.
We had Requiem Mass in our parish tonight for Francis and we were all given the chance to speak.
So, I quoted Brendan: “40 years — traversing the middle ground between frustration and anger and then suddenly and astonishingly……”
I wasn’t 40 years a priest but 40 years a suffering Catholic lay person.
Thank you all.
I may have mentioned this previously but I was rather amused by the response of one of our local singers. Jenny was singing at a funeral. She arrived into the sacristy. She was very angry. She couldn’t cope with the fact that Francis was sick and was hospitalised. I did tell her that it wasn’t my fault! Jenny couldn’t bear the thought that Francis might leave us. He was needed. He kept on refreshing the faith of everyone. She had less faith in a new beginning and didn’t want to face such a reality.
Many have spoken on Francis. All have spoken very well. I found too many comments rather weighed down with holy language. I think Francis was very ‘un-Churchy’ in many ways. He reached out. He stretched the meaning of God. He said the unexpected. He seemed to have a loose tongue. He unsettled some of the staff on those plane journeys. He stripped off the rust of history and gave us the simple message of Christ. We needed that and we still need it.
The only time he seemed to become besotted with vehemence was when he spoke to the staff of the Curia at Advents. His language was harsh. It was overwhelmed with psychological jargon and didn’t sound like him at all. I often wanted to say at those times: be yourself. This is too crude.
Other than that, he gave us the God that all of us want to see in the wonderful and real Christ of the Gospels. Francis was a revelation. He was refreshing. He gave us back hope and colour and the surprises of faith. We were blessed. I hope his funeral is not taken over by the decoration of too many ecclesiastics and too many men!
Seamus Ahearne osa
Confronted by an angry woman Jesus wept.