For refugees from the glory days of the Second Vatican Council, most of whom had long despaired that the reforms instigated by Pope John XXIII, would ever be given a fair wind, Francis allowed us to dream again.
At the beginning of his pontificate there were signs that ‘Vatican Two’, as we called it, mattered to him. There were promising signals and then a clear, definitive statement of his intention to resurrect the much neglected vision of what the Protestant theologian, Karl Barth, called ‘the Event’.
Others admired his openness to the world. When an aged Irish Jesuit at a meeting in Dublin asked Francis what they were allowed to ask him, Francis replied, ‘Whatever you want’. He encouraged honest debate. ‘Say what you think’ was his repeated advice to everyone. It meant, for theologians, that (with Francis) the old days of looking fearfully over their shoulders at Rome came to an abrupt halt. In his twelve years as pope no theologian was silenced – in marked contrast to his predecessors’ tenures.
In the wider Catholic world, the same respect was noted. The great unmentionables for which even bishops were called to Rome for a dressing down – ordination of women, celibacy of priests, Communion for those in irregular marriage situations, the LGBTQ+ community, changes in Confessional practice – became subjects of general comment.
For priests and bishops, he witnessed to the best of pastoral care. He visited prisons almost casually, every Holy Thursday washing the feet of prisoners. He rejected the offer of a papal palace in favour of an apartment. He refused to read official homilies drafted by Vatican script-writers and preferred on off the cuff chat.
On one of his meet-the-people events in St Peter’s Square, he stopped the popemobile and kissed the wounds of a man with a serious skin condition. It was an embrace that melted the hearts of the world. And he presented to a charity a gift he had received of a gleaming white Lamborghini sportscar, opting instead for a modest Fiat.
His dream, he often said, was ‘a poor Church for the poor.’ And, of course, that witness of pastoral care was extended to his constant efforts to change the focus of the Catholic Church from judgement to mercy. Asked by a reporter if LGBTQ+ people would get to heaven he asked simply, ‘Who am I to judge?’ In his meeting with the Irish bishops during his visit in 2018, he told them that the Church in Ireland had often been ‘too authoritarian, harsh and autocratic’, more focused on control than on care.
Another great influence he exerted was in redirecting the Catholic Church – which by every obvious metric was dying, particularly in Europe – and transforming its possibilities not least by giving ‘the baptised’ (all the people) a voice in its future. Asked by a bishop for advice about a particular issue he advised him to go back to his diocese and work with his people and priests to discern the right decision.
More generally Francis’ great gift to his Church was adopting ‘synodality’ – a new way of people, priests and bishops working together – and giving everyone a voice in its future.
Arguably, his most important legacy. Other remarkable achievements included regulating the Vatican finances, targeting clericalism (a toxic corruption of superiority and entitlements) and dealing with the abuse scandals – eventually.
But I think what captivated most people about Francis was the warmth of his personality, what people generally described as ‘his humanity’ – his ability to engage directly and individually with people. He gave everyone he met his undivided attention. It wasn’t enough to wash and dry and kiss the feet of prisoners, he then looked up at them and smiled his great smile.
Francis spoke simply but powerfully. The Church was ‘a field hospital’ (a place of healing). It was a tent with pegs that could be widened (a place of belonging for everyone). His words seeped with compassion, tenderness, closeness, kindness and, above all, mercy and hope.
In reflecting from his hospital bed, Francis said: The walls of hospitals have heard more honest prayers than churches. They have witnessed far more sincere kisses than those in airports. It is in hospitals that you see a homophobe being saved by a gay doctor. In intensive care, you see a Jew taking care of a racist; a police officer and a prisoner in the same room receiving the same care; a wealthy patient waiting for a liver transplant, ready to receive the organ from a poor donor. When a hospital touches the wounds of people, different worlds intersect according to a divine design. And in this communion of destinies, we realize that alone, we are nothing.
His first pastoral visit was to Lampedusa in Italy where he led the mourning for migrants who had drowned seeking a better life and he had placed the care of migrants at the centre of the Church’s concern: ‘The culture of comfort’ he said, ‘makes us think only of ourselves and makes us indifferent to the cries of others’.
Former Taoiseach Leo Varadkar told RTÉ Radio: ‘Having a pope saying that refugees should be sheltered, saying that our planet was sick and that we need to act to save it, saying that LGBT people should not be criminalised, that did matter.’ Words matter and actions matter and he did both.
Francis’ constant visits to prisons reminded the world that Christ’s command to love has no borders and that human dignity should not be diminished by incarceration.
At a general audience, a young boy with special needs wandered on to the stage and Francis, in letting the boy hover around him showed that his presence was not an interruption but an opportunity to remind us that the vulnerable are a precious gift.
When he celebrated Mass in the Phoenix Park in Dublin, having just met victims of abuse, he asked for forgiveness and pardon for the abuse committed in various institutions. When he met the vulnerable homeless in the Capuchin Centre Dublin, he said afterwards that he could see the face of Christ in them.
Compassion, tenderness, forgiveness, mercy and hope were the lenses through which he viewed the world, reminding us time and again that the Gospel of Jesus is about love, not power and that ultimately is the most significant part of Francis’ legacy to the Church and the world.
A man of warmth and of faith who wanted to reveal to the world the face of a merciful God.