Pope Francis themed this year, a Jubilee Year celebrated once every quarter century, “The Jubilee Year of Hope.” The theme suits the state of the world writ large, and I find it especially consoling given Francis’ passing at the dawn of the Easter season. Hope has served as an enduring and pervasive theme throughout Francis’ papacy. Enduring and pervasive unto itself, I’m clinging to hope as I grieve in gratitude over Francis’ death after 12 years as pontiff and pray for what awaits our Church and global community as the spirit moves through the upcoming conclave.
I don’t know my vocation outside of Francis’ papacy. I was a senior at the University of Scranton, a fellow Jesuit institution, in March 2013, gathered for my theology capstone seminar when Francis stepped onto the balcony and asked the world to pray for him – his first humble gesture of his servant-leadership that would upend expectations for how the pope shepherds his flock. This model of leadership serves as the grounding of my hope. Francis was a pastor, a listener, a leader unafraid to be moved by the witness of the faithful, bold in his vulnerability, and willing to admit his shortcomings.
While much of what makes Catholicism “Catholic” remains the same as it did in the spring of 12 years ago, the table fellowship of Catholicism has been set anew. All have always been welcomed at the table, sure, but Francis has rearranged the seating, reinvigorated the conversation, and changed how we speak about the menu to better reflect those gathered. “Todos, todos, todos,” as Francis exclaimed at World Youth Day in 2023. In turn, nourishment is more easily reached, dialogue flows freely. Differences endure, and we can continue to imagine how to best serve, seat, and welcome in ways that are faithful to the vision of the Gospel – and this expansion of imagination is owed to Francis and his very human leadership.
This humanness is particularly resonant as we make sense of his death this Easter season. For Catholics, celebrating the resurrection of Jesus does not shy away from the reality of his crucifixion. Jesus returns to us in his wounded body; the joy of the Resurrection eclipses but cannot erase the reality of his suffering.
So it is with the hope Francis fostered, embodied, with which he ushered the Church. Francis’ hope for the world, his commitment to animating God’s dream for humanity, rooted itself in the stories of migrants and refugees, of our wounded earth, of the displaced, the unwelcome, the poor. It was a hope he entrusted to people of goodwill as he, even in his final address, appealed for peace. “For all of us, children of God!”
This rallying cry for peace, for reconciliation across differences, echoes the sentiments Francis shared when I met him myself in November 2023. The then-newly formed Dicastery for Culture and Education convened a global conference for university chaplains and pastoral ministers in higher education that bore the inelegant English title, “Towards a Polyhedric Vision.” When we attendees had our audience with Francis on the final day of the gathering, he gave meaning to the conference name that I had been stumbling over all week long. He addressed us:
“You have chosen as the theme for your proceedings: “Towards a Polyhedric Vision.” As you know, this is an image close to my heart. I used it at the beginning of my pontificate when I observed that pastoral ministry must not take as its “model the sphere … where every point is equidistant from the center and there are no differences” between one point and another, but rather “the polyhedron, which reflects the convergence of all its parts, each of which preserves its distinctiveness” (Evangelii Gaudium, 236). In this way, the Gospel becomes incarnate and finds harmonious expression in different ways in different people’s lives, like a single melody that recurs in various tonalities. Today I would like to propose to you three approaches that I consider important to your service: to appreciate differences, to accompany with care, and to act courageously.”
This “incarnate Gospel,” vivified by these ideals of appreciating difference, caring accompaniment, and courageous action, are evident in the life and leadership of Francis himself and serve as luminous beacons for the Church in the divided world today. How might we, in remembering and honoring the legacy of Francis, inhabit these ideals in a world that hungers for holiness? Francis shared in the Ignatian tradition that animates our institution here at LMU. The first Jesuit elected pope, himself a contemplative in action, was indeed a pope for and with others. His example has left us much to pray with and push off from.
And of course, these high ideals are hollow if not hallowed by a tender attentiveness to the person before us. My own encounter with Francis was warm and light. We were instructed not to genuflect, but to simply greet him – shake his hand or hug him. It was gentle. We smiled. Misty-eyed, I thanked him, words fumbling and failing. What was said mattered less than what was shared. The warmth of the memory endures. This is what I hold close, and this is what I aspire to, remembering Francis, and sojourning in joyful hope into the Church’s new era, a faith-filled gratitude ushering an openness to what awaits.
