Pope Francis, who has died at the age of 88, was a man who brought warmth, humour and a profound sense of humanity to one of the most ancient and rigid institutions in the world. In a role often shrouded in ceremony and distance, he was a pontiff who chose proximity, to the poor, the marginalised, and those long ignored by the Catholic Church.
Born Jorge Mario Bergoglio in Buenos Aires to Italian immigrants, his election in March 2013 was historic on many fronts: he became the first Latin American pope, the first Jesuit, and the first to take the name Francis, a deliberate homage to St Francis of Assisi, the saint of humility, peace, and care for the poor. His choice of name was an early signal of the kind of papacy he intended to lead: stripped-back, compassionate, and radical in tone.
He was often referred to as “the people’s pope”, and it was a title he bore with quiet pride. From the moment of his election, when he declined the grand papal apartments in favour of a modest guesthouse, it was clear Francis intended to reshape how the world viewed papal authority – not as dominion from a gilded throne, but as service from among the people.
Francis exuded a charm that was equal parts mischief and empathy. “I hope God forgives you,” he quipped to the cardinals who elected him. It was more than a joke; it was an acknowledgement of the immense weight of the office and perhaps the magnitude of the reformist role many hoped he would take on.
A Papacy Grounded in Compassion
He spent his papacy championing the downtrodden. Whether it was washing the feet of Muslim refugees, standing in solidarity with victims of clerical abuse, or urging the world to confront environmental and economic injustice, Francis embodied the Gospel’s call to compassion.
His 2015 encyclical Laudato Si’ was one of the most forceful papal statements on climate change ever made, declaring ecological degradation not just a scientific issue but a moral failing. He framed the climate crisis as an act of violence against the poor and future generations, demanding a new kind of stewardship from humanity.
He was no stranger to controversy, often willingly stepping into it. His attempts to soften the Church’s stance on LGBTQ people marked a significant departure from his predecessors. Though his position evolved and occasionally wavered, especially in his later years, his early message, “Who“ am I to” judge?”, resonated with many who had long felt excluded from the Church.
There were, of course, limits to his progressivism. On gender, abortion, and clerical celibacy, his steps were cautious, sometimes disappointing to reformers. His signature in 2024 on Dignitas Infinita, which reaffirmed conservative positions on issues like surrogacy and gender identity, marked a moment of reckoning for those who had long placed their hopes in him. Yet, even in those moments, there was a sense of tension of a man trying to straddle two eras of Catholicism under pressure from forces on both sides.
Confronting the Church’s Dark Legacy
Francis inherited a church in crisis, still reeling from waves of clerical abuse scandals. His response was imperfect, often too slow for some, but he did take unprecedented steps: requiring all clergy to report abuse, holding bishops accountable, and extending safeguards to lay leaders. He spoke openly of his shame at the Church’s past failings, particularly in Ireland, where his 2018 apology to abuse survivors marked one of the most solemn moments of his papacy.
He also grappled with his own past. Accusations resurfaced during his tenure regarding his conduct under Argentina’s military dictatorship, though these were consistently denied by the Vatican. His legacy in this regard remains debated; a reminder that even the most decent leaders are not without complexity.
Legacy of Kindness
Francis was not a man without flaws. At times his frustration showed, slapping a woman’s hand in a crowd, scolding overzealous well-wishers, but these moments served only to make him more human in the eyes of many. He never hid behind the solemnity of the office. Instead, he brought to it a distinctly human face.
His final years were marked by ill health and increasing frailty. Yet even from a hospital bed, he found time to comfort children, baptise newborns, and continue his ministry in ways that defied his age. Just a year before his death, he appointed the first woman to lead a Vatican department – a symbolic move, late but not without significance.
On Easter Sunday 2025, despite serious illness, he made one final appearance on the balcony of St Peter’s, offering a blessing to the crowd; a last act of communion with the people he had so loved.
During this sermon he prayed for those being devastated by warmongers, specifically mentioning those in Gaza and Ukraine. He was certainly no friend of the Zionists and their genocidal behaviour.
Pope Francis died on Easter Monday, his passing marked by the tolling of bells across Rome. “His entire life was dedicated to the service of the Lord and His Church,” said Cardinal Farrell in the announcement. “He taught us to live the values of the Gospel with fidelity, courage and universal love.”
He leaves behind a Church still deeply divided, between tradition and change, doctrine and dialogue, but also a Church that feels more open, more honest, and perhaps a little more merciful than when he found it.
And for many, Catholic or not, he will be remembered as one of the decent ones. A pope who made people laugh, who risked being misunderstood for the sake of kindness, and who tried, in an ancient and often intransigent institution, to let a little more light in.