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“Amen, amen I say to you, unless the grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat, but if it dies it produces much fruit” (Jn 24:12).

He always asked me to pray for him. Every time I met Papa Francesco, he asked for my prayers. It is humbling, but I am sure that is all he wants from me — no doubt any of us — right now. So when I learned he had passed, I took out the Rosary that he had given me, and I prayed it for him. I will keep praying for him and I encourage everyone to join with me. That is the best gift, the best honor we can show to “those who have gone before us, marked with the sign of faith,” as we pray during the funeral rites (cf. Heb 14:1-2).

He had already dropped a hint as to why he felt he needed my prayers. Shortly after his election as the successor of Peter, someone had asked him to offer something about his identity, how he would best describe himself. Without hesitation, he responded that one thing he could say about himself with certainty is: “I am a sinner!”

I felt so good when I heard him say that! Why? Because instantly I knew that we had a pope who understood his need for a Savior, a man who would put our Lord at the center of his life always, whom I could count on to lead me and all of us to “the Way, the Truth and the Life,” which Jesus said “I Am” (Jn 14:6). Knowing this, I feel I have known him, whatever judgment others may pass on his pontificate.

Pope Francis has been said by some to be an enigma. Throughout his time with us, he would startle with his seemingly off-the-cuff statements. “Whom am I to judge?” “How I would like a poor church for the poor.” “When I pray, sometimes I fall asleep.” Every Sunday, after the Angelus prayer, he would wish the crowd, “Buon pranzo” (“Have a good dinner).” Hours before his death, he posted on X: “Christ is risen! This proclamation contains the entire meaning of our existence, which is not made for death but for life.” My all-time favorite, however, is “There is no sin that God’s mercy cannot reach and wipe away when it finds a repentant heart seeking to be reconciled with the Father.”

Is it unfitting to call Pope Francis a “Pope of Mercy” or, even better, a “Pope of Hope?” We are in a Holy Year of Hope, which Pope Francis inaugurated on Christmas Eve 2024. Already many have made pilgrimages to Rome, or a locally designated site, such as our own Cathedral or diocesan shrines, to receive the fruit of this action — a plenary indulgence applicable to oneself or another — after making a good Confession and praying for our Holy Father’s intentions. I am sure Pope Francis still has intentions he needs our prayers for, not only on his own pilgrimage to the Lord, but the work he hopes to continue! Pope Francis was a worker like St. Thérèse de Lisieux, Doctor of the Church who, knowing God would call her soon — she died at age 24! — said, “I want to spend my eternity doing good on earth.” 

Pope Francis had a very strong sense of attachment to what he called “our common home,” the earth, God’s creation. He lamented what he saw it becoming. In his 2015 encyclical, “Laudato Si’,” he writes, “The earth, our home, is beginning to look more and more like an immense pile of filth.” He intended this not only in a geophysical, material sense, but also in a growing indifference to the plight of those in the margins, the homeless, the migrants and the outcasts among us. During his visit to the island of Lampedusa, in July 2013, he said: “In this world of globalization we have fallen into a globalization of indifference. We are accustomed to the suffering of others, it doesn’t concern us, it’s none of our business.” 

As we now observe a period of mourning, accompanying our Holy Father with our love and prayers on the final stage of his pilgrimage to our Lord, we might well bring him great comfort to know we see it very much our business to continue the work of his priestly heart, caring for the poor among us, the broken humanity we encounter every day, in our homes, on our streets and those among us without a place at the table of God’s mercy that none should be excluded from: “Your sins are great? Just tell the Lord: Forgive me, help me to get up again, change my heart!” (Homily at Casa Santa Maria on Jan. 23, 2015). 

My favorite definition of parish is a family of families and a home for those without family. By that I do not mean a sanctuary, a place with walls. At times, churches have served that purpose, of being “safe spaces” for fugitives. Today those same churches often become prisons that restrain people from fulfilling their baptismal mission to go out into the highways and byways and seek out the sheep who have strayed and lost their way. Is not the image of Church as pilgrims on a journey, praying and walking together on the road, sharing stories of their hopes and struggles — and, yes, confessing our sins — a more apt model of God’s living presence among us than a cold and half-empty stone fortress more reminiscent of a mausoleum? 

After his Resurrection, Jesus is just about everywhere — except in a tomb. “Why do you seek the living one among the dead? He is not here, but he has been raised” (Lk 24:5-6). Eulogies have a place and tributes to the so-called “legacy” of persons whose lives we deem honorable and worthy for the good they have done. Our Christian focus, however, is not on the past but the eternal destiny lying ahead. We think of those who have died not as being left behind, but going before us, leading the way. To best honor Pope Francis then, even as we pray for him — as he has always asked — we go with him to the Risen Lord, encountering Christ in every human being we meet, especially those in the margins, whom Pope Francis always invited us to bring into the very center of our evangelizing mission. This is the true “future church” that can become our present, what our parishes are suffering labor pains from, yearning to be born again, as Pope Francis dreamed, not as “a museum for saints, but a hospital for sinners.” A Church of more than monuments, but with a mission!

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