I was in my tenth year of priesthood the day Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio was elected pope, and I remember it well. Deep into my monthly meeting with my spiritual director, his secretary knocked on the door, apologized for interrupting, and informed us, “We have a pope!” My director moved to his desk and pulled up the live feed on his computer, and we sat there together waiting for the announcement. First came the name: Francis. Then came the man, standing on the historic balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica, wearing a white cassock that didn’t quite fit. He raised his right hand and waved, but not like a man who had just been named the Vicar of Christ on earth; rather, like your grandpa might wave to you as you back your car out of his driveway after a visit. He looked out over St. Peter’s Square for what seemed like forever—just staring—until he finally said, “Fratelli e sorelle, buona sera!” (“Brothers and sisters, good evening!”)
This Jesuit pope—who chose his new name after the great reformer from Assisi who embraced poverty and simplicity, and promoted a devotional, evangelical, fraternal, and incarnational way of living—gave some hints from the balcony as to what we might expect from his pontificate. First, although he obviously knew he was the pope, he spoke of himself as the bishop of Rome and of the mission of evangelizing “this most beautiful city.” He explained to the faithful that “we take this journey together—bishop and people.” Then he further described this adventure of the Church as one of “fraternity, love, and trust.” And before offering his blessing to the people, he asked them to ask the Lord to bless him, in silence; and then he bowed his head. After that, he put on a beautiful, embroidered stole and blessed the faithful, but immediately after the blessing, he removed the stole, kissed it, and handed it back to his emcee. Soon we would see that these first gestures and words on the St. Peter’s balcony started to take on flesh in three particular ways, all of which would provide a prophetic challenge to my priesthood.
I am not perfect at any of these things, but I am better at them than I was before Francis became pope.
Simplicity and Solidarity
Pope Francis decided not to live in the Vatican Palace as his predecessors had, but at Casa Santa Marta, in a more simple, communal setting. Similarly, he announced that he would not be staying at Castel Gandolfo during the summer months, another break in recent papal tradition. Rather, he would live and work at the Vatican year-round as a sign of solidarity with the majority of people who do not have the luxury of a summer home. And speaking of home, he turned a post office at St. Peter’s Square into a place where the homeless of Rome could shower, eat, and even receive medicine. (It is not by coincidence that when you walk through the security line on your way into St. Peter’s Basilica today you witness the Church actively participating in the corporal works of mercy.) Pope Francis’ simplicity also affected his choice of liturgical vestments, which were not ugly, but definitely not ostentatious. So, too, was his choice of travel. I was with my seminarians in Washington, DC, when he canonized Junípero Serra, and I remember standing on the front lawn of Capuchin College waiting for his motorcade to pass by after Mass. First came a long line of police cars and motorcycles, followed by some very large black SUVs with tinted windows. But Pope Francis was not in an SUV. He was riding in a little black Fiat, and I almost missed him when he drove by since the car was so small compared to the others, which was kind of funny. It was as if he was trolling the consumer culture and inviting us all to become a little smaller. It worked.
Prior to Pope Francis, I had not given enough thought to the optics of priests taking dream vacations, eating at top-tier restaurants, flying first class, driving luxury cars, or living in opulent rectories. Granted, most diocesan priests aren’t guilty of such material excess, and there is something to be said about a restorative break from ministry and a good meal, but Pope Francis’ witness made me think twice about the way I spent my money, especially on myself. I know of a few pastors who had planned to build or remodel a rectory in recent years, and their plans were simplified because of Francis’ witness. As Americans, we often think that if we work hard, we’ll get what we deserve and can do what we want with our money. Pope Francis encouraged me to reconsider this kind of thinking, to be more mindful of the power of my priestly witness, and not to forget about my responsibility to those who have not.
Evangelization
Pope Francis never tired of preaching and teaching about encounter, accompaniment, and making the journey of faith together as brothers and sisters toward the Father. I will be the first to admit as a GenXer whose religious education in the 1980s was heavy on collages, feelings, and the Hi God! song book—i.e., light on doctrine, Scripture, and intellectual formation—that this business about encounter, accompaniment, and “the journey” sounded a little hokey to me at first. But when I actually read what the Holy Father had written, I began to understand: “I invite all Christians, everywhere, at this very moment, to a renewed personal encounter with Jesus Christ, or at least an openness to letting him encounter them; I ask all of you to do this unfailingly each day” (Evangelii Gaudium 3). Pope Francis’ method of evangelization was based on the Incarnation and entirely scriptural. God became one of us in all things but sin; Jesus encountered us, loved us, died and rose for us, and showed us the way to the Father by the power of the Holy Spirit. So, Catholic Christians evangelize best by imitating the Son: first by encountering people where they are and loving them there. Then, having developed a fraternal relationship rooted in trust, evangelizers can boldly proclaim the Gospel in all its fullness by their lives. But—and here’s the important part—this kind of evangelization is only possible if the evangelizer is being renewed daily by an encounter with Jesus Christ.
Pope Francis reminded me that I need to be renewed by a personal encounter with Jesus daily—not just go through the motions, which can be an easy thing for a priest to do. Remembering the mercy with which Jesus encounters me each day has helped me to become a better listener, to be slow(er) to judge, and to more willingly show kindness and mercy to those with whom I disagree. I am not perfect at any of these things, but I am better at them than I was before Francis became pope.
The Devotional Life
Pope Francis was all about popular devotion, especially to Our Lady and St. Joseph. Before he left Rome for any travel, he always made a point to visit his favorite altar at the Basilica of St. Mary Major to pray—he would even leave a bouquet of flowers on the altar for her. Moreover, he mandated that St. Joseph’s name be added to each Eucharistic prayer and dedicated a liturgical year to St. Joseph. Pope Francis also encouraged the faithful to pray often with a crucifix, and during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic in Italy, he had the miraculous crucifix of San Marcello and his favorite icon from Mary Major brought to St. Peter’s Square, where he prayed before each image and then offered a most memorable Eucharistic benediction to the entire city. Finally, Pope Francis took the devil seriously and constantly warned us about his wicked plans and sternly instructed us never to converse with him.
When I was in the seminary, there was a strong emphasis on the privileged place of the liturgy in the Christian life, but often to the detriment of popular devotional life—a regrettable mistake. Pope Francis was forever encouraging the faithful to deepen their personal relationship with the Holy Trinity and the saints and did not see the devotional life as a threat to the primacy of the liturgy, but as a fuller account of what it means to be Catholic. His homilies (the daily ones especially) were deep, pointed, and accessible. He used colorful examples (e.g., “don’t pray like a parrot”) and encouraged simple acts of faith (e.g., kissing a crucifix), all of which challenged me to keep it deep, but also keep it simple. Pope Francis encouraged me to foster the devotional life of the faithful and to avoid the smug mistake of equating simple piety with shallow faith.
Students and athletes tend to remember teachers and coaches who challenged them. I’m guessing that the further we move from this moment, the more people will realize that Pope Francis was a good pope, even if they didn’t fully realize it at the time. That’s usually how it goes with a prophet.