A Tribute to Pope Francis: December 17, 1936 -April 21, 2025

Jorge Mario Bergoglio came into the world at a time when fascism was on the rise, dictators were gaining their foothold, sovereign nations were being intimidated, exploited, and even invaded. The global economy teetered on the brink of unimaginable instability, and hope in democracy and the goodness of humanity was being questioned anew.

Pope Francis. Jorge Mario Bergoglio. Photo provided.

On Easter Monday, Pope Francis left this world, one that resembles, in many ways, the one he was born into. Even in America, the citadel of liberty and law, the dark forces of imperialism and autocracy are mounting. No system seems safe. No institution feels protected. No principle is viewed as sacred.

When Jorge was born, he could do nothing about the ills that plagued the world. Now that he has died, he can no longer help us face them. But let us not forget: while he lived, he did help.

Francis visited the poor, the blind, the sick, the distraught, the orphaned, the war-torn, the mentally ill, the abused, the downtrodden, the hungry, and the lame. He traveled to battle-scarred villages and prayed with mothers who had lost their babies in missile strikes. He stood in cities and blessed multitudes. He welcomed the oppressed, and he forgave the oppressors. He opened the door to people of all orientations and called the Church to open its heart to the Gospel.

He spoke truth to power, and he used his power to speak truth to his own conscience. He made journeys that would exhaust men half his age. He never stopped. He kept going, propelled by the adrenaline of faith. He gave the world a reason to believe in miracles again.

When he was chosen to be Pope, it felt as if a dove had landed on the roof of the Sistine Chapel. An unlikely choice—the first non-European pontiff in centuries. But from the moment he stepped out onto the balcony over St. Peter's Square, he humbly asked the congregation to pray for him. Has there ever been a more humble leader?

Yet humility without courage is merely a clever form of cowardice, and humility without intelligence is powerless. Francis had courage, intelligence, and humility—the holy trinity of virtues. He understood us. He was never afraid to fight for the values that make us fully human. And he never placed himself above his flock. That is what integrity looks like.

The Church will never be the same without him, and it will never be better. But the Church made this man. And for that, it can be not only proud but also invigorated. Invigorated to keep going, to keep trying, to continue being an institution that liberates rather than binds, heals rather than harms, shows mercy rather than judgment, and stands up to wickedness, intolerance, injustice, war, greed, and nationalism—all the diseases that corrupt the soul.

Now that Francis is gone, may his spirit live forever. His legacy endures as long as we choose to practice it.