Pete Whitehead reflects on the life and legacy of Pope Francis, who died this week. 25/04/2025

Much of the early analysis of Francis’ papacy focused on the firsts. The first Francis. The first Jesuit. The first South American. The first to use the Papal guesthouse as a permanent residence. And so on. But as is so often the case, how those firsts manifested in his character are more interesting than the mere biographical details.

His work in his native Argentina equipped Francis with a pastoral eye, a deep acknowledgement of the difficulties our consciences face within modern life, and a profound respect for others. Having served as a Priest, then the head of the Jesuit order in Argentina during the Dirty War, he saw brutal repression of his countrymen and was in the awful position of navigating the politics of a nation run by a military junta and marred by death squads. (Perhaps the impossibility of his own situation informed his later desire to emphasise how difficult the Christian mission is.) He sheltered people, helped others flee, and interceded where he could. From the beginning, he demonstrated remarkable personal humility, a noble asceticism, and profound concern for others – he became known as the ‘slum priest’ due to his work in the villas misieras of Buenos Aires.[1]

This concern for others is an integral element of the legacy of Francis. Paul Elie, senior fellow with the Berkeley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs, termed Francis a “personalist Pope” who “looks the whole world in the eyes.”[2] 

At best, he attempted to be the embodiment of the Church that Pope Saint John XXIII sought to lead: ‘a magisterium which is predominantly pastoral in character.’ Some say his Papacy has been defined by his concern for those in ‘irregular situations’ – the term used in his encyclical Amoris Laetitia to describe remarried Catholics – but one that could perhaps be applied to so many Catholics dealing with their faith both in and against modernity. Indeed, the process of living out faith in the 21st century puts many a conscience in an ‘irregular situation’. This process of guidance was furthered in Evangelli Gaudium, which set out Francis’ attitude to the sacraments: “I want to remind priests that the confessional must not be a torture chamber, but rather an encounter with the Lord’s mercy… I would also point out that the Eucharist “is not a prize for the perfect, but a powerful medicine and nourishment for the weak”’

He was not merely an interpersonal Pope – a ‘man–manager’ in sporting terms. Rather, he had real concern for the global Catholic community, with an emphasis on the ‘global’. As Church historian Massimo Faggioli put it, ‘Francis’ world map does not have Europe or the United States at its centre.’[3] Indeed, Faggioli goes on: ‘a prominent element of Francis’ pontificate has been the effort to decentralise not only Rome but other ecclesial ‘centres of gravity’ – including North America and US Catholicism – in the consciousness of the global church.’[4] Francis’ consistories have consistently appointed cardinals from oft–overlooked nations – Madagascar, Haiti, Tonga, Myanmar. But this focus is not merely geographical – the bestowing of red hats to certain Bishops in foreign lands – but rather forms the basis of Francis’ legacy as an administrator: his push of the Church towards a global focus.

He was the first Pope to appoint women to dicasteries in the Vatican, furthering the role of women in the decision making processes of the Church, and opening the door to greater participation in Church governance for women.[5] His work to streamline the process of marital nullity – with a focus on ‘the brevity of proceedings’ – means that for many Catholics in invalid marriages, the process of having them annulled is quicker, easier, and more conducive to removing their burden and allowing them to get on with their lives.[6]

He had his difficulties, certainly. Though some attacks on him were political, question marks remained. Some Catholics saw Amoris Laetitia as a development on Vatican II’s call to pastoral transformation, others found its content worrying. Amoris Laetitia was the subject of a dubia (a process where Cardinals can raise dubia – literally, ‘doubts’ – about Papal proclamations) by various cardinals, most notably the US’ Raymond Burke, with whom Francis had a rocky relationship. Francis never fully answered it – a strange move for a man so invested in guiding others to the truth. He had a tendency to be too flippant in his statements, sometimes making the laity feel that there was a divergence between words and deeds. The same pastoral eye that worked for some unsettled others. Likewise, his motu proprio (papal letter) that made access to the Extraordinary Form of the Mass (more commonly known as the Traditional Latin Mass) more difficult was a hammer blow to some Catholic communities, and though intended to be for the sake of Church unity, risks turning the Extraordinary Form Mass into a Vatican political football.[7]

Then there is the deep shame of the sexual abuse crisis, which still scars contemporary Catholicism. From John Paul II onwards, every Pope for the foreseeable future will be called upon to deal fully with the ramifications of the Church’s greatest modern failing. Francis called a summit on the issue, and issued a motu proprio on the crisis which modified the reporting of abuse.[8] Moreover, he changed the proceedings of abuse cases to remove certain levels of confidentiality within the Church that some saw as promoting cover–ups.[9] The same Pope who did this promoted allies of the disgraced Theodore McCarrick, and utterly botched dealing with abuse in Chile.[10] The Church has done some work. There is so much left to do.

Faith is a living process for all of us. As such, it is inevitably coloured by the material conditions of human life. This was Francis’ great focus. The defining challenge of our century, and of all of our lives, will be climate change. In Laudato Si, Francis’ groundbreaking encyclical on the environment and social issues, he wrote with the spirit of Hildegard of Bingen’s reminder that ‘the earth sustains humanity… it must not be injured.’ Francis made the call for ecological action, rooted in social justice: ‘…every ecological approach needs to incorporate a social perspective which takes into account the fundamental rights of the poor and the underprivileged”[11] Francis’ framing of this will likely continue, stressing the preferential option for the poor. This concern was addressed most simply in his remarks for the World Day of the Poor in 2021, focused on Mark 14:7 – ‘the poor you will always have with you’: ‘Jesus not only sides with the poor; he also shares their lot. This is a powerful lesson for his disciples in every age.’[12]

Herbert McCabe OP writes in one of his sermons for Holy Week an outsider’s view of the Easter Vigil: ‘the people of the Messiani extinguish their heart–fires…’. This is, supposedly, the view that Francis had: the Great Outsider. I’m not sure that’s true. Millions of Catholics struggle with sin, millions have fallen away from the Church. Against this, Francis’ aim, it seemed, was not to be an outsider, but rather to try and invite the world in. To shape the Church’s affect, the face it shows to the world. This, to Francis, was not mere ‘public relations’ but rather of profound importance to the new evangelisation of the faith. And his public emphasis on mercy was of profound comfort to millions of Catholics.

There is a video of Francis from a few years ago; a young boy tries to ask him a question, but is overcome with emotion, thus Francis calls him to whisper it to him, and hugs the boy. The young boy was asking if his recently deceased father – a man who had fallen away from the Church and yet had his 4 children baptised as Catholic – was in Heaven. Francis, having asked him if he could share the question publicly, refers to the father’s love of his child, and asks if ‘God would be able to leave a man like that far from Him?’ The crowd’s ‘No’ is quiet, and so Francis asks them to say it again, ‘louder, with courage’. That, to me, was his message to the whole Church – that we ought to proclaim God’s love, and be comforted by God’s love, ‘loudly, and with courage.’

The story of the next few decades, in my view, will be people having to think about things we hoped were put to bed: war in Europe and the Holy Land, political instability, greater scarcity, bigger trade–offs.

I think about medieval Catholics, barely aware of what the Pope was doing. I think about the faith of my grandmother, who would call me to ask when my exams were, so she could properly time saying a novena. I think about this relative to our polarised times. I think about the fact there is now an entire ecosystem of influencers and posters and media figures, all of whom have spent years in a frenzy; pro or against Francis – there’s a lot of clicks in claiming a two–thousand–year–old institution has been somehow destroyed by one man.

I think about if I will see a Pope with whom the entirety of the Church is in agreement in my lifetime. I think about the rancour of some Catholics regarding Francis and I wonder if, for his faults, there is anyone who could, or would, have managed fault lines in the Church better. I think about Psalm 129. I think about all this, and I worry what this means for the Church.

Whoever the next Pontiff is, managing the Church is a huge task. But those are worries for another day.

Pope Francis is dead. Now we pray for the repose of his soul.

Eternal rest, grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.

May he rest in peace.