In Loving Memory of Pope Francis

Jorge Mario Bergoglio (1936 – 2025)

When Jorge Mario Bergoglio was born in Buenos Aires on December 17, 1936, few could have imagined that this child of Italian immigrants would one day step onto the world’s stage as Pope Francis, the shepherd who reminded humanity of its capacity for mercy, humility, and compassion.

Raised in a modest home, Jorge was the eldest of five children, the son of a railway worker and a homemaker. His roots were simple, his life shaped by family, hard work, and the faith of everyday people. Before answering his calling to the priesthood, he worked briefly as a chemical technician, a path that hinted at a mind both practical and precise. Yet the whisper of God’s call led him to the Jesuits — a decision that would set the course for a life of service, marked by both discipline and deep humanity.

He was ordained a priest in 1969 and soon after became known for his closeness to ordinary people. Unlike many who carried themselves with distance, Father Bergoglio preferred the streets to the ivory towers. He rode buses, walked neighborhoods, and sat in the kitchens of the poor. He did not preach from a lofty place — he lived among those he served. When he later became Archbishop of Buenos Aires in 1998, this humility never left him. He often cooked his own meals, rode public transport, and kept a deep solidarity with the marginalized. His people saw in him not a distant authority, but a father, a companion, and a man who lived the Gospel with sincerity.

On March 13, 2013, in an event that startled the world and captured the imagination of millions, Cardinal Bergoglio was elected the 266th pope of the Catholic Church. From the very first moment he appeared on the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica, asking the faithful to pray for him before he prayed for them, it was clear that something new had arrived. He chose the name “Francis,” after St. Francis of Assisi — a name that symbolized humility, love of creation, and solidarity with the poor.

Throughout his papacy, Pope Francis became the conscience of a restless age. He spoke relentlessly of mercy, repeating again and again that God never tires of forgiving us — it is we who tire of asking. He championed the cause of the poor, the refugee, and the forgotten. He called the world to a deeper reverence for creation, penning Laudato Si’, his encyclical on care for our common home, which united environmental concern with a cry for justice for the poor.

He was the first pope from the Americas, the first Jesuit pope, and the first in more than a thousand years to come from outside Europe. But more than “firsts,” he was remembered for how he chose to live the office of Peter. He broke tradition by refusing the papal apartments, preferring the simple quarters of Casa Santa Marta. He was known to slip away to minister quietly, to embrace the sick, to wash the feet of prisoners, to weep with families who had lost children. His papacy was not a throne but a mission field.

And yet, to tell his story honestly, one must also recognize that Francis lived amidst tension. To some, his reforms did not go far enough; to others, they went too far. His desire to create a Church that listens and accompanies sometimes unsettled those who feared losing clear doctrinal lines. But even in criticism, one truth emerged: he could not be ignored. He had a way of unsettling both the comfortable and the complacent, echoing the very challenge of the Gospel itself.

In his final years, Francis’s health declined. He battled respiratory illnesses, diabetes, and the burdens of age. Still, he pressed on, reminding us that fragility itself is a witness — that leadership is not about perfection, but about showing up with courage until the end. On April 21, 2025, at the age of 88, Pope Francis passed away at his Vatican residence after suffering a stroke. His final days were marked not by grandeur, but by the same simplicity that characterized his life: a shepherd among his flock, carried by prayer.

The legacy of Pope Francis is not easily summarized. He leaves behind not just encyclicals and homilies, but a spirit. A spirit that whispers:

That mercy is stronger than judgment.

That humility is greater than power.

That creation is not ours to exploit, but ours to protect.

That faith is not about distance, but about closeness.

For those who knew him, loved him, and walked alongside him, this loss cuts deep. They will remember his laughter, his warmth, the way he broke through formalities with a hug or a smile. For those who only watched from afar, perhaps even skeptically, his life still carries a quiet challenge: to live more simply, to love more deeply, to reach out to those we too easily overlook.

As he is laid to rest in the Basilica of St. Mary Major, his memory lives on not in stone or ceremony, but in every heart stirred to kindness by his example.

Pope Francis once said:

“A little bit of mercy makes the world less cold and more just.”

In the end, his life was exactly that — a small yet immeasurable mercy, warming a world too often hardened by indifference.

May his soul rest in peace, and may his memory inspire generations to come.