Special Serenity Surrounds the Death of Pope Francis
Walking in pilgrimage between the four major Roman basilicas—Saint Peter’s, Saint Mary Major, Saint John Lateran, and Saint Paul Outside the Walls—in a classic Holy Year pious practice, one senses that over 2,000 years there have been many sensations, triumphant displays in art and architecture, and ambitious declarations of power and prestige. Yet in the context of the centuries, only a few of the 266 popes can be readily identified by most of us. Buildings have been ruined, rebuilt, and ruined again.
It is good to see the people, the delight—the quiet prayer of a grandmother, the wide eyes of small children before images of the Mother of God, the intense and hopeful gaze of cancer patients, the petitions of mothers whose sons are defending Ukraine’s eastern front, the exuberant clapping of teenage followers of Carlo Acutis, who was supposed to be canonized this Sunday, the big smile of a child holding a delicious, dripping gelato; Boy Scouts, religious sisters, uniformed military, carabinieri, hipsters, the old and the young—all are part of the Church, as Pope Francis encouraged us: tutti, tutti, tutti.
Pope Francis “finished the race” (2 Tim 4:7), and there is a hopeful expectation for a new Bishop of Rome.
The message of Pope Francis oriented our eyes toward Jesus and the Gospel, toward the poor and the marginalized, and toward the profound truth that every person is created in God’s image and likeness. This is the most important reason for our commemoration and celebration.
Having visited prisoners during Holy or Passion Week, announced Christ’s Resurrection on Easter, and imparted a blessing Urbi et Orbi followed by a final farewell to the People of God in Saint Peter’s Square, Pope Francis departed to the house of the Father. What a beautiful way to be born into eternity.
In these days of Bright Week—or, as Roman Catholics call it, the Octave of Easter—when the world says its goodbyes, the vacuum in Rome fills with the voices of teenage pilgrims and the hopes of the human race, often floundering in anguish and confusion. The Church will continue to speak for the hungry, poor, and powerless, the dejected and despairing.
One cannot deny that, amid the media din, there is a certain fetish around the character and quality of the casket, curiosity about where and how the deceased will be buried, and, of course, endless gossip about who might be the successor.
Yet there is a special serenity surrounding the death of Pope Francis—a serenity that is by no means silent. It is a tranquility of smiles, a calm full of meaning. The Body of Christ is alive, wounds and all.
An Easter joy quietly reigns. It is in the passage from death to life that Rome and the world—urbs et orbis—find their peace and joy.
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