Reading Francis

Though an unexpected choice, the new pope quickly won the hearts, not only of the faithful, but of others around the world with his humility, humor and ability to express an authentic connection with common, everyday people. He was a tireless advocate for peace who interceded with world leaders to try to end global conflicts. He criticized the Vatican hierarchy while starting a shakeup of the Church that would encourage greater participation by the people in the pews, though it was highly criticized, and others would have to finish that work.

I’m speaking, of course, of St. John XXIII, who passed away a half-century before Pope Francis was elected.

It was a shock to the Vatican and the world when he was elected pope, coming as he did from a country that had never been considered a source of papabili. People were unsure of what to make of him, but were soon won over by his indefatigable enthusiasm, his global travels, his embrace of people of all ages, especially the young. Above all, he championed the needs of the poor through his writings, his speeches, his actions.

That, of course, is St. John Paul II. While many remember only his later years, when Parkinson’s sapped his strength, in the early years of his papacy, John Paul II was a globetrotting, crowd-charming joyful force of nature.

Pope Francis canonized both of these late-20th century predecessors on the same day, as a pair; while John XXIII’s inauguration of the Second Vatican Council made him a heroic figure for progressive Catholics and John Paul II’s anti-communism an icon for conservatives, Francis understood that both men were more nuanced and complex than their caricatures, and was convinced that both had lived exemplary lives devoted to God.

I heard Jim McDermott say something Monday night in his first reactions to the death of Pope Francis that has stuck with me. Pope Francis was an incredible leader and the pope that many people needed to see, but he wasn’t some miraculous one-off whose life can’t be replicated.  We should resist any attempts to lionize Francis that imply that living a similarly holy life is beyond reach for anyone else. Francis was fantastic (and I suspect, at some point, will be recognized as a saint), but primarily, he was a man who went through a lot and “did the work”, the work being the path to holiness that he found in his Jesuit order, his priestly vocation, his Catholic faith.

Maybe that’s why I was struck by the story that Pope Francis canonized almost twice as many saints as the next most prolific saint-maker, who was Pope John Paul II. (Many of those Francis canonized had been placed in the on-deck circle by JPII.)  Through their choices as well as their actions, I think both popes underscored the point that, despite what others may think, there is no such thing as “too many saints”. People are living holy lives all around us, and not just popes. Part of what made Francis so popular was that he reminded us of the unrecognized saints in our own lives – a parent or grandparent, a teacher or coach, a neighbor, a pastor.

Today’s mass readings have a theme that fits here. In Acts 3, Peter and John heal a man at the gates of the temple and, when it causes a stir, Peter starts into an impromptu sermon by asking the crowd why they are surprised. And in Luke 24, the risen Jesus appears to the disciples and says pretty much the same thing: why are you surprised? This was always the plan.

I guess my point is, Francis’ saintly life, like those of so many others, shouldn’t be a surprise. They are what happens when someone really buys into “the original program”, as noted theologian Whoopi Goldberg calls it. If you devote your life to following the Jesus that the gospels talk about and the Church preaches, this is supposed to be where you end up.

Unfortunately, the Church has a really poor batting average. As a broken institution made up of deeply broken people (as Pope Francis readily admitted he was, throughout his life), the Church has caused profound, ungodly pain, and still does. Anyone who has turned their back on faith or on institutional religion likely has good reasons. 

Even so, we should honor Pope Francis by not pretending that he was plopped into his role ex nihilo. He is a son of this messed-up institution and evidence that it sometimes works as intended. 

For my many friends who admired Pope Francis but want no part of his Church, my hope is that, whatever path you’re on, it has examples whose lives are as inspiring as his was. If the examples at the end of the path you follow look loving, peaceful and joyful, there’s a good chance we might end up the same at the end of our journey. At the very least, we should not be surprised if we do.