Pope Francis stepped onto the world’s stage at a time when many—so many, too many—of the world’s leaders spoke and acted out of anger. It was this pontiff’s fate to try to both preach and practice peace, patience and humility at a time when many—again, so many, too many—of the world’s inhabitants just wanted to scream and curse.
That was not Francis’ way.
It was clear from both his talk and his actions that he took seriously the biblical admonitions to practice kindness and generosity of spirit. He eschewed many of the royalist trappings of previous popes because he believed such luxuries erected barriers between him and his vast congregation.
He aspired to be the pope not just of the powerful, the comfortable and the firmly entrenched but also the marginalized, the dispossessed and the disenfranchised.
Nowhere did he make that clearer than when he discussed people who weren’t straight. For years, the Catholic Church’s treatment of LGBTQ human beings ranged from inhospitable to downright mean.
Francis changed that.
“If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?” he said in 2013 when he was asked about homosexual priests.
To make his point even more unmistakable, he said flatly on another occasion that “being homosexual is not a crime.”
In speaking so, he enraged conservative critics within the church. They argued that Francis surrendered what they—falsely—considered the moral high ground.
They did not want to lose the moral authority to condemn those of whom they disapproved.
At the same time, others were disappointed that he didn’t fundamentally change the church’s policies regarding human sexuality. They noted that, while he said homosexuality wasn’t a crime, he never said it wasn’t a sin.
Both his critics and his supporters often claimed to be confused by his thinking on such matters.
I think they were being deliberately obtuse.
The key to understanding Francis’ position came in the last five words of his response to the question about gay priests.
Who am I to judge?
In an era in which so many world leaders feel so certain about so many things, Francis had the courage to embrace modesty. He knew that being pope was not the same thing as being God.
Francis recognized that there are many sins—lying, adultery, blasphemy, etc.—that do not violate civil laws except, occasionally, in very specific contexts. He thought that choosing to criminalize one sin while legally condoning others was at least as great an evil as the supposed sin itself.
Beyond that, Francis believed that a church that did not embrace and welcome sinners was not a church at all. He adhered to the old notion that the church should not be a museum for saints but a hospitable for sinners.
More important, he believed that all human beings are sinners in need of divine guidance and forgiveness.
That was the source of his humility, the reason he refused to cloak himself and his papacy in the garb of privilege and power.
When he criticized, he did so directly but without malice.
He said Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was wrong and he noted that those who would build walls to keep poor immigrants in conditions of oppression and misery could not legitimately call themselves Christian.
On those questions, he was on solid ground.
The gospels have few kind things to say about those who indulge in unprovoked aggression or deliberate cruelty.
Pope Francis died the other day after battling bronchitis and pneumonia. He was 88.
In the years to come, scholars and historians will debate how his papacy altered the arc of the church’s story—or if it did at all. They will explore his moves to make the Catholic church more inclusive, more welcoming and more democratic (with a small “d”).
All that study will be worthwhile and valid, but it will capture only part of the reason his papacy mattered as much as it did.
Why it was so refreshing.
During an age when so many—too many—people embraced pure meanness as a way to live and interact with others, Pope Francis chose kindness.
May he rest in peace.
