Father Joseba Kamiruaga Mieza, CMF
In a society that frequently glorifies power and status, Pope Francis presents an alternative vision—one that fully embraces humanity. The sight of the pope being wheeled through St. Peter’s Basilica on April 10, dressed in simple black pants and a wool poncho over a white shirt, conveys a powerful message about the person behind the papal title.
The caption of the photograph featured on the front page of the Rome daily newspaper, Il Messaggero, stated, “Pope with a poncho, revolution in a photo.” The image depicted showed Pope Francis attired in civilian clothing, in a long-sleeved white T-shirt, dark slacks, and a striped garment draped over his chest.
It was the first time in 12 years as pope that he has been seen in public without his white cassock and skullcap. His appearance during this unplanned visit reveals something about his understanding of his role and the Church itself.
Inside St. Peter’s, the pope stopped to say hello to two restorers putting the final touches on the restoration of the 17th-century tomb and monument of Pope Urban VIII, by the Baroque master Bernini, which was presented to the media on April 11.
“It was just us, the pope, and the people with him, so it was an extraordinary thing, unique,” said Michela Malfanti, one of the restorers. “He wanted to shake our hands, and mine was very cold and I was afraid to give it to him, but he was very warm, and kind, and he asked me to give it to him in any case,” media reports quoted.
Since his election, Pope Francis has consistently resisted the trappings of traditional papacy. When he first appeared on the balcony of St. Peter’s, he declined the red garments traditionally worn for that occasion—garments whose colour hearkens back to Roman imperial power. Even then, he identified himself simply as the “Bishop of Rome.”
In his convalescence from bilateral pneumonia, Pope Francis could have chosen more formal attire for his visit to check on restoration work. A proper coat would have been a reasonable option. Instead, he appeared as any of us might while recovering from illness—in comfortable, practical clothing that provides warmth without ceremony.
This choice reveals the truth about the pope’s ecclesiology: he is a human being, subject to the same frailties and vulnerabilities as the rest of us. When he is ill, he dresses and behaves as an ill person would. His humanity is not disguised beneath layers of tradition and formality.
Here we see the embodiment of his vision of a “field hospital” Church. Pope Francis himself becomes a patient in this field hospital, alongside countless others who suffer in a wounded world. Rather than positioning himself above human experience, he places himself squarely within it. His fragility becomes not something to hide but something to acknowledge openly.
In an era when strength and power dominate our discourse, the pope offers a different magisterium—a teaching of fragility. By appearing in ordinary clothes during his recovery, he demonstrates that vulnerability is not weakness but a fundamental aspect of our shared humanity.
This ordinariness carries extraordinary significance. It reminds us that the Church does not stand apart from human experience but walks alongside humanity in all its complexity. The pope builds bridges not through pomp and circumstance but through the authentic embrace of his own humanity.
In Pope Francis’s simple poncho, we find a beautiful message: the Church at its best does not elevate itself above human suffering but enters fully into it. The pope, after all, is not an empire-builder but a bridge-builder, connecting heaven and earth through the ordinary miracles of shared human experience.
