“Oh Lord, grant each one his death: the fruit of that life in which he found love, meaning, and pain.” — Rainer Maria Rilke
By Father Joseba Kamiruaga Mieza, cmf
With these poetic words, we begin to contemplate the passing of Pope Francis, not as a tragic end but as a final chapter imbued with grace. His death, much like his life, was not a retreat into silence but a prophetic utterance of faith, love, and contradiction. As he departed on April 20, his final words, now etched in memory, became a lasting legacy—a summary not of power, but of presence; not of doctrine, but of encounter.
At the centre of his final message, delivered during the Easter Urbi et Orbi, was a plea that resounded with moral clarity. On Gaza, he lamented the “terrible conflict” and the “shameful humanitarian situation.” And on the wider world stage, he declared emphatically: “There can be no peace without true disarmament!” It was not a diplomatic statement; it was a gospel cry—piercing the conscience of nations.
In a moment that revealed more than headlines could say, Israeli prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, reportedly instructed his embassies to delete condolence messages. At the same time, the Chief Rabbi of Rome, Riccardo Di Segni, paid his respects in person at Pope Francis’ coffin. It was an image more powerful than a thousand speeches: where politics shrinks back, humanity steps forward.
And humanity did step forward—in waves of mourners, pilgrims, and ordinary people who kept vigil at the Basilica of St. Mary Major. These were the poor, the seekers, the “beggars of meaning,” who had found in Francis not just a pope, but a companion on the journey. It is their presence that testifies most authentically to his impact. They did not come for spectacle; they came because they recognised the gospel made flesh in him.
Francis critiqued the Church’s temptation to become a museum of past glories. Evangelisation, he insisted, is not the transmission of something already fully understood. It is a living, breathing act of discovery—of finding Christ anew in every generation, every context. This, he believed, is the soul of the synodal journey: not a bureaucratic process, but a sacred search
Their presence also casts light on the hypocrisy of those in power who declare national mourning while investing in the machinery of war. Their eulogies ring hollow, especially when they remain “favourable to all kinds of anti-Christian rearmament.” Their words, to borrow from Jesus in Matthew 23:3, are not matched by their actions.
Even in death, Pope Francis unsettles. Take, for instance, the European Parliament’s Legal Affairs Committee, which recently blocked a procedural maneuver to fast-track the ReArmEU plan. Coincidence or not, many on online are already calling this “the first miracle of the late Pope Francis.” Whether or not one accepts that claim, the symbolism is clear: his spiritual influence continues to challenge the ambitions of worldly powers.
But beyond geopolitics, the most stirring aspect of Pope Francis’ final days is theological. In his Easter homily, he underscored a truth often forgotten: the Resurrection is not a memory, but a mission. And before we proclaim the Risen One, we must first seek him.
This seeking, he emphasised, is not passive. It is a pilgrimage of the heart and of the Church. “Seek him in life,” he said, “in the faces of our brothers and sisters, in everyday life, in the anonymous and unpredictable moments of our journey.” This is the grammar of the gospel that Francis taught us—not a closed system, but an open invitation.
He reminded us that Jesus continues to “hide and reveal himself” in the ordinary, the unexpected, and the other. This requires of us what he called “eyes capable of seeing beyond” the obvious—eye attuned to the mystery of grace. It is this vision that differentiates authentic Christian witness from mere repetition.
…beyond geopolitics, the most stirring aspect of Pope Francis’ final days is theological. In his Easter homily, he underscored a truth often forgotten: the Resurrection is not a memory, but a mission. And before we proclaim the Risen One, we must first seek him
Francis critiqued the Church’s temptation to become a museum of past glories. Evangelisation, he insisted, is not the transmission of something already fully understood. It is a living, breathing act of discovery—of finding Christ anew in every generation, every context. This, he believed, is the soul of the synodal journey: not a bureaucratic process, but a sacred search.
In this way, he challenged the idea that evangelisation is merely about proclaiming truths already possessed. Instead, it is about encountering the Lord again and again, often in the unexpected places where he chooses to dwell. The Church must be less concerned with certainty and more open to mystery. It must be willing to move, to listen, to be surprised.
This vision unsettles many, both inside and outside the Church. Critics accused Pope Francis of reducing the Church to an NGO, of watering down doctrine. But such critiques miss the heart of his message. He was not reducing the Church’s mission, he was deepening it. He was calling us to see the mystical presence of Christ in the here and now—in the refugee, in the prisoner, in the one who disagrees with us.
To see this way is to live differently. It is to embrace what Francis called the “perennial novelty” of the gospel—a freshness that breaks through the “gray dust of habit and disenchantment.” He believed that holiness was not about perfection but about presence—being fully present to God and to others.
His words, his gestures, his entire papacy were marked by this creative fidelity. Not the rigid preservation of forms, but the courageous embrace of life in all its complexity. It was not about having all the answers, but about asking the right questions and walking with people as they searched.
That is why, now as then, with Pope Francis, everything begins again. His death is not an end, but a call. A call to live the Gospel not as a doctrine to be defended, but as a path to be walked.
So let us not look for him among the dead. He is with us still—in every Emmaus of disappointment, in every Galilee of new beginnings. He goes before us, as he always did, urging us to seek, to love, and to live.
He is not here. He is risen. And so are we, if we dare.
