Meditations on the Pilgrim Pope
(Pope Francis, Philadelphia, the night before the Papal Mass. Photo by the author).
As I sit and write this, I’m having a hard time. The grief, in the words of Legolas the elf, is still too near. Still, I need to write something, because it’s how I process.
When Pope Francis took the Seat of Peter, I was about to get a divorce. Everything felt sad and hopeless. It would begin a seven year battle with my own brokenness unleashed from The Bad Thing that happened to me as a child. On top of all this, I had to take a job away from my children so they could have health insurance.
When he was elected, I started to think about returning to the church. I’d been baptized as a Catholic and took my first communion in the church. When my parents left when I was a kid, I went with them even as it deeply confused me.
I started walking to mass at a Catholic Church a block over from my house. At the time, I did it for purely emotional reasons and thought about the theology of later. Strange, because I have a Masters of Divinity and was trained by Scottish Presbyterians, who taught me that everything had to be justified by a long theological train of thought. To be honest, that’s probably a simplistic way of remembering it. Presbyterians are just emotional about their faith as anyone else. It’s just what felt true at the time.
With Pope Francis, I felt the church was my home, the home I had as a child when the Bad Thing happened to me. As I watched and listened to him, I became more and more convinced God was leading me back to the Catholic Church.
Then, I read “Joy of The Gospel” and I knew.
It’s always been a mystery to me that many people miss how “Joy of The Gospel” was the foundational document of his papacy. It guided everything he said or did. The nonsense of him either being a “liberal” or “conservative” pope was solely the invention of the wack job Catholic right media outlets or the left wing media who understand nothing about theology. Everyone of them tried to apply American political categories to the Gospel Francis so deeply embraced.
Is it any wonder why all of them failed to capture what he was trying to do?
His papacy was one fight and struggle after another. In my own personal life, I went through one problem of my own making after another. In my hurt from my divorce and “The Bad Thing”, I started to hurt others even as I sought to figure out “The Joy of the Gospel.” Largely, I failed miserably. That struggle became so bad that I left the Catholic Church for a bit.
The consistency of Pope Francis’s commitment to the “Joy of the Gospel” always drew me back. He taught me what it meant to be a pilgrim in this world, a role I’ve begun to deeply embrace as I’m about to turn 51.
On Monday morning, I woke up at 4 A.M. I’m not sure why but I couldn’t go back to sleep. Giving up a little, I picked up my phone and saw the news. Sitting up, I checked multiple sources to confirm.
He was gone.
Grief came in slow waves. I felt shock, even though I’d been preparing myself for it the past two months as his health declined. Thankfully, I didn’t have to report to my beer sommelier class until 10, giving me some time to get everything together. I decided to walk to work so I could pray at St. Agnes church in Hillsboro, the local parish.
When I stepped out on to my porch, I could hear a church bell ringing. It took me a moment to realize it was the bell of St. Agnes, toiling out in mourning about half a mile away. Tears streamed down my face as I began to walk.
I remembered the pilgrimage to Philadelphia so I could attend the papal mass. Going to church with 1 million people is something that is something beautiful and holy. No one pushed and shoved. Everyone was patient. No rowdies tried to disturb other than the supposed evangelist outside of the security gates, telling all Catholics they were going to hell. Little did they know that inside the gates, people were learning about the Savior they claimed to represent.
I walked inside St. Agnes. No one was there, but it was still early. Our lovely church secretary had already put a picture of Pope Francis near the altar. I approached it, knelt at the altar and wept again. I prayed the rosary for his soul, the church, and for the next person who would take the Seat of Peter.
As I went back out into the world, I reflected on “Joy of The Gospel”, and the life Pope Francis lead. He tried to reflect Jesus and be that “sinner that God smiled upon.” What struck me as how most of the world have recognized his efforts only after his death. Sure, some of them put their own political spin on what they felt. Guaranteed none of them had read Joy of the Gospel. Yet, they felt Christ in his life, even if they couldn’t name the person they really felt.
I don’t know how everyone else will remember Pope Francis. His death marks the end of a hard and tragic part of my life. Now, I’m not sure what the future will look like. I think I’m going to reread “Joy of The Gospel”, remember the man who wrote it and try to keep Christ as the center of my pilgrimage in this broken and beautiful world. I will embrace my “Dual Citizenship” as an Anglo-Catholic more than ever.