Some popes are naturally charismatic. While charisma shouldn’t be the most important thing, it matters. A lot. In a world full of noise and distraction, charisma opens hearts. Few people truly grasped the brilliance of Pope Benedict XVI, the intellectual backbone of the charismatic John Paul II. Benedict didn’t have media charm — and that cost him affection. It’s a reminder of how shallow our judgments can be.
Francis, on the other hand, had it all: warmth, courage, wisdom, and a voice that translated Jesus’ message with urgency and clarity. And he did it often in Spanish — the native tongue of 595 million people.
His message was clear and deeply Gospel-rooted: love is everything. We’re all sinners. Judging others isn’t from God. The Church isn’t for the perfect — it’s for the broken. His legacy wasn’t just religious — it was radically human. In a world of building walls, Francis built bridges.
Ironically, that’s what got him criticized, especially by ultra-conservative factions within the Church who saw his openness as relativism or doctrinal confusion. However, he wasn’t trying to blur lines; he was trying to open hearts.
Some misinterpreted his stance on LGBTQ+ issues. “The Church changed!” they claimed. No. Church doctrine didn’t change. What changed was the tone. Francis made it clear: everyone is welcome. All are children of God. Judgment isn’t our job — it’s His. He didn’t water down his teachings. He clarified what mercy looks like.
Others saw him as weakening papal authority when he pushed for Vatican financial reform and accountability in clerical abuse scandals. That was precisely his strength — restoring credibility.
They called him a populist for writing encyclicals like “Laudato Si’” (on the environment) and “Fratelli Tutti” (on human fraternity). Critics labeled him Marxist. But Francis wasn’t being political; he was living the Gospel. Jorge Mario Bergoglio, as his parents named him, gave us viral moments packed with truth that reached far beyond religion.
I’ll never forget the story of the newlywed who asked him for advice. Francis said, “Argue all you want — just never go to bed without making peace.” Beautiful, simple wisdom. Anyone in a real marriage knows that’s no small thing. It’s everything: choosing each other again and again.
He didn’t romanticize marriage or family. He said it’s not about lasting — it’s about living well. That family, often dismissed today, is the backbone of society. And in his own words, being Catholic doesn’t mean “having kids like rabbits.” That caused a stir. However, he wasn’t promoting birth control — he was advocating for responsible parenthood, in line with natural methods accepted by the Church.
He was outspoken against what he called “ideological colonization,” when wealthier nations tie foreign aid to the adoption of values or lifestyles that don’t reflect local cultures or beliefs. Sound familiar? Forced sex-ed? Imported agendas? Exactly.
Francis always stood with the poor and the forgotten. From his deathbed, he called Gaza’s only Catholic church at night to check on them during the bombings. In his final appearance, he called for a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas. His stand wasn’t political — it was human. He didn’t choose sides. He chose dignity. Hamas and Israel’s president sent him heartfelt tributes after his passing.
One moment I’ll never forget: Emmanuelle, a young boy, broke down sobbing in front of Francis. He whispered to the pope that his dad, who was an atheist, had baptized his children. “Is he in heaven?” he asked.
Francis didn’t hesitate: “Do you think God abandons His children? A good man who did the right thing? God is proud of your dad. It’s easier to baptize your kids when you believe — but even greater when you don’t. That’s the heart of a good man.”
I cry every time I watch that video. Because that’s who Francis was: a shepherd unafraid of our wounds. A man who led with truth and tenderness — not rules.
As a journalist, I dreamed of interviewing him. I knew no network would hand me that shot. So I wrote him five letters. One day, I got a reply — not an interview, but a postcard. Signed. With a blessing for me and my family. I’ve kept it like a treasure. That was his bridge to me.
In his final hours, sick and frail, he welcomed U.S. Vice President JD Vance despite disagreeing with many of his views. Why? Because that’s who he was. He built bridges even with those who raised walls.
And us? Some jumped online to claim Vance “killed” him. Conspiracies over compassion. Noise over grace. Everything Francis warned us about.
Pope Francis lived the hard kind of Christianity — the one built on action, not just words.
Being Christian is easy to say. Living it like Francis — with tenderness, truth and bridges — that’s the hard part.
The Church isn’t perfect. Neither are we. As long as voices like his echo through us — voices of love, dignity, mercy and forgiveness — there’s hope.
Thank you, Francis. Thank you for everything.
