Truly Our Shepherd
On March 13, 2013, my fellow Girl Scouts and I crafted away in Mrs. Tanner’s classroom after a long day at school. Although I’m sure many of us (including myself to some degree) had no clue what was going on, let alone the gravity of such an event, we passively paid attention to the TV in the corner of the room waiting for white smoke. I particularly remember this day because I had been asked by another teacher to come knock on the door during their after-school meeting should such a thing happen. Surely enough, when least expected, the white smoke poured from the chimney. I ran to Mrs. Layne’s room and knocked on the door.
“We have a Pope!”
Not only did we have a Pope, but he chose to go by the name “Francis,” which was significant to me simply by virtue of the fact that my middle name is, you guessed it, Frances. A point of connection from day one. If only I knew then just how much his life, work, and papacy would alter the course of my own spirituality and faith, how many times I would turn to him for connection, security, assuredness, comfort, deep hope. I don’t think until sitting down to write this reflection I registered his impact on my life and theological vocation.
Truly was he a Shepherd to me.
If you’ve spent any time at all on the internet since Francis’ passing, it ought to be painstakingly clear to you that he was a Shepherd to all. I’ve watched many videos, read dozens of articles, scrolled through probably hundreds of social media posts, and, honestly, the sheer amount of vulnerable sharing from folks who no longer identify—or never have identified—with the Church, a faith tradition, or the Divine in general is an emotionally piercing testament to his genuine impact, his pastoral nature.
“Todos, Todos, Todos!”, Francis would shout while in Lisbon, Portugal for World Youth Day in 2023. “Everyone, Everyone, Everyone!” Not just Catholics, not just Christians, not just people of good will, not just ________, but everyone. Quite simple, if you ask me.
I used heavily Pope Francis’ Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (The Joy of the Gospel) in my undergraduate thesis. Throughout his writing he emphasized the centrality and importance of sincere encounter, both with Christ and our neighbor, mercy, solidarity, justice, openness, faithfulness, and true charity or love. My copy of the document is literally falling apart at the binding. I’ve highlighted, bolded, underlined, starred, annotated, flagged. My task in this reflection is not to theologically synthesize his “argument” or systematically unpack the implications of his presented ethos. I’ve done my best to not do that, trust me… mea culpa if I have failed in this regard. But there are two block quotes in Evangelii Gaudium that I return to often and wish to share with you regardless, both of which have circulated (at least portions) in popular media and in the lives of the flock—goes to show people’s connection and resonance with them. They are as follows:
Paragraph 49:
Let us go forth, then, let us go forth to offer everyone the life of Jesus Christ. Here I repeat for the entire Church what I have often said to the priests and laity of Buenos Aires: I prefer a Church which is bruised, hurting and dirty because it has been out on the streets, rather than a Church which is unhealthy from being confined and from clinging to its own security. I do not want a Church concerned with being at the center and then ends by being caught up in a web of obsessions and procedures. If something should rightly disturb us and trouble our consciences, it is the fact that so many of our brothers and sisters are living without the strength, light and consolation born of friendship with Jesus Christ, without a community of faith to support them, without meaning and a goal in life. More than by fear of going astray, my hope is that we will be moved by the fear of remaining shut up within structures which give us a false sense of security, within rules which make us harsh judges, within habits which make us feel safe, while at the door people are starving and Jesus does not tire of saying to us: “Give them something to eat” (Mk 6:37).
Paragraph 198:
For the Church, the option for the poor is primarily a theological category rather than a cultural, sociological, political, or philosophical one. God shows the poor “his first mercy.” This divine preference has consequences for the faith life of all Christians, since we are called to have “this mind . . . which was in Jesus Christ” (Phil 2:5). Inspired by this, the Church has made an option for the poor which is understood as a “special form of primacy in the exercise of Christian charity, to which the whole tradition of the Church bears witness.” This option—as Benedict XVI has taught—“is implicit in our Christian faith in a God who became poor for us, so as to enrich us with his poverty.” This is why I want a Church which is poor and for the poor. They have much to teach us. Not only do they share in the sensus fidei, but in their difficulties they know the suffering of Christ. We need to let ourselves be evangelized by them. The new evangelization is an invitation to acknowledge the saving power at work in their lives and to put them at the center of the Church’s pilgrim way. We are called to find Christ in them, to lend our voice to their causes, to be their friends, to listen to them, to speak for them and to embrace the mysterious wisdom which God wishes to share with us through them.
I think Francis’ words speak for themselves. Perhaps now we need use them as an examination of conscience.
I do identify with those members of the faithful (as well as those in the Church and the academy) who, in their grief, hold varying degrees of anxiety related to the nearing Conclave. Just a few days ago I was speaking with Jos Moons, S.J., an ecclesiologist new to Boston College. Aware of his breadth of knowledge regarding Vatican affairs and the Catholic Church generally, I carefully asked him how he was feeling as the start of the Conclave creeps up on us. He looked at me sincerely, smiled, and said, “I’m quite calm.” On other occasions I’ve heard people proclaim the courageous reminder to “Be not afraid!” And though my spirit wavers day-by-day in terms of what is to come, I have to rest assured that our spiritual Father and Shepherd Francis is accompanying us no differently than he was just a few weeks ago—probably even more so than we can imagine. I also feel quite calm when I consider this reality.
Just two days after Francis passed, my eleven female colleagues and I (we’re often referred to by our professor as “the twelve disciples of Elizabeth Johnson”) had the privilege of video calling with Dr. Johnson, a Roman Catholic sister, feminist theologian, and Distinguished Emerita Professor of Theology at Fordham University whose work we have been studying closely this semester. One of my classmates asked Johnson about how she was feeling in the wake of Francis’ death, what we as emerging theologians ought to do. She shared that after President Jimmy Carter’s death, a popular sentiment arose, frequently expressed by those who were intentionally committed to carrying out his work: “We’ll take it from here.” Johnson looked at each of us and said the same. No matter what happens, she said, we can turn to Pope Francis and say, “Thank you, Papa Francisco. We’ll take it from here.”
If that doesn’t make you cry, I don’t know what will.
I’m grateful to have lived in a world that has been touched by the kind and gentle hand of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, Pope Francis. I’m grateful for his prioritization of Christian charity and action rather than the idolization of and obsession with tradition and jurisdiction. I’m grateful for his humility, personability, compassion, tireless solidarity, Christ-like gaze, and commitment to simplicity.
I’m just plainly grateful.
Thank you, our Shepherd. We’ll take it from here.
I love this prayer. It’s taken from a prayer book I have titled Feminist Prayers for My Daughter: Powerful Petitions for Every Stage of Her Life. I’ve changed the language and modified the prayer to be inclusive of all. When I read it most recently, I read it from the perspective of Pope Francis. If I’m confident in one thing, it’s the power of his intercession and companionship. So let us pray with him the prayer titled, “for small activism.”
O You Who Plant Trees from Mustard Seeds,
When my daughter/son becomes despairing over the state of the world
—which they will—
when they realize that their biggest efforts are only a ripple in the pond
—which is true—
when they want to give up because caring just hurts too much
—which it does—
bring them back to the face right in front of them. Remind them that smallness is not the same as nothingness. Get them to take a nap. Pour them some water.
And when they are ready once more
—which they will be—
present before them actions they can take
in their town,
on their street,
in their home,
in the smallest spaces, the spaces that don’t seem to matter much.
Stroke their hair and whisper in their ear,
Now then, my beloved, this is how you change the world.
Amen.
Endnotes
1. Pope Francis, Evangelii Gaudium (Washington, DC: United States Conference of Catholic Bishops Communications, 2014), paragraph 49; emphasis added.
2. John Paul II, Homily at Mass for the Evangelization of Peoples in Santa Domingo (October 11, 1984), 5: AAS 77 (1985), 358.
3. John Paul II, Encyclical Letter Sollicitudo Rei Socialis (December 30, 1987), no. 42: AAS 80 (1988), 572.
4. Address at the Inaugural Session of the Fifth General Conference of the Latin American and Caribbean Bishops (May 13, 2007), 3: AAD 99 (2007), 450.
5. Francis, Evangelii Gaudium, paragraph 198; emphasis added.
6. Borrowed, edited, and modified for inclusive language from Shannon K. Evans, Feminist Prayers for My Daughter: Powerful Petitions for Every Stage of Her Life (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2023), 134-135.
WRITTEN BY:
Graceann Beckett