What We Need in Pope Francis’ Successor

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Pope Francis’ great contribution was to present the Catholic Church as a lover of all people. He called it “a field hospital after battle,” a refuge and place of repair. It must “go to the peripheries, which are often filled with solitude, sadness, inner wounds and loss of a zest for life.” Many saw in him humility and simplicity.

The photo I’ve thought of since his death is from a general audience a few months into his papacy, when he kissed and embraced the man whose head and neck were severely deformed by the tumors of neurofibromatosis. It was beautiful because it was Christlike.

It mattered a great deal that he made clear—he underscored—that if you are in trouble, if you are trapped in circumstances from which there is no escape, if you are living an irregular life, if you have been told you must feel shame and the shame leaves you feeling unworthy, then come in, come in. None are beyond the love of Christ or unwelcome in his church.

It is impossible that message didn’t spread, didn’t enter hearts, didn’t change lives. That he was generally understood, at least in time, to be of the liberal part of the church, gave cheer, after two consecutive conservative papacies, to those in liberalism’s precincts, and a sense of change and vitality to the church itself. Things, if they’re alive, go back and forth.

But if we are in mourning, it is dry-eyed. There is broad appreciation for the man and his efforts but not deep sadness at the end of his papacy. In its dozen years, Francis was often confusing, with striking impulses followed by unexplained silences, with a lack of doctrinal clarity. For me the whole blur culminated in the Synod on Synodality, essentially a conference on having conferences. His liberalism seemed uncertain except when it was aggressive, even belligerent, such as in his suppression of the Latin Mass.

It was my sense when he died that the Vatican was filling a smaller place in the world, that the papacy—damaged by the sexual scandals of the past 40 years, demystified to some degree by Pope Benedict XVI’s 2013 retirement, diminished further by Francis’ blur—had grown weaker, seemed less august and towering. Smart words came from Ross Douthat of the New York Times: Francis, like his predecessors, policed deviations from his authority, “except this time the targets were dissenting conservatives and traditionalists instead of progressives and modernizers.” Conservatives were used to being on the same side as the Vatican—“the last believers in the imperial papacy, the custodians of infallibility’s mystique.” By “stirring more of them to doubt and disobedience,” Francis “kicked away the last major prop supporting a strong papacy.” That is true.

What’s next? I find myself hopeful. When institutions weaken or recede, interesting things (some bad but some good, too) can fill suddenly freed-up space. Power blocs move.

There will soon be a new presence, and possibly a fresh voice. Something good might come this spring, something that wakes us up. “Hope springs eternal in the human heart.” Why shouldn’t it?

A great theme of the 20th- and 21st-century popes was one of grappling with modernity—not, as modernizers said, fighting modernity, resisting it, but encountering it, having a dialogue with it, coming to grips with the church’s responsibilities in the conversation, meeting people where they are. My goodness, enough. It is played out.

The world we live in is lashed by knowledge of the instability of its traditions and institutions, the inadequacy of its governments; it sees artificial intelligence coming and fears machines escaping the control of man; people see unaccountable autocrats lobbing nuclear threats; they worry for their children. More and more I think people know that no one will get through the future without deep faith in God.

The church should go back to the beginning, shift from modernity to eternity, ask the world to train its eye on Christ. Tell it what his mother said at the wedding at Cana: “Do whatever he tells you.”

This is the time for a great teaching pope whose mission is telling the world the meaning of the faith, its history, how it came to its dogma, what it believes and why. How personal faith can come and be won, and what you do to hold on to it. The church must speak to the human heart, which is always hungry.

It would be good if the soon-to-be-chosen pope could be summed up, 20 years from now, on his passing, with these words: The man who was in love with Jesus.

Connected to which: When you’re in love, you are happy. Your happiness shows. It is so important that the next pope radiate something like joy—the joy of knowing there is a God and he is good and he is always with us. Let the world look and think, “He seems happy. He must know something.” Really, they should drop the stricken look.

The coming conclave should keep in mind St. Philip Neri, patron saint of joy, sometimes called even the patron saint of laughing. Born in Florence in the 16th century, lived in Rome. A scholar and poet who studied philosophy, became a priest, founded great holy communities, fought Rome’s corruption but always with good cheer. He loved the arts, loved music. The prostitutes and street urchins to whom he ministered loved him; it wasn’t enough he converted them, he took them for picnics on the lawns of the rich and had musicians play. Rome’s royalty and elites cared for him too. His general approach: leave outward, worldly things alone, reform your own heart, this, heart by heart, leads to external reforms. He kept a distance from ecclesiastical controversies yet was somehow a force in their resolution.

“Cheerfulness strengthens the heart and makes us persevere in a good life,” he said. “The servant of God ought always to be in good spirits.”

There were stories of his lighthearted holiness: A glum young man came to him for spiritual help. Philip told him, “Sadness is no companion for the ones who wants to follow Christ. If you can’t be joyful, at least be ridiculous. God can work with that.”

A parishioner was upset at losing his hair. Did Philip know a remedy? “Be holy, then people will look at your soul and not your scalp.” Someone asked if he could perform a miracle. He said yes, “I just had a conversation with someone and didn’t interrupt them. That’ll do for today.”

He is said once to have walked through the streets of Rome with a basket of oranges on his head, whistling and making faces. He told a friend the reason was he was coming to be known as wise. “I need to remind them—and myself—that I’m not.”

Joy, to him, didn’t counter reverence, it was an expression of it.

Wouldn’t it be great if they chose “the man who was in love with Jesus,” which love brought him transparent personal joy, which he transmitted into the world? The Vatican should shake off the gloom and sideline the Church of Endless Argument.

As the nuns in America used to say, “Christ is coming—look busy.” Bring a boost to this old world.

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