As you probably know by now, Pope Francis has died. (Mere hours after meeting with—how is this real life—US Vice President James Donald Bowman, aka James David Hamel, who prefers to be called JD Vance.)
We’ll be offering more in-depth analysis of Francis’ papacy in days to come. For now, it seems worth noting that the pope’s final public appeal called for a ceasefire in Gaza and an end to Israel’s genocide against Palestinians.
A popular pope with an online cult following—I can say that, I’m a professional—Francis was widely credited as a reformer. Journalist Joe Perticone calls him “a decent man in indecent times.” But critics insist that much of his most-lauded public support for women and/or queer people merely repackaged existent doctrine in more publicly palatable ways. (And with regard to the latter, let us not forget cigarette-emoji-gate.) He was widely criticized for his insufficient response to the Catholic Church’s sexual abuse crisis in the wake of Benedict’s unprecedented resignation. His public remarks on Judaism edged on Christian supersessionism. Regardless of Francis’ widely vaunted likeability, his actions (and frequently failure to act) did much material harm as well as good.
Bishops of Rome have always been key players in global politics. In this, Francis was no different—arguably excepting his attitudes toward liberation theology and the poor, as well as his critique of capitalism and call to protect the planet, which he called “our common home.” Laudato Si called for a collective response to climate crisis and might well be Francis’ most radical legacy. His global politicking was often controversial, if not quite the revolutionary aggiornamento many supporters hoped his papacy might bring. When American bishops threatened to withhold communion from President Biden, Francis instead welcomed Biden and exhorted him to foster peace. (To which Biden’s response seems to have been: lolnope.) He consecrated Russia and Ukraine to the Immaculate Heart of Mary after Russia invaded Ukraine. The pontiff reaffirmed restrictions on the Latin Mass, to the lament of tradcaths everywhere. And under Francis, the Roman Catholic Church finally repudiated the genocidal Doctrine of Discovery, putting it one step ahead of the United States, whose domestic and foreign policy still retain elements of said doctrine.
The future leadership of the Roman Catholic Church is a big question mark at this point—though, alas, the next pope is unlikely to be (spoilers for Conclave) an intersex radical humanist progressive; and the smoke emerging from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel in coming weeks is unlikely to be pink. With so much still left uncertain, I’m finding myself returning again and again to Shiv Ramdas’ observation, that “it says a lot about the vatican in my lifetime that a nazi taking over as pope led to less discernible change in how it functioned than a jesuit taking over.”
