A Requiem for a Moral Colossus

By Orobosa Agbonkpolo

I woke up quite early to observe the funeral obsequies of Pope Francis.

As images of him over the years filled the screen—his journey from Jorge Mario Bergoglio in Buenos Aires to his tenure as Pope at the Vatican—tears streamed down my face in ceaseless flow.

The question he often asked of himself echoed loudly: “Why me? Who am I?”

In the stillness of my living room, I dared to ask myself the same question. My sincere, unfiltered answer brought me face-to-face with my own inadequacies.

My friend, if you are reading this, and you are blessed with the privilege of life—have you ever asked yourself that same question?

If you have power, if you have wealth—have you asked yourself why you?

The Putins, Trumps, Netanyahus, Tinubus—those endowed with enormous power—must ask this question. Musk, Zuckerberg, Bezos, and others with staggering wealth must ask this question.

What is the imperative of thy privilege?

As Pontiff, Pope Francis had at his command 1.4 billion Catholic adherents worldwide. He could have wielded that influence to rigidly enforce dogma and ecclesiastical authority. It would have been well within the prerogative of his office. But such perks he shunned.

He could have chosen the company of elites and the privileged. Instead, he chose the company of the afterthoughts of our world.

Oh, his legendary and constant smile bore eloquent testimony to the cross he carried—a cross of service to the scorned and marginalized.

He could have ensconced himself in the plush accoutrements befitting the Pontiff, but instead, he beat the parched path of the downtrodden.

Whether in the war-torn streets of Gaza or the rugged alleys of Afghanistan, his papal mobile wove through crowds. He stood in his roofless car, touching hands and beaming that bewitching, disarming smile.

His motorcade, ever bare and simple, lacked the pomp and armor typical of powerful men. It spoke loudly of his belief in divine—not military—protection.

This stands in sharp contrast to the ostentatious motorcades of evangelical henchmen and henchwomen who tout divine protection while hiding behind tinted windows and bulletproof glass.

Pope Francis’s smile and touch connected the beleaguered soul of the oppressed to the incandescent glow of God. He percolated their despair with the reassuring hope of heaven.

When asked why he was so at ease with the forsaken, he often replied, “Why not me?”

Is God’s concern not always for the downtrodden, the impoverished, the infirm, the persecuted, and the vanquished? he would disarmingly ask. He would often remind his interviewer—our exalted status is entirely unearned and entirely by God’s mercy.

Have you ever wondered what our world would look like if our political barons and nouveau riche asked themselves these piercing questions?

Would the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians or the persecution of the Muslim Rohingya in Myanmar persist?

Would Putin’s violent annexation of Ukraine to fulfill his hegemonic ambitions occur?

Would conscienceless African rulers continue their wanton accumulation of wealth while their citizens sink deeper into poverty?

Ah, the Pontiff’s garment—especially Pope Francis’s—like his forerunner, St. Francis of Assisi, was made of simple white wool. It spoke volumes about his dedication to piety, purity, and holiness. None could question where his body, mind, spirit, and soul resided.

This stands in stark contrast to the expensive, custom-tailored suits of today’s evangelical preachers, which echo their apostleship of carnality and render hollow their pretense of hallow.

But perhaps Pope Francis’s most enduring legacy was his painful, persistent effort to distinguish the person from the sin.

Did not the Master say in Luke 5:32,

“I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance”?

Too often, religion has weaponized doctrine—wrapping sin so tightly around the sinner that it becomes their noose.

Enter Pope Francis—who, while never endorsing sin, preached compassion and the divine mandate to embrace the sinner.

No wonder his whisper of love resounded in the aching souls of so many.

Oh, his plea—for dignity for all.

Yes, men, women, and children of every race, status, and stripe need, crave, and deserve the dignity that authority must afford them.

To those who braved treacherous seas seeking a better life, he pleaded for compassion. Though too often his words fell on deaf ears and calloused hearts, he never stopped pleading.

His arms were ever thrown wide in welcoming embrace—to the LGBT community, to the disabled, the scorned, the disowned, and the wearied in a dis-affectionate world.

The millions he loved so effusively thronged the streets to bid him farewell as his simple casket wound through the Eternal City to its final resting place—not at the Vatican—but at the Basilica of Saint Mary Major, cementing his legacy of humility and simplicity.

As the ceremony drew to a close, my final thought was clear:

All hail Jorge Mario Bergoglio—who became Pope Francis.

He came. He saw. He served. He showed us the way.

Now I turn to God and plead my own inadequacies.

May the torch of love he bore be passed rightly.

May the light of God he beamed never dim.

Adieu, Pope Francis.

— Orobosa Agbonkpolo