Farewell to Pope Francis
At Abraham Lincoln’s death, Walt Whitman wrote a powerful elegy, O Captain! My Captain!, capturing the country’s sorrow even at a moment of victory over destructive forces. I believe those words are strikingly appropriate now, as we bid farewell to another great leader — a man of moral conviction, a champion of the poor and the migrant, and an indefatigable advocate for mercy and compassion in an increasingly wounded world. Today, we say: O Father, my Father.
The funeral of Pope Francis on Saturday, April 26, was a profound and resounding testament to his moral leadership.
In a relatively short time, he became a father to the world, awakening in all of us the need to treat one another with love and compassion. He reached out to the marginalized and the forgotten, offering them solace and comfort. He famously described the Church as a "field hospital," charged with caring first for the wounded, just as medics tend to injured soldiers before asking further questions. The Church, he insisted, must go beyond its own walls, reaching out to those abandoned at the peripheries of society — bringing them in, healing them, and only then addressing the deeper causes of their estrangement.
He called pastors and bishops to embody this mission — to smell of the sheep, to be so close to their flock that they carried the scent of their shared lives.
Where there was hatred, he sowed love; where there was vengeance, he preached forgiveness. In an unforgettable gesture, he knelt to kiss the feet of warring leaders from South Sudan, pleading for an end to bloodshed and hostility.
What a great Father he was. Through his words and actions, Pope Francis mirrored the love and compassion of Jesus: kissing the untouchable, embracing the outcast, and washing the feet of prisoners. The thought that this loving presence — this Father to us all — is no longer among us fills the heart with deep sorrow.
The moral sun that warmed people of every race, nation, and creed has set.
From the beginning of his papacy, Pope Francis spoke of God as Mercy. He praised Cardinal Kasper’s writings on the subject and, later, in his own reflections, he emphasized that believers must not be trapped in the guilt of their sins but surrender to the embrace of God’s mercy. He loved to recall the story of St. John Vianney, who told a grieving widow that her husband, though he had taken his own life, might have repented in the final moment — such is the overwhelming mercy of God.
In his autobiography Hope, Francis' message of love and forgiveness flows through every page. In a chapter titled "The Almond Blossoms," he urgently calls those burdened by failure not to be crushed by guilt, but to entrust their broken past to the mercy of Jesus and begin again.
What a call to renewal! He encouraged everyone to rise from their failures and live anew, restored by God’s forgiveness.
The crowds at his funeral — the leaders of nations, the millions watching on television, the thousands lining the streets as the cortege moved to Santa Maria Maggiore — all bore witness to the impact of his life and ministry.
The many tributes — calling him the "Pope of the Peripheries," the "Pope of the Poor," the "Voice of the Voiceless," the "Shepherd with the Odor of the Sheep," and the "Pope of Compassion and Mercy" — are a testament to his profound influence on the world.
In an era torn by violence and war, he tirelessly called for peace and reconciliation. He grieved deeply over the tragedies unfolding from the invasion of Ukraine and the renewed hostilities in Palestine and Israel. His final Easter homily rang out as a clarion call for peace across the world.
Even amidst extraordinary scientific and technological advancements, his voice remained clear and insistent: we are all brothers and sisters — Fratelli Tutti.
Thus, Whitman's O Captain! My Captain! becomes for us:
O Father, my Father.