against environmentally destructive structures within the Church. The vision of a synodal Church ready for dialogue remained one of the guiding principles of Francis’ pontifi cate. He wanted to decentralise power in the Church, give more responsibility to lay people and increase participation by women. In reality, however, many structures remain unchanged. Despite clear majorities at synods of bishops, he refused to allow priests to marry or the ordination of women deacons. Progress in addressing sexual violence was also slow. Although Francis condemned the “culture of cover-up”, dismissed individual perpetrators and spoke to those affected, the systemic consequences remained half-hearted. Too often, institutional responsibility has been individualised without any fundamental reform of clericalism following. Photo by Ashwin Vaswani Obituary for Pope Francis: Advocate of the Marginalized, Uncomfortable Admonisher and Unfi nished Reformer “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 confi ned.” (Pope Francis, “Evangelii Gaudium”, 2013) With the death of Pope Francis, the world has lost one of its most powerful moral voices. Jorge Mario Bergoglio, an Argentine Jesuit and child of Italian immigrants, was more than a bridge-builder between continents. He was a Pope who stood alongside the marginalised. By Florian Stegmaier With the death of Pope Francis, the world has lost one of its most powerful moral voices. Jorge Mario Bergoglio, an Argentine Jesuit and child of Italian immigrants, was more than a bridge-builder between continents. He was a Pope who stood alongside the marginalised. Even his choice of name was programmatic: St. Francis of Assisi, who dedicated himself to poverty and the outcast, became his model. And Francis remained true to his calling. No sooner than he was elected, he renounced red shoes, ostentatious regalia and palaces. He lived in a simple guest house, spoke of a “church which is poor and for the poor” – and meant it literally. No Pope before him has been so often in places that others ignore: in refugee camps and prisons, with indigenous groups in the Amazon region or with street children in Manila. He set up a Page 16 hair and beard cutting service, showers and a medical contact point for people experiencing homelessness under the colonnades of St. Peter’s Square. He expressed his solidarity with street paper vendors. He had sleeping bags distributed and invited people in need to eat – sometimes over 1,000 people at a time. “Hunger is an insult to God,” Francis was convinced. Francis was familiar with the wounds of the world. Even as a young priest, he roamed the slums of Buenos Aires, celebrated mass in backyards and accompanied the sick, addicted and dying. As Pope, he did not lose this closeness. Time and again he broke the protocol, talked to people experiencing homelessness, kissed wounds and listened. He wanted a church that was “dusty” from going out to the people – not one that lost itself in sacred splendour. He felt connected to all those whom society casts out. “Migrants are not a security problem, but people with hope,” he once said. He called for “bridges instead of walls” to be built and denounced the “globalisation of indifference.” He demanded tirelessly that the Mediterranean should not be a cemetery – and set an example: through his trip to Lampedusa, through his embrace of African refugees and by welcoming Muslim refugees to the Vatican. At a time when isolationism and nationalism were regaining strength, Francis was an uncomfortable antithesis – an admonisher for humanity. Critic of the system with Biblical fervour Francis was not a politician, but he thought politically – in the best sense of the word. His criticism of the global economic order was clearer than is usually the case with a Pope. In “Evangelii Gaudium”, his fi rst written proclamation, he called a social system that “excludes and kills people” immoral. Unchecked capitalism, Francis said, does not lead to justice, but to the rule of greed. He criticised fi nancial speculation, land grabbing and a lifestyle that is at the expense of others – especially at the expense of the people of the Global South. For many in Africa, Asia and Latin America, he was a prophetic intercessor. His criticism was based on the Biblical esteem of the poor. When Francis castigated the excesses of neoliberal markets, he did so as a pastor, not as an economist. He wanted an economy that served life – not the other way around. Unfi nished reforms – and disappointed hopes Francis brought together what had long been separated: environmental protection and social justice. In his encyclical “Laudato si’” (2015), he outlined an ecological theology that understands the planet as the “common home” of all people. Climate change is “a question of social justice,” he wrote, because it is mainly the poor who suffer from fl oods, droughts and hunger, although they hardly contribute to the causes. With this letter, Francis not only changed the church’s environmental ethics; he also brought global attention to the concerns of indigenous peoples and the Fridays for Future generation. And yet there were many things that remained unfi nished: within the Church, there was a lack of concrete climate targets, and the conversion of Church properties into ecologically sustainable spaces proceeded hesitantly. Critics accused him of not taking decisive enough action Contradiction and dignity Francis was a Pope of contradictions – one who found radical words but often hesitated within his own ranks. One who appeared humble and yet did not really change power structures. But it was precisely his imperfection that made him so approachable to many. He was not a hero of progress, but a man who struggled, searched, asked questions – and sometimes failed. And he remained on the side of those who are otherwise overlooked. While authoritarian voices in politics and religion grew stronger, Francis was a voice of conscience. He spoke in a language that was understood – in slums and at climate summits. His theology was not aloof, but grounded in the fates of real people: the refuse collectors of Buenos Aires, the fi shermen in Bangladesh and the refugees drowned in the Mediterranean. His attention was focused on them; he wanted to give them back the dignity that the world denied them. The death of Pope Francis marks the end of an era of listening, of reaching out and of serving. His pontifi cate did not fulfi l all expectations, but it did set standards: for a Church that does not rise above the people, but is with them. For a global community that faces up to its responsibility for the weakest. Francis will be remembered as the Pope of the marginalised – as a shepherd who sought the lost sheep before thinking of dogmas. As a voice who didn’t give ready-made answers but asked the right questions. And as a person who testifi ed with his entire existence that dignity begins wherever someone looks – even and especially when others look away. Translated from German via Translators Without Borders Courtesy of Trott-war / INSP.ngo
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