Easter is certainly a time of the unexpected, the wonder of what was, is, and will be forever.
I recently recalled a story from my maternal aunt. She had a home with a beautiful agrarian space, complete with a natural creek running through the property. My cousins and I became naturalists and explorers in this space, traversing the bubbling waters and small inhabitants enshrined by the willows and shrubs around it. When my aunt’s son was quite young, upon one such expedition, he found a new visitor in the stream. “Mom, I think I found God in the river!” he told her.
What he actually found was a concrete statue of St. Francis of Assisi, somehow carried down the stream and mysteriously deposited in the banks. This statue remained with my aunt until this past Easter Sunday, when he was bequeathed to me; this legendary stone holy man, whose serendipitous arrival had captured family lore for some time. “St. Frank” has been a mysterious companion in my life, presenting himself in the most unlikely ways in my journey to the Franciscan School of Theology and beyond. Little did I know the continued significance in what was to unfold in subsequent hours.
Another Francis, Papa Francesco, was to enter into the promise of the Resurrection a few hours after I happily perched this gifted statue in my home garden. There is much to say—more than word counts could ever accommodate—to encapsulate the humility, wisdom, and authenticity of our spiritual leader. This Holy Father was paternal, not patronizing; bold, yet merciful; meek, yet strong. I called to mind his entry into the papacy. I was in college discerning next steps and which theology school to attend.
All signs pointed to the Franciscans, so much so that when Pope Benedict stepped down and the conclave commenced, I remarked out loud to colleagues, “Wouldn’t it be ironic if this Jorge Bergoglio chose the name Francis, since I keep getting all these signs lately?” I can’t take credit for such an overt affirmation in my life but was warmed by the providential alignment of that day. As his papacy began, I was astounded and moved by the ways Pope Francis would touch even the most unlikely places. An atheist in my dorm even sought me out to congratulate me on the “new guy” who seemed to be doing good things for the world.
As his papacy continued, he called for a visceral and pastoral love of neighbor, the forgotten, family, Creation, and what was to be his next work on the needs of children throughout the world—this “field hospital” and recognition of the need for healing in brokenness. This inspired my chaplain heart. Years later, while attending World Youth Day and working in pastoral care, I was struck by his tone of compassion and how his remarks inspired a need for community. And I will never forget the twinkle in his eye as the motorcade went by, like a benevolent grandfather, truly the Holy Father, as the teaming crowds of young people clamored around him and chanted, “Papa Francesco!” and “Esta es la joven tuth del Papa!”
In these days when the daily headlines of despair and injustice can overwhelm even the most hopeful of the faithful, it feels especially heavy to lose such a global treasure and north star, guiding us and grounding us in the tumultuous and unknown. But as I continue to grieve and recall this legacy of one who indeed “smelled like the sheep,” I remember that story of my cousin “finding God in the river.”
Is that not what we are called to do in the memory of Pope Francis: practice this kind of horizontal theology where we find God among us, where we encounter the Imago Dei at the intersection of all living things, where we belong to each other and our common home, where we become stewards of goodness and welcome the stranger and the outcast with radical hospitality, as embrace our vulnerability in asking for forgiveness and in turn, show this mercy to others? We are to serve rather than be served, to live as if all were a gift, and be attentive stewards who create a place that is para todos . . . for all.
This was the message of Franciscus, a Jesuit called by the name of that mendicant preacher from Assisi who said the same, both reflecting the message of Christ, our Brother. So, look around. Easter is certainly a time of the unexpected, the wonder of what was, is, and will be forever.
1 thought on “Easter and the Unexpected: St. Francis and Pope Francis”
Lovely story 🙂