What Kind of Man Was Pope Francis?

I spent fourteen years in Catholic school and eight years as an altar boy. I’ve heard all the jokes, but if you think you have an original one, leave it in the comments. All that time I avoided church as much as possible. I ignored my church’s youth group and the cardboard cutout of Pope Francis those kids carried around. But post-grad, peak-Covid, and just before a family tragedy that expedited the process, Pope Francis made me Catholic again. Now I’m the only Gen-Z practicing Catholic on the Esquire editorial team, so I get to write a column.

Whatever your religious persuasion, or lack thereof, I urge you to be more like Pope Francis, who died Easter Monday. Ignore the discussion around his death. You and I—the whole world, in fact—will be better off if we focus on him. That’s the greatest compliment you can give a man.

For his first trip outside Rome, Francis met with migrants on the island of Lampedusa, off the coast of Italy, mourning those who had died at sea seeking a better future. That looked to me like the teachings of the Catholic Church put into action. The example he set was a good one to follow—and he continued exemplifying good works as leader of the church. But he showed he was more than a worthy pontiff; Pope Francis was a good man at a time when good men are hard to come by. Sure, every pope would call for an end to the war in Ukraine. Every pope would call for prayer and fasting for those suffering in the Israel-Hamas war. But only a good man would continue his regular calls with a parish in Gaza from his hospital bed. Only a good man would go off-script (theologically speaking) and say, “I like to think of hell as empty.” Men like this are rare today, or they’re not exalted to positions of power and featured prominently on your timeline. It’s a shame.

Pope Francis meets with a migrant on the Italian island of Lampedusa, which was his first trip outside of Rome after becoming head of the Catholic Church.

It reminds me of A Good Man Is Hard to Find, probably the most popular short story from Flannery O’Connor, a Catholic writer of the gothic persuasion. Sorry to spoil the story, but it ends with the two most loathsome characters, each spiritually reprehensible in their own right, experiencing separate epiphanies as one kills the other. The deceased dies full of bullet holes with a perpetual smile; the killer walks away, eyes-watering, saying, “It’s no real pleasure in life.” Epiphanies are a hallmark of O’Connor’s stories, and they’re never corn-cobby. They’re always dark and usually funny, like the world—like what happened to Francis the day before he died.

When I logged on to Twitter Monday and saw Fracnis had met with JD Vance on Easter Sunday, I thought, “Imagine JD Vance is the last new face you meet before dying …” The jokes write themselves, and it’s okay to make the jokes. In fact, a Catholic school teacher assured us it’s okay to laugh because “God also has a sense of humor.” It won’t send you to hell, I think. And anyway, you should be wary of any writer telling you what’s okay. You should also be wary of any politicians who post their condolences with a picture of them meeting the Holy Father. To his credit, Vance’s personal account didn’t post a photo but a link to one of the pope’s great early Covid homilies.

Vice President JD Vance met with Pope Francis the day before he died. The jokes write themselves. (Also, it’s okay to joke about it.)

And be wary of the commentary in the coming weeks. Countless people will say, “This is just like Conclave.” If you’re in the weeds like me, there’s going to be plenty of intra-Catholic political discourse. The pope’s name might even come up in secular political discourse. I’d disregard most of it. What people of other faiths, people of no faiths, and people of the Catholic faith should do is find someone who lived wholly for others and emulate them. They do exist. For me, Francis comes to mind. If we think about others the way he did, hell should be as empty as suggested.