In most contexts, I'm what many would call a ‘traditionalist’ or ‘conservative’. I'm a former-Orthodox, now-Catholic, who adores ancient liturgy, adheres to historic Christian moral teaching, loves the natural law, sits at the feet of the Fathers, and has little patience for most things that even hint at modernism or liberalism.
And I loved Pope Francis.
Granted, for most of his pontificate, I was not even a practicing Catholic. But having had a brief stint as a Catholic years ago (long story) before recently returning, in those intervening years I watched with interest as the new Pope made headlines, courted controversy, and provoked both praise and consternation from various theological camps.
But it was only during my experience in Orthodoxy that my personal appreciation of Francis truly began to grow. As much as I loved Orthodoxy, I began to realize, slowly but surely, how insular, legalistic, and pharisaical so much of Orthodox culture was in America. Don't get me wrong, I do not believe these attitudes are intrinsic to Orthodoxy, and there are many beautiful exceptions, but that such a pattern exists was to me indisputable.
Orthodoxy gloried in being American Christianity's ‘best kept secret’, but I often wondered, ‘Isn't that a problem? Why should the One True Church(TM) be a secret?’ Another popular Orthodox catch-phrase was ‘Come and see!’ In other words, ‘We're not here to convince or implore you to be reconciled to God; just come and see what we're doing if you want’ is what often seemed to be the subtext.
Though I'm sure for the most part unintentional, these and other attitudes together left one with the impression that Orthodoxy was there, but it cared little to go out of itself into the world to transform and evangelize it, or adjust even a jot or tittle of a small-t tradition to accommodate or condescend to the unique struggles and contexts of modern Western people. The Orthodox Church was a hospital for sinners indeed, but all too often I was left with the impression it was a hospital without any ambulances, a hospital where you could come if you wanted, but you might be waiting at the door a good while before the doctors decided you proved you were worthy or able to receive the medicine.
But my move from Orthodoxy to Catholicism is another story for another time, and my purpose here is not to caricature or criticize Orthodoxy as a whole. Instead, I bring up these limited aspects of my experience of some of Orthodox culture to contrast it with one of the most beautiful images Francis once used to describe the Church:
A field hospital.
For Francis, the Church was indeed a hospital for sinners, but one that went out of itself to meet people where they were on the battlefield, wounded by evil, trauma, loneliness, confusion, despair, and anxiety. ‘Heal the wounds first’, advised Francis, ‘then we can begin to talk about and properly contextualize doctrine.’
Apart from this striking contrast with an ethos I had come to know in Orthodoxy (an ethos that can emerge in any ecclesial body mind you, including Catholicism), there were a number of other things I deeply appreciated about Francis. His consistent emphasis on mercy, for example, deeply resonated with me as one who has struggled with scrupulosity and despair, and knows what it's like to be agnostic, wounded, and adrift in secular nihilism. Many traditionalists very often seem to desire sacrifice, not mercy, but Francis got the emphasis right, agreeing with Christ's admonishing of the pharisees: ‘Go and learn what this means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ And Christ, like Francis and his vision for the Church, did not always need to make sure everyone He encountered could cross every ‘t’ and dot every ‘i’ of His doctrinal teaching before He healed them, showed them mercy, and brought them into His community. They would understand in time, like His Apostles.
Love very often leads to understanding; but in my experience, understanding just as often (Lord have mercy on me) fails to lead to love.
I also appreciated Francis's universalist leanings, as a universalist myself. I understood what many did not: that far from being an indication of ‘liberalism’ (though of course it can sometimes be), universalism in fact enjoys ancient and Patristic pedigree in the likes of spiritual giants like Origen, Evagrius, Gregory of Nyssa, Isaac of Ninevah, and others. Perhaps Francis intuitively understood, as these great Fathers and Saints did, that universalism (or at least a hope for the salvation of all) is simply the logical working out of the claims of the Gospel, classical theism, and a proper theological anthropology.
In the end, Francis was imperfect, as we all are, and many keyboard warriors and YouTube streamers with nothing better to do (like working out their own salvation with fear and trembling) are anxious at this very moment to convince you of this fact. That Francis was a ‘bad Pope.’ That he was a ‘progressive’, or whatever else.
But to me, as far as any man can be, he was a good Pope in so many ways that matter and that the world needs right now. Too many traditionalists act as if all the world needs right now is doctrinal clarity and certainty. But it equally needs mercy, love, and accompaniment. And the former without the latter will merely make angry ideologues of people, not saints.
And so Francis’s death is reminder to me, and should be to us all, that when all is said and done, it's not being traditional that matters, or being conservative, or liberal, or woke, or progressive, or trad, or based, or whatever. All that matters is the truth, and love. Sometimes truth and love happen to fit into our narrow ideological constructions, and sometimes they don't. I feel that Francis tried, imperfectly, to not let the ideological constructions placed on him by either liberals or conservatives constrain his pursuit and communication of what seemed to him truth and love. May we all seek to do the same.
Thank you, Papa Francis. Memory Eternal!
Beautiful reflection.