Our beloved Pope Francis has died

Dear Friends,

  Our beloved Pope Francis has died. In his very first act as pope he made history in the choice of his name, becoming the first pope to align himself with the memory of St. Francis of Assisi, the saint who set out to reform the church by recalling and embodying the spirit of its poor founder. The choice was deliberate. As he explained, the name of Francis came to him as he heard the conclave votes being tabulated: “I thought of Francis of Assisi . . . the man of poverty, of peace, who loves and takes care of creation, a man who gives out a sense of peace, a poor man. Oh! How I would like a church that was poor and for the poor!”

In the years that followed, it became clear how much the pope drew his agenda from that model. Several of his encyclicals and other documents took their titles from Saint Francis: Fratelli Tutti, and most notably his historic documents on care for creation, Laudato Si’ and Laudate Deum. And in so many other ways--his personal example of humility and service; his partnership with leaders of Islam and other religions; his solidarity with migrants and refugees (one of his signature themes: see A Stranger and You Welcomed Me); his emphasis on mercy and compassion (see The Works of Mercy); and his statements on peace and nonviolence (see Against War)—he evoked the spirit of his namesake, and his strategy for rebuilding the church.

For Orbis, as the publishing arm of the Catholic Foreign Mission Society of America, we particularly welcomed his emphasis on mission and evangelization (see Go Forth: Toward a Community of Missionary Disciples). The church, he taught, does not exist for itself but for the world. In his short speech at the conclave of 2013, where he was elected pope, he spoke of the greatest danger facing the church: ecclesial introversion and self-referentiality—signs, he said, of a “sick church.” An “evangelizing church,” in contrast, goes out to the margins and peripheries to bear witness to God’s love and compassion for all peoples.

In his extensive travels he gave special attention to geographical margins, visiting South Sudan, Mongolia, the Central African Republic, Iraq, Kazakhstan, Cuba, and over sixty other countries. He convened an extraordinary synod devoted to the Amazon (see Beloved Amazonia). But he also focused on the “existential peripheries”: washing the feet of prisoners on Holy Thursday, visiting the Island of Lampedusa, a waystation for African migrants in the Mediterranean, where thousands have drowned while seeking refuge. Decrying the “culture of indifference” that make it impossible for us to see our brothers and sisters, he asked the world, “Who weeps for these?” Old as he was, he felt a special bond with young people and urged them to dream, to “make noise,” and to be courageous in giving voice to the voiceless (see The Courage to be Happy). During the pandemic, he offered an inspiring model of compassionate and prophetic leadership (see The Pope and the Pandemic).

Warning against clericalism and “spiritual worldliness,” he challenged priests to be “shepherds with the smell of the sheep.” In Rejoice and Be Glad, his exhortation on the call to holiness in today’s world, he distinguished between the canonized saints and the ordinary, everyday saints—who embody the Beatitudes. “We are called to be holy by living our lives with love and by bearing witness in everything we do.” As for the church, which he called a “field hospital,” his favorite image was the Pilgrim People of God, walking together. He worked hard to translate this into a new culture of synodality, in which everyone would have a voice (see Walking Together: The Way of Synodality).

Among my favorite of his concepts was the distinction between a “laboratory faith” (in which everything is clear and distinct), and a “journey faith,” in which we meet God along the way. It is a way marked by uncertainty and times of doubt—but it is a way that leaves us open to the Holy Spirit, and the ongoing call to conversion. On this journey we do not travel with certainty, but by the light of faith and hope.

The People of God have lived through many popes, each of them having made their contributions to the life of the church and the transmission of the gospel. But in the more than fifty years of Orbis we have not seen a pope whose message we found  so closely aligned with our understanding of the gospel in the world. Many times in these letters I have referenced Pope Francis as the outstanding inspiration for our program. This was reflected in the over-20 volumes of his writings plus over a dozen books about him, as well as the many other books to which he contributed forewords (most recently, for the newest edition of Dorothy Day’s From Union Square to Rome).

I regularly sent Pope Francis letters of support and appreciation, never knowing if they reached him. I cannot express how moved I was, in 2020, to receive a long reply, occasioned by the 50th anniversary of Orbis Books. It began: “Dear Brother, thank you for the letter and the books that you sent me, as well as for all the efforts you make to sow, even ‘against wind and tides,’ a culture based on fraternity. I join in thanksgiving for these first 50 years of the journey with the confidence that our Father who sees even what is done in secret will reward you (Mt 6:6).”

He acknowledged our work of publishing books that offer “a true horizon of meaning”  and spoke of the importance of  cultivating—“especially in the younger generations—an imagination that would help them believe that another way of writing history is possible.” He encouraged us to continue our work “in that difficult but important and delicate task of creating volumes that give flight to the spirit and help reach the places where new narratives and paradigms are being formed.”

And he concluded with this personal note: I thank you again for your kindness and work and I assure you of my prayers for you and
your family, that the Lord may bless you and the Holy Virgin take care of you, and please, do not forget to pray for me.

Fraternally, Francisco     

Grateful to have lived in his time, we will never cease to pray
with him, and for him.