As every Friday, I visited the apostolate to help clean the kitchen and prep for Saturday’s cooking. It was a sacred tradition to which I had grown very attached to , one I adored with all my heart, the simplicity of the work, the quiet friendship of those with whom I shared it, and the little, oft-neglected acts of service that silently changed the lives of others.

But this Friday, it was all different. One of the detectives stood already in the kitchen, next to the counter. She turned to me, and her eyes were filled with a deep sadness. Her mouth parted to greet me, but the words that passed through her lips were heavy with sorrow, and before I could utter even a simple “hello,” her voice interrupted the silence with a quivering declaration:

Brother Nelson, she confirmed, her own voice softened by the pathos of the moment, our leader has gone. Our protector, our defender, our warrior, our frontier, he is in heaven, Our beloved Francisco.

Her words hit me with the force of a sudden tempest, and I stood frozen for a moment, reaching for the magnitude of what she was saying to me. She continued, her voice trembling with emotion: Brother, Whoever becomes the next Pope, please, don’t forget the poor, the needy, and the homeless. Pope Francis was so loved by us, by the poor, and by the homeless. His presence in our lives was so valuable, and now it is so sad to know that he is no longer with us.”

I simply stood there, still, for a moment. Pope Francisco was not a usual leader. He was the head of the Church, to be sure; but he was a guide, a guardian, a beacon of hope. Never had he weakened when others weakened. As the world beyond him had hardened, or in some cases grown hostile, toward the suffering of the poor, he stood constant in their defence. His words, a quiet but unshakable plaint, were the source of a courage for those on the fringe, the neglected, and the forgotten. His love for the poor was not rhetoric, it was practiced in his every action, his every word, his every decision.

He was superior to a Pope, he was a protector, a shepherd, a friend to the most vulnerable of society. He was a defender of justice, and his commitment to the poor was unyielding. He did not speak out of pride, nor from a place of authority, but out of a deep sense of compassion, out of his faith and out of his acceptance of the teachings of Christ. He lived the Gospel in what he said, in what he did, touching the lives of the outcasts of society. He was their voice, their advocate, their champion.

With him no longer around, the vacuum he left was unthinkable. The air itself seemed to have stopped moving, the world became quieter and emptier. No work, no noise, no activity could fill in the vacuum he left behind. His death was not just a loss to the Church; it was a loss to the world, the poor, the homeless, the marginalized, the people whose lives he touched that few others had. His death left behind a silence that no words could replace.

In that moment, as I stood there, I felt the deepest gratitude for his life and his legacy. Deep in my heart, I addressed myself: He wasn’t only a good Jesuit, but an excellent Pope, maybe the best Pope in history. He brought so much happiness and hope to the world. The homeless, the poor, the needy, all of them sensed his generosity and knew that he was their advocate. Now, they weep for the absence of his presence.

Francisco wasn’t just the Pope of the rich, or the powerful, or the influential, he was the Pope of the poor. He served them, he loved them, and he dedicated his life to serving them. He may have died from this world, but his legacy won’t fade away. It will continue to bear fruit in the hearts of the people he touched, in the voices of the poor, the hungry and, the homeless. His love for them was not a passing gesture but a deep, life-altering commitment that will live on in those he left behind.      

Francisco, we will take your love and your teachings with us. We will continue to struggle on behalf of the poor, pleading for the homeless, and battling for justice for the marginalized, as you did. You were not merely a Pope; you were an icon of hope. We hope your spirit continues to guide us, and we implore you to pray for your children on the streets, who weep for peace and justice. May we bring your light forward.

Amen.

Writer: Nelson Marques, SJ