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Holy Father, our Shepherd sleeps now

Image credit: Benwen Lopez

From the dusty streets where the barefoot walk, to the quiet corners where the hungry kneel in prayer, his voice reached them—soft, like bread in the hand, strong like the arms of a worker. He came not as a prince, but as one of them. He looked upon the world with tired eyes—not from weariness, but from a long vigil of watching over all.

He spoke of mercy as if it were food—and for one soul, it was. When he said God never tires of forgiving, tears came. For one who had so little, that word became everything.

He kissed the broken. He sat beside the forgotten. He called the nameless “brother.” And somehow, he made heaven feel closer than the rusted roof of a shack.

Now he sleeps, the good Shepherd, and the night feels colder. But his footsteps remain pressed into the hearts of the small ones—the ones like that soul.

Rest well, Papa. They will walk the path you lit until the morning comes.

A Shepherd Comes Home: The Final Journey of Pope Francis

Image credit: Benwen Lopez

It was just past dawn. The towering dome of St. Peter’s Basilica, the deep, mournful toll of the bell echoed through the square, a solemn death knell reverberating like the final heartbeat of a shepherd’s soul returning to God. Each toll echoed across the square, which was filled with tearful and joyful mourners who gathered there for hours to bid farewell to their humble Shepherd, who led them for over 10 years.

From the quiet halls of Casa Santa Marta, the simple guesthouse where he had chosen to live, to the Basilica of St Peter, his mortal remains were carried in a simple wooden coffin—a testament to the simplicity he embodied. There was no opulence, no extravagance, only a gentle reverence that seemed to breathe from every soul in attendance.

The members of the Papal Household lined the path with bowed heads, many with tears streaming down their cheeks. They were not just aides or guards—they were a family. Many had served him for over a decade and now watched as the man they called the Holy Father was borne away from the place where he had laughed, prayed, and lived his daily life among them.

The Swiss Guards, standing tall in solemn formation, flanked the coffin with hearts heavy but proud of the man they swore to protect with their lives. Their brilliantly coloured uniforms stood in stark contrast to the sorrow that draped the scene like a veil. These guardians of tradition, normally stoic and still, betrayed flickers of grief in glistening eyes and clenched jaws.

As the procession moved forward, it was not silence that followed—but a rising, human sound: the mingling of sobs and soft, rhythmic applause. Thousands had gathered—Romans, pilgrims, religious sisters, children, elders, the faithful from every walk of life. Some reached out toward the coffin as it passed. Others clutched rosaries, whispering the Ave Maria through their tears. Many simply stood, hands over their hearts, whispering “Grazie Mille, Papa Francisco.”

As the procession reached the entrance of the basilica, a moment of sadness enveloped the crowds, because a few days ago, he was sitting in the balcony above the entrance, giving his final blessing and goodbye.

He had lived for the margins. He had loved the forgotten. And now, the whole world had come to remember him.

Pope Francis—who never sought grandeur, who asked the people to pray for him with every word he spoke—was carried not on the shoulders of history but on the prayers of the people he loved. From Santa Marta to St. Peter’s, from a life of service to the arms of eternity.

And in the hush that followed, one could almost hear him whisper again, “Pregare per me” (Pray for me). And we will.

Papa Francesco: The Shepherd Who Smelled Like His Sheep

In an age hungering for authenticity, Pope Francis emerged not merely as a pontiff, but as Papa—a father to the faithful, a brother to the broken, and a shepherd who did not shrink from the scent of his flock.

From the moment he stepped onto the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica and asked us to pray for him, the world knew something had shifted. He didn’t thunder forth with edicts or proclamations. He bowed. And in that moment, the Vicar of Christ taught us again what true authority looks like: not power imposed from above, but love poured out from below.

Pope Francis, born Jorge Mario Bergoglio, carried within him the heart of a Jesuit and the soul of a pastor. He walked the barrios of Buenos Aires long before he strode the colonnades of the Vatican. He knew the poor not as an abstract cause, but as friends with names, wounds, and dignity. And when he spoke of the “field hospital” that is the Church, it wasn’t metaphor—it was memory. It was mission.

Like St. Francis of Assisi whose name he bore, he called us back to the essentials: the Gospel, the Cross, the Eucharist. He reminded us that orthodoxy without mercy becomes ideology, and that truth without love is a clanging cymbal. In a fractured world, he became a bridge-builder—not to dilute the faith, but to extend its reach. Whether washing the feet of prisoners, embracing the disfigured, or cradling the children of migrants, Pope Francis did not simply proclaim the Gospel—he embodied it.

To theologians, he was a brother in dialogue. To bishops, a father urging synodality and discernment. To the faithful, a living homily on the Beatitudes. To the world, a voice that cried out not for comfort, but for conversion.

He reminded us that the Church is not a fortress to be defended, but a mother to be loved. Not a museum for saints, but a sanctuary for sinners. Not a place of exclusion, but the very threshold of grace.

He was a man of prayer, a man of peace, and above all, a man who believed—fiercely and tenderly—in the power of God’s mercy. In his papacy, he invited us all into the joy of the Gospel—not as a mere concept, but as a way of life.

As we honour his legacy, let us not simply admire him from afar. Let us imitate him. Let us go to the margins. Let us smell like the sheep. Let us love with a heart that breaks open for the least of these.

Papa Francesco, you have run the race. You have kept the faith. You have shown us the face of Christ in the gentle strength of your witness.

Grazie, Santo Padre. You were a shepherd after the Shepherd’s own heart.

Pope Francis has died

His Eminence, Cardinal Farrell, announced with sorrow the death of Pope Francis, with these words: “Dearest brothers and sisters, with deep sorrow I must announce the death of our Holy Father Francis. At 7:35 this morning, the Bishop of Rome, Francis, returned to the house of the Father. His entire life was dedicated to the service of the Lord and His Church. He taught us to live the values of the Gospel with fidelity, courage and universal love, especially in favor of the poorest and most marginalized. With immense gratitude for his example as a true disciple of the Lord Jesus, we commend the soul of Pope Francis to the infinite merciful love of the One and Triune God.”