“Christ’s resurrection is not an event of the past; it contains a vital power which has permeated this world. Where all seems to be dead, signs of the resurrection suddenly spring up.” — Pope Francis, “Evangelii Gaudium,” 276
“Thanks to Christ – crucified and risen from the dead – hope does not disappoint! Spes non confundit! (cf. Rom 5:5) … All those who put their hope in God place their feeble hands in his strong and mighty hand; they let themselves be raised up and set out on a journey. Together with the risen Jesus, they become pilgrims of hope, witnesses of the victory of love and of the disarmed power of Life. Christ is risen! These words capture the whole meaning of our existence, for we were not made for death but for life. Easter is the celebration of life!” — Pope Francis, Easter Sunday homily, April 20, 2025
Pope Francis, born Jorge Mario Bergoglio, radiated the deep joy of one who truly believed in the Resurrection. His smile, simplicity, and sense of humor made him not only a beloved spiritual father but also a reflection of the risen Christ’s tenderness and mercy.
From his humble beginnings in Buenos Aires to his ascendency to the Chair of St. Peter, he embodied what he often preached: Christian joy is not merely naive optimism, but the fruit of a heart grounded in the love of the living God – a Father who calls us his children. Even amid a world rife with suffering, he dared to rejoice.
His first apostolic exhortation, “Evangelii Gaudium” (“The Joy of the Gospel”), set the tone for his pontificate. “The joy of the Gospel fills the hearts and lives of all who encounter Jesus,” he wrote. “With Christ, joy is constantly born anew” (EG, 1). This was the song of his life. He followed it with “Amoris Laetitia” (“The Joy of Love”) and “Gaudete et Exsultate” (“Rejoice and Be Glad”), marking his papacy with a consistent call to holiness that was neither rigid nor dour.
He rejected the lifeless severity of whom St. Teresa of Ávila once called “sour-faced saints,” offering instead a vision of sanctity radiant with mercy and the promise of the Resurrection.
Francis was all about that resurrection life. He reminded us that faith is not sterile doctrine but a living relationship with Jesus, who is risen and who walks with us. He once noted, “There are Christians whose lives seem like Lent without Easter.” If we Christians truly believe in the Resurrection, why do we so often live like it’s still Good Friday?
His humor, humility and frequent call to smile were not quirks of personality, but deeply theological gestures – outward signs of a heart alive with Easter. Like St. Mother Teresa of Kolkata before him, he understood that a smile is a beginning of love, a small resurrection in the face of despair, and a quiet defiance against the darkness.
And how fitting – even poetic – that Pope Francis should pass into eternity on Easter Monday. Notably, he is not the first modern pope to die during Eastertide. Just as one of his predecessors, St. Pope John Paul II, was called home on Divine Mercy Sunday, the great feast he gave to the Church, Pope Francis departed quietly at the very dawn of the Easter Octave. His passing – at the beginning of the church’s most joyful week – underscores his lifelong witness to resurrection hope. It was as if, in characteristic humility, he waited until the day after Easter to ensure the Church’s gaze remained fixed on the Risen Christ.
We are now in a Jubilee Year of Hope, and how fitting is God’s providence that Francis would conclude his earthly pilgrimage at such a moment. In this sacred time of “opening the doors of mercy,” we entrust him with confidence to the threshold of that final door – the one that opens into the Father’s house.
The sorrow we feel today is real, but not final. Pope St. John Paul II once exclaimed, “We are an Easter people, and Alleluia is our song!” – a truth that Pope Francis wholeheartedly embraced. As Jesus told his disciples, “You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. … I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take that joy from you” (Jn 16:20, 22). Our pope believed those words – and lived them until the end of his earthly pilgrimage.
Let us remember him not in black vestments but in Easter white – during this octave of radiant joy – as a man of the Resurrection: a smiling pastor who taught us to laugh, to love and to live the Gospel with gladness.
He has run the race. He has kept the faith (Cf. 2 Tim 4:7). And now, in the hope of the Resurrection, Alleluia is truly his song – and still ours.
Thank you, Papa Francesco. May the joy you gave return to you a hundredfold.
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