I Worked for Pope Francis.
Here is what he was really like.
A lot of words will be written about the late Pontiff in the coming days. I’d like to offer some as a one-time staffer.
I began working in the Vatican Secretariat of State under Pope Benedict XVI in 2007. By the time Cardinal Bergoglio was elected to the Chair of Peter in 2013, I felt I had a pretty good grasp on how things worked. Then the first Latin American pope decided to shake things up. He settled down not in the Apostolic Palace, but in the Domus Sanctae Marthae so that he could be surrounded by people. He penned replies to letters personally rather than allowing us to reply on his behalf. He took walks within the sight of tourists only to be rebuked by his security detail and whisked away by car.
The fact is that things needed shaking up. Benedict XVI was a wonderful man and an extremely fine theologian. But he trusted people too readily and underestimated his foes. He was much more comfortable writing books than governing the Church. This is not a criticism, just a reality check.
We all, of course, have weaknesses, Francis (and Benedict) included. That’s the point. Francis could be judgmental and swift to anger. He didn’t always know what to say when. In fact, he didn’t seem to want to. Again, these are not meant to be criticisms, just observations from the inside.
I loved Pope Francis as much as I loved his predecessor. Both were men of deep prayer, ardent charity, and tireless service. Both loved the Lord and wanted others to know His love. They did all they could to show it. In these and in other respects, Benedict and Francis were more similar than different, though the media focused on the differences.
Liberals extolled Francis as a champion of same-sex marriage and a proponent of LGBTQ rights. He was neither. He met people where they were at and welcomed any opportunity to dialogue, even if his words and gestures were misinterpreted or usurped.
Conservatives loathed him because he compromised orthodoxy and eschewed tradition. The fact is that Francis wholly embraced Catholic orthodoxy even when it seemed otherwise. It is true he was wary of rigidity and a bit too suspicious of the traditional Mass, but if these were the worst of his faults, Catholics should rejoice.
So, what was Francis really like? I have so many anecdotes that I must limit myself to two.
Not long after his election, the newly elected pope came down the hall to visit the papal calligraphers, whose job it is to handwrite papal bulls and decrees on magnificent sheets of genuine parchment. Their office was not far from mine. Some of these artists come from families that have been doing this for three or four generations. They are proud of their craft, and rightly so. After the head calligrapher demonstrated for His Holiness the painstaking process of producing one of these treasures (which, of course, the pope himself would ultimately have to sign), Francis innocently and undiplomatically asked why these documents could not be produced using a computer and printer. After all, it would save a lot of time, effort, and yes, money. But it was the wrong thing to say at the wrong time. The calligraphers explained to Francis that, with all due respect, handwriting these documents ensured their uniqueness and authenticity. Besides, why would the Vatican want to give up this timeless art and cease creating these gorgeous masterpieces? Good point, His Holiness replied sheepishly (and the calligraphers kept their jobs).
On another occasion, while Francis was preaching at morning Mass in the chapel at the Domus Sanctae Marthae, a gentleman seated in the front row was sitting with his feet crossed and legs extended in an overly relaxed manner (not an appropriate posture for the sacred liturgy). The pope calmly asked him in Italian to uncross his legs and sit up straight. The poor man (who happened to be very wealthy) spoke only English and did not understand what he had said. A few moments later, the pope begged again, this time a bit more boldly. Still, no response. Finally, as the altar was being prepared for the Eucharist, Francis glared at the man and gave him a short, stern lecture on the reverence expected of people while attending the Sacred Liturgy, Catholic or not. The former pope may have been indifferent to the smells and bells of a high Mass, but he never hesitated to call out irreverence and excessive casualness when it came to the worship of Almighty God.
The first anecdote demonstrates that what was often taken as indiscretion was really a matter of innocent frankness on Francis’ part. The former pope spoke his mind clearly, even when his eyes did all the talking (which was quite often). The second reveals a severe side, which occasionally came out in public (see and ), but was never attributable to a mean spirit. Francis was always quick to acknowledge his faults and apologize.
He lived by his motto: miserando atque eligendo — “by having mercy and by choosing.” Francis took those words from Saint Bede’s exegesis of the call of Saint Matthew (cf. Matt. 9:9–13). Bede explains that there is no distinction between Jesus’s act of mercy and his call to discipleship. The Lord forgives our sins by choosing us, and chooses us by forgiving our sins. This insight gave Francis a more acute knowledge of his own sins than most of us will ever have, and it was in the very acknowledgment of his sins that Francis knew the Lord had chosen him. “I am a sinner,” Bergoglio responded when asked in the Sistine Chapel if he accepted the Cardinals’ decision in 2013, “but having relied upon the mercy and infinite patience of our Lord Jesus Christ and in a spirit of penance, I accept (Peccator sum, sed super misericordia et infinita patientia Domini nostri Jesu Christi confisus et in spiritu penitentiae accepto).”
Having known Francis, it doesn’t surprise me that he waited until Easter to die. I am convinced he could have died earlier, but he wanted to greet his flock one more time, celebrate the Resurrection with them, share words of encouragement, and offer his blessing. He knew as well as Saint Paul that Jesus died “so that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him” (2 Cor. 5:15).
I didn’t really know the meaning of those words before meeting and serving a man who asked that only one word be chiseled on his tomb: “Francis.”
