The Comfortable Presence of This Pope

By Nancy Colasurdo

There is a laminated card of St. Francis of Assisi sitting above my computer keyboard as I write this. I haven’t been Catholic since 2002, but one day about 15 years ago I stopped into the gift shop at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City and bought it for myself.

What I was really after was the prayer, particularly this line:

“To be understood, as to understand.”

I had made a turn in my spiritual and emotional life that hinged on that concept. As a person who didn’t pursue what I’d call a “traditional” life, I was always striving to be understood for it. The day I stopped, became more aware, and flipped that around, I had much more mental peace.

Not to mention that when one opens up an understanding of others, a much better writer, life coach, and human being has room to emerge.

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Perhaps that is why one day in March 2013, as I sat in a French bistro on the Upper West Side having lunch with my friend, Kathi, I could barely contain tears when we saw the new pope announced on the nearby television screen. He was taking the name “Francis” for St. Francis of Assisi.

Oh, my heart.

I think author John Michael Talbot captures why my visceral reaction was so deep.

“When he saw a poor person, Francis didn’t judge (“What a worthless individual!),” Talbot writes in The Lessons of St. Francis. “He didn’t evaluate (“I wonder what kind of bad work habits and poor social skills got him into this mess?”). He didn’t turn his head or try to pass by on the other side of the road. He loved and reached out in compassion and charity.”

Because while many people think our great cultural divide is about politics, I’ve been thinking it’s about what is captured in that quote. Again, this has a personal component, because I did some shifting out of one mindset into the other. Those who have done it know it brings about a change in behavior as well and then ripples into everything – how you spend your time, who you spend it with, what candidates/causes you support, whether you belong to a church, if grievance overwhelmingly takes over your mental space and becomes your default.

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When Pope Francis came to the United States in 2015, my neighbor and I tried like crazy to see him. Two women in our 50s, neither of us Catholic, standing on a street corner with a crowd in Lower Manhattan, dismayed to learn we’d only be treated to the decoy Pope vehicle and not the real one.

Here’s what I wrote about that visit at the time:

When we look at our reflection in this man, we see our faith in humanity, our desire to bring our encounters back to basic love and kindness, our deep well of empathy, and a focus on what unites us. Over the past week, I marveled at the latter. The contrast was reinforced repeatedly, as Americans have become so accustomed to focusing on what divides us. (Yes, I’m participating in this just like everyone else …).

And yet.

So many of us got it. Plenty of Catholics, but also plenty who weren’t. People like me who were raised Catholic but are no longer affiliated. People of different faiths. People of no particular faith. The spiritual get Pope Francis. The religious? Not so much.

Here’s how I differentiate a spiritual person from a religious one: If you believe belonging to your faith, your specific religion with its set of rules, means you’re going to paradise when you die and the rest of humanity will not be, you’re religious. A spiritual person believes there are many ways to God/The Great Creator.

Some in both camps have an appreciation for Pope Francis. I say “some” because I know Catholics who are not thrilled with the man. But I also know and have interacted with many former or non-Catholics who get what he’s bringing to the world. They’re relieved that someone with a sense of real priorities – the Golden Rule as it applies to how we are in the world, caring for the Earth — has risen to a place of incredible influence.

It’s not about, as some have noted, his bringing Catholicism into the modern world. At least not for me. Would I have liked to see more women on the altars where he said mass? Yes. A thousand times yes. But that’s one of the reasons why I’m not Catholic and why I’m not tempted to go back. It’s called free will. I choose not to belong to a religion where one gender is exalted, the other relegated to a supporting role.

That being said, I like that my “way” to God has been personally crafted to include what feels right and soulful in my life. I enjoy mass sometimes. I get a wonderful feeling of peace when I walk into a storied church or cathedral. It’s special. I like the history, the art, the hushed tones.

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Back during that 2015 trip, I was exceptionally moved by Pope Francis’ visit to the National September 11 Memorial & Museum. Seeing his 5-foot-9 figure dwarfed against the blue mosaic wall created by Spencer Finch to replicate the clear sky that day … just divine.

Virgil’s words appear above him: “No day shall erase you from the memory of time.”

Pope Francis had comfort down. I suppose once you take the name Francis, the expectation is built in. He rose to it. Even his chiding of our cruel, misdirected leaders brought a measure of comfort.

Which brings me to now. What is God’s plan here? Making room for another who can unify, be firm but humane, who gets what religion is supposed to do? At a time when so much of the American electorate has no grasp on the meaning of Christianity, we’ve lost a man who showed even non-Christians what spiritual leadership is.

How profoundly sad.

During mass at Madison Square Garden, Pope Francis memorably said, “Glorify the Lord by your life.”

He did. And his legacy will continue to challenge us in that regard.