A Legacy of Light: Remembering Pope Francis

Pope Francis gave me hope.

He gave many of us hope, but for me, it was personal. In a world so often driven by power, wealth, and fear, here was a pope who chose the path of humility, simplicity, and courage. He modeled Jesus—not just in words, but in the radical way he lived. He reminded the Church, and all of us, that the Gospel is not a museum piece to preserve, but a living, breathing invitation to respond to the world as it is—with open eyes and an open heart.

Francis was not afraid of change. He made space for the Spirit to blow through the windows of the Church, even if it ruffled old curtains. He saw the brokenness in the world and did not flinch. He spoke into it—clearly, compassionately, and with deep conviction. His papacy was a masterclass in holy courage.

One of his greatest gifts, in my eyes, was Laudato Si’. In it, he gave voice to what so many of us have felt: the earth is alive, sacred, and groaning under the weight of human indifference. He called us to care for it—not out of obligation, but from love. “We received this world as an inheritance from past generations,” he wrote, “but also as a loan from future generations.” For Pope Francis, environmental care was never separate from spiritual life—it was central to it.

But Francis’s compassion extended far beyond the trees and oceans. He reminded us again and again to see the person in front of us: the poor, the refugee, the imprisoned, the forgotten. “Too often we participate in the globalization of indifference,” he warned. “May we strive instead to live global solidarity.” His words weren’t vague ideals. They were rooted in gospel truth and demanded response.

I also loved his way of speaking about education—not just the kind that fills the head, but the kind that forms the whole person. He dreamed of “a generation of teachers… teachers of humanity, of compassion, of hope.” He believed that education should shape people who think, feel, and act—people who care.

Francis never promised easy answers. He didn’t pretend the Church was perfect. He acknowledged our failures. But what made him a true leader for me was his relentless call to hope. “Do not be afraid,” he told young people. “The Lord will not abandon you.” He believed, as I do, that within every soul is a spark of divine light, even when darkness seems to surround us.

He knew the risks of hope. “Even hope,” he said, “has enemies.” But he also knew its power—the way it pushes migrants to cross borders, the way it compels us to open our doors, the way it urges us to keep dreaming, even in old age.

Pope Francis didn’t just serve the Church. He shepherded it with vision, tenderness, and strength. And though he may be gone, his legacy lives on—in every act of mercy, every choice for simplicity, every moment when we choose hope over fear.

For all this and more, I am deeply grateful. He showed me—and the world—what it means to follow Christ with authenticity, justice, and joy.