Pope Francis
Jorge Mario Bergoglio was born in Buenos Aires on 17 December 1936, the son of Italian immigrants.
He graduated as a chemical technician and then chose the path of the priesthood, entering the Diocesan Seminary of Villa Devoto.
On 11 March 1958, he entered the novitiate of the Society of Jesus. He completed his studies of the humanities in Chile and returned to Argentina in 1963 to graduate with a degree in philosophy from the Colegio de San José in San Miguel.
From 1964 to 1965 he taught literature and psychology at Immaculate Conception College in Santa Fé and in 1966 he taught the same subject at the Colegio del Salvatore in Buenos Aires.
From 1967-70 he studied theology and obtained a degree from the Colegio of San José.
On 13 December 1969 he was ordained a priest by Archbishop Ramón José Castellano. He continued his training between 1970 and 1971 at the University of Alcalá de Henares, Spain, and on 22 April 1973 made his final profession with the Jesuits.
On 20 May 1992 Pope John Paul II appointed him titular Bishop of Auca and Auxiliary of Buenos Aires. On 27 May he received episcopal ordination from the Cardinal in the cathedral. He chose as his episcopal motto, miserando atque eligendo, and on his coat of arms inserted the ihs, the symbol of the Society of Jesus.
Three years later at the Consistory of 21 February 2001, John Paul ii created him Cardinal, assigning him the title of San Roberto Bellarmino. He asked the faithful not to come to Rome to celebrate his creation as Cardinal but rather to donate to the poor what they would have spent on the journey.
All the while Cardinal Bergoglio was becoming ever more popular in Latin America. Despite this, he never relaxed his sober approach or his strict lifestyle, which some have defined as almost “ascetic”. In this spirit of poverty, he declined to be appointed as President of the Argentine Bishops’ Conference in 2002, but three years later he was elected and then, in 2008, reconfirmed for a further three-year mandate. Meanwhile in April 2005 he took part in the Conclave in which Pope Benedict XVI was elected.
He was elected Supreme Pontiff on 13 March 2013. He passed away on Easter 2025. May his soul, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen
Biography of Pope Francis, visit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFdcoEXqY7o
Source: https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/biography/documents/papa-francesco-biografia-bergoglio.html
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Because he kissed twisted feet,
Because he risked saying that
that mercy is more sacred than rules,
that walls are for breaking down,
not building higher.
Because he made the Gospel
less a doctrine
and more a door
always opening,
especially for the ones who'd forgotten
they had a place inside.
Because he chose Francis
a name that rang with birdsong and barefoot love,
with peace and the poetry of poverty.
A name not of power,
but of presence.
Because his eyes held contradiction gently
mercy and justice,
science and spirituality,
hope and realism,
tradition and tomorrow.
Because he dared
to open windows
long shut,
letting in air,
and questions,
and the wild breath of the Spirit.
Because he reminded us
that hope is revolutionary,
that vulnerability is not weakness,
He called the Earth “our sister,”
and meant it.
And because he whispered, again and again,
“Who am I to judge?”
And maybe,
just maybe,
I loved him most
because he made me believe
that holiness was still possible
in the mud,
in the margins,
in the Church,
in me.
_Br. Sunil Britto CFC 21.04.2025_
I only met Pope Francis once. It was brief. Just a few moments in a crowded room filled with dignitaries and seekers, some there out of duty, others out of belief. I was neither Catholic nor there on some divine pilgrimage. I was just a man in need of a little hope. And somehow, in that fleeting encounter, I received it.
It’s hard to explain without sounding overly romantic, but when you’re in the presence of someone truly good — not performatively good, not “publicly moral” or selectively kind — but genuinely, deeply, relentlessly good… something shifts in you. You feel lighter. You feel braver. You feel like humanity, for all its wounds and wickedness, is still worth fighting for.
That was the gift Pope Francis gave me. And I imagine, from the tears I’ve seen today and the aching silences of millions across faiths, races, and borders, that he gave that same gift to many.
Today, we mourn not just the passing of a Pope. We mourn the loss of one of the strongest chess pieces humanity had on this plain of existence.
He was a man who made kindness radical again. Who reminded the powerful that humility was not weakness. Who spoke of love not as doctrine but as duty. He was not just a religious man. He was something far more rare — he was universally spiritual.
I am a Hindu. My God wears different names. My prayers come in different rhythms. But I would have followed this man through fire. Because in his belief in God, he carried a belief in all of us. His eyes didn’t see denominations — they saw dignity. His voice, always soft but never weak, carried the weight of truth even when it unsettled the comfortable. Especially when it unsettled the comfortable.
This world has a way of chipping away at your soul. The noise, the greed, the hate, the empty rituals that masquerade as faith or patriotism or family values. It’s easy to go numb. It’s easy to give in to cynicism. But once in a while, someone comes along who reminds us that the better angels of our nature are still within reach. That goodness is still possible. That we don’t need to be perfect to do good — we just need to be brave.
Pope Francis was that man.
He chose love over doctrine. He chose compassion over judgment. And most remarkably, he chose action over applause. He walked with the poor. He knelt before the discarded. He challenged the powerful not with anger, but with moral courage. And he did all of this with a smile that felt like a prayer.
He understood something many religious leaders forget: that God doesn’t reside only in temples or churches or mosques. That holiness isn’t a place — it’s a way of living. A way of seeing others. A way of choosing kindness, over and over, even when it hurts.
So yes, today we mourn. I mourn. Not just for the Catholic world, but for all of us. Because when a man like this leaves, it feels like a light has been dimmed.
But maybe — just maybe — the way we honour him is by becoming the light ourselves.
Let us remember his faith in humanity, and let it fuel our own. Let us keep making the right chess moves in this complicated, brutal, beautiful game of life. Let us speak truth with grace. Let us protect the vulnerable, question the powerful, and lift each other up not because of who we are, but because we are here — together.
Pope Francis believed in a world where dignity wasn’t conditional. Where faith was lived, not just preached. That world can still exist — if we build it.
And maybe that’s the final gift he’s given us. A call not to despair, but to duty.
Because as long as we carry his belief in each other, then truly, he has not left us at all.
Vinod Sekhar
Brilliantly penned … couldn’t have said it any better. Amen
He was such a a kind soul
A great loss to worldwide spirituality 🙏🙏
Great biography
Thanks for sharing
Hope they are able to choose an equally kind and fair Pope 🙏🙏
( A friend on Signal)
Over the millennia there have been some exemplary leaders and also some outright scoundrels
But through it all the Church has survived
We live in very polarizing times so I too hope the next Pope will build on the legacy of Pope Francis and speak for the voiceless, encourage inclusiveness and compassion, and make care for the environment an immediate priority - Kieran
In memory of Pope Francis (1936–2025)
Today, the world bids farewell to a gentle giant of spirit.
Pope Francis—the first non-European, Latin American, and Jesuit Pope in the history of the Church—has left this world. His departure, so soon after the sacred silence of Holy Week, feels like the soft closing of a holy chapter.
As a fellow pilgrim born in Buenos Aires, I cannot help but feel this loss in a personal way. As a child, he lived only a few blocks from where I grew up. We were neighbors—one generation apart.
We even supported the same football team: San Lorenzo. Something as simple as that makes the memory even warmer—two believers, two neighbors, two hinchas sharing a thread of belonging beyond doctrine.
And though we never met, I have long considered him kindred.
While I walk the path of Gaudiya Vaishnavism, I do not feel this in opposition to the spirit of Christianity. In fact, I often say—truthfully and openly—that, in essence, I consider myself a Christian too. How could I not be touched by the life and teachings of Jesus, the wounded healer, the teacher who knelt, the lover who loved unto death?
Today, as I write these words, our ashram in North Carolina welcomes a dear friend: Father Cassian, a Catholic priest and monk, who will stay with us for some time. His presence feels especially poignant today, as we mourn and honor one of the most transformative figures in recent Christian history.
Pope Francis dared to break boundaries—geographical, social, and theological. He championed the poor with tenderness and ferocity. He called for an integral ecology, where care for creation is inseparable from care for the vulnerable. His encyclicals Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti were not merely Catholic texts, but universal appeals to conscience, reminding us that the Earth is not only our common home—it is sacred.
He reached toward those whom others overlooked: the divorced, the queer, the imprisoned, the forgotten. He believed that no one stands outside the circle of God’s mercy. And though his efforts were often misunderstood—by conservatives and progressives alike—he kept walking, one foot in the Gospel, the other in the dirt of our time.
He simplified the papacy. He renounced palatial opulence. He cooked his own meals. He asked us to pray for him, always. And he wept when he spoke of war, refugees, or ecological collapse—not as a politician, but as a father. As a brother of humanity.
Of course, like all great souls, he was not without controversy. While I may not agree with every statement he made or stance he took, I firmly believe in honoring the whole of a life, not its isolated parts. I believe in seeing people not merely for their past, nor even their present, but for their luminous future in God’s grace.
To my Christian brothers and sisters: my heart is with you. This is a sacred day of mourning, of reflection, and also of thanksgiving—for a life that mirrored the Beatitudes more than the headlines. May the same Spirit that breathed through him breathe now into your hearts, offering comfort and conviction.
And to those in my own bhakti community: may we dare to learn from such lives. May we embody that same courage to stand with the marginalized, to speak for the voiceless, to see the sacred in soil and in stranger. May we remember that true religion is not performance, but love in action.
Rest well, dear neighbor.
Rest well, holy pilgrim.
Your feet have kissed many roads—and now they’ve returned Home.
🙏- Swami Padmanabha