A Tribute to Pope Francis by Dani Alvarez

 It’s almost as if he waited.

home.

 Pope Francis passed away on Easter Monday. The timing felt too tender to be coincidence—like he held on just long enough to hear the Alleluia one last time. To witness the Church rejoice in the Resurrection before quietly letting go. As if he needed to see the stone rolled away before stepping into the promise he had spent his life proclaiming.

 He carried so much. The wounds of a divided Church. The ache of the poor and the forgotten. The weight of hope—for a world more merciful, more human, more like Christ. He walked with a limp, both in body and in spirit, but never without grace. He wasn’t perfect. But he was present. And he kept showing up.

 And he was different.

 He chose the simple path when grandeur was expected. He rode the bus. Paid his own hotel bill. Lived in a guesthouse instead of the papal palace. His first act as Pope was to bow and ask for our prayers. From the beginning, he showed us that true authority kneels. That greatness can look like humility.

 He disrupted systems and comforted outcasts. He spoke boldly on justice, embraced the disabled, welcomed migrants, washed the feet of prisoners. He didn’t just talk about mercy—he embodied it. He made the Church feel like a place where the last could be first, and the forgotten, finally seen.

 He taught us that holiness isn’t perfection—it’s presence. That the Gospel is clearest when it sounds like compassion. That faith, at its best, looks like love with skin on.

 And now, just after Easter, he’s gone.

 But maybe that was his final homily. Not delivered from a pulpit, but through the quiet timing of his death—a soft Amen to a life spent preaching hope.

 It brings to mind these words:

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” — 2 Timothy 4:7

 And he did. He fought—not with anger, but with mercy. He ran—not to be praised, but to make space for others. And he kept the faith—not flawlessly, but fiercely.

 So yes, we grieve. But we also remember.

 We remember how he made us believe again—in a Church that walks with the wounded, in a Gospel wide enough for the doubting, in a God whose love meets us right where we are.

 He reminded us that faith isn’t something we hold onto for ourselves.

It’s something we hand off with open hands and open hearts.

 Pope Francis has finished his race.

And what he leaves behind isn’t just a memory—

It’s the echo of a life poured out.

The kind of life that makes you want to live differently.

More gently.

More boldly.

More like him.

More like Christ.

He waited for Easter—because he believed in the promise.

And now, that promise is his.

Light has found him.

And Love has brought him