When the Shepherd Falls

 The Loss of Pope Francis

“The thing the church needs most today is the ability to heal wounds and to warm the hearts of the faithful... I see the church as a field hospital after battle.”– Pope Francis

It’s no coincidence, I think, that Pope Francis left us the day after Easter — the very day we reflect on resurrection, restoration, and radical hope.

His death feels like a shepherd laying down his staff at the end of a long walk through a broken and beautiful world — a world he never turned away from.

Pope Francis didn’t just lead a church. He walked with the wounded. He spoke to those in the shadows. He reminded us that the role of leadership — whether in ministry or in life — is not to dominate, but to dignify.

As a man who spent over two decades behind prison walls, I didn’t need another figurehead. I needed someone who believed redemption wasn’t a myth. Pope Francis didn’t preach at people like me — he believed with us.

He led with his imperfections, made room for questions, and challenged the church — and the world — to serve first, judge last.

We live in a world shaped by trauma.

According to the National Council for Mental Wellbeing, nearly 70% of U.S. adults — over 223 million people — have lived through at least one traumatic experience. The numbers multiply when you account for economic injustice, racial trauma, generational violence, and incarceration.

And Pope Francis understood that. He knew that violence, poverty, neglect, and abuse do more than hurt the body — they damage the soul. They reprogram the way we think, the way we trust, the way we love.

In one of the most powerful moments of his papacy, Pope Francis called domestic violence satanic, saying:

“The abuse of women is a very serious problem… The problem is that it's almost satanic.”

He made this statement not from a stage, but while sitting with a survivor. He didn’t sanitize her story or hide from its discomfort — he confronted it with truth. Because he understood something that many in power still refuse to acknowledge: When you harm a woman, you attack the image of God.

While the world argued about rules, Francis focused on relationships. He chose humility over hierarchy. He washed the feet of prisoners, kissed the heads of the sick, and reminded us all that healing must come before judgment.

This kind of leadership — servant-hearted, justice-centered, trauma-informed — is rare. And in a time like ours, it’s desperately needed.

The Economic Cross We Bear

Let’s be honest: America is suffering in ways that can’t be covered up by political speeches or surface-level “reform.”

• Over 63% of Americans live paycheck to paycheck (Lending Club, 2024).

  
  

• Incarcerated individuals face an unemployment rate over 5 times higher than the national average after release (Prison Policy Initiative).

  
  

• Survivors of domestic abuse face staggering barriers to housing and healthcare, often suffering in silence because resources are limited, and shame is heavy.

  
  

Pope Francis knew that economic injustice and personal trauma are connected — two sides of the same suffering. He called us not to ignore that suffering, but to meet it head-on with mercy.

One of the most meaningful — and controversial — elements of Francis’ legacy was the way he elevated the role of women within the Church, breaking long-held traditions and creating space for voices that had too often been silenced.

In 2021, he issued Spiritus Domini, a papal decree allowing women to serve formally as lectors and acolytes, ministries that had previously been reserved for men. This wasn’t just symbolic — it was a structural shift that recognized the invaluable contributions of women at all levels of spiritual life.

Later that year, he appointed Sister Nathalie Becquart as the first woman to have voting rights in the Synod of Bishops — a groundbreaking move in the Church’s centuries-long male-dominated hierarchy. He also appointed women to senior roles in Vatican offices, including:

• Francesca Di Giovanni – the first woman in a managerial role at the Secretariat of State

• Barbara Jatta – the first female Director of the Vatican Museums

  
  

Francis made it clear:

"Women have the same rights as men… The Church cannot be herself without the woman and her role."

He wasn’t trying to appease culture. He was trying to correct the imbalance of dignity. And that is a gospel-worthy mission.

Francis redefined what it meant to lead the Catholic Church. He challenged centuries of tradition not for rebellion’s sake, but to make the Church relevant to the wounded, the weary, and the world we’re living in now.

Some of his most enduring changes include:

• Opening conversations around LGBTQ+ inclusion, saying “Who am I to judge?”

• Authoring Laudato Si’, declaring environmental stewardship a sacred duty

• Promoting interfaith peace, including signing the Document on Human Fraternity

• Expanding access to forgiveness, especially for women post-abortion

• Naming the evils of greed, calling capitalism without conscience “the dung of the devil”

• Elevating women’s roles, restoring dignity where it had long been denied

But most of all, he left a legacy not of rules — but of mercy.

The shepherd has laid down his staff. But if we’ve been paying attention, we already know what to do.

We remember him not in stained glass or marble statues — but in our own acts of mercy. In how we speak to the hurting. In how we challenge systems that oppress. In how we lead with tenderness when the world demands toughness.

Francis showed us that to follow Christ means going where the wounds are, not avoiding them.

He saw the evil in abuse and named it. He saw the scars of the forgotten and reached for them. He saw the future of the church not in rigidity, but in radical love.

If Pope Francis believed the world could change…Then may we live like it already has.

Stay Faithful,

– Troy Rienstra