The world feels quieter today. Not because a man has died, but because a voice — steady, grounded and full of grace — has gone silent.
Pope Francis is gone, and for those of us who watched him lead, who felt the impact of his example, it’s hard to put into words exactly what we’ve lost.
He didn’t rule with grandeur. He led with love. And not the easy kind. His love was the sort that showed up early, stayed late and got its hands dirty. The kind that sat with the broken, spoke up for the poor, and reminded powerful people that humility wasn’t weakness, but strength.
Even as his health declined, he didn’t slow down. He refused to. That man kept going — travel, speeches, handwritten notes, quiet prayers.
There were moments he clearly looked exhausted, but it never seemed to matter. The mission always came first.
This was a pope who said, “The shepherd should smell like the sheep,” and he lived it.
He didn’t talk about the marginalized — he went to them.
He didn’t lecture about the need for mercy — he showed it.
