The Pope of Ironies 

Many words could describe the Francis pontificate; to me, the best is ironic. Coming from Argentina, Jorge Bergoglio was considered the ultimate outsider who would bring another wave of aggiornamento to the Church; but instead, he appeared closed inside the stale ideas of liberalism. He criticized those he saw as “wanting to go back,” yet that was exactly the criticism many of us had of him. He was sympathetic to every religious tradition except that of his own Faith. 

He was tolerant of dissent from Church teaching but allowed little dissent from his own, “Stricklanding” more bishops, either literally or figuratively, than either John Paul or Benedict. Pope Benedict once supposedly lamented that his authority went as far as his door. To Francis, “collegiality” seemed to go as far as his own opinions. 

He frequently denounced clericalism, but he acted as though participation in the Church was to be measured by the clerical role. He disliked cassocks, birettas, and the title of “monsignor,” but he made sure you knew who the pope was. He cited himself for authority, and if “dubias” were raised, they were met with silence. 

He wanted a “poor church,” but when Cardinal Pell raised questions about Church finances, Pope Francis dismissed him. We are still waiting for answers. 

One take on his election was that he was a man who could “bring the Church together,” yet he handed the Church in China over to the Communists, and the German Church has slid into de facto schism. His promotion of “cultural” liturgies has multiplied divisions.

G.K. Chesterton wrote, “We do not want a church that will move with the world. We want a church that will move the world.” Francis’ Synod on Synodality makes the Church a cultural carousel, the “Open Tent” looking like bed sheets flapping in the wind. 

Critical of the idea that the Church possessed the Truth about Faith and morals, he was certain he knew the truth about climate change and Covid. He had ideas of God’s mercy that made one wonder why it was really necessary in the first place. He was an accurate critic of abortion—equating abortionists with “hit men”—yet he emasculated John Paul II’s Academy for Human Life and the Family. He made Victor Fernández, of The Art of Kissing, a cardinal and then appointed him prefect of the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith. James Martin never missed a photo op at the Vatican.  

He repeatedly called for short homilies, yet he had to be one of the most verbose popes, at least publicly, on record. His most famous quip may be “Who am I to judge?” Yet, he seemingly did just that on anything anyone asked him about. Much of that may be due to the times; we are an “open mic” age. But some self-awareness and reticence would have been appreciated, and his acerbic words were often toward those of his own flock, particularly those that didn’t share his views on the liturgy. 

It is also ironic that the death of Pope Francis coincided so closely with that of Theodore McCarrick, the man who boasted of helping to elect Pope Francis and then of being back in favor after his election. Transparency became mud after the revelations of McCarrick’s past, with the Vatican even telling the American bishops not to press the issue. The raising of McCarrick protégés to positions of eminence has not cleared the picture. 

Another irony: Pope Francis is not to be buried in St. Peter’s Basilica but instead chose to be buried in the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. Only seven other popes are buried there, one of which is Pope St. Pius V, whose Tridentine Mass Francis did his best to expunge. I wonder who will turn over in his grave first. 

I am harsh on Pope Francis, but I do believe he did his best to do what he thought God wanted him to do. That I do not like it is of little consequence. To me he seemed a man who might have been excellent, even saintly, in a lesser role. His desire to be pastoral, his evident sympathy to those who were in front of him, his “rough around the edges” avuncularity and blunt sincerity had a charm that differed from—but in many cases was no less effective than—the nobility of John Paul II or the diffidence of Benedict. 

That others put him in a position that he did not want is no fault of his own. That he did not shrink from that because he considered it God’s will is a testimony to him. Would that we all could say the same. 

So, why the criticism? Aren’t we supposed to “say nothing but good about the dead”? This would require another column. Suffice to say here that Pope Francis was a public man who did and said public things that affected a great many people. There is always a narrative about such men and their deeds and words. Pope Francis espoused a narrative of the Church, especially her recent history and Vatican II, that many of us consider incorrect and harmful. Lest his death cause that “Whig History” to become even more solidified than it is in Catholic thought, it seems fitting—it seems just—to keep the record straight. A man can be a good man but a not so good pope.  Lest his death cause that “Whig History” to become even more solidified than it is in Catholic thought, it seems fitting—it seems just—to keep the record straight.Tweet This

There may be more ironies to come. Champions of Pope Francis, no doubt hoping for a Francis II.0, are encouraged that he has appointed the vast majority of those who will elect his successor. But as they say in the stock market, past results are no guarantee of future performance. John XXIII was to be a caretaker, yet he gave us Vatican II. Paul VI threw everything but the baby out with the bathwater, saving perhaps his soul with Humanae Vitae.

John Paul I lasted a month. And John Paul II came out of nowhere to become “the Great.” And, of course, the great majority of the cardinals who elected Francis were chosen by John Paul II and Benedict. 

With the manipulation of Amoris Laetitia, the tepid reception given Traditionis Custodes, and the pushback amounting to revolt in some quarters that met Fiducia Supplicans, it may be that many are wary of another Francis. Once you’ve let a bull into the china shop, you’re a lot more careful about what you let in next; so, the ultimate irony with Francis may be a successor who is content with the Faith. I pray that Francis goes to eternal peace—and that we may have some peace now too.