Pope Francis teaches us about hope and mercy from a Roman hospital bed.
Pope Francis teaches us about hope and mercy from a Roman hospital bed.
T he more things change, the more they stay the same. The celebrity death-match nature of the never-ending reality TV show that is our daily news and national politics had become so chaotic that I thought that was no longer true. That is, until a papal deathwatch united us — just as John Paul II’s last days once had. It doesn’t seem as crass an observation now that Pope Francis is rallying. Regardless of one’s politics or opinion of him specifically or of the Catholic Church more generally, what could have been his final hours appeared to put the pope’s health not only on millions of screens but also in our prayers.
Cynically, I thought the attention on the pope’s health would immediately go to scorecarding the next papal conclave — and assessing the likely Oscars performance of the recent movie about the new pope with a uterus. (Sorry, belated spoiler alert.) But, as with JPII’s earthly end and the related news coverage, it appears that some of us may still believe in something more, something like eternal hope, which matters even more than politics — presidential or papal.
I confess to having sighed in relief that Francis’s final act as pontiff wasn’t to instruct fairly recent Catholic convert and Republican U.S. Vice President JD Vance on the order of loves, particularly regarding immigration, in a papal letter to the U.S. bishops. If that had been the case, U.S. Catholic circles would have never seen the end of that social media thread, on the right or left (for lack of a better way to describe “sides” in intra-church debates).
While Francis hasn’t been known to be the favorite of many a Western conservative, one such Western conservative, American Cardinal Raymond Burke, has been among those gathering in Saint Peter’s Square daily, praying for the pope. Catholics tend to pray for healing, God’s will, and a happy death all at the same time, in an act of trust that can be a miraculous surrender the more intimate the relation. Fake images of the pope in a hospital bed were an inevitable sign of our AI era. But his evident and obvious suffering — given his long-term respiratory challenges, recent infections, and age — may have renewed many of us in our humanity.
George Weigel, the authority on all things John Paul II, referred to that pope’s final years as his “last encyclical.” That period was a living letter to the world about how to die. Similarly, we have seen Francis struggle in a wheelchair, in pain, and now out of sight at a Roman hospital, where young people and others gather in prayer — a sort of counter to our cultural leaning toward assisted suicide. Whereas law and legislation and protocols and proposals suggest that “mercy” is in ending things when the going gets rougher and tougher — excruciatingly so, especially, for those watching and waiting — the knowledge and the witness of someone who is so prominently facing his last season as a necessary part of life gives us critical cultural pause. Canada, to take one example, is drowning in premature death — introducing assisted suicide as a normal option, in some cases, for such issues as homelessness and depression in addition to terminal diagnoses. The experience of a human’s final chapters can be transformative in unexpected ways. But they must be allowed to play out, with, of course, some of the best of medicine, which can make these times as comfortable and humane as possible.
John Paul II was famous for his Evangelium Vitae, “The Gospel of Life.” It united pro-life Catholics and Protestants, especially, like nothing since Christ Himself, in recognition of the inviolable dignity of human life and our responsibility to protect it. We don’t always recognize this reality, needless to say. And as John Paul the Great, as he is often referred to, lived those words with how he died — willing to face death relying on God’s grace — so now does Pope Francis. He makes headlines more frequently for talking about immigration and the environment, but one of the most consistent themes of his tenure has been his pushback against our “throwaway” society. That’s intended to rally us creatures to be better stewards of Creation — which includes human life itself. As Francis issues messages and advances causes of sainthood from Gemelli Hospital, he teaches us, as he lives and breathes, that life continues. Even as he, perhaps, becomes less useful as an administrator — or less useful, period — he teaches us that usefulness is not the value of a human life. The lack of suffering is not the point of human life. And see how he draws love out of a people who would otherwise be distracted and angry and jaded!
How long Pope Francis will hang on remains unclear, and news editors will continue to pay attention to the Vatican in a way we haven’t since John Paul II’s dying days. What is certain is that a pastor who has been incessant about mercy is showing us what it’s all about. As he prepares to meet our Maker, he reminds us that there is so much more than what we see and click through on our screens; there is hope beyond our ideological leanings. Make sure they are ordered toward more than the next election — congressional or ecclesial — or worldly debate or success.
When Pope Benedict XVI — who served between JPII and FI (if you will) — visited the United States, ads by the local archdiocese displayed on public transportation in the metro D.C. area proclaimed: He who has hope lives differently. Or so it ought to be. And so, with living our deaths. May it be so — for Francis and for all those we love and are drawn out of ourselves to care for, even if we never thought we would.
This column is based on one available through Andrews McMeel Universal’s Newspaper Enterprise Association.