Pope Francis has left this world—a man of paradox, courage, tenderness, and contradiction. His passing marks the end of a papacy that dared to reach beyond the walls of the institution, even as it struggled to reconcile the call of the Gospel with the weight of global complexity.
As Orysa Bila beautifully wrote, Pope Francis will be remembered not only as the first Latin American and Jesuit Pope, but as a pastor who sought a “Church that goes forth”—one that listens more than it speaks, walks with the vulnerable, and dares to accompany those on the margins. His theological vision of fragility as divine strength—born from illness, suffering, and the “theology of the street”—reshaped how many viewed spiritual authority. He championed Laudato Si, confronted clerical elitism, expanded space for women, and made strides toward a Church that was less about dogma and more about dignity.
As a Ukrainian-Canadian, I especially appreciated his apology to Indigenous Peoples of Canada. That moment was not perfect, but it mattered. It was a recognition that the Church’s silence can wound—and that healing must begin with truth.
Yet in the context of Russia’s war in Ukraine, his legacy is more difficult to receive.
Francis prayed for Ukraine. He spoke against war. He grieved for the suffering. But too often, his moral compass seemed clouded by diplomatic restraint. His refusal to name Russia as the aggressor, his gestures of symbolic “balance,” and his now-infamous comments about the “white flag” left many in Ukraine not comforted, but betrayed.
For those of us who have lived the grief of Mariupol, Bucha, and Kherson, neutrality is not peace—it is abandonment. When he called on a Ukrainian and Russian woman to carry the cross together at the Colosseum in 2022, he may have meant reconciliation—but what Ukrainians felt was a forced moral symmetry between victim and perpetrator.
Still, I do not write with bitterness. I write with love—for truth, for justice, for the transformative vision Francis believed in, even when he could not always live it fully.
Because here is what is also true:
👉 Pope Francis stood against cruelty, capitalism without compassion, and clerical abuse.
👉 He rejected wealth, centralized power, and institutional vanity.
👉 He tried to make the Church a field hospital—not a fortress.
👉 And even when he fell short—especially in Ukraine—he still tried to build bridges in a divided world.
Let us remember him as a Pope who chose mercy over triumphalism.
Let us grieve the pain his silence caused—and let us learn from it.
Let us carry forward his vision of a Church that “smells like the sheep”—but never forgets to name the wolf.
📖 As Bila reminds us, his was a papacy that stood “between the Gospel and the crisis of the institution.” The next Pope will inherit both his courage and his caution, his openings and his silences. May he choose moral clarity without losing compassion.
To Pope Francis—may your soul find peace in the mystery you tried to serve.
To the Church—may this be a moment of deep reflection.
To Ukraine—the suffering of people deserves to be named, not neutralized.
And to all people of faith—may we continue walking with those who mourn, question, and hope.
To read more in Ukrainian:
Біла, О. (2025, April 21). Між Євангелієм і кризою інституції: спадщина понтифікату Франциска [Between the Gospel and institutional crisis: The legacy of Francis’s pontificate]. Світ. https://tyzhden.ua/mizh-ievanheliiem-i-kryzoiu-instytutsii-spadshchyna-pontyfikatu-frantsyska/
To read more in English:
Tsurkan, K. (2025, April 21). Pope Francis leaves a mixed legacy in wartime Ukraine, overshadowed by historic Vatican-Moscow ties. Kyiv Independent. https://kyivindependent.com/pope-francis-leaves-a-mixed-legacy-in-wartime-ukraine-overshadowed-by-historic-vatican-moscow-ties/
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