Today, we say goodbye to a spiritual giant.
Pope Francis has died.
The first Latino pope. The first Jesuit pope.
And the first to take the name “Francis” — honoring Saint Francis of Assisi, known for his humility and devotion to the poor.
Born Jorge Mario Bergoglio in Buenos Aires, Argentina, the son of Italian immigrants, Pope Francis never lost touch with his roots.
He drank mate. Spoke plainly. Preferred humility over grandeur.
He rejected the luxury of the Papal apartment and chose a modest guesthouse.
And he reminded many of us — especially in the Global South — that the Church could be of the people again.
That mattered.
To my abuelita. To me. To millions.
I went to Colegio De La Salle, where prayers opened every school day and saints were part of the syllabus.
But my real understanding of faith came from home.
From the way my abuelita lived it — quietly, consistently, and with deep conviction.
Her favorite book was El Man está vivo by Padre Linero.
She made me memorize the Padre Nuestro before I could fully understand what it meant.
She watched Pope John Paul II with awe. But when Pope Francis was elected in 2013, she smiled differently.
“Un papa del sur, como nosotros,” she said.
And for the first time, she saw someone like us — with an accent like ours — leading the global Church.
Francis spoke to the heart of things:
He called for compassion toward migrants.
He acknowledged LGBTQ people with grace.
He asked world leaders to take climate change seriously and wrote a full encyclical — Laudato Si’ — on caring for our planet.
He washed the feet of prisoners. Apologized for the Church’s failures.
And reminded us that mercy, not judgment, is the root of true faith.
I also thought today about the Keating family, who I met while reporting in Berks County, Pennsylvania.
During the Pope’s 2015 visit to Philadelphia, he stopped his motorcade unexpectedly.
He had seen their son Michael, a young man with cerebral palsy, and got out to bless him.
No speeches. No cameras. Just a moment of love.
That’s the kind of Pope Francis was — present, humble, human.
That’s legacy.
Not just the first of something — but the one who saw people.
So today, I’m lighting a candle.
For Pope Francis, who made me — and so many of us — feel closer to the Church again.
For my abuelita, who I believe is welcoming him right now with a soft smile and a warm arepa.
And for every person who found their way back to faith because he made space for them.
Gracias, Papa Francisco.
Your voice made the world feel less cold.
And your light will guide many of us for years to come.
Let’s talk more soon,
José
José Martínez 