Divine Mercy Sunday / Pope Francis (2025-04-27)

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[v.3]   Homily – April 27, 2025 /  2^nd Sunday Easter●●●●    

 [__01_]  **Homily and Prayer for the Eternal Rest of Pope Francis**

When someone dies, we often measure the value of their life in terms of spatial dimensions: the width—how widely the person was known—and the depth—how profoundly complex they were and how difficult it will be to replace them. We often look at the number of people at the funeral, the size of the crowd, the breadth of their influence.

 

These dimensions certainly apply to Pope Francis, our Holy Father, the Bishop of Rome. They apply as well to other world leaders with wide and deep legacies—such as Queen Elizabeth II, whose passing drew thousands in long lines to pay their respects, or the deaths of presidents and prime ministers who leave behind both mourning and succession. In the case of a pope, the Church officially observes a mourning period of fifteen days from his death to the opening of the conclave, a moment where human minds begin to think about moving forward.

 

But is that truly what is happening? Our human, broken condition pushes us to "replace" those we lose—either with material comforts or by trying to find someone else to fill the void. It’s an understandable impulse: life must go on. Yet if we only view death in material terms, we miss something essential. Death is not just the breakdown of the body; it is an acknowledgment that life is more than the body. The soul and body, both created by God, are united.

 

In today’s Gospel, Thomas the Apostle (John ch. 20) is focused on the material evidence, DNA evidence for Jesus’ resurrection. Sensing that this “sense data” is missing, Thomas announces: “I’m out – I will not believe.”

 

I would be lying if I said that I always can see the spiritual – deeper – nature of life and death. I can be like Thomas. Can you be this way? Not long ago, just before Palm Sunday, I learned of the death of the elder brother of a childhood friend. He was only a few years older than I am. I knew him and his family well. I rearranged my schedule to attend the funeral—not only to offer condolences, but if I am honest, because I knew there would be a large crowd of people I recognized, friends from my youth.

 

I went to the funeral Mass, which was peaceful and prayerful. It was a comfort to know that the pastor and music director were taking care of everything; I was simply part of the crowd. Yet as the day went on, I realized I was not truly needed at the repast. I excused myself and withdrew from the crowd, finding time for quiet prayer during Holy Week—a small personal retreat, away from the noise.

 

In times of mourning, we are tempted to fill the silence with words, laughter, and memories. Storytelling and nostalgia do have their place in building community and healing. Yet if our sorrow runs deep, we recognize that no story or event can bring a person back. No election or ceremony can replace a beloved soul.

 

Catholic mourning is not about drafting a replacement; it is about meditating on the promise of eternal reunion. Christians of many traditions recognize this truth. C.S. Lewis, from his Protestant perspective, once wrote, "Of course I pray for the dead. This action is spontaneous. It is inevitable." He noted that many of the people he loved best were already dead—and if they were unmentionable to God, what sort of faith would he have?

 

Thus we gather to pray, fast, and sacrifice—not because of past achievements, but because of the hope we share: the hope of everlasting life. It is part of our fallen human nature to create a false permanence out of what is fragile and temporary. But real existence endures because it is not material.

 

The dignity of each person endures because it is not man-made. Real love lasts forever; it cannot be bought or sold, only stored up in heaven.

 

One of the many stories circulating about Pope Francis involves something that happened immediately after his election in 2013. You would think that, after being declared the Bishop of Rome and leader of over a billion Catholics, a small matter like a hotel bill would be forgotten. But not for Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio.

 

On the day after his election, he asked his driver to take him back to the boarding house where he had been staying. There, he picked up his luggage—and paid his bill. He greeted the staff personally and settled the account, wanting to set a good example for bishops and priests. Though someone told him it was no longer necessary—the place now "belonged" to him—Pope Francis insisted. This simple act reflected his long-held commitment to humility, simplicity, and responsibility.

 

Pope Francis’s death reminds us of redemption. Jesus Himself came to pay a debt—our debt—by giving up His life for our salvation. Pope Francis’s leadership teaches us that faith is not merely about rules or rituals, but about a living relationship with Christ, who still offers us His mercy today.

 

Francis often spoke of going to the margins, reaching out to the wounded and the poor. He described the Church as a field hospital, a place of healing and mercy. He emphasized closeness: closeness to God, to the poor, to one another, and especially to the elderly and fragile.

 

In one memorable Holy Thursday, Pope Francis washed the feet of young people at a juvenile detention center—showing that leadership is service, not domination. His death calls us not only to pray for his soul, but also to pray for the future of the Church: to make room for new leadership, new movements of the Spirit, and a new rising of faith.

 

Saint Paul reminds us to "get rid of the old yeast," the pride, resentment, and self-centeredness that puff up our souls. We are called to repent—not as punishment, but as liberation. True leadership sees others as equals; without that, authority becomes tyranny.

 

Just as the first disciples left behind their fishing nets, we are called to leave behind attachments, routines, and comfort zones to follow Christ—even without knowing where the path will lead.

 

Pope Francis helped lead our generation. Now it is our turn to help the next. We are called to teach the faith, to witness to Christ, to open the door for others to encounter Jesus personally.

 

Pope Francis’s passing, like every death, invites us to do a spring cleaning of our souls. As we pray in Psalm 51, "Create in me a clean heart, O God."

 

May that be our prayer: to open ourselves to grace, to trust in Divine Mercy, and to say with faith, "Jesus, I trust in You."

And for the sake of your sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world. 

We pray for Pope Francis, and for all the faithful departed: Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.