A Shepherd from the Margins

A couple of weeks ago the world woke up to the news of the passing of Pope Francis—born Jorge Mario Bergoglio—the first Latin American Pope, the first from the Americas in general, the first from the Southern Hemisphere, and the first pontiff born or raised outside of Europe since the 8th-century Syrian Pope Gregory III.

It is hard to quantify the significance of Francis’ ascension to the Chair of Saint Peter. For nearly two millennia, to speak of the papacy was, almost by default, to speak of Europe—more specifically, of Italy. With more than 80% of Popes hailing from Italy, one could safely guess any randomly named Pope to be Italian and likely be correct. But with the election of Pope Francis in 2013, something shifted. Francis became part of a minority group of pontiffs who came from outside Europe, and his presence alone stood as a visible sign of the Church’s growing awareness of its global body. For many, his papacy symbolized not just geographic diversity but a broader theological and pastoral realignment—an acknowledgment that the Church must listen to, learn from, and lead alongside the poor, the marginalized, and the forgotten.

In a world often dominated by politics of power and privilege, Francis offered a different witness. His papacy became a kind of living parable, showing us an alternate path steeped in humility, simplicity, sacrifice, compassion, justice, and love. He chose not to reside in the traditional Apostolic Palace but in a modest guesthouse. He embraced the sick, the poor, and the imprisoned. He challenged systems of economic exploitation, called for ecological conversion, and reminded the Church that mercy is the beating heart of the Gospel.

In many ways, Francis walked the same path as so many Latin American theologians who shaped what we have come to know as the theology of liberation—men and women whose lives and ministries centered the priorities of the Gospel: the dignity of the poor, the worth of the oppressed, and the call to justice for all who are made in the image of God. Among these, none stands out to me more than Archbishop Óscar Romero of El Salvador.

Romero served as Archbishop of San Salvador for only three years before he was assassinated while celebrating Mass. But in that brief time, he became a shepherd to the people, a prophetic voice, and an uncompromising advocate for the poor and persecuted. His homilies, broadcast across the country, confronted the violence of the state and called the Church to be the Church of the poor. Like Francis, Romero did not seek comfort or institutional favor; he sought only to be faithful to Christ and to the cries of his people.

In honoring the life and witness of Pope Francis, we remember more than just a spiritual leader—we recall a shepherd who embodied the Gospel with his feet firmly planted among the people. His papacy reminds us that holiness is not confined to thrones or cathedrals but is born in the streets, in the struggle for justice, and in the embrace of those who are too often forgotten. It may seem strange for a protestant to eulogize a Roman Catholic Pope, but his witness and legacy calls us to walk the path of Christ with courage, tenderness, and resolve.