Aleteia Image Department

Image from the Canonization of Saint John XXIII and Saint John Paul II by Pope Francis and the Catholic Church.

Like many of the 1.4 billion Catholics across the world, I wept when I heard of the death of the Holy Father, Pope Francis. I wept because he was still needed here. I wept because his voice was still one of the few that echoed with clarity, justice and humility in a world growing increasingly loud and self-serving.

But I also wept out of joy because we had the gift of knowing him.

We were able to witness a pope who did not lead from a gilded throne but walked among the people. A man who took the name Francis not out of tradition, but in service—service to the poor, the vulnerable and the often forgotten. He reminded us over and over that leadership is not about status or ceremony. It is about compassion.

He was the pope of the people. A man who made even the most marginalized feel seen. A man who famously said, “If someone is gay and he searches for the Lord and has good will, who am I to judge?”— a phrase that should challenge the conscience of every institution, including our own. That one question— “Who am I to judge?” —encapsulates his entire papacy. He chose inclusion over division, mercy over moralism. His Catholicism was rooted in love and action.

At John Carroll, every mass begins with a simple but profound invitation: “This Mass is open to people of all faiths.” That’s not just a nicety— it’s a living reflection of the Jesuit values we carry as students. And that’s the message that must continue to be preached— not just from pulpits, but through policies, programs and the ways we treat one another in dorms, classrooms and dining halls.

His final Easter message reminded us of the world he dreamed of. One where peace triumphs over vengeance, where forgiveness is stronger than hate and where, in his words, “every life is Precious— the life of a child in the womb, the elderly, the sick and the stranger at our border.”

Pope Francis knew that the dignity of human life is not conditional. He often reminded us that there is no such thing as an illegal human being— a radical truth in an age when too many still turn away from those in need because of where they come from or how they got here. To follow Francis is to reject that way of thinking. In that same message, he called us to hope anew. Not blind hope, but the kind of hope that demands something of us. That empowers us to act. Spes non confundit— Hope does not disappoint.

No matter who the next pope is, we cannot let this moment pass quietly. Pope Francis’ legacy demands more than mourning; it demands momentum. It asks each of us to continue his mission—to fight for social justice, to remember that there is no such thing as an illegal human being and to never forget that we are all children of God.

At John Carroll, the Jesuit mission is not a plaque on a wall. It’s a call to action. Social justice is not an extracurricular— it’s a cornerstone. Pope Francis’ life was a powerful, visible extension of what Jesuit education calls us to become: people for and with others.

So, let us carry that torch. Let us be bridge-builders, not gatekeepers. Let us lead with the same tenderness and courage he showed us. And let us never forget the pope who reminded the world— and reminded us— that being Catholic means embracing the radical, inconvenient, beautiful work of love.

May we live what he preached. And may we never stop asking ourselves, in moments big and small: “Who am I to judge?”