In a time when words slip away, he let them fall where they made noise. Against hatred disguised as faith, war masked as justice, hypocrisy blessed from the pulpits.
And who could forget that Good Friday, alone, on the steps of St. Peter’s, under the rain, with the Square empty. A man bowed under the weight of the world’s sorrow. In that rain-soaked silence, there was more faith — and more truth — than in a thousand sermons.
That’s when we understood that you didn’t need to believe to feel represented.
And in fact, he may be missed most by the atheists, the doubters, those who stopped believing in dogma but not in humanity. By those without faith, but who recognize light when they see it.
Perhaps because some presences are good for those who don’t even know how to name them.
Goodbye, good pope.
And forgive us if now we miss you more than those who ever knew how to pray.
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