I miss Pope Francis. Although he had been seriously ill for several months, his death on Easter Monday was a shock and made it hard for me to savor the joy of the Easter Season. Pope Francis had a gift for reaching people on an affective level. A lot can be said about Francis and his legacy. I will always treasure his emphasis on mercy as who God is and what God wants for and from us. Early in his pontificate, Pope Francis called us to embrace the “Joy of the Gospel,” not just to buoy personal faith in Christ, but as fuel for advancing a “revolution of tenderness.” He often reminded us that tenderness is not weakness, but fortitude. Tenderness is about being gentle with ourselves and others, which takes real strength in a world that tries to convince us that we are not measuring up and makes it easy to judge, criticize, and even condemn others. Tenderness is not permissiveness; it is fidelity to the goodness—indeed, what is sacred—in and around us. Because we are loved infinitely and unconditionally by God, and so is every person we meet, we are all deserving of tenderness. Tenderness reminds us of our equal and unshakeable worthiness in a world that induces us to believe that we have to prove our worth, or even worse, that some lives matter less than others.

Pope Francis’ emphasis on tenderness informed his vision of the church more as a field hospital after battle than a fortress, calling on Christians to emulate the Good Samaritan, who leaves the path he is on in order to draw near the wounded. When we enter the place of vulnerability and take that vantage point as our own, it transforms what we see, think, feel, say, and do. It makes us available to encounter others—especially those made to question if they matter or belong, those left to feel insignificant and perhaps powerless—and enter into relationship together. Relationships are the most potent places of human formation. Relationships are where we learn how to love and be loved well and how to deliver this for others. When we are in relationship with those pushed to the margins and genuinely care about them, their problems become our problems. Then unilateral aid or generosity becomes something even better: the mutual respect, affection, trust, and co-responsibility that makes solidarity possible.

Pope Francis’s pontificate often orbited around mercy, solidarity, and hope. In many ways, these themes are reflected in his predecessors. Pope John Paul II was called “The Mercy Pope” and Pope Benedict XVI wrote beautifully about hope. While John Paul II wrote a lot about solidarity, these lines read more at the cognitive level, like parsing out how solidarity is both a virtue and a principle for the moral life (see, for example, Sollicitudo Rei Socialis, no. 38). John Paul II describes solidarity like an attitude (“a firm and persevering determination to commit oneself to the common good”) that leads to actions in the promotion of peace and justice (see SRS, no. 39). Many read this and conclude that solidarity is about an orientation to the common good. This is not wrong, but it can feel untethered from daily choices or interactions.

One of the reasons why Pope Francis was so widely admired and respected is because he modeled Catholic social teaching in front of our eyes. He was not content with definitions of solidarity; he wanted us to live it. He showed us how in richly symbolic actions, whether washing the feet of migrants, installing showers in the Vatican for people experiencing homelessness, or donating a popemobile so it can deliver mobile healthcare to the children of Gaza.

Laudable as these actions are, solidarity is not achieved by any one individual. Pope Francis showed us that no one can do solidarity alone; solidarity is only possible in and through relationships. Solidarity is the fruit of sharing life together, of listening to others and being heard by others, dreaming together (as he explains in the opening paragraphs of his 2020 encyclical, Fratelli Tutti), and collaborating together in service to one another, with a special priority for those most in need. Pope Francis did not just give us pithy phrases to lament the “globalization of indifference” and “throwaway culture” that denies human dignity and rights; he called us to join him in the “culture of encounter” that incarnates solidarity. Those who teach CST often present solidarity as a noun; Pope Francis showed us solidarity is a verb that can only be enacted together in aspiring for an “ever wider we.”

I’m grateful that Pope Francis emphasized inclusion and solidarity, not just across the Catholic Church, but in reaching out to everyone across the globe and his call to act for the global common good in the face of climate collapse. Pope Francis’s prophetic voice roused many people around the world to deliver on our moral obligations to God, one another, and all creation. Given the volume and velocity of information we are constantly exposed to, it is easy to feel overwhelmed, anxious, and stuck. In the face of any obstacle—whether insufficient knowledge, concern, motivation, or resource—Pope Francis prodded us to act, and even more, to act together as “artisans of peace.” This is the only way we can deliver on a better future for all members of God’s family.

Pope Francis was sometimes criticized for “getting political,” for overreaching his expertise or not “staying in his lane” when making connections between Christian discipleship and certain social, economic, or environmental issues. But Francis knew that faith is personal but never private. He was steadfast in his aim to help people close the gap between their faith and everyday life. Sixty years ago, the bishops who gathered in the Second Vatican Council listed “among the more serious errors of our age” the “split between the faith which many profess and their daily lives” (see Gaudium et spes, no. 43). Pope Francis did not just write or speak about this problem; he showed us what it looks like to integrate faith into daily living in a clear, consistent, and comprehensive manner. Mercy, solidarity, and hope are not platitudes, after all; they have to be lived by people in every time and place.

Pope Francis ensured that the spirit of Vatican II lives on in the church, that we continue to receive what the documentary heritage of Vatican II offers us, and we participate in the traditioning process of being the church together. Pope Francis helped to reform the curia and opened vital conversations among church leaders so in both doctrine and ministry the church could be more attentive and responsive to the People of God. He will forever be linked to his commitment to build a more synodal church. Synodality is one way that the church applies its social teachings to the internal life of the church; it is how we honor human dignity, increase participation, and cultivate solidarity in being church together.

Pope Francis’ personal meetings with LGBTQ Catholics, the divorced and remarried, and with survivors of clergy sexual abuse were opportunities for him to be a “shepherd who smells like his sheep.” Even more, in being proximate to those hurt by the church or feeling abandoned by the church, these encounters and exchanges held him accountable to bringing more reform to the church. To be sure, there is a lot more work to be done when it comes to structural reform (here is just one example). It is fitting that Pope Francis was buried in the simple and scuffed black shoes he wore every day. He worked every day and to the very end. Dubbed “The People’s Pope,” Francis’ humility and simplicity ensured his papacy would be oriented around service.

Just a few months after his election as pope (12 years ago this week), Pope Francis reflected that “the exercise of authority is service: we must never forget that true power, at any level, is service, whose bright summit is upon the Cross.” In the face of widespread social fragility and fracture, distrust and polarization, Pope Francis reminds us that the only way to re-member the Body of Christ is to honor people’s dignity and agency, model sincere affection for one another, to create pathways for people to be known and supported, living in service to one another. Pope Francis practiced what St. Paul wrote: “If there is any encouragement in Christ, any solace in love, any participation in the Spirit, any compassion and mercy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart, thinking one thing. Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for [one’s] own interests, but everyone for those of others” (Phil. 2:1-5).

These words sound a lot like Pope Leo XIV’s first statements in these initial days of his pontificate. As I continue to grieve the passing of Pope Francis and recover from shock at the election of the first pope born in the United States, I find consolation in how Leo is introducing himself. In his first “urbi et orbi” blessing, he reminds us that the Risen Christ imparts a message of peace to all. In his first homily, he describes the “ministry of authority” as moving “aside so that Christ may remain, to make oneself small so that he may be known and glorified (cf. Jn 3:30), to spend oneself to the utmost so that all may have the opportunity to know and love him.” This echoes the humility of Francis and raises the question of how Pope Leo XIV will interpret and implement his own “ministry of authority.”

As we learn more details about Pope Leo XIV, including from the friends, family, and colleagues of Cardinal Prevost, we can identify recurring themes. He is described as pious, intelligent, kind, a good listener, and a hard worker. His engagement with the synod showed his commitment to encounter and dialogue with others and to build a church that is characterized by missionary zeal, oriented toward communion, and seeks the inclusion and active participation of all the baptized. Last August, at Mass and in a conversation at St. Jude’s Church in New Lenox, Illinois, he described his experience of the synod and how the church can be more attentive and responsive to the People of God by forming persons who model “the mercy, forgiveness, and healing of God.”

Before his election as pope, Cardinal Prevost had a strong reputation for the defense of human dignity, especially the unborn, the elderly, and persons made poor. In Peru, he was known as the “saint of the north,” for the way he shared life with the people. He lived simply and earned a reputation as a reliable and respected advocate for the most vulnerable and for the environment, practicing solidarity.

Since taking the name Leo XIV, many folks have weighed in on how he will honor both the legacy of Pope Francis and the pope credited with founding modern Catholic social teaching, Leo XIII (in his 1891 encyclical letter, Rerum Novarum, on the equal and inherent dignity of each person, the rights of workers, and our shared responsibilities to the common good). One cardinal shared that our new pope is “very concerned about the cultural shifts we are living through, a Copernican revolution really – artificial intelligence, robotics, human relationships … There is a revolution happening, and it must be addressed seriously. The church can contribute through its moral authority and also its academic strength.”

Perhaps this is a sneak preview of the next encyclical that will add to the canon of Catholic social thought. It’s possible that Pope Leo XIV will help us examine more closely the “dominant technocratic paradigm” (lamented by Pope Francis in Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti) and its impact on human dignity, identity, agency, and relationships. In this way, Pope Leo XIV can also honor the legacy of Pope Benedict XVI, who warned about the reductionism of “the contemporary technological mindset” that empties the human person and robs people of their soul (see Caritas in Veritate, no. 76).

Pope Benedict XVI raised these concerns 16 years ago, before the proliferation of the smartphone to say nothing of the widespread use of generative AI. Now we are constantly faced with the choice to save time and effort: Why take the time to read an article or email in full when I can get a cursory synopsis? Why struggle to make sense of what I think or feel by writing a poem, letter, or essay for myself, when a program can do this for me? Why create a poster or painting myself when I can outsource this to an app? Aside from a host of ethical and environmental concerns, we miss how these decisions flatten what it means to be human. Why lift weights when I can just use a forklift to raise heavy objects for me? Just as one cannot train for a road race on an e-bike, we should be cautious about the personal and social impacts of all these shortcuts. As Pope Benedict XVI worried, these oversimplifications “stem from a profound failure to understand the spiritual life.” He cautioned, “There cannot be holistic development and universal common good unless people’s spiritual and moral welfare is taken into account, considered in their totality as body and soul.”

Pope Leo XIV has good reason to address the problems related to the present technological revolution, especially when it comes to generative AI. I keep thinking about Dr. Ian Malcolm in “Jurassic Park” when he criticizes the scientists who were too preoccupied with whether they could deliver on the newest technology without taking time to reflect on whether they should. And this is still just the typewriter phase of AI. Pope Leo XIV is right to call us to more discernment about how we use these tools and the kind of future we want to build together.

At a memorial Mass for Pope Francis on Easter Monday, I gathered with other Catholics to pray for the repose of his soul. After Mass, some of us shared what he meant to us. Each person who spoke described how Francis made them feel. It wasn’t what he said or wrote. It was an affective response to a shepherd who smelled like his sheep. Our hearts were burning (Luke 24:32), thanks to how Francis opened the Scriptures to us and brought them to life.

In these first few days of his papacy, we have seen and heard that Pope Leo XIV cares deeply about being a witness of God’s mercy and an agent of solidarity, and that he himself “radiates hope.” As he mentioned in his first homily, “I say this first of all to myself,” the aspiration to “make oneself small” is a posture of humility. But Aquinas reminds us that humility is the ability to tell the truth about ourselves—to recognize the full picture and not think too much or too little of oneself—and I hope Pope Leo XIV will not make himself too small. I don’t think Francis did, despite his commitment to humility and simplicity. Being pope is not just figuring out how to be the 267^th pontiff, knowing that there will be a 268^th and 269^th and so on. It is about being the pope the church and world need right now. It means reaching people and being reached by people. By all accounts, Cardinal Prevost did this beautifully in Peru, as Prior General of the Augustinians, as prefect of the Dicastery for Bishops, and in his participation in the synod. This gives me hope.

Choosing the name Leo XIV signals that much like Leo XIII, the new pope will prioritize the teaching office of the papacy in tribute to Catholic social thought. But just as authority is service, so is good teaching. If the end goal of teaching is formation, even transformation, then it requires reaching people in their interiority: in the depth of their souls. Conversion requires nothing less. Catholic social thought is easily dismissed as the “church’s best kept secret” because popes churn out long documents of dense paragraphs hardly described as accessible or soluble. Francis gave us Laudato Si’, Fratelli Tutti, and Dilexit Nos (a beautiful reflection on the Sacred Heart of Jesus, a source of divine compassion and solidarity). He will be remembered not for his pithy phrases or these contributions to CST. He will be remembered for the kind of shepherd he was, the way he showed how much he cared, and how he made people feel. Francis radiated tenderness so people could receive it—and then share it with those they encounter. Because he knew that if there will ever be peace on earth, it will only be possible thanks to relationships rooted in mercy, solidarity, and hope. Let us pray for Pope Leo XIV so his “ministry of authority” can be put in service to the promotion of the peace of the Risen Christ, leading us into new life and stronger community together.