Behold your mother
A reflection on the final lesson of Pope Francis
As I watched the unfolding of the funeral of Pope Francis and his final journey through the streets of Rome, I did not anticipate that it would bring me to tears. I awakened in time to watch them carry the Holy Father to his final resting place. As they arrived at St. Mary Major to carry his casket inside, I thought of her and his long-held affection for her. Until that moment, I hadn’t sat in the thought that we had the same mother, but yet we do.
“When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.”
John 19:26-27
In his last seven words, Our Lord gave us her. As I watched with the world, Francis was not just my Papa going home, he was my brother, stopping one last time to honor his Mama. And in his final act as the Vicar of Christ, He too was once again giving her to us.
As the tears began to stream down my eyes, within my mind flashed before me the AI generated images of Pope Francis through the years I had seen going around social media. As my heart grieved, my mind was brought to a variation of those images now seeing him come into view throughout his life. First, he became tender and fragile to me as I pictured him as a child perhaps at a May crowning, then I could see him as a young priest away from his home, coming before her, seeking the nurturance that only a mother can provide to her homesick son. I began to see him aging through the years of his adulthood imagining his trips to Rome multiplying viewing the one constant being his regular stop to see Our Lady here in this place.
Having visited the basilica before, I could take in the image of him walking in amongst the tourist, at times perhaps arriving in the quiet of the early morning or late evening still unknown to the masses, but yet known to her. Trip by trip and throughout his life, he was always coming to her. She must surely have become his keeper to all he witnessed and bore throughout his priestly ministry.
I first learned of his deep affection for her upon his election to the pontificate. His first destination outside of the confines of the Vatican was to her, his mama, our mother. How fitting that he listened to her request to be buried in that very place, thus drawing the lost sheep that were drawn to him into her welcoming arms.
It is no coincidence that her sweet home in Rome houses pieces of the very crib which held our Savior. Her arms which rocked and comforted the Messiah, are open to us. Francis reminded us of this, and he prepared a way for us to remember our mother.
Years ago, when long distance calls were a thing, in that you had to pay to speak with someone outside of your area, they said the highest number of long distance calls each year in the US was not on a major holiday. Perhaps only somewhat surprising, the highest volume for paid long distance calls was on none other than Mother’s Day.
There is something within us that implores us to call upon our mother. She is our first responder, our comforter, a listener who provides good counsel. She is full of wisdom and grace, and she understands our sorrows when it feels as though no one else can. Mary our Mother is full of sweetness and peace, and she can even undo the knots that bind us up with her love and intercession. Ever leading us to her Son, Our Lady is there waiting to receive us, ready to hold space with us in our fears, anxieties, sorrows, hopes, joys, and victories.
For me, there have been times when I was so hurt by my circumstances, I could not bear to look upon the Father. Yet, my Mother welcomed me and walked with me ever so gently to her Son. As they held his casket steady and paused for one final salute to the ancient icon of Mary Salus Populi Romani, I could not help but think of her reception of our dear brother. With a beautiful depth of love she gently walked with him those last steps to his final resting place so he too could be with the Father.
Rest in peace, dear Papa Francisco.
