Tim Kaine: Pope Francis stood for the 'least of these.' So should we

When the news broke in March 2013 that Argentine Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio had been elected pope by the College of Cardinals in Rome, my heart soared. As a Catholic who worked with Jesuit missionaries in Honduras in 1980-81, the prospect of the first Latin American and first Jesuit assuming the papacy was like a beam of sunlight penetrating the church I love. And when he assumed the name Pope Francis, the first Pope to model after Saint Francis of Assisi, I knew his leadership would prove distinct and special.

The news of his death Monday morning was no surprise. His battle with pneumonia at age 88 was painful to witness, and the fact that he had already lost part of a lung decades ago left him little margin in his final fight. But there were beautiful surprises in how fully he lived his last days - ministering to prisoners on Holy Thursday, spending an hour with the faithful in St. Peter's Square on Easter Sunday and delivering a final powerful sermon promoting peace and reminding all of the Easter message: "We were not made for death, but for life."

There were many unforgettable moments in Pope Francis' remarkable tenure. His simple response when asked about a gay priest - "Who am I to judge?" — sent a message of love and acceptance to LGBTQ people around the globe. His exhortation that Catholic hierarchy should "smell like the flock" summed up his frequent critiques of any leaders who try to lift themselves above others. His elevation of women to key roles within the church was long overdue. His advocacy for fighting climate change grounded an environmental ethic in good stewardship of God’s creation. And his persistent focus on serving the poor, sick, oppressed and war-weary marked his papacy as the most compassionate in my lifetime.

Pope Francis addressed Congress in 2015 and told the stories of American heroes Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day and Martin Luther King Jr. Two were Catholic and two were not. None was perfect, but God used each to advance our nation and our common humanity. The pope reminded us that day of our common responsibility to the least of these, focusing particularly on the needs of refugees fleeing violence and starvation. And he also reminded us that the yardstick we use to judge others will be the same used to measure our own actions.

I traveled to the Vatican in 2017 to meet Pope Francis and engage in dialogue with church leadership about the global refugee crisis. He addressed a crowd in St. Peter’s Square and then worked his way down a line of visitors placed around his altar. I was the last one in the line, and when he reached me, I addressed him in Spanish and we talked about refugees as a constant across history and how we could treat them with compassion. As we finished our conversation, he gave me a rosary, and, switching to English, said, "Pray for me." It seemed an admission that the tasks before him were too great, but that prayers of the faithful might inspire God’s grace to allow him to succeed.

Recently, Pope Francis declared 2025 a Jubilee year and asked us to become "pilgrims of hope." We are all pilgrims, on the way to a better place, but not yet there. The church, for all its strengths, still has so many faults, as befits any human institution, and so much distance to travel. But we must be on the journey toward hope.

I stood last Monday outside a bullet-riddled church in Bucha, Ukraine, hearing about atrocities committed there by Russian soldiers three years ago. A few hours later, I visited Babyn Yar, the site of an enormous massacre of Jews by German troops in the early days of World War II. And I absorbed all this the day after a Palm Sunday bombing in Sumy, Ukraine, in which innocent families were cut down while beginning Holy Week festivities.

How do we grapple with Pope Francis’ challenge to be pilgrims of hope? What a difficult request — too much for any of us in a time when despair and anger come more easily. It can seem impossible to find hope amidst the darkness.

But his humble request — "Pray for me" — rings in my ears. He found the strength to hope by leaning on his faith and his connection to others, even on days — especially on days — when hope seemed distant. And we can do the same.