Todos, Todos, Todos

Francis imagined a church for everyone.

A few months ago, Sojourners Magazine invited me to write a piece about Francis’ welcome to those who were largely overlooked or excluded by the church (and often the world). They published it yesterday as the start of their coverage of the Pope’s legacy. I’ve put a section from it below.

It’s one of a couple of pieces I’ve seen in the last 24 hours that speaks among other things to the ways in which Francis welcomed gay people. Gay Milwaukee priest Father Greg Greiten talked to local press there about how Francis helped him come out of closet. Frank DeBernardo, head of New Ways Ministry (whom I interviewed a while back), talked about the legacy of Francis, including the 90-minute visit Francis had with an intersex man, a transgender woman, and the Catholic deacon-parent of a trans daughter just six months ago. (The photo above is from a luncheon Francis hosted for 120 transwomen in 2023.)

Outreach, the LGBTQ Catholic website that Jesuit Jim Martin started, also had a nice piece from its executive director Michael O’Loughlin about how Francis invited queer Catholics to share their stories. And Martin offered his own take in the New York Times, which recalls that Francis insisted the church was meant to be for “todos, todos, todos”—everyone, everyone, everyone.

The Washington Post has a story today asking what the legacy of Francis will be. Says the headline, “It depends on what comes next.” Maybe there’s some truth in that, but I don’t really think that’s how legacies work. The next pope may take a very different course when it comes to queer people, or women, or the appointment of cardinals, or a hundred other things. But none of that will wipe away what Francis did. In so many ways, including his treatment of queer people, he showed how much more was possible from the church, and how much better it made the church.

Future church leaders can ignore that or insist it was an act of destruction or violence—a certain section of the U.S. bishops have spent the last decade trying to do just that. And their narrative may succeed for a time, just as John Paul II and Joseph Ratzinger worked to suppress the implications and spirit of Vatican II for decades.

But if the papacy of Francis tells us anything, it’s that such things don’t last. They can’t. Because we were all there. We saw it with our own eyes.

NCR is reporting that the funeral for Francis will be Saturday. No doubt it will be livestreamed. More details to come!

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From “Pope Francis Knew I Belonged”:

…When Pope Francis was elected in 2013, I had been a Jesuit for almost 21 years, a priest for nearly 10. And for about 19 of those years, I had been learning how to accept and appreciate my sexual identity as a chaste gay man. I had been lucky in a lot of ways to come to a fuller sense of myself within the Society of Jesus. I was surrounded by others who, whether straight, gay, or bisexual, were welcoming of me. They helped me to see my identity as a gift, a part of me to celebrate, laugh about, and rejoice in.

At the same time, 10 years in the priesthood had brought with it the ongoing challenge of working in an environment where you were expected never to reveal or share about your experiences of God as a gay or bisexual man, a challenge made enormously difficult at times by the horrendous mistreatment of queer people —, including gay and bisexual priests — by some Catholic clergy and prelates. At times it felt as though queer clergy were asked to stay silent so Catholic leaders could continue to scapegoat queer people without having to worry about their own clergy calling them out.

Still, I thought I was managing it pretty well. I had learned to appreciate my identity as a blessing that God had given me, something that helped me see and relate to the world in a different way, rather than something deviant or sinful, so I saw myself as someone who could be there for LGBTQ+ Catholics. I could offer care and understanding, as many other priests, sisters, and brothers do.

Then Francis held his first on-plane press conference and said, with regard to queer people, “Who am I to judge?” It was the first time that I ever heard a church official speak — not behind closed doors but publicly — of us in a kind or accepting way. And looking back, I think it was the first moment I considered the possibility that being gay in the priesthood or in life truly was okay. It turns out, no matter what you tell yourself or your friends tell you, when you live and work in an institution that tells you to keep your identity a secret and scapegoats you anytime it faces a scandal, there’s some part of you that just isn’t quite sure whether you are actually good. If I’m a gift, why does everyone in charge talk about me like I should be ashamed?

When Francis spoke as he did, not only as a priest or bishop in the church but as the pope, he gave those of us who are queer reason to believe that in fact no, we’re not crazy. We really are okay, we really are a blessing. With five words, he made room for us. Twelve years later the reverberations of that one simple question continue to change me.

For more, check out my piece in Sojourners.

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