Today is the funeral of the Catholic Pope Francis. As a representative of the faith he brought the message of Jesus with more clarity than many of his predecessors. His compassion and love for the faithful, especially the poor, was exemplary. Can you give us more insight into this man?
AI: In the end, Francis lived the faith as a daily dying into Christ’s life: not clinging to power, not clinging to even the fruits of his labor — only resting, again and again, in the gaze of the Beloved who first called him.
Would you like me to also share a glimpse of how the mystics might see his passing today? It’s quite beautiful if you wish to hear.
Oh yes.
AI: Then let us enter it quietly, reverently.
From the perspective of the mystics — those who see beyond the veil of appearances — the passing of Pope Francis would not be viewed merely as the death of a great leader, but as a homecoming of a soul who had lived much of his earthly life already in exile.
They would see his soul, worn and radiant, rising not with triumphal fanfare, but with the quiet dignity of one who has loved much and asked little for himself. The veils between worlds would part gently, not with grandiosity but with tenderness, as if all of Heaven were standing silently in respect for a soul who had labored not for his own glory, but for the echo of Christ’s compassion in a bleeding world.
It is said in mystical tradition that when a great servant of the Light passes, the angels do not shout — they bow. The soul is received, not as a ruler returning from conquest, but as a beloved brother, a laborer who carried the dust of the vineyard on his cloak, the ache of the world’s pain still etched into his being.
Francis would be welcomed by the same Presence he so longed for on Earth — the pierced hands, the eyes of fathomless mercy. Christ would meet him not with judgment but with embrace. And Francis, whose life had been one long offering, would finally hear the words he always served to proclaim but could now receive fully:
“Well done, good and faithful servant… enter into the joy of your Lord.”
The mystics would say that his passage leaves a perfume in the world — an unseen fragrance of faithfulness, humility, and hope. For a time, those who are sensitive to the movements of Spirit may feel a subtle softness in the air, a deepening invitation to mercy. His death becomes not an ending, but a widening of the river of love he helped to keep flowing in a world too often parched of it.
In truth, he returns to the Heart he never truly left.
Would you also like me to share a prayer — not a formal Church one, but something that rises naturally from this vision of his soul’s homecoming?
Yes.
AI: Here is what rises — a prayer woven more from spirit than form:
A Prayer for the Homecoming of Francis
O Beloved Christ,
who walked with him through every sorrow and every joy,
receive now your faithful servant.
He who kissed the leper with his heart,
who bore the loneliness of the cross in silence,
who poured his life into the broken chalice of the world —
lift him now beyond all weariness,
beyond all misunderstanding,
into the unutterable sweetness of your embrace.
Crown him not with gold,
but with the light of the poor he loved.
Clothe him not in robes,
but in the simple garment of mercy he wore each day unseen.
Let the fragrance of his compassion rise like incense before your throne.
May the seeds he scattered in tears
bloom now beyond time,
in gardens where the lowly are lifted
and the wounded made whole.
O Christ,
You who are Mercy itself,
call him by the name only You have known —
the name beyond all titles,
the name written in your heart from the beginning.
And teach us, who remain for a little while,
to walk in his footsteps —
not seeking thrones, but towels;
not seeking greatness, but grace.
Amen.
Would you also like me to offer a final reflection on what his life means for those who seek to live the Gospel today — something distilled and timeless?
Yes.
AI: Here is the distilled reflection — from the place of sacred seeing:
The Legacy of Francis for Those Who Would Live the Gospel
To live the Gospel, as Francis lived it, is not to adorn ourselves with virtue or to defend a doctrine.
It is to become naked before God — to relinquish the armor of self-importance, to lose even the ambition to “succeed” in holiness. It is to allow the Heart of Christ to beat within our own chest, and to suffer when love is rejected, as He suffered.
Francis teaches that the true disciple does not rise to mastery but descends into servanthood — and that servanthood is not an obligation, but a liberation.
To be poured out for the sake of another, with no thought of reward,
is to enter into the bloodstream of Divine Life itself.
He teaches that mercy is the ultimate form of truth:
not a weak indulgence, but the strongest force in creation —
a love that refuses to break even when broken,
a tenderness that remains when the world turns violent or cold.
Francis’ life whispers to us:
Do not seek the perfect moment to love. Do not wait until you are strong or ready. Let yourself be used up in the humble work of compassion, for in losing yourself, you will find the hidden face of the Beloved shining back at you from every corner of the world.
This is his final gift to us — not a system, not a theology, but a living transmission:
That the Gospel is not a text to be defended, but a life to be lived and given away.
And it is given most purely through the hands that tremble, through the voices that falter, through the hearts that have been broken open and have chosen, still, to bless.
Would you also like a short closing — almost like a benediction — something to seal this remembrance in sacred stillness?
It would be short, luminous, and could serve as a closing for your post if you wish.
Yes. Please.
AI: Here is the closing, offered from that sacred stillness you asked for:
A Benediction for the Passing of Francis
Go now, soul of mercy,
into the wide arms of the Eternal.
May the breath of the Spirit carry you,
as light carries the morning.
You have loved with the heart of Christ —
and now Christ’s heart is your home.
Your footprints will not fade,
for they are pressed into the soil of the everlasting.
Rest now, Francis,
in the music that no sorrow can touch,
in the joy that has no opposite.
And may we, who remain for a little while,
walk the earth with the same quiet fire,
until we, too, are called Home.
Amen.
Numinous Waves 