As the world awakens for the second day of the conclave, I find myself reflecting deeply on the future of the Church and the man who will soon occupy the Chair of Peter. We do not yet know who he will be, or what gifts and limitations he will bring. But as I contemplate the transition ahead, I’m aware that my reflections are shaped not just by anticipation for what’s to come, but by profound gratitude for what we’ve been given.
Last week, my colleague Paul Chu published an excellent piece on the future of Where Peter Is. I wholeheartedly endorse it, and I encourage everyone to read it in full. His words prompted me to consider not only the mission of this website, but my own journey—what brought me here, and what sustains me.
Since we launched Where Peter Is in 2018, internet trolls have asked me the same hypothetical question, over and over: “What will you do if Cardinal Burke is elected pope?” My standard reply has been twofold. First: it’s never going to happen (and I think we can safely say now that it won’t). And second—purely hypothetically—that if it did, I would have to acknowledge I’d been wrong about the papacy and Burke had been right all along. I’d have to accept that it was appropriate, after all, to launch public campaigns against the pope’s teachings, to insinuate heterodoxy from Rome, to undermine his authority in books and talks and articles. But I never really worried, because I’ve long been convinced that a Burke papacy is a metaphysical impossibility.
But that hypothetical distracts from a more serious, personal question: How will I adjust—spiritually, emotionally, intellectually, and theologically—to the next pope? Even if his priorities broadly align with Pope Francis’s, it’s undeniable that Francis is one of a kind. Whoever follows him will be a different man, with a different style, different instincts, and a different approach to the office.
A recent article helped crystallize these reflections for me. Writing in First Things last month, Fr. Raymond de Souza offered his perspective on the Francis papacy. His piece was critical—no surprise there—but more insightful than I expected. He identified what he saw as a paradox: that Pope Francis approached his role not so much as a teacher or governor, but as the “world’s spiritual director.” The phrase, was likely cribbed from papal biographer Austen Ivereigh’s view of Francis in light of the 2020 book he wrote with the pope, Let Us Dream. The two men seem to agree on this point, but Ivereigh (and I) think this was a good thing. Fr. de Souza does not.
Fr. de Souza writes:
“Pope Francis chose instead to be the world’s spiritual director. Therein lay a paradox at the heart of his papacy. The spiritual director does not preach to the congregation from the pulpit, let alone pontificate to the city and the world. He speaks privately, even intimately, with a soul in the confessional, at a retreat house, in a rectory sitting room, walking along the path. His presence is a comfort, but his words can be harsh, delivered within a bond of personal trust. A spiritual director may well say to a soul, ‘You are being foolish.’”
Fr. de Souza sees this as a weakness. But I can’t understand why. In fact, I think it’s exactly what Catholics today—especially comfortable, affluent, Anglophone Catholics—most needed: a big, merciful, uncompromising kick in the spiritual pants. And Pope Francis delivered.
What I never understood was the way his critics took every challenge Pope Francis issued so personally. Why did certain priests write about how insulted they felt when he criticized clerics who acted like “little monsters” or treated the confessional “like a torture chamber”? I’d imagine if I was a priest and — after examining my conscience — discerned that I was not a little monster, then I’d conclude clearly Francis wasn’t talking about me. Surely in a Church with over 400,000 priests, there are at least a handful of little monsters who need to hear that message.
I found many of his criticisms creative and even humorous, such as when he described “pickle-faced” and “bat-like” Christians. On one occasion, Pope Francis jokingly tried to separate the folded hands of an altar boy who had perhaps taken his instructions too literally. The pope’s critics, however, humorlessly waled and complained over even the slightest hint that the pope had a personality, let alone a sense of humor.
Such pearl-clutching and faux hysteria is a sign of a much bigger and long neglected problem in the Church: a lack of spiritual formation and maturity.
Most lay Catholics in the West who “take their faith seriously” haven’t attended seminary or studied theology formally. We piece together our faith from childhood memories of religion class or CCD, from homilies, conversations, recommended books, Catholic media, apologetics. If we’re fortunate, we find a lay movement or social circle to fill in the gaps. But for decades, in a rapidly secularizing West, most of us have been searching for something more than what the typical suburban parish offers. That longing is why so many are drawn to traditionalism, to high-control movements, to false visionaries, to reactionary ideologies. It’s why they become easy prey for YouTube geocentrists, celebrity exorcists, and hyper-partisan Catholic influencers. It’s a chaotic, unregulated landscape. And while many profess loyalty to the pope, I suspect both John Paul II and Benedict XVI would be horrified by some of the fundamentalisms that have taken root under their watch.
Then came Francis.
Through the many conversion stories we’ve shared here over the years, and in the tributes we’re publishing as part of our “Francis Remembered” series, we’ve seen the profound impact his papacy has had. In his reflection, Anthony Steinhauser describes how, under Francis, he could no longer ignore the Church’s rejection of proselytism—something he had overlooked under Benedict. Francis’s teaching, he writes, “significantly changed my worldview, my respect for human freedom, and for the role of the Holy Spirit as the agent of human sanctification.”
Pope Francis was the antidote.
For many of us, these past twelve years have been like an extended Ignatian retreat—an unpredictable journey filled with conversions, freedom from attachments, a deepened love for others, greater compassion, liberation from fear, an openness to the Spirit, a more authentic encounter with Christ, and a renewed love for God the Father. I’ve spoken with countless people whose faith was rekindled by Pope Francis. I’ve met many who first felt drawn to the Church because of him.
It’s one of those things—you either get it, or you don’t.
But it’s not just those of us who were drawn deeper into Christ through Pope Francis who were changed. His critics, too, were transformed—though in different ways. Some became embittered, entrenched in suspicion and anger. Some doubled down on ideological rigidity, breaking communion with Rome in subtle or explicit ways. Others became more public, more combative, more willing to undermine papal authority or sow distrust in the Magisterium. Francis’s very presence as pope seemed to force a reckoning: for some, it was a call to conversion; for others, it was a catalyst for opposition and division.
In that sense, Pope Francis has changed us all. Whether by inspiring deeper compassion and trust in the Holy Spirit—or by provoking hostility and reactionary ideologies—his papacy has left no one untouched. Even those who tried to ignore him, or dismiss his influence, found themselves shaped by the conversations, debates, and choices that his leadership made impossible to avoid.
Remember, the pope is the principle of unity in the Church. And in many ways, despite fierce opposition from ideological, elitist, and well-funded critics, Francis was an extraordinary unifier. Yet many with money, power, and influence tried to minimize his impact and to divide the flock. Still, his voice could not be silenced.
I trust that the Holy Spirit will raise up a worthy successor, and I look forward to the gifts our next pope will bring. But as we await his election, I already know one thing: I will miss my spiritual director.
Image: Vatican Media
Mike Lewis is the founding managing editor of Where Peter Is. He and Jeannie Gaffigan co-host Field Hospital, a U.S. Catholic podcast.
Popular Posts