Published in Write & Review

Free post on Medium

Evans’ Rag

Vol 7 Issue 4

Pope Francis—the name he chose makes me smile, and a Jesuit to boot. Francis of Assisi—Francis of Buenos Aires.

Not that he was timorous, but that he worked for humor and humility to be a balm on a world so desiccated of both.

We angry pile of scrambling afterthoughts consuming our only home—Is the joke on us? No doubt.

I can’t pretend to know why anyone would chose his path in life. I never understood the priests who lived in the rectory at St. Ann’s—nor the nuns who lived down the street. But even the ex-religious find it hard to dislike this man.

The Church—like Smaug—encrusted with its gold rolled over in its slumber.

We need kindly shepherds these days, and he was one. Who comes after—will he be as much a saint?

…

Our neighbors down the street were coming home Easter evening. Practicing Muslims, immigrants from India. They died in a fiery car crash within walking distance of where they lived. It’s hard to even think of how they left so in a flash.

They left their family mourning, and neighbors as well.

Pope Francis left millions mourning, though I expect he’d smile and say the sorrow is the same.