The Both/And Pope

On the Burden of Poping in the Age of Social Media

On Easter Monday, I did an Instagram Q&A. Not surprisingly, a fair number of questions came in about Pope Francis and my assessment of one aspect or another of his papacy. I wasn’t planning on answering those questions at all, mostly because pontificating on this pontiff is not something I do.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the reasons I haven’t written about Pope Francis might actually be worth sharing. So, that’s what this newsletter today is about. It’s a free one, but it definitely was not free to write. (It’s Easter break for the kids this week and a babysitter was definitely paid so I could get this done), which is to say if you’re thinking about upgrading you subscription, I would be most grateful to have you on board.

Not quite twelve years ago, in September 2013, when I was blogging for Catholic Vote, I wrote a short essay about Pope Francis. It was a fun re-read for me yesterday, if only to see a mention of “my friend Chris.” The essay, in a sense, was my attempt to put the most charitable interpretation possible on a controversial interview the pope had given to America magazine just days earlier. It was a decent enough essay, as far as essays like that go, but not long after I posted it, Pope Francis said something else that sparked a media firestorm. Immediately I started writing yet another response, again attempting to offer a more charitable interpretation.

Then, I stopped. Not because my desire to be charitable changed. Rather, because I decided I didn’t want to spend the next five, ten, fifteen, or however many years Francis’ papacy lasted, getting dragged into online debates about what he did or didn’t mean. I had no idea then how deeply the conversation around him would devolve (to the point where once reputable influencers were questioning the legitimacy of his papacy), but I knew I didn’t want to be a part of it. I would leave the analyzing, critiquing, and defending to others.

I never regretted that decision. In part, because Pope Francis did quite often confound me. I admired much about him. The images of him embracing a leper or blessing the world in March of 2020 are forever seared in my memory. I also struggled with more than a few decisions or comments he made … especially his near suppression of the Extraordinary Form, his sheltering of numerous abusers, and his elevation of people with clear knowledge of abuse to high positions within the Church. Because of that struggle, I knew it would not be spiritually beneficial to me (or to anyone reading my writing) to work through those feelings in a public way. I wouldn’t do that to my earthly father—writing for the masses about what I perceived his strengths and weaknesses to be—and it didn’t feel right to do that to my spiritual father either. It seemed … dangerous.

And yes, of course, not every Catholic writer could make that same decision. People have to write about the pope. It would be weird for everyone to go radio silent in the face of an occasionally perplexing Holy Father. But I knew I didn’t have to be one of those writers. I also knew myself well enough to know that I shouldn’t be one of them. So, I focused on the writing I thought God was asking me to do and left the papal analysis to others.

As the years passed, however, my decision to not write about the pope took on a different motivation. Increasingly, I stayed quiet because I came to feel great sympathy for Francis—for the terrible burden he carried, a burden I did not carry and could not carry—and I didn’t trust my own ability to evaluate how well he did or didn’t carry it.

That burden wasn’t just serving as successor to Peter, head of the apostles, and spiritual leader for 1.4 billion Catholics. It was doing all that serving in the age of social media.

For nearly every moment of every day, someone was watching Francis—listening to him, reading about him, commenting on him, all to an extent unimaginable even just a decade ago.

Remember, when Pope Paul VI and Pope John Paul I died, no cable news existed, let alone the Internet. When Pope John Paul II died, there was no public Facebook, no Instagram, no Twitter. YouTube was a mere two months old. When Benedict resigned, in 2013, the number of social media users globally hovered around 170 billion. Today, that number has passed 500 billion. Which is to say, during Francis’ papacy, the whole world went online. Influencer culture was born. Everyone and their brother (me included) got a Substack and/or a podcast. It was no longer just cable news searching for content 24-hours-a-day, seven days a week, but most of the danged universe. Now, everyone is a broadcaster or a commentator or an armchair theologian, with an opinion ready to offer—never mind how well-formed or well-informed that opinion might be.

I don’t know what we would think of our most beloved popes, let alone our most reviled popes, had they served the Church under that kind of scrutiny. I don’t know if we would still call Pope Saint John Paul II, “John Paul the Great.” I don’t know if we’d call Pope Paul VI “Saint” at all. Heck, I don’t know if Italy would still be Catholic. Could the country’s faith have survived the Borgias if X (neé Twitter) had been around at the turn of the sixteenth century?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Daily, I get emails from random strangers, offering to help me “grow my following.” I don’t respond to any of them. Partly because I think they’re scams. But more fundamentally because I have zero interest in growing my following. Converting more free subscribers to paid subscribers on Substack? Absolutely. Getting more of my Instagram followers to buy my books. Sure. But increasing the number of eyes watching me and people judging me? No, thank you. I already struggle enough under the minuscule weight of the tiny shred of celebrity I have. I don’t need any more.

For most people, fame is a curse, not a blessing. And even for the best among us, like our pontiffs, who are called by God to very public roles, it’s still a burden. Fame makes holiness harder, not easier. It’s too easy to believe your own publicity or crack under the weight of it. Fame also makes it harder for the rest of us to see the truth of a person. Their humanity can get swallowed up by it. They become personas to us, not persons, a living embodiment of our hopes and desires, fears and insecurities, fantasies and suspicions. We hear reports, read stories, catch bits and pieces of their goings on in the most fragmented of ways from 1,000 different sources, and think we know the person and what they’re about. But the truth is, we don’t know them at all.

People are such mysteries. We barely know our own selves somedays, let alone popes on the other side of the world. The people we work with, our neighbors, even our spouses and children, are never known to us in full. Only God really knows a person. And none of us are God. This is as true of Pope Francis as it is of anyone. Some people who did know him and worked closely with him loved him. They praised him. Others didn’t. Many stories of Francis are out there right now, floating around the Internet, so varied in their particulars that it can be hard to recognize that they are about the same man. Everyone’s got a theory about what he believed, what he wanted, what motivated him, and I’m sure one of those theories is right. The trouble is, I don’t know which one. You don’t either.

And so, despite my love of some things Pope Francis did and my confusion and dislike of others, I’ve held off on forming any hard and fast judgements of him, as a person, a brother in Christ. I tend to agree with

The Pillar

’s assessment of Francis’ papacy, but unlike many people I know, I can’t dismiss his papacy as a failure. This past week has brought too many moving tributes to him, from ordinary Catholics who loved him, for me to do that. Yes, some of his actions provoked some of his children to anger, but some of his actions also brought many of his children closer to Christ and the Church. He was a both/and kind of pope. I’m not sure he could be any other kind in this media-soaked, opinion-drenched, profoundly divided world in which we live.

No matter how you personally feel about the man or how he led the Church, remembering that can help. It can help temper any uncharitable thoughts you might have towards Pope Francis. And it can help temper any uncharitable thoughts you have towards those who feel differently about him than you do.

History will eventually render some kind of verdict on Pope Francis. Whether or not it will be the same verdict that Jesus has already rendered on him, I don’t know. What I do know is that I owe him what I owe every one of my fellow Christians: prayer. And so I pray for him. I pray he is at rest and at peace, not caring a whit for all the chattering about him because he already knows the judgement of the only One whose judgement matters, the only One whose judgement is true.

I pray too for his successor, whoever he might be. I don’t envy him. Being the servant to the servants of God is the hardest job there is in all the world. Over the past 20 years, we’ve gone and made it enormously harder, with our constant hunger for news, commentary, opinions, and judgement. And now I fear the growing specter of AI will make it harder still. I hope our new pope is holy. I hope he’s courageous and loving and wise. A good manager of people would be excellent, too. The Vatican’s finance troubles aren’t getting any better anytime soon. But I also know I might never know in this lifetime if the new pope truly is any of those things. Either way, he will still be the pope. And so I will love him and respect him and pray for him regardless, just as I did with Francis and just as I did with my own father.

I still probably won’t write about him, though. At least not much.

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A Jubilee Christmas

My family and I are heading to Rome on December 26 to spend 10 days soaking in the beauty of Rome at Christmas, celebrating the end of the Jubilee Year, and ringing in the New Year with our new Holy Father (!). I would love it so much if you could join us. The pilgrimage is filling up fast, but we still have room for a couple more families (or quite a few singles or several couples). There are so many graces to be had on pilgrimage—graces of friendship, of learning, of beauty, and worshipping at the very heart of the Church. These pilgrimages are never easy to embark on. Sacrifice is always involved. But if God is calling you to go, this is one journey you won’t regret. You can learn more here.

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Five Fast Things

1. I know I recommended the television show Ludvig a month or so ago, when Chris and I first discovered it, but now that we finished the first season, I am back to not so subtly beat you over the head with how absolutely, freaking, awesome it is and urge you, in the strongest possible terms, to watch it already. Why? Because I love you. And I love goodness. And I want you to have more goodness in your life. Seriously, the show is part cozy British mystery, part suspense conspiracy thriller, and part brilliantly acted crime drama. It’s smart. It’s funny. It’s surprising. It’s great. Watch it now, thank me later. It’s currently streaming on Prime via Brit Box and yes, it is worth the money to subscribe for a few weeks.

2. We dropped a new episode of Visitation Sessions this week. This one is a listener/reader Q&A. Recorded before Easter, the death of Pope Francis doesn’t come up, but lots of other stuff does. Like budgeting for hosting, the merits of clowns at birthday parties, my woo woo thoughts about paint and houses, and a very big, very exciting, very terrifying change for my family. We’ll be back tomorrow, however, with a special episode on papal conclaves, papal brawls, and Pope Joan.

3. A few years back, I bought Chris some delicious chrism scented beard balm from the Catholic Balm Company. He loved it. I loved it. Then, sadly, the company went away. Last year, however, it came back, better than ever, and I bought that beard balm for Chris as fast as I could. Since then, Chris has tried their face lotion, solid cologne, and lip balm, and is a convert to all three. Their products are all non-toxic, made with simple ingredients that you can pronounce, and smell amazing. If you or your husband want to give them a try, use this link to purchase one of their Mother’s Day bundles.

4. While the whole world debates the pronunciation of papabile, I am just going to just start saying popeable and pray that the next pope makes Bishop Erik Varden of Norway a Cardinal so that more people besides me and the ladies from Word on Fire can start dreaming about the good bishop eventually becoming pope. He is a remarkable pastor and thinker, and for those of you who have asked for recommendations of books by him, I would put The Shattering of Loneliness and Healing Wounds at the top of your reading list.

5. It’s Easter, so I thought you might need more sugar in your life. If so, here is a fast and easy lemon cake recipe, for which you probably have all the ingredients on hand. (And yes, this one will be in the cookbook, forthcoming late summer 2025).

Lemon Cake

Serves: 8; Prep Time: 10 minutes; Bake Time: 20-25 minutes

• White Sugar, .5 cup

• Salted Butter, 4 Tablespoons, softened

• Heavy Whipping Cream, 1/3 cup

• 2 Eggs

• Lemons, 3, zested and juiced

• Vanilla Extract, 1 teaspoon

• All Purpose Flour, 1.25 cups

• Baking Powder, 2 teaspoons

• Iodized Salt, .25 teaspoon

Topping

• Powdered Sugar, 1 cup

• Milk, 1 Tablespoon

• Fresh Raspberries, 1 cup (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 350° F. In a bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

2. In a stand mixer, cream butter and sugar together; add cream, eggs, vanilla, 2 Tablespoons Lemon Zest, and 1/3 cup lemon juice, beating until smooth.

3. To the batter, slowly add flour mixture, continuing to mix until combined.

4. Pour the batter into a 9” cake pan (either lined with parchment paper or greased with butter and dusted with flour); bake for 20-25 minutes, or until a fork comes out clean.

5. Allow the cake to cool on a rack for 15 minutes.

6. While the cake cools, mix together the Powder Sugar and Milk. Once the cake is cool, sprinkle with remaining lemon zest and a little more powdered sugar. Pour the icing over the top, dot with raspberries, and serve.