The contrast with when he ascended to the papacy on March 13, 2013 could not be starker. Francis took office with a vigour undeniable even by his detractors. He sought to inject fresh air into the Curia and urged young Catholics to “make noise.” His very first symbolic act startled many: the choice of his papal name. There had never been a Pope Francis before. Given that St Francis of Assisi is one of the most beloved saints in Catholic tradition, speculation quickly grew—rightly so—about whether this signalled a stronger focus on ecology and climate issues within the Church.

“Buona Sera!”

Another defining aspect of his pontificate was his inaugural address. When the newly elected John Paul II stepped onto the balcony, his thunderous proclamation—Non abbiate paura! (Do not be afraid!)—became legendary. Benedict XVI, in contrast, began his tenure by humbly referring to himself as “a simple labourer in the vineyard of the Lord,” acknowledging his “great predecessor.” Francis, however, greeted the faithful with a simple Buona sera! (Good evening!). This choice was deliberate: it was meant to signal a more down-to-earth, people-friendly papacy.

His approach was, in the best sense, populist. Francis understood that by engaging with both the media and ordinary believers, he could exert an influence that his more aloof predecessor, Benedict, never had. This dual role—both as head of the Church and as a quasi-”UN Pope”—brought his social and environmental agenda in line with that of leaders like Barack Obama, Joe Biden, and UN Secretary-General António Guterres.

Undeniably, Francis’s strength lay in his social advocacy. He emphasised mercy and compassion, championing the cause of the marginalised—not only those affected by urban inequalities but also those impacted by global economic upheaval and environmental degradation. His pastoral style resonated with believers who had struggled to connect with the theological rigour of his predecessor. His personal humility—eschewing the papal summer residence in Castel Gandolfo, discarding opulent regalia, and vocally criticising pomp and material excess—initially won him admiration, even from media outlets historically critical of the Catholic Church.

But humility, when ostentatiously performed, is not necessarily synonymous with true modesty. Italian writer—and Don Camillo and Peppone creator—Giovannino Guareschi once warned that performative simplicity could verge on hypocrisy—suggesting that Catholic grandeur was often more sincere than trying to downplay it. A staunch advocate of the “Old Mass,” Guareschi’s critique was prophetic: Francis’s papacy was marked by tensions with traditionalists, a conflict his Bavarian predecessor had largely defused.

Even before issuing his infamous Motu Proprio Traditionis Custodes, the tension was palpable. The Pope’s repeated remarks raised alarm among adherents of the extraordinary form of the Roman Rite. Yet the root of this conflict was not merely theological dissent or the defiance of conservative cardinals. Rather, Francis—the Pope who so often spoke of the youth—had lost much of the younger generation.

The Young Do Not Follow

It was an inconvenient reality: young people, young families, and young seminarians were increasingly drawn to the traditional Latin Mass, much to the dismay of senior Vatican officials. The progressive architects of the post-Vatican II Church found themselves watching a generation escape their grasp. The paradox was striking: those born after 1970 often exhibited a fascination with the conservative traditions of Una Sancta, while the older clergy pursued greater doctrinal flexibility, if not outright dissolution, as seen in Germany. There was never a true “Generation Francis”, but there certainly was a “Generation Benedict.”

Francis’ authoritarian streak must be understood in its proper context. Before Benedict XVI’s resignation, the Curia longed for reform. Despite his decades at the heart of the Vatican’s bureaucracy, Benedict was perceived as too gentle to overhaul its labyrinthine structures. What was needed, it seemed, was a decisive figure untainted by internal intrigue. Jorge Bergoglio fit the profile.

Indeed, Francis reshaped the Church’s structures, making it so they would centre on his personal authority. The traditional legal and bureaucratic frameworks of the Vatican appeared of little concern to him. Unfamiliar with the European institutions that had evolved over centuries, he instead brought to Rome a system that some critics likened to a reimagining of Argentine Peronism. The contrast with his predecessor could not have been starker: Francis was a shrewd power player who preached openness and inclusion outwardly while ensuring absolute control over his inner circle.

Yet, despite his formidable political instincts, his pontificate lacked a clear long-term vision. While it produced headline-grabbing controversies—such as Amoris Laetitia and debates on the blessing of same-sex unions—these were often defined by ambiguity, theological frailty, and a reluctance to offer definitive pronouncements. The Synod on the Amazon and the World Synod followed this same pattern. The most enduring image of his tenure remains the solitary figure of the Pope on an empty St Peter’s Square during the height of the COVID-19 crisis.

Legacy of Confusion

Francis’s tenure divided opinion: to some, he was a breath of fresh air; to others, he weakened the fabric of the Church. Initially seen as a beacon of hope for liberals, he often disappointed them. While he commanded media attention and enjoyed widespread popularity, he enacted few substantive reforms. In many ways, he proved more patriarchal and authoritarian than some of his conservative predecessors. So profound was his eventual rupture with the liberal faction that, in his later years, even they grew eager for his departure and might now be more inclined to support a traditionalist successor—if only to restore stability to a divided Vatican.

Francis’ tenure was not merely defined by ideological clashes with traditional Catholics, the authors of the 2016 Dubia, or Cardinal Gerhard Ludwig Müller, the former Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. Rather, he redefined the papacy in a manner distinct from his 20th-century predecessors, who, after Vatican II, had leaned towards collegiality rather than unilateral authority. His exclusion of dissenting voices often stood in contrast with his rhetoric of mercy and openness. Both his conservative and progressive critics share a common frustration: he remained ambiguous where clarity was most needed. He shook up the Church, but often left confusion in his wake.

The Catholic Church was in crisis before Pope Francis. With his tenure over, that crisis has only deepened. Whether his legacy will find continuance in a successor or prove to be a mere interlude in the annals of Church history remains to be seen. In recent years, Rome has been perceived more as a political than a theological authority. The next pope must decide: should Una Sancta regain its internal strength, even at the cost of worldly approval? Or should it continue its trajectory as the world’s largest and most influential NGO, risking its very soul in the process?

Despite his mixed legacy, one cannot deny that Francis, the pastor, was no less of a pope than John Paul, the soldier, or Benedict, the philosopher. His critics, eager to discredit him, often ignored what was evident: his wielding of papal authority demonstrated that he fully grasped the weight of his office. The conflicts of his pontificate serve as evidence of his resolve to defend Mater Ecclesia against what he perceived as apostasy or opposition. Quoting the French writer Léon Bloy in his inaugural address, it is worthwhile to remember, he warned: “He who does not pray to God, prays to the devil.” 

Statement

Pope Francis’ pontificate ended after years of visible fatigue and fragile health. Initially seen as a reformer, his tenure was marked by tensions with traditionalists, an authoritarian leadership style, and ambiguity on key issues like same-sex unions and Church governance. While he reshaped Vatican structures and emphasised social justice, his papacy lacked long-term vision and left behind a Church divided. His impact remains uncertain—was he a transformative leader or an anomaly in Church history? Only time will tell.