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The Hindu
10-05-2025
- General
- The Hindu
Pope who acted against exclusion
For women, Pope Francis has brought revolutionary changes to the Catholic Church. This is not solely a matter concerning the Church; every woman should be aware of it, to affirm that even sacred rites can be reformed. Pope Francis will be remembered not only for his deep humility and inclusive spirituality but also for steering revolutionary reforms that challenged year-old traditions. From the moment his papacy began in 2013, the first Jesuit to hold the position brought in revolutionary changes. He was driven by his own principle, simple but profound, to be a voice for the voiceless. In a patriarchal society where women have long been relegated to the sidelines of spiritual authority, Pope Francis' remarkable changes shocked theological orthodoxy. In 2016, he rewrote history by allowing women to participate in the Maundy Thursday foot-washing ceremony. This is a sacred re-enactment of Jesus Christ cleansing the feet of his 12 apostles. Pope Francis reformed the ceremony by declaring that it would be open to women too or as he put it, 'to all the members of the people of God'. This ritual, which was traditionally reserved for men, symbolises humility, service, and compassion. By including women, he shattered a symbolic boundary that had reinforced the exclusion of women from the Church's most revered practices. This was not just a ceremonial change, a theologically loaded act, a direct challenge to the legacy that had long tied the spiritual leadership exclusive to maleness. Pope Francis, in his early celebrations of the rite, washed the feet of Muslim women, prisoners, and migrants — acts that stirred controversy among conservative factions of the Church. Yet he persisted. Later, he formalised the change by updating the Roman Missal, making women's inclusion permanent. In 2025, churches across the world officially embraced this inclusive vision, with women participating in foot-washing ceremonies globally — a powerful visual testament to the message that men and women are equals in dignity and grace. Further, the Pope's Vatican appointments including women in the most powerful positions, are not just token gestures but structural shifts. Women, for the first time in the Catholic history, have been given the chance to take up key positions. He appointed Sister Nathalie Becquart the first woman with voting rights in the Synod of Bishops, an international body of Church leaders previously reserved for Cardinals and clergy. He named Francesca Di Giovanni, a laywoman, to a senior diplomatic role in the Secretariat of State, and brought women into the Vatican's most powerful economic oversight body. The Pope condemned the exploitation of women, labelling it as a 'sin against God'. He described the gender pay gap a 'pure scandal' and advocated for equal pay for equal work. He criticised workplace discrimination against women, particularly the bias against hiring women due to potential pregnancies. Pope Francis launched a synod on synodality, one of his boldest initiatives in 2021 (a multi-year global consultation involving laypeople, clergy, and bishops), as a bold response to the growing crisis of credibility and inclusivity within the Church. Historically, the Church has operated a hierarchical, top-down structure, with limited participation from laypeople, especially women and the marginalised. The synod on synodality marked a profound shift in the history of 2,000 years that everyday Catholics including laywomen have been granted not only a voice but also a vote in shaping Church direction. Out of 364 voting members, 54 were women, both nuns and laywomen. These women had equal voting rights alongside Cardinals, Bishops and priests. This is significant in the history of the Catholic Church as it repositions the Church as a listening body open to change and reform. This was more than administrative reform. It redefined the very nature of authority in the Church. The Pope's goal was not to dismantle the faith's foundations, but to plant seeds of radical inclusion, to make the Church more aligned with the world it seeks to serve. Francis also extended his embrace to those often marginalised by tradition and custom, including the LGBTQ+ community, the poor, and the enslaved. His papacy was not about speaking to Catholics alone; it was about affirming the humanity of all. As a strong advocate of world peace, he consistently emphasised forgiveness, social justice, and interreligious dialogue as vital elements in achieving world peace. His advocacy extended to specific actions such as calling for a ceasefire in Gaza, and voicing for the rights of refugees. In doing so, Pope Francis proved that tradition need not be a cage. He suffered intense criticism from conservative theologians and media outlets. Accusations of blasphemy and betrayal followed him, yet he stood firm, not in defiance but in faith. His reforms offer a profound lesson to the world: history and tradition are not immovable objects. They can be questioned, reimagined, and reformed with vision and courage. In an age of widening inequality, rising authoritarianism, and institutional distrust, Pope Francis has given the world a rare gift — a model of leadership grounded in humility, dialogue, and inclusion. In washing the feet of women and giving them a vote, Pope Francis has done what few leaders dare: he has chosen humility over hierarchy, peace over profit, and justice over precedent. Let the world follow him! mercyfamila@
Yahoo
26-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Pope Francis obituary: modernising pontiff who took the Gospel to the margins
When you buy through links on our articles, Future and its syndication partners may earn a commission. Pope Francis I, who has died aged 88, was the first Pope from the Americas, and the first from outside Europe for 1,200 years. He was also the first to live at the Vatican around the corner from his predecessor, said The Daily Telegraph, having been elected following the shock resignation of Benedict XVI – and the first Jesuit to lead the Roman Catholic Church. Known for his belief in social justice, he marked himself out with his informal style. "Buonasera," he famously greeted the crowds gathered in St Peter's Square following his election, aged 76. He dressed simply, eschewing the red shoes and ermine-trimmed cape Benedict had worn. Instead of moving into the papal apartments, he remained in the Vatican guest house; and was soon seen driving around in an old Renault 4. "My people are poor, and I am one of them," he said. He believed that clericalism – the idea that priests stand above the people they serve – was an "evil" at the root of many of the Church's ills, including its failure to tackle clerical abuse. On the first birthday he celebrated as Pope, he invited three men who lived on the streets near the Vatican to join him for breakfast. And on Maundy Thursday that year, when priests traditionally wash men's feet, Pope Francis washed the feet of the young inmates of a detention centre – two of whom were female, and one Muslim. "As he dried each one, he bent over and kissed it." His first pastoral visit outside Rome was to the island of Lampedusa, where he met asylum seekers from Africa and condemned the "global indifference" to their fate and that of others like them. He wanted, he said, to bring the Gospel to the "peripheries", to society's margins. He travelled widely, visiting hot spots including Myanmar and Iraq, and appointed 20 cardinals from countries including Rwanda and Tonga that had never previously had them. In his encyclicals, he sought to move the Church on from arguments about sexual morality, and to focus its mission on fighting climate change and global poverty. Many Catholics adored him, said The Times. Some who had left the Church returned; others looked at it with fresh eyes. But mainstream conservatives were angered by many of his reforms (including his restrictions on the Tridentine Latin Mass beloved by traditionalists). In the US in particular, they objected to his attacks on the excesses of capitalism ("greed looking for easy gain"); and they were "alarmed" by the ambiguity of his statements on moral issues. "Who am I to judge?" he told a journalist in 2013, when asked about gay priests. Though welcomed by progressives, this remark did not signal the start of radical reforms. He opposed gay marriage and gay adoption, and he was steadfast on the sanctity of human life. But he urged priests to welcome gay parishioners; he expressed support for same-sex civil unions; and he said that priests could give same-sex couples spontaneous "non-liturgical" blessings, and that trans people could serve as godparents. For some Catholics, he often seemed to go too far; for others, not far enough, said The New York Times. A "tough administrator", he reformed the constitution of the Roman Curia, so that he could appoint women to senior positions previously held by clerics, and he opened up synods to lay delegates including women; but he opposed the ordination of women as deacons. The upshot was that conservatives, led often by the likes of the American cardinal Raymond Burke, kept rallying against him, and successfully pushed back on some of his proposals (such as to allow married men to become priests in the Amazon, where there was a severe shortage of clerics); while some liberals felt let down that the revolution had never come. In Germany, there was even talk of a schism. Still, he did not stifle views he disagreed with. He believed in a patient process, of listening and talking before going forward. "Bosses cannot always do what they want," he said. "They have to convince." Jorge Bergoglio was born in Buenos Aires in 1936 into an Italian immigrant family. His parents, who were middle class, though not well-off, spoke Spanish at home, but Jorge learnt Italian from his grandparents. At school, he excelled at chemistry. Outside it, he loved football and the tango. His mother hoped he would become a doctor; but aged 16, he walked into a church and realised, he said, that God was waiting for him there. At 21, he suffered severe pneumonia and had to have part of his lung removed. Soon afterwards, he entered a Jesuit seminary, and after 11 years of training he was ordained. In 1973, he was appointed to lead the Jesuits in Argentina; three years later, the brutal military junta took over. Two of his priests were arrested while working in a slum area, and tortured during five months of detention. His enemies would later spread rumours that he'd abandoned the pair, said The Guardian. In fact, he had petitioned the military leaders to release them; he'd also helped others to flee Argentina. However, his failure to denounce the junta, or embrace radical liberation theology, alienated him from his order, as did his authoritarian leadership style. As a result, he was sent into a form of internal exile; he emerged with a more compassionate, more consultative approach. In 1992, he was made auxiliary bishop of Buenos Aires, in which role he affirmed his commitment to the poor. In 1998, he became archbishop. He was relieved not to be made Pope in 2005 (he said that a faction had backed him, in a bid to block Cardinal Ratzinger, the future Pope Benedict); but when Ratzinger stood down, he was deemed the right man to restore a Church reeling from a series of crises, including the clerical-abuse scandal. In that regard, he committed some serious errors – such as defending a Chilean bishop who had been accused of covering up a priest's abuse. Following a backlash, he admitted to having made a "grave mistake", and reached out to the abuse victims he had accused of slander. He gave survivors of clerical abuse access to documents from Church proceedings for use in lay courts; and he brought in rules obliging Church officials to report evidence of abuse or its cover-up – but only to Church authorities, not civil ones. His advancing age did not hold him back: one of his last visits, in 2023, was to South Sudan and DR Congo; nor did ill health stop his political interventions. In February, he wrote a letter criticising Donald Trump's plans for the mass deportation of undocumented migrants. "All I am trying to do is advance the Gospel," he once said. "But imperfectly, because sometimes I make mistakes."
The Hindu
23-04-2025
- Politics
- The Hindu
The Shepherd who listened: Pope Francis and the Dream of an inclusive Church
The world mourns the passing of Pope Francis—a shepherd whose life was defined by quiet, transformative gestures. As religion weaves faith into life, his passing feels deeply personal this Easter season. I had returned to Kolkata to spend Holy Week with my parents, and during the Maundy Thursday service—a ritual that has moved me since childhood—I witnessed a revolution. In a striking break from tradition, the priest washed the feet of women in the re-enactment of the Last Supper. It was a powerful moment, one that addressed a long-standing absence of visible female representation in Church rituals. Yet, even as I welcomed this change, I couldn't help but wonder: if women are present here, why not at the altar? Why can't nuns—the Church's steadfast backbone—be priests? As we reflect on Pope Francis's legacy, especially his compassion for the marginalised, his passing invites us to dream of a more inclusive Church—where leadership is shared by all. Pope Francis brought about sweeping change through small but deeply symbolic acts—gestures that carried powerful resonance. In 2013, just weeks into his papacy, he washed the feet of women, Muslims, and prisoners, during the Maundy Thursday ritual, transcending traditional boundaries of Catholic rituals. In 2016, he formalized women's inclusion in the rite . Over the years, he opened ministries like lector and acolyte to women , appointed women to Vatican roles—such as Francesca Di Giovanni as undersecretary — and in 2023, gave women voting rights at the Synod of Bishops, a historic first. He called for a theology embracing the 'feminine genius,' challenging patriarchal norms. To see these reforms come alive in my own parish in Kolkata renewed optimism. In a city where nuns run top schools and globally recognized charities like the Missionaries of Charity, the symbolic washing of women's feet by a parish priest was deeply moving. Indian nuns have long demanded recognition pointing to a 'glass ceiling' that reflects broader structural inequities. While Pope Francis's reforms were often slow, cautious, and criticized for not going far enough, they nonetheless sparked a conversation that had long been overdue. Still, the ceiling holds. Canon Law 1024 continues to bar women from priesthood. Feminist theologians argue that this exclusion is rooted in human tradition, not divine will. The Bible's proclamation that 'there is neither male nor female' in Christ, and the early Church's inclusion of deaconesses, suggest a different origin story—one of shared leadership. Ordaining women, particularly nuns who are already the Church's backbone, would be a radical but necessary step toward dismantling institutional inequality, resonating deeply in a country like India where justice and equity are pressing concerns. This commitment to the margins is especially important in countries like India, where the Church's gender question is compounded by caste. For women like me—raised in the Church, educated by nuns, shaped by its teachings—Pope Francis's papacy marked a meaningful shift. I grew up watching nuns with compassion, care for the vulnerable with fierce devotion, and also lead communities with authority. Yet at every Mass, the altar was reserved for men. The message was subtle but unmissable: women could serve, but never lead. Pope Francis didn't shatter that divide, but he illuminated its contradictions—and invited the faithful to wrestle with them. In an institution steeped in centuries of male authority, his choices felt quietly seismic. His acts of inclusion were not just symbolic. They made the Church's sacred language more expansive. They cracked open theological conversations that had long been sealed by tradition. They told young girls, that faith is not only something to be inherited, but something that can be reimagined. He understood that gender inequality within the Church could not be separated from broader systems of exclusion. He denounced clericalism and centralized power, urging instead a Church that listens—to women, to the poor, to the marginalized. His vision of authority was profoundly Christ-like: not rooted in dominance, but in humility, service, and love. As a psychologist, I understand the profound stakes in shaping agency. When girls grow up never seeing women in spiritual leadership, it subtly informs the boundaries of what they believe is possible—for themselves and others. But when the Pope himself kneels to wash the feet of a woman—or a prisoner, or a Muslim—it tells a radically different story. One of equality, mercy, and the courage that empowers. Religion binds communities; an inclusive Church can only strengthen that bond, offering a moral center that resonates across lines of gender, class, caste, and belief. Change is hopeful and slow, and such powerful symbolic inclusivity may find soft acceptance in urban parishes; their reception in more rural or conservative dioceses is likely to be more fraught. In many conservative communities, tradition is often tightly held—not only as a matter of faith but as a form of cultural continuity and resistance to modernity. The inclusion of women in liturgical rituals may be viewed with suspicion or even outright opposition, seen as a dilution of doctrine. Yet it is precisely in these spaces—where gender norms remain most entrenched—that such gestures carry the most radical potential. Change here will be met with resistance, and at times, silence. But it must still be welcomed—with pastoral care, theological clarity, and above all, patience. Because the true test of reform is not in where it begins, but in how far its ripple can reach. Now, as we mourn the loss of Pope Francis, we also reckon with a legacy left unfinished. His reforms may not have gone far enough, but they were rooted in a rare moral clarity. He reminded us that tradition is not a cage—it is a living conversation, one that must be willing to listen, evolve, and include. As we grieve, let us carry forward his quiet revolution: a vision of a Church where women and the marginalized don't merely serve, but lead. What might his legacy inspire next? Let's keep the conversation going. 'This article is part of sponsored content programme.'
Yahoo
22-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Tradition of worshipping together for 2 churches continues with new generation of pastors
NEW MARKET, Ala. (WHNT) — The nomination for this week's Hoover's Heroes asked for the spotlight to be given to two gentlemen, calling them 'great leaders in their community who have worked tirelessly to break down racial barriers.' They managed to break those barriers in what's long been called the most segregated hour of America – Sunday morning church services. On Maundy Thursday, ahead of Easter weekend, a message of unity is delivered from the pulpit on this day of reflection on the sacrifice of Jesus and his commandment to love and serve others. 'We work toward the goal of becoming one as the Lord says, even as he and the father were one makes us one,' Pastor Larry Davidson, Jr. said. Davidson isn't the only preacher doing the preaching at the services inside Hopewell Missionary Baptist Church in New Market. Other pastors and their parishioners have made the pilgrimage to hold up a tradition that started with a pledge two preachers made to each other over 30 years ago. 'This is home. Hopewell is as much home to us as the building down there,' says Dr. Robby White. He is Pastor Emeritus at Locust Grove Baptist Church. Six miles separate the two churches, but White remembers when he and Hopewell's former pastor Leroy Cole recognized it was more than miles keeping churches divided. So, they hatched a plan to bring their congregations together on several Sundays throughout the year and even on Maundy Thursday. 'Here on Sunday mornings, when Hopewell will come to Locust Grove or Locust Grove will come here. That's almost unheard of,' says White. Black and white churches worshipping together in small southern towns like New Market was something that very few churches were doing in the early 1990s, says Pastor Davidson. 'Those two pastors were trailblazers really in the time that they did it. New Market has some history and so for them to do what they did it wasn't really popular perhaps at that time, but they saw the benefit even for a season like this to do what they did,' says Davidson. Bridging a racial divide, Pastor White says, fosters a sense of unity for both the preachers and the people in the pews. 'When we worship together, there's an energy I enjoy. I walk away every time and say let's just do this every Sunday,' exclaims White. Now a pastor emeritus he looks ahead to retirement while remembering the bond he helped form. He's happy to see that bond being kept firmly in place by a new generation of church leaders. 'Dr. Davidson, who is the pastor here now, has just picked up the mantle when Leroy retired and has continued that,' says White. Pastor Davidson says the scripture tells us everything that divides goes away at the cross. 'It doesn't matter about nationality, doesn't matter about background, doesn't even matter the history of the sin. The sacredness of the heart and the cross is that place where all that stuff is washed away and dissolved,' he says. News 19 viewer Rena Campbell nominated the two pastors. If you know a good story to tell about an everyday hero in your life let us know by following this link to the Hoover's Heroes nomination form. Then watch News 19 at 5 every Monday to see your hero and others get the recognition they deserve! We'd love for you to help us highlight those other heroes around us! Just let us know who the hero in your life is and what makes them heroic, and we'll consider them for our Hoover's Heroes segment. To nominate them, fill out the form here: Submit a form. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
The Guardian
22-04-2025
- General
- The Guardian
How Pope Francis changed the Catholic church, and what happens next
Pope Francis was working until the end. On Easter Sunday, the 88-year-old head of the Catholic church offered an Easter greeting to the crowds in St Peter's Square who had gathered for mass. By the next morning, after months battling pneumonia and bronchitis, he had passed away. From the beginning, the first Latin American pope wanted his papacy to be different. Catherine Pepinster, the former editor of the Tablet, says one of his first notable actions was to go to a prison, rather than a church, to wash people's feet in the traditional Maundy Thursday rite. It was typical of a pontiff who refused many of the luxuries of his predecessors – from giving up an apartment in the papal palace to only wearing simple leather shoes. Michael Safi hears how Pope Francis tried to take a different approach to some of the Catholic church's controversies – especially the treatment of LGBTQ+ Catholics. 'Francis spoke about love frequently,' says Pepinster. Yet on this and other issues, from female priests to abuse scandals, many people thought he did not go far enough. Now the church is preparing to choose his successor, with all the ceremony and tradition that entails. But, says Pepinster, it is clear Pope Francis has changed the institution in the eyes of many of the church's followers. 'A lot of Catholics feel that the church is, in many ways, a more compassionate place.'
