The death of a Pope is rarely a shock. Indeed, their seniority is central to being patriarch of one of the oldest institutions in the world.

And yet, preparing to leave Rome on Easter Monday, I received the breaking news notification that Pope Francis had passed, and it affected me deeply. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise: he had spent the last two months in a critical condition. I should have been prepared.

In a way, I was. During his long stint in hospital, I started to reflect on what his papacy meant for me and the Church worldwide. I was also anticipating with a certain dread what might come next. Nonetheless, it hit me.

“Pope Francis literally practised what he preached”

Perhaps it is because it seemed like he was improving. Indeed, I had seen him just the day before, when he greeted the faithful gathered in St. Peter’s Square for Easter Sunday. It would be the last crowd he ever greeted. He was visibly unwell, but I would never have predicted that he would pass less than twenty-four hours later. The twelve years of his papacy concluded, it remains to be seen if his legacy of modernisation holds up, or if the pendulum will swing back to reactionary traditionalism.

My own relationship with the Church has been shaped by these years. I distinctly remember his election in 2013 – it was a big deal at my Catholic primary. My family has never been particularly devout, and while my primary education gave me the basics, I never had the full experience of catechism and Sunday school. Perhaps for this reason I drifted away from the faith and towards a disinterested agnosticism during my secular education afterwards. It is only over the last few years, first in Cambridge and now on my year abroad in Spain and Italy, that I have begun to reflect on the Church and return (albeit in a non-committal, as-and-when-I-please way) to its static familiarity during a time of personal – and indeed global – change.

It’s difficult to reconcile for a few reasons. As a queer person, I understandably felt alienated by a church which remains steadfast in its opposition to LGBT+ rights. Atrocities associated with the Catholic Church, from the colonisation of the Americas to its complicity in repressive regimes across the world, also must be acknowledged.

I’m also not sure what I believe myself. The agnosticism remains, and what draws me in is rather the collective rites and the moral teachings of the New Testament, as encapsulated by Matthew 25:35-40: “I tell you the truth, anything you did for even the least of my people here, you also did for me.”

“The comfort of returning to the nostalgic rituals of my childhood was only made possible by my feeling that this is becoming, gradually, a church that fits with the person I have become since”

This is why Francis was so crucial to this rapprochement. His doctrine softened the Church’s stance on queer people: he allowed Catholic priests to bless same-sex couples, albeit with certain restrictions. Despite two recent blunders where he reportedly used homophobic slurs, progress made under his leadership is undeniable. He certainly made his fair share of enemies for it.

But, most importantly, Pope Francis literally practised what he preached. As Archbishop of Buenos Aires, he took public transport and refused the lavish trappings afforded to him when he was made a Cardinal. This latter is something he continued into his papacy, living simply and criticising those who preach humility while living like kings. He was a strong advocate for the poor, speaking out against corporate greed and the continued economic exploitation of the Global South. He was an unequivocal voice for peace; his final address on Sunday called for peace around the world, but especially in Gaza, whose church he called regularly since October 2023 – even during his most critical time in hospital this year.

In a world that feels ever more isolating, there is a trend of young people returning to religion or spirituality in search of structure, guidance, and community. This is what I felt when I would occasionally go to Cambridge’s gorgeous Catholic church, Our Lady of the Assumption and the English Martyrs, the familiar rites and prayers that I hadn’t participated in since childhood providing comfort. This is what I have felt in the equally beautiful churches in Madrid and Florence, in which the liturgy’s sentiment transcends any linguistic differences. And this is what I felt, among the thousands in St. Peter’s on Easter Sunday, participating collectively in the service before being greeted by Pope Francis.

I can’t say with any certainty that I would have gone through this journey if there had been someone more conservative in his position. The comfort of returning to the nostalgic rituals of my childhood was only made possible by my feeling that this is becoming, gradually, a church that fits with the person I have become since.

As the Conclave convenes, we will see if the Catholic Church continues down this path, or if the traditionalists return it to the entrenched, defensive conservatism of Francis’ predecessors. No matter who succeeds him, Pope Francis’s impact on me and millions of Catholics certainly won’t be going away.