Pope Francis, the first Latin American and Jesuit pope, died at 88 on Easter Monday, ending a 12-year papacy marked by humility, bold reforms, and a mission to bring compassion and inclusivity to the Catholic Church.

Pope Francis, the 266th pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church and one of its most revolutionary figures in modern times, passed away on Easter Monday at the age of 88.

The news of his death sent shockwaves through the global Catholic community and far beyond, not only for the spiritual loss but also for the profound symbolism of his final breath coinciding with the holiest season in the Christian calendar.

Born Jorge Mario Bergoglio in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in 1936, Pope Francis was many firsts. The first pope from Latin America. The first Jesuit pope. And the first pontiff to take the name “Francis,” inspired by Saint Francis of Assisi, a symbol of humility, simplicity, and service to the poor.

These were not just titles or footnotes in history—they were defining elements of the man who would go on to fundamentally reshape how the world perceived the papacy.

When he was elected pope in 2013 following the surprise resignation of Benedict XVI, the Catholic Church was facing a maelstrom of crises: deepening sexual abuse scandals, a sharp decline in church attendance across Europe and North America, and growing perceptions that the Vatican was out of touch with the modern world.

Francis, in his white cassock and shy smile, stepped onto the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica not just as a religious leader, but as a symbol of hope for reform.

And reform, indeed, became his mission. From the beginning, he signaled a dramatic departure from the formality and aloofness that many associated with the papal office. He chose to live not in the lavish Apostolic Palace but in a modest guesthouse within Vatican City.

He carried his own bag, paid his hotel bill after his election, and washed the feet of prisoners and refugees. The world took notice—not just of what he did, but of what it meant. It was a signal: the Church was not a fortress, but a field hospital.

Throughout his 12-year pontificate, Pope Francis made headlines for his compassion, openness, and willingness to confront difficult issues.

He championed the plight of migrants and refugees, condemned the exploitation of the environment in his groundbreaking encyclical Laudato Si’, and urged global leaders to act on climate change.

He reached out to other religions with sincerity, fostering warmer ties with Islam, Judaism, and Eastern Orthodox Christianity. At every turn, he pushed the Church to listen more, judge less, and love deeply.

He was a pope of firsts, but also of risk. His more progressive statements—such as famously remarking “Who am I to judge?” in reference to gay Catholics—earned both applause and condemnation.

While many celebrated his more inclusive approach, conservative factions within the Church viewed him as destabilizing centuries of tradition. Still, Francis pressed on, often reminding the world that doctrine should not override mercy.

His health had been a growing concern in recent years. A part of one lung was removed when he was a young man, and he suffered from a series of ailments throughout his later life, including sciatica and knee problems that increasingly confined him to a wheelchair. In 2023 and 2024, he was hospitalized multiple times with bronchitis and pneumonia-like symptoms.

Despite these challenges, he remained active, holding audiences, traveling abroad, and even hinting at the possibility of another papal resignation if his condition severely deteriorated. But Francis never stepped down. Until the very end, he believed his role was to serve.

His final weeks were marked by silence. As Holy Week approached, the Vatican began issuing sparse updates about the pope’s health. The decision to cancel his Good Friday appearance at the Colosseum was viewed as a concerning sign, though many held out hope that he would recover, as he had before.

But on Easter Monday morning, the Vatican confirmed what millions feared: Pope Francis had passed away peacefully in his sleep at Casa Santa Marta, the simple guesthouse he had called home throughout his papacy.

Now, with his death, the Catholic Church enters a period of mourning and transition. His body will lie in state in St. Peter’s Basilica, where the faithful will gather to pay their respects before the College of Cardinals begins the sacred process of choosing his successor. The next pope will inherit not only the weight of the Church’s nearly 2,000-year-old tradition but also the legacy of a man who dared to reimagine it.

Pope Francis’s legacy is complex, as any revolutionary’s must be. He challenged comfort zones, opened doors, and made enemies among those who feared change. But for the poor, the outcast, and the forgotten—both within and outside the Church—he was a beacon. He reminded the world that faith was not just about rules and rituals but about love, courage, and humanity.

Even in death, Pope Francis continues to provoke reflection. How will the Church carry his vision forward? Will his successor maintain the path of reform, or pull the Church back toward tradition? These questions will define the next chapter of Catholic history.

For now, the world pauses. It reflects. And it says goodbye to a pope who embraced imperfection, who led not with grandeur but with grace, and who reminded everyone—Catholic or not—that leadership at its best is service. The Shepherd of the People is gone, but his message endures.