You don’t need faith to recognise an act of courage.
No cassock, no rosary, no Sunday mass is needed to feel when someone chooses good, even at a cost to themselves.

Pope Francis is gone.
And believer or not, we felt it.

He was a man who unsettled the complacent and welcomed the forgotten. Who spoke softly, but was heard loudly. Who swapped thrones for simple chairs, and privilege for presence.
He never had to point a finger — offering a hand was enough.

He made humility his pulpit, love for others his gospel, and social justice his daily prayer.
He faced scandals, opened doors, stood with the poor, the migrants, the disillusioned — those who long ago had stopped believing in the Church, in the world, in God.

He didn’t change the dogma, but he stirred the spirit.
And that, in a place so anchored to the past, is miracle enough.

Francis showed us that to lead can also mean to serve.
That you don’t have to shout to be firm.
That compassion is not weakness, and that faith — even in its smallest gestures — can be revolutionary.

Today, we’re not just saying goodbye to a Pope. We’re saying goodbye to a rare man — the kind who, even in life, is already legend.

And even if no white smoke rises to the sky this time, what he left us — that will remain.