ROME—As soon as news of Pope Francis’ passing on Easter Monday broke, many people from all walks of life flocked to the Vatican to pay their last respects to the beloved shepherd. 

The streets of Rome erupted in a frenzy as traffic snarled along the long lines of Via della Conciliazione, with priests and nuns vested in their habits, fathers and mothers carrying infants, and Italian grandmothers clutching rosaries and murmuring prayers as they approached Piazza San Pietro. As the days progressed, the pilgrims, passersby, journalists from around the world, security personnel, and even nonbelievers continued to gather, drawn by the chance to catch a glimpse of a man who influenced many beyond the walls of the Church. 

I could hear Filipino languages and dialects from our migrant workers and conversations in Spanish from the Latino communities mingling with the sounds of police sirens and the chanting of monks as they faithfully walked in long queues for three to five hours before they gained entry to St. Peter’s Basilica where Francis’ remains lay. Such was the impact of the man who himself came from an immigrant working-class family that settled in Argentina. In his entire ministry he was a man of the streets, walking among the people and taking public transportation in Buenos Aires, immersing himself in the very lives of his neighborhood. He would later write in his programmatic document Evangelii Gaudium of his being a callejero de la fe, similar to the Filipino words taong kalye, signifying “a street preacher joyfully bringing Jesus to every street, every town square, and every corner of the earth!” 

This is why the action of people from all walks of life filling the streets to see Pope Francis for the last time serves as a living metaphor and a powerful tribute to a life spent in the streets. 

To the peripheries

The idea of going into the streets was further emphasized during his apostolic visitations, which began in Lampedusa, where refugees await the Good News and continue to struggle for survival. He embodied the “Church which goes forth”—rendered in Italian as “la Chiesa in uscita,” portraying a Church going to the peripheries. In effect, his funeral revealed that far-reaching influence on a global scale, the man himself having visited numerous countries and areas of human conflict. 

In reverse, his funeral showed the diverse array of individuals in attendance, from everyday citizens to national leaders, including our own from the Philippines. In fact, the roads leading to Rome were under tight security, and airspace was cleared a day before the funeral. The Italian government effectively coordinated the arrival of international leaders at both Fiumicino and Ciampino airports, transporting them one by one until they were handed over to Vatican security personnel and the Swiss Guards, in keeping with a long-standing tradition of military and political relations. The streets of Rome bustled with the spirit of hospitality in welcoming these visitors.

But ordinary people took up their own space in the streets. I heard that many attendees of the funeral, both locals and pilgrims, had kept vigil and stayed on the roads near the Vatican until the next day’s ceremonies. I heard that many of the young ones participating in the Jubilee of Teens had taken their spots at the Piazza, making the streets even more vibrant and spirit-filled. And they were joined by the homeless, the regular occupants of the streets surrounding Piazza San Pietro, mostly beggars who are themselves beneficiaries of the Pope’s hospitality. 

As soon as Francis assumed his pontificate, he personally commissioned the opening of a section of the square where the homeless can bathe, get their hair cut, and have a place to take their meals. The streets of the Vatican became a point of encounter for people from all walks of life, both for those walking aimlessly and those seeking the meaning of life. The same pavements of the Piazza witnessed Francis walking in prayer during the height of the pandemic, fervently seeking the world’s healing. Even in his final hours, before he took his last breath, he spent time greeting and engaging with the people waiting in the Piazza for his Easter blessings.

But why do these streets speak eloquently of the spirit of Francis? What does it mean for the Church to go out to the peripheries? In his twelve-year pontificate, he visited countries that had never been visited by any other pope—Myanmar (2017), United Arab Emirates (2019), North Macedonia (2019), Iraq (2021), Bahrain (2022), South Sudan (2023), Mongolia (2023), and Timor-Leste (2024). 

Yet, beyond the geographical peripheries, of equal importance to him were the existential peripheries. He wanted to encounter the people in the flesh, to meet them where they are in life. Existential peripheries would mean remoteness in the Gospel. There are those who live in highly industrialized countries where exist communities of dehumanizing poverty. There are those who live in highly developed countries that are bereft of meaning and purpose. There are those who live in the advancement of technology, but they are torn by wars and conflicts. 

In the spirit of these existential peripheries, two of the most beautiful jubilees were launched by Pope Francis—the Jubilee of Mercy in 2015–2016 and the ongoing Jubilee of Hope of 2025. Both challenge the Church to go out and preach the Good News. The Vatican’s internal structure is not immune to the idea of existential peripheries, as Francis called for an internal governance that promotes pastoral conversion and inner renewal. The mission to venture into the streets is also as important as a mission to strengthen the spirit within. 

Unity and diversity

The messa esequiale ended with a series of supplications, including a funeral office from the Byzantine liturgy, intensifying a message of unity and diversity of gifts as fortified during this pontificate. Such is now the result of years of reaching out. 

Even in death, Pope Francis personifies the Church which goes forth. Even in death, he goes out in the streets. The transfer of his body from the Basilica San Pietro to the Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore took him on his final traverse within the streets of Rome, following the ultima commendatio et valedictio. He was taken on a popemobile passing through the streets full of mourners. The traffic system of Rome was halted until such time that he was laid to rest—a unique decision that went against the tradition of more than a century to bury a pope in the Vatican. 

While the Pope’s remains were in transit, the cars carrying dignitaries and national leaders were brought forth one by one in different directions as they returned to their own countries, serving as a powerful symbol of going into the world and carrying with them the incredible witnessing of a man of God. 

The ancient cobblestoned streets of Rome are not foreign to processions of heroes and great leaders, reminiscent of the Roman Triumph of old. But this was not just a triumphal procession, as Francis was not merely a statesman. He was a pastor deeply loved by many, and he has left his flock orphaned, draping the streets of Rome in a lasting nostalgia for a servant of God. 

With Francis gone, the mission remains until these streets that he once walked in prayer and in hope are metamorphosed into the path to eternal life.  

The author, a Filipino religious-missionary priest of the Society of the Divine Word, is in Rome for studies in missiology at the Pontifical Gregorian University. In his first assignment, he lived among the indigenous peoples of Mindoro as the priest-administrator of the Mangyan Mission. He is currently at work on the Mangyan syllabic scripts.

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