The Vatican confirmed Monday the death of Pope Francis at the age of 88, just one day after Easter Sunday, following a prolonged battle with double pneumonia. While many in the global community mourn the loss of a religious leader, conservatives around the world are taking a moment to reflect on the legacy of a pope who often veered far from tradition, frequently inserting himself into secular politics and progressive causes.
Cardinal Kevin Farrell, the Vatican’s camerlengo—or chamberlain—announced the pontiff’s death, stating solemnly, “At 7:35 this morning, the Bishop of Rome, Francis, returned to the home of the Father. His entire life was dedicated to the service of the Lord and of his Church.”
But for many Catholics and conservatives alike, Pope Francis will be remembered as a man who often confused faithful believers, alienated traditionalists, and used his immense influence to promote left-wing social and economic ideals—frequently at odds with long-standing Church doctrine.
Born Jorge Mario Bergoglio in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Francis made history in 2013 by becoming the first South American pope and the first Jesuit ever to lead the Catholic Church. But from the very beginning, it was clear this would not be a papacy rooted in traditionalism.
Named after St. Francis of Assisi, the pope quickly cultivated a humble public persona—riding in a modest car, carrying his own bags, and washing the feet of prisoners. These acts won praise from the liberal media, but beneath the surface, his theology and leadership sparked widespread concern among conservative Catholics.
Francis was known to push the envelope. He openly encouraged broader roles for women within the Church’s hierarchy, hinted at relaxing the Church’s stance on divorced Catholics receiving Communion, and often signaled tolerance toward homosexuality—stopping short of doctrinal change, but sending mixed messages that unsettled the global faithful.
Despite the Church’s longstanding opposition to same-sex unions, Francis offered sympathetic remarks that were quickly weaponized by the secular left to promote their own agendas.
Unlike his more reserved predecessors, Pope Francis enthusiastically embraced global politics, often sounding more like a social justice activist than the spiritual leader of 1.3 billion Catholics.
He attacked capitalism with regularity, deriding “trickle-down economics” as a failed policy and accusing the free market of failing the poor. In a 2013 interview, he famously said, “When the glass is full, it magically grows. Nothing ever comes out for the poor.” It was a statement beloved by socialists and decried by free-market advocates around the world.
Francis also waded into American politics—often taking aim at conservative principles and leaders. He denounced border enforcement and condemned mass deportations, famously calling them a “disgrace.” His comments were clearly directed at policies enacted during President Trump’s administration, raising the question: was Francis acting as a religious leader, or a globalist ideologue?
“I, myself, was born in a family of migrants,” he once said, seemingly justifying an open-border stance that disregards national sovereignty and legal immigration.
Under Francis, the Vatican even brokered deals with the Communist Chinese regime—agreements that gave the CCP power over the appointment of Chinese bishops. Critics from across the political spectrum, including Cardinal Joseph Zen of Hong Kong, accused the pope of betraying China’s underground Church in favor of appeasing a brutal authoritarian regime.
Health issues plagued Francis in his final years. Having lost part of a lung in his early 20s, his respiratory system remained a weakness for decades. In recent years, he faced repeated hospital stays, underwent surgery, and spent his final months largely out of public view.
Just weeks before his death, he was hospitalized with double pneumonia and required high-flow oxygen and emergency blood transfusions. Though he made a brief return to celebrate Easter Mass from his popemobile, the pope was visibly frail, and rumors swirled once again about his potential resignation—rumors he denied but never dismissed outright.
Despite his illness, Francis continued to champion progressive causes until the end. In 2024, he made history as the first pope to speak at the G7 summit, delivering a passionate speech on artificial intelligence and calling for global regulation. Many questioned why a religious leader was delving into technological policy before addressing pressing spiritual crises within the Church.
There’s no denying Pope Francis was a pope of firsts: the first Jesuit, the first Latin American, the first to address the G7, and the first in centuries to promote many left-wing positions from the papal seat. But these firsts came with a cost—particularly among Catholics in the West who yearned for clarity, reverence, and fidelity to timeless Church teaching.
Under his leadership, mass attendance declined in many parts of the world, vocations continued to dwindle, and the Church saw itself divided between those embracing progressive reforms and those holding tightly to tradition.
While the mainstream press and global elites celebrate Francis for his “compassion,” conservatives remember the ways in which he weakened the moral authority of the papacy, emboldened the political left, and compromised too often with hostile ideologies—whether they be globalist, Marxist, or authoritarian.
One can respect the man’s personal humility and devotion while still lamenting the trajectory of the Church under his leadership.
With the passing of Francis, the Church now enters a pivotal transition period. Cardinal Kevin Farrell will serve as the acting head of the Vatican until the College of Cardinals gathers for the next papal conclave.
The question looms: will the Church continue down the progressive path forged by Francis—or will a new pontiff emerge to restore tradition, reinforce orthodoxy, and refocus the Church on its eternal mission?
For millions of conservative Catholics, that answer could determine not only the future of the Vatican—but the soul of the Church itself.
Pope Francis is gone. But the battle for the Catholic Church’s identity is far from over.
