The two times I have had the good fortune to see Pope Francis in the dining room of Santa Marta, his residency program, have made me understand some of the traits of the first Latin American Pope, traits that we have all appreciated over the last twelve years.

The first was in 2019. A former professor who resided at Domus Santa Marta invited me to lunch there. At the back of the dining room there was a table occupied by the cleaning ladies, and I discovered one more diner, he was wearing a white sundress, it was the Pope. He had lunch in a short time, got up and left, carrying his napkin in his hand. As he passed in front of my table I got up to greet him and thank him for what he was doing for the Church. He turned and looked at me. At that moment the following thought came to my mind, "What would the Pope have in his heart?" These were months when the war in Syria had escalated, Christians were suffering unspeakably, the Pope was constantly appealing for peace. "Surely, I thought, his heart is with them." My long experience of research in the Vatican Archives had shown me the Popes' constant concern and follow-up for the suffering churches; for example, the telegrams written to Mexican and American presidents to prevent them from condemning bishops to death without a prior trial during the time of the Mexican Revolution. All that swirled in my head when I shook the Pope's hand. A grieving pope, like his predecessors.

The second time I was in Santa Marta was in January 2024. I was invited to a congress at the administrative office of State and I had the good fortune to stay there and to be at the dinner table next to the Pope. He arrived slowly, leaning on his "trolley", he was accompanied by his two secretaries and invited some other person. He was just another diner.

We all remember that Jorge Bergoglio, as soon as he was elected, presented himself as a Pope coming from the "end of the world" to become Bishop of Rome. His first gestures denoted closeness. His last departure was yesterday, to be with the people of God. His last breath was to be with the faithful on the great feast of the Resurrection. It was a symbol of his task as a pastor: to give breath of hope, to share with everyone the greatest of our faith. 

The Church is the People of God at its deepest, most evangelical root. The liturgy of the Word of the recently celebrated Easter Vigil makes this clear. From Genesis to Ezekiel, passing through Exodus, Isaiah, Baruch and Psalms, they recount the journey of the people of Israel, which fulfills its expectations in those who welcome the Good News of Christ's Resurrection: the People of God, the nascent Church.

Pope Francis, a disciple of the Argentine theologian Lucio Gera, had lived this reality as a believer and then as a priest and bishop. When he arrived in Rome, he followed this same trail, making it universal. The cardinals who elected him knew, among other qualities, his human warmth, his empathy with the faithful, his closeness to all. His gestures and teachings have the indelible stamp of this theology of the People, which is at the antipodes of the Marxist liberation theology. 

When I think of the contribution of the first Latin American Pope to the life of the Church, I cannot fail to consider this aspect, which seems to me to be central. Pope Francis has followed in the footsteps of his great predecessors, has faced new challenges, has assumed the errors of the children of the Church. But, in my opinion, he has shown in his daily life, in his messages, in his government something genuine, proper to his personality: closeness, mercy, the conviction that he is one more of the People of God, of the Church of Christ.

Let's embrace and preserve this bequest.