The Shepherd who listened: Pope Francis and the Dream of an inclusive Church

The Hindu

23-04-2025

The world mourns the passing of Pope Francis—a shepherd whose life was defined by quiet, transformative gestures. As religion weaves faith into life, his passing feels deeply personal this Easter season. I had returned to Kolkata to spend Holy Week with my parents, and during the Maundy Thursday service—a ritual that has moved me since childhood—I witnessed a revolution. In a striking break from tradition, the priest washed the feet of women in the re-enactment of the Last Supper. It was a powerful moment, one that addressed a long-standing absence of visible female representation in Church rituals. Yet, even as I welcomed this change, I couldn't help but wonder: if women are present here, why not at the altar? Why can't nuns—the Church's steadfast backbone—be priests? As we reflect on Pope Francis's legacy, especially his compassion for the marginalised, his passing invites us to dream of a more inclusive Church—where leadership is shared by all.
Pope Francis brought about sweeping change through small but deeply symbolic acts—gestures that carried powerful resonance. In 2013, just weeks into his papacy, he washed the feet of women, Muslims, and prisoners, during the Maundy Thursday ritual, transcending traditional boundaries of Catholic rituals. In 2016, he formalized women's inclusion in the rite . Over the years, he opened ministries like lector and acolyte to women , appointed women to Vatican roles—such as Francesca Di Giovanni as undersecretary — and in 2023, gave women voting rights at the Synod of Bishops, a historic first. He called for a theology embracing the 'feminine genius,' challenging patriarchal norms.
To see these reforms come alive in my own parish in Kolkata renewed optimism. In a city where nuns run top schools and globally recognized charities like the Missionaries of Charity, the symbolic washing of women's feet by a parish priest was deeply moving. Indian nuns have long demanded recognition pointing to a 'glass ceiling' that reflects broader structural inequities. While Pope Francis's reforms were often slow, cautious, and criticized for not going far enough, they nonetheless sparked a conversation that had long been overdue.
Still, the ceiling holds. Canon Law 1024 continues to bar women from priesthood. Feminist theologians argue that this exclusion is rooted in human tradition, not divine will. The Bible's proclamation that 'there is neither male nor female' in Christ, and the early Church's inclusion of deaconesses, suggest a different origin story—one of shared leadership. Ordaining women, particularly nuns who are already the Church's backbone, would be a radical but necessary step toward dismantling institutional inequality, resonating deeply in a country like India where justice and equity are pressing concerns. This commitment to the margins is especially important in countries like India, where the Church's gender question is compounded by caste.
For women like me—raised in the Church, educated by nuns, shaped by its teachings—Pope Francis's papacy marked a meaningful shift. I grew up watching nuns with compassion, care for the vulnerable with fierce devotion, and also lead communities with authority. Yet at every Mass, the altar was reserved for men. The message was subtle but unmissable: women could serve, but never lead. Pope Francis didn't shatter that divide, but he illuminated its contradictions—and invited the faithful to wrestle with them. In an institution steeped in centuries of male authority, his choices felt quietly seismic. His acts of inclusion were not just symbolic. They made the Church's sacred language more expansive. They cracked open theological conversations that had long been sealed by tradition. They told young girls, that faith is not only something to be inherited, but something that can be reimagined. He understood that gender inequality within the Church could not be separated from broader systems of exclusion. He denounced clericalism and centralized power, urging instead a Church that listens—to women, to the poor, to the marginalized. His vision of authority was profoundly Christ-like: not rooted in dominance, but in humility, service, and love. As a psychologist, I understand the profound stakes in shaping agency. When girls grow up never seeing women in spiritual leadership, it subtly informs the boundaries of what they believe is possible—for themselves and others. But when the Pope himself kneels to wash the feet of a woman—or a prisoner, or a Muslim—it tells a radically different story. One of equality, mercy, and the courage that empowers. Religion binds communities; an inclusive Church can only strengthen that bond, offering a moral center that resonates across lines of gender, class, caste, and belief.
Change is hopeful and slow, and such powerful symbolic inclusivity may find soft acceptance in urban parishes; their reception in more rural or conservative dioceses is likely to be more fraught. In many conservative communities, tradition is often tightly held—not only as a matter of faith but as a form of cultural continuity and resistance to modernity. The inclusion of women in liturgical rituals may be viewed with suspicion or even outright opposition, seen as a dilution of doctrine. Yet it is precisely in these spaces—where gender norms remain most entrenched—that such gestures carry the most radical potential. Change here will be met with resistance, and at times, silence. But it must still be welcomed—with pastoral care, theological clarity, and above all, patience. Because the true test of reform is not in where it begins, but in how far its ripple can reach.
Now, as we mourn the loss of Pope Francis, we also reckon with a legacy left unfinished. His reforms may not have gone far enough, but they were rooted in a rare moral clarity. He reminded us that tradition is not a cage—it is a living conversation, one that must be willing to listen, evolve, and include. As we grieve, let us carry forward his quiet revolution: a vision of a Church where women and the marginalized don't merely serve, but lead. What might his legacy inspire next? Let's keep the conversation going.
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