The first light of dawn had barely touched the cobblestones of St Peter’s Square when I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with thousands of pilgrims, having queued since 5am. We had come from every corner of the world, drawn together by sorrow, gratitude, and love, to bid farewell to Pope Francis.
Wrapped in coats against the cool Roman morning, we clutched rosaries, flags, and photographs of the Holy Father. As the hours passed, the Square filled steadily until it became a living tapestry of faces, prayers rising like incense into the Roman sky. I was a solo pilgrim united with others from across the globe and by the deep personal affection we had for the man who had taught us, challenged us, and loved us from afar.
Standing by the ancient obelisk in the centre of the Square, we watched as the world’s leaders arrive one by one, their presence announced not by fanfare but by the low thrum of security helicopters overhead. Every time we heard the distinct sound circling above, we knew another head of state or dignitary had entered the Square, a silent tribute to the universal respect Pope Francis commanded.
The crowd around me was a tapestry of the Church in all her richness and diversity. Young pilgrims who had originally come to Rome for the anticipated canonisation of Blessed Carlo Acutis now found themselves unexpectedly attending the funeral of a Pope. Religious sisters, priests, and seminarians had gathered to honour the Jesuit Pope who had so profoundly shaped their vocations. Beside me stood two Eastern European nuns, their fingers moving steadily along their rosary beads as they prayed aloud for an hour and a half before the Mass began, their whispered Hail Marys weaving through the early morning air. It was a gathering not just of nations, but of generations and callings — all drawn together in a shared act of farewell.
When the funeral Mass began, the silence was profound — a silence of millions. The words of Scripture echoed off the ancient stones, and the air was heavy with a mix of grief and hope. As the simple coffin of Pope Francis was carried out of the Square, a wave of emotion moved through the crowd: tears flowed freely, but so too did a powerful, almost tangible sense of peace.
The liturgy, beautiful in its solemnity, seemed to mirror the man it honoured: humble, clear, centred on Christ. Cardinal Vincent Nichols had encouraged people to watch the funeral and recall the funeral of a loved one as it is the same liturgy just on a grander scale. The homily spoke of Pope Francis’ unwavering commitment to the Gospel of mercy, his insistence that the Church must go to the margins, and his own journey now towards the Father’s house.
After the final prayers, we watched with quiet reverence as the funeral procession made its way towards the Basilica of St Mary Major, where Pope Francis now rests — the same beloved church he had visited on the very first morning of his papacy.
From where I stood, I could see the gentle flutter of Vatican flags, hear the soft murmur of prayers in dozens of languages, and feel the beating heart of the universal Church. It struck me that even in death, Pope Francis was gathering us — the young and the old, the sceptical and the devout, the rich and the poor — and pointing us once more to Christ. As the procession passed us the sound of grateful applause filled the streets as people from all backgrounds, ages and walks of life came to glimpse the last moments of this outward looking Pope.
As the bells of St Peter’s tolled and the Requiem Mass drew to a close, the entire city fell silent, reluctant to move on. The Square, so often filled with the energy of papal audiences and Sunday Angelus addresses, today became a great open-air cathedral of memory and mission. Each with their own reason for being there and their own memory of the man who had first asked us to pray for him on the balcony overlooking the square twelve years ago.
I left St Peter’s Square that day with aching feet and a full heart, determined, like so many others, to continue walking the path Pope Francis had shown us: a path of humility, joy, and love without measure.
— A pilgrim from the Diocese of Northampton
