In his heart, I believe Pope Francis was a much stronger LGBTQ+ ally than he appeared in public

"Who am I to judge?"

Every time I thought of Pope Francis, every time I wrote a column about him over the years, and every time I saw a news story about him, I thought of that question he uttered early in his papacy.

It’s worth repeating: “Who am I to judge?”

These five words, spoken by Francis in 2013, signaled a transformative moment for the Roman Catholic Church's approach to LGBTQ+ individuals. Responding to a question about gay priests during a press conference, the pope’s remark suggested a shift toward compassion and inclusivity, contrasting with the cChurch's historically rigid stance that sought to ostracize us. I remember feeling emboldened when I heard him say that.

Keep up with the latest in LGBTQ+ news and politics. Sign up for The Advocate's email newsletter.

For the first time in my life, I felt like a pope loved me, understood me, and most importantly, saw me and accepted me. In fact, those words were so powerful that in 2013, The Advocate named Francis as Person of the Year.

And that’s why, when I woke up this morning, I felt like I had lost my biggest ally in the Catholic Church. I shed a tear for Francis and for the loss of his love toward me and for all of us in the LGBTQ+ community.

In the past, I have written extensively about Pope Francis's efforts to welcome LGBTQ+ individuals back into the Catholic Church. In October 2020, I reflected on this groundbreaking statement of his: "Homosexual people have the right to be in a family. They are children of God." His endorsement of civil unions marked a wild yet necessary departure from traditional Church teachings and signaled a more inclusive approach.

I noted that, despite stopping short of advocating for the church to sanctify same-sex marriages, his words made me "stop in my tracks." Some called his words a tectonic shift, but to me, Francis was speaking to us as loving children of God, just like he was.

By December 2023, Pope Francis went a step further by approving blessings for same-sex couples. I observed that he "went right up to the line without crossing it," balancing doctrinal constraints with a desire to embrace LGBTQ+ individuals.

His actions, I added, including calling for the elimination of laws criminalizing homosexuality and for welcoming transgender individuals into the church, have been "like a bolt of lightning, electrifying a church that has been dormant and dismissive."

I truly think Francis would have said it was OK for queer couples to marry in the church, but he would have been forced to renunciate the papacy. In his mind, I think he did what he could, realizing that if he went too far, he’d be forced out, and the progress he made would be stopped.

Now that he’s died, I think that progress will stop.

More immediately, I felt the loss of Francis this morning here in the United States because of all the hurtful and fatal actions and policies undertaken by the cruelty of this current administration. The demonic Donald Trump is the antithesis of the angelic Pope Francis.

Can you imagine Trump welcoming transgender people? That civil unions for queer couples should be honored? That our community should be seen? It wasn’t lost on me that the last American official Francis saw was JD Vance.

I am sure Francis' health did not improve by having to shake the hand of that monster. The dichotomy of Vance, who endorses exclusion, meeting Francis, who fought for inclusion, is great.

Yet, however more inclusive Francis tried to be, he had his detractors within the church. There is a cadre of traditionalists at the Vatican who have become emboldened in airing ferocious criticism, attempting to halt his outreach to LGBTQ+ communities.

Despite this internal resistance, the pope remained steadfast, perhaps constrained by the church's conservative framework, but driven by a personal desire to embrace LGBTQ+ individuals more fully.

I believe, in his heart, Francis wanted to go much further in bringing the LGBTQ+ community closer to the church. But the institutional weight of centuries of doctrine, combined with the intransigence of powerful conservative factions still prevalent in the church’s hierarchy, often put the brakes on his outreach.

Francis's inclusiveness was in stark contrast to that of his predecessors, Pope Benedict XVI and Pope John Paul II. Both maintained policies that marginalized our community. Benedict, during his tenure as Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, authored documents that described homosexual acts as "intrinsically evil" and opposed any legal recognition of same-sex unions.

Similarly, Pope John Paul II upheld traditional teachings, emphasizing that homosexual activity prevents one's own fulfillment and happiness by acting contrary to the creative wisdom of God.

There was one other thing that separated Francis from his predecessors and endeared me to him. He refused the finery of the papacy, rode in a compact car, carried his own luggage, and made personal phone calls on his own gumption. I remember Benedict’s love for his red Prada shoes. Francis wore plain, basic leather loafers. That symbolism, to me, proved that Francis truly walked in Jesus’ footsteps.

Now, at his passing, I fear for the future of the church and its treatment of marginalized communities. Because, like Jesus, Francis's first priority was for those less fortunate.

With Francis, the church took a huge step forward, and now with his death, I believe that the church will take a huge step backwards. That’s because many traditionalists still wield power, and they feel that Francis went too far. By choosing a traditional conservative as the next pope, the church will alienate so many Catholics who felt welcomed by Francis, including our community.

Metaphorically, Francis cracked the holy door for LGBTQ+ individuals. He let us go beyond the vestibule and made us a part of the sanctuary. And that was reassuring because the Church should be a sanctuary for us or anyone else in the LGBTQ+ community who values their faith, loves their God, and doubts if that faith or God values them.

Francis wanted us there. He wanted us to sing. To take communion. To pray. And he wanted us to shake his hand or hug him on the way out. And he wanted us to come back, and with his loss, I’m not so sure I will come back.

I’ve written often about one of the most wonderful people that ever graced my life, the late Father Angelo Gambatese. He made me feel included in his church, even convincing me to participate in mass by being a lector. He would often preach during his homilies that at his church, everyone was welcome.

When Father Angelo died, I withdrew from the Catholic faith, no longer feeling that I had a place in the church. But as Pope Francis progressed in his papacy, and spoke out more on behalf of queer people and others who felt separated by the church, I started to feel seen again.

Now that he’s gone, I’m not sure the church will let me go beyond the vestibule again, and that makes me very sad today.

Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. Visit Advocate.com/submit to learn more about submission guidelines. Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists, and editors, and do not directly represent the views of The Advocate or our parent company, equalpride.