Of all the things that have surprised me about working at America (and there have been many), there is one that takes the cake. I have become a Publicly Catholic Person.

When the church or the pope or the bishops break into the secular news, people in my life, Catholic and non-Catholic alike, text me, often out of the blue. They have questions or want to know if I have a take on the situation. I often feel like a mini-spokeswoman for the church, at least to my own network.

But the sad reality is that, more often than not, people reach out to me when they are very unhappy with the news they’ve read—when the headlines are about scandal or abuse or exclusion. Sometimes people express to me that this kind of news is making them question their faith or consider leaving the church. Other times I hear from people who have already left, and bad news makes them feel that decision was justified. As their token “still Catholic” friend (particularly if I’m talking to a fellow member of Gen Z), I try my best to be their sounding board. Sometimes all I can do is listen, knowing that deconstructing one’s religious background is a complicated and painful experience that most people don’t enter into lightly. At other times I’m asked to defend my own choice to continue calling myself Catholic—and not only that, but to have a job that requires me to speak about matters of faith in public. 

The most recent round of texts and queries came in response to the pope’s illness and extended hospital stay. My messages were once again filled with thoughts and questions. Everyone in my life wanted to know: Is the pope going to die?

It didn’t take them long to follow up with: Who do you think will be the next pope?

Until Pope Francis’ doctors lifted the “guarded” prognosis about his health on March 10, my honest answer to both questions was “I don’t know.” Thanks to the care and clarification from his doctors, I now feel confident telling my friends that the pope is unlikely to die in the coming days. But his illness, and the uncertainty of his future, brought the truth to the front of all our minds: Pope Francis will not live forever. Someday, cardinals will hold a conclave and follow centuries-old tradition to determine who will be next to lead the Catholic Church into the future.

The thought of losing Pope Francis one day is a hard one for me to grapple with; I know my reasons why. What surprised me was how many of my non-Catholic friends, even those whose feelings toward the church are decisively negative, also expressed their care and concern.

Over and over my friends texted me with some version of: “I can’t believe I’m sad about this.” But they were. And I felt that the question beneath their statement touched on something deeper: Can you help me figure out why?

Pew Research Center has studied the pope’s popularity among American Catholics since his papacy began in 2015. Data suggests that my friends are not alone in their favorable opinion of Francis. Most people surveyed see this pope is a positive light, but the story of his popularity has become more complicated in recent years. He is not quite as popular among Republicans as he was in the early days of his papacy. I don’t know of any surveys about Pope Francis’ popularity among a secular audience, but if my iMessage inbox is any indication, he continues to move people who are outside of or on the fringes of our faith.

It’s not always the case that the pope, or the global head of any faith, is well-liked by those who don’t belong to that faith. It is good and meaningful that the leader of the global Catholic Church knows how to relate to and resonate with non-Catholics. That committed followers of other faiths like and respect him is a promising thing for diplomacy and religious dialogue. That those who were raised Catholic and have left the church for reasons of profound and deeply held hurt still like and respect Pope Francis is, to my mind, almost a miracle. 

I can’t explain why so many people who have been hurt by the church or who don’t believe in its teachings react positively to Francis. I don’t have sufficient data, and I know that each person who texted me about him has their own reasons. But I do have one story that I think points to an answer. 

In 2018, Pope Francis took questions from Italian children at a parish visit. A little boy named Emanuele found himself unable to speak when he approached the microphone to ask his question, quickly becoming visibly emotional. The pope invited Emanuele to approach him and ask his question quietly, rather than in front of the whole group. In video footage of the event, you can see the pope comforting the boy as he whispers his question into the pope’s ear. They spoke one on one for some time before the boy returned to his seat and the pope shared the question with the group, noting that Emanuele had given him permission to do so.

Emanuele had asked about his father who had died. While the boy’s father had not himself been a believer, he chose to have Emanuele and his other children baptized. After telling the pope these details of his father’s story, the boy wanted to know: Was his father in heaven?

The pope then told the crowd: “How beautiful to hear a son say of his father, ‘He was good.’ And what a beautiful witness of a son who inherited the strength of his father, who had the courage to cry in front of all of us. If that man was able to make his children like that, then it’s true, he was a good man. He was a good man.”

A leader who can devote all of his compassion and attention to a suffering person, a vulnerable child, and take his questions and doubts and worries seriously is one who is going to, at the very least, stick with people. Francis has shown himself to be someone who responds not by admonishing or even necessarily by preaching, but by having a live and present exchange with another human being. 

No one is perfect, but Francis models what it means to be a disciple of Christ—and to see Christ’s goodness in others. How beautiful that as the world has watched him lead and teach and even age, so many people have been able to see that goodness and be moved by it.