Mary McAleese: Pope Francis was a man of love who ultimately took the timid path

Pope Francis died in the job and on the job. Watching him in his wheelchair on Easter Sunday, visibly unwell, the weak “Buona Pasqua” such a contrast to the booming “buona sera” on the day of his election in 2013, it was clear that this was a man who was quite deliberately ignoring all the medical advice to rest in order to expend what he manifestly knew were his last breaths, to bless the town and the world, urbi et orbi.

He knew that despite its many differences the eyes of his vast flock would be focused in a special way that day on Rome, on the resurrection and on the hope of life beyond death. This was his final earthly public witness to everything he believed in and everything he wanted the world to believe in.

I have no doubt he died a happy man, unafraid, ready, humbly accepting that the woes of the church and the world would now pass to others to resolve, accepting too that his legacy would be vigorously debated even as his coffin was being prepared, and his successor endlessly speculated upon until the white smoke swirled up from the Sistine Chapel chimney.

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