An advocate of liberation theology, Francis’s example needs to be emulated in today’s SA

History will judge Pope Francis, who passed away on Easter Monday — he was laid to rest yesterday — as perhaps the most socially transformative, if not revolutionary pontiff to head the Roman Catholic Church. The first liberation theologian to occupy the papacy, he dragged this vast empire, for generations steeped in its old ways and traditions, to wake up and smell the coffee, as it were. 

He may not have succeeded in completely weaning the church hierarchy from its conservative prejudices, but he forced it to confront the realities of a changing world — no mean feat. Turning the Titanic around would have been a less arduous task. 

People are primarily products of their environment, and Jorge Mario Bergoglio — to use his original name — born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, was shaped by turbulent events in Latin America in the 1960s and ’70s when dictatorships, death squads and disappearances struck fear and trepidation in the hearts of ordinary people. Because opposition was outlawed, and many of its leaders ended up in jail or dead, the church, notably the Catholic Church, which has by far the largest following in the region, became one of the few institutions that spoke up against this reign of terror. Latin America became the cradle of what came to be known as liberation theology.

As opposed to the usual dogma, which sees the church’s mission as preparing worshippers for the hereafter, it emphasised the liberation and betterment of people’s lives. Priests saw it as part of their pastoral responsibility to care about the daily concerns of their congregants, and spoke out forcefully against poverty, inequality and on behalf of those struggling against oppressive regimes. For standing up for the poor, some paid with their lives. 

Rome didn’t take too kindly to such activism, viewing their social analysis, especially their critique of class oppression and structural inequality, as concepts borrowed from a Marxist interpretation of society. The election of Bergoglio as Bishop of Rome in 2013 saw liberation theology become part of the mainstream; the rebel storming and conquering the citadel. If they couldn’t change him while he was in Argentina, they certainly weren’t going to change him once he’d become head of the Holy See.

He set about upending some of Catholicism’s most cherished shibboleths. He called laws criminalising homosexuality “a sin” and “an injustice”. He allowed priests to bless same-sex marriages. He gave the go-ahead for divorced and remarried Catholics to receive communion, and even toyed with the idea of ordaining married men — which would have put an end to the age-old tradition of celibacy for those called to the priesthood. He warned against the degradation of the environment and was fiercely anti-war, and constantly called for an end to the killings in Gaza and Ukraine. 

Even as he was drawing his last breath, Pope Francis was still calling for peace and compassion for the poor and marginalised, especially migrants whose fate seems to have been a life-long passion.

When division over the ordination of women priests threatened to split the Anglican Church, some senior bishops who were against the move considered rejoining the Catholic church. They would have found Francis’s domain quite a different kettle of fish.  

Even as he was drawing his last breath, Pope Francis was still calling for peace and compassion for the poor and marginalised, especially migrants whose fate seems to have been a life-long passion. “I would like all of us,” he said in his Easter message, “to hope anew and to revive our trust in others, including those who are different from ourselves, or who come from distant lands, bringing unfamiliar customs, ways of life and ideas! For all of us are children of God!” According to his doctor, the pope’s regret was that he was unable to wash prisoners’ feet — an act first performed by Jesus to symbolise his service to humanity — when he visited a jail in Rome four days before he died.  

For people such as Pope Francis to champion the cause of social justice from such an elevated podium has meant that those following in their footsteps do not have to endure the hazards that their generation has had to contend with, or the constant harping about keeping politics out of religion — or sport for that matter — as if life can be slotted into neat compartments. 

In South Africa, liberation theology became known as black theology, which took its inspiration from the Black Consciousness Movement. But the term itself originated in the US where notably James H Cone, a black American scholar who wrote extensively on the subject, became its authoritative proponent. 

Locally, Pope Francis’s priestly life was almost mirrored by that of Archbishop Desmond Tutu, a fearless advocate of black theology, who rose from the outskirts of Klerksdorp to the summit of his church, all along butting heads not only with the government but the dinosaurs within. He, along with the likes of Allan Boesak, Smangaliso Mkhatshwa, Manas Buthelezi and many other such religious figures brought an urgency and a passion to the fight against apartheid. Alongside was also the quiet authority of Denis Hurley, and the impatience of Beyers Naudé, a former member of the Afrikaner Broederbond, who spurned the exclusive comforts of his tribe to embrace a broader humanity. 

Even before the emergence of black theology, South Africa had a long history of turbulent priests — Michael Scott, Ambrose Reeves, Gonville ffrench-Beytagh and of course Trevor Huddleston, who inspired a young Desmond Tutu to join the priesthood. They were outsiders in many ways — they were British, and although they were witness to the horrors of apartheid, they were not its intended victims. But that didn’t save them from the slings and arrows. 

South Africa is a very religious country, with more than 80% of the population listed as Christian. Many people look up to their priests, pastors, mullahs and rabbis for guidance. And yet the church has been muted and almost silent of late about the ills in our society. There’s probably a feeling that now that apartheid has been consigned to the scrap heap, the church can either sit back or be cheerleaders for the new rulers. But the prophetic voice of the church is required now more than ever. Despite the political changes, the poor have become poorer, and the voiceless even more silent. Which is why it was gratifying to hear Archbishop Thabo Makgoba using his Good Friday sermon to make a powerful speech condemning the kleptocracy and other ills in society.  

The church needs to regain its voice and speak up forcefully for the millions who are unable to do so for themselves.  

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