The Pope is Dead.

That sounds like a movie line—except usually, it’s “The king is dead.”

I woke up today, and instead of reaching for my phone, I thought to myself, How about starting with a prayer? I do that sometimes, but it’s not a daily habit. I usually wake up and read something—or more likely, check my bank account to see if anyone has accidentally gifted me a million dollars.

I remember going on a date once with someone who asked me what I do when I first wake up. I don’t remember what I told him, but later I realized the “right” answer might have been to pray. When I turned the question back to him, he said, “Thank the Lord I woke up.” That ended up being our last “date.”

This morning, I found myself wondering—as a non-practicing, questioning Catholic—what right do I have to feel or express anything if the Pope is dead?

But then I went outside and saw a red Northern Cardinal, which apparently means angels are near.

I took that as a sign that I do have the right to feel something about my faith. That bird felt like a message. And it reminded me of how, when my aunt went to Portugal, she brought back some little religious statues. I looked at them with hesitation, thinking, I don’t think I’m that much of a Catholic to have a little statue. I do have a little headless Buddha that was a gift but none of them really called to me—except one. The one I was drawn to was of Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals and the environment and on the statute he has two birds on his shoulders

Later that day, I looked out the window and saw two pigeons sitting there, staring at me, as if to say, “Keep the statue. This saint might be for you.”

In all my questioning, I’ve realized the place I feel God the most is in nature—looking at the ocean, sitting on a flight above the clouds, or seeing perfectly green mountains.

I always think, Someone had to have made this. Who that is, I’m not sure. But someone had to have done it.

And today, the Pope will find out exactly who that is.

Update – 24 April 2025: In another morning reading, I discovered that the Pope was the first to take on the name Francis, and yes, it was in honour of Saint Francis of Assisi, just like my little statute.