Rome’s spring air hung heavy on April 26, 2025, as thousands crammed into St. Peter’s Square, their eyes fixed on a simple wooden coffin draped in white. Pope Francis, the Argentine pontiff who’d shaken the Vatican with his unpolished humanity, was gone. His funeral, a blend of ancient ritual and his own rule-breaking style, unfolded under a gray sky, drawing the world’s gaze to a city steeped in grief and reverence.
The day began with a Mass in St. Peter’s Basilica, where Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, his voice steady but worn, delivered a homily to a sea of mourners. Red-robed cardinals, heads bowed, flanked the altar. The faithful—nuns clutching rosaries, families with kids hoisted on shoulders, tourists who’d come for history and stayed for sorrow—filled every inch of the square. Francis’ coffin, unadorned save for a Gospel book laid open on top, sat at the heart of it all. Pages of the New Testament flapped in the breeze as Re blessed it with incense, the smoke curling upward like a prayer.
Then came the procession. The coffin, hoisted onto a modified popemobile, rolled slowly out of the Vatican, past cheering crowds who shouted “Papa Francesco!” as if he could still hear them. Rome’s streets, lined with police and pilgrims, fell into a strange hush broken by bursts of applause. The route wound toward the Basilica of St. Mary Major, Francis’ chosen resting place—a nod to his devotion to the icon of Mary Salus Populi Romani. The popemobile paused there, a final salute to the image he’d prayed before countless times. Re blessed the coffin again, sprinkling holy water as the wind tugged at his vestments.
Earlier, on April 22, the Vatican had announced Francis’ body would lie in state for three days in St. Peter’s Basilica. Over 20,000 poured in daily, some waiting hours to glimpse the pope who’d preached simplicity in a gold-crusted church. The rite of ascertaining his death, led by Cardinal Camerlengo Kevin Farrell, had taken place the evening before in the Casa Santa Marta’s chapel. By April 23, his remains were carried up the basilica’s steps in a solemn march, the College of Cardinals trailing behind.
The funeral wasn’t just pomp. It was Francis’ final break with tradition. He’d insisted on St. Mary Major over the usual papal crypts beneath St. Peter’s, a choice that raised eyebrows but fit his lifelong push for a humbler church. Even in death, he sidestepped the expected.
The conclave to pick his successor looms, set to start between May 5 and 10. For now, Rome mourns a pope who spoke like a pastor but rattled the powerful. His coffin, sealed in the basilica’s quiet, marks the end of a chapter. The crowds have thinned, but the echo of their cries lingers.