Leadership

I have been reading Victor Gaetan’s book ‘God’s Diplomats: Pope Francis, Vatican Diplomacy, and America’s Armageddon.’ It is a fascinating and highly readable exploration of the Catholic Church’s evolving approach to global conflict resolution and peace building, emphasizing the Church’s shift from the “just war” tradition to a “just peace” framework rooted in dialogue, impartiality, and long-term relational engagement. Central to this transformation is the Church’s commitment to advocacy as a proactive, faith-driven pursuit of justice that transcends partisan politics and prioritizes the marginalized.

The book tells the story of how the Vatican’s diplomatic corps operates on principles that defy convention. Unlike nations that leverage military or economic power, the Church’s advocacy is grounded in neutrality, humility, and grassroots engagement. Key rules include avoiding “winners and losers,” remaining impartial, and “walking the talk” through charitable acts. For instance, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, Pope John XXIII’s discreet diplomacy helped de-escalate tensions by appealing to shared humanity rather than partisan interests. Similarly, in Colombia, local Catholic peacebuilders demonstrated how sustained, community-driven advocacy can counter cycles of violence.

Right about now you are probably saying “OK, John, that’s nice, but this isn’t a book club. What’s your point and why should I care?”

Fair question!

I think that we learn every day from observing others. And the insights and lessons in this book are things that relate to our work as Vincentians. They help us understand that we are not just transactional check writers and one-off suppliers of aid and support to people in need.

The approach that underlies the Vatican’s diplomatic work reflects a broader theological vision that we should understand and seek to mirror: the Church’s role as a “field hospital” (a metaphor often used by Pope Francis) that heals wounds without judgment. By prioritizing relationships over transactional victories, Vatican diplomats model a form of advocacy that aligns with Christ’s call to “love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44) and seek peace through understanding.

The Church’s diplomatic ethos finds practical expression in Catholic nonprofits like St. Vincent de Paul (SVdP) and others who blend direct service with systemic advocacy. Our work in advocacy must be as integral a part of who and what we are as our direct service to the people in need who come to us.

Further, our focus on advocacy must be to “Influence decision-making to promote justice and solidarity, emphasizing policy changes that address root causes of poverty.” This mirrors the Vatican’s long-term, dialogue-focused strategies.

An area where SVdP has always advocated and continues to advocate locally and nationally is economic justice. This includes affordable housing and just wages, reflecting Pope Leo XIII’s defense of workers’ rights in Rerum Novarum (1891), which condemned exploitation and called for equitable labor practices. And he further insisted that governments must prioritize the vulnerable, asserting that “the rich must religiously refrain from cutting down the workmen’s earnings” through unfair policies.

Advocacy for the poor is not optional in Catholic teaching; it is a requirement of faith. Jesus’s proclamation to “bring good news to the poor” (Luke 4:18) and His identification with the marginalized (“Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me,” Matthew 25:40) form the bedrock of this mission.

The teachings of our faith have continued from Luke through the ages and is reflected in many of the recent Papal teachings from Pope Leo the XIII to Pope Francis (and I am sure will continue under Pope Leo XIV). Pope Francis, in Evangelii Gaudium, said “There is an inseparable bond between our faith and the poor.” He condemned an “economy of exclusion” and urged believers to “lend a ready hand” to dismantle systemic injustice.

Pope St. John Paul II highlighted the “preferential option for the poor” as non-negotiable, urging Catholics to “discern the justice of the poor’s requests and help satisfy them.”

In the book, Gaetan acknowledges that Church diplomacy is not without failures, such as divisions in Kenya where ethnic rivalries fractured local Catholic communities. Similarly, nonprofits like SVDP face hurdles like political polarization and resource constraints. Yet, the Church’s emphasis on patient dialogue and grassroots empowerment offers a model that rejects short-term, partisan solutions. So too, must we focus our advocacy efforts on experience-based, story-driven, real-world examples about the people we serve so as to help drive change through dialogue.

It is vital that we, both nationally and locally, increase our involvement in advocacy for the poor and marginalized because, as the Church’s diplomatic model demonstrates, real, lasting change for the vulnerable comes through sustained, humble engagement and a “culture of encounter.” Vatican diplomacy is effective precisely because it avoids partisanship, seeks common ground, and prioritizes the dignity, power, and resources of those most affected by conflict and poverty. This approach is not only a diplomatic strategy but a moral imperative that should inspire us to move beyond charity alone and engage in advocacy that addresses systemic injustices.

God’s Diplomats provides a guide to how the Church and SVdP USA can use advocacy not as a political tactic but as a sacrament of solidarity. By marrying spiritual principles with pragmatic action, the Vatican and Catholic nonprofits like us embody a vision of justice that transcends borders. As Pope Francis reminded us, “Mere condemnation is not enough; we must act.” In a world fractured by inequality and conflict, this call to advocacy, rooted in the Gospel and refined by centuries of social teaching, remains as urgent as ever.

The synergy between Vatican diplomacy and grassroots nonprofits underscores a timeless truth: defending the marginalized is not just a policy preference but a divine mandate. Whether brokering peace between superpowers or lobbying for affordable housing, the Church’s mission remains the same: to “do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).

Peace and God’s blessings,

John

A Shepherd to the Poor: Remembering Pope Francis

In the passing of Pope Francis, the world has lost not only the Bishop of Rome but a tireless voice for the voiceless, a prophet of mercy, and a shepherd whose heart beat in time with the most forgotten of God’s children. For those of us who have dedicated our lives to serving the poor and marginalized through our vocation to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, his life was a living gospel—both a challenge and a consolation.

From the moment he stepped out onto the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica in 2013 and simply bowed his head, asking the people for their blessing before offering his own, it was clear we had a different kind of pope. He took the name “Francis,” after the humble saint of Assisi, and like that saint, he walked a path of radical simplicity, compassion, and solidarity with the poor.

He reminded us time and again that the Christian faith is not an abstraction. It is not a comfortable theory. It is a call to action — a call to love. And not the easy kind of love that stays within the boundaries of polite society, but the kind of love that stoops down to wash the feet of the homeless, that listens to the cries of the refugee, that welcomes the addict, the broken, the excluded.

In his World Day of the Poor messages, Pope Francis poured out his heart to those on the margins, and to those who serve them. In 2021, he wrote, “The poor, always and everywhere, evangelize us, because they enable us to discover in new ways the true face of the Father.” For those of us in this mission, we know the truth of those words. We have encountered Christ in the trembling hands of the hungry, in the eyes of a woman fleeing abuse, in the fragile hope of someone who has lost everything but still believes in grace.

Pope Francis was not content to merely speak about the poor — he went to them. He visited hospitals, refugee camps, prisons, and homeless shelters. He embraced lepers, kissed the feet of migrants, dined with the homeless. His actions said loudly what his words reinforced: “We are called to discover Christ in them, to lend our voice to their causes, but also to be their friends, to listen to them, to speak for them and to embrace the mysterious wisdom which God wishes to share with us through them.” (World Day of the Poor, 2017)

Francis taught that charity is not simply about giving — it is about relationship. About drawing near. About breaking down the barriers that divide “us” and “them.” He wrote, “The poor are not people ‘outside’ our communities, but brothers and sisters whose sufferings we should share, in an effort to alleviate their difficulties and marginalization.” (World Day of the Poor, 2020) That vision transformed the Church. It transformed each of us.

Many of us who serve, in our encounters at people’s homes, at shelters, at food pantries, and at recovery programs, saw in Pope Francis the embodiment of what we hope to be. His humility did not diminish his authority — it deepened it. His tenderness did not weaken his leadership — it defined it. He reminded us that the Church is most fully herself not when she stands in splendor, but when she kneels beside the wounded.

We loved Pope Francis not because he made our work easier, but because he made it holier. He called us to more. To see our volunteerism not as a duty, but as a Eucharistic act—a way of becoming bread broken and shared for others. He saw the poor not as a problem to solve, but as people to love. And he called on the whole Church to “go out to the peripheries,” where, he reminded us, Christ Himself is waiting.

In 2023, he wrote: “Where the poor are concerned, it is not talk that matters; what matters is rolling up our sleeves and putting our faith into practice through a direct involvement, one that cannot be delegated.” He never let us off the hook. And thank God he didn’t. Because of him, countless hearts were lit with a fire of compassion, and many who once looked away from the poor began to look into their eyes—and see Christ.

Now, as we mourn him, we also thank God for the gift of his life. We thank God for the man who reminded us that the smell of the sheep is a sweet fragrance to the Good Shepherd. That mercy is the greatest expression of justice. That to serve the poor is not just a noble option—it is the heart of the Gospel.

1 John says, “Let us love, not with words but with deeds.” And oh how he lived that love every day of his papacy. He loved with his presence, with his simplicity, with his unwavering focus on those the world forgets.

For those of us in the trenches of mercy, in the homes of those in need, in the food lines and the shelter dormitories, in the hospital rooms and dining rooms, we carry his legacy forward. We will go on loving, not with words, but with deeds. We will go on seeing Christ in the poor, and we will go on knowing that Pope Francis is still praying for us — from the heavenly peripheries — still urging us to keep walking, keep loving, keep serving.

May his memory bless the Church. May his vision animate our mission. And may we, like him, choose every day to live a faith that comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable — until every tear is wiped away, and the poor are poor no more.

Peace and God’s blessings,

John