Laudato Si': A cry for our common home
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The evening of 13 March 2013 was one of expectation and hope. The world watched as white smoke billowed from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel, signaling the election of a new pope.
When Jorge Mario Bergoglio stepped onto the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica and humbly greeted the crowd with a simple Buona sera, few could have foreseen the impact he would have. He chose the name Francis, after the saint who lived in poverty and embraced creation as his brother and sister. It was a name that would define his mission — one of simplicity, humility, and an urgent plea for the care of our world.
Two years later, that mission took written form in Laudato Si’, a document that would shake governments, challenge corporations, and stir the hearts of the faithful. It was not merely an encyclical; it was a cry — an anguished plea from the Pope himself, urging humanity to open its eyes and see the damage being done to our common home.
Pope Francis saw the Earth as a wounded being, gasping for breath beneath the weight of industrialization and unchecked consumerism. He saw rivers once teeming with life now poisoned, forests once stretching endlessly now reduced to barren land, and air once pure now heavy with pollutants. But more than anything, he saw the human toll — the poor, the marginalized, those who suffer most from the greed and excess of others.
In Laudato Si’, he did not shy away from the truth. He wrote of a “throwaway culture,” where people and nature alike were treated as disposable. He warned of climate change as an urgent moral issue, not just a scientific debate. He called for an “ecological conversion,” a radical shift in the way we see ourselves — not as masters of the Earth, but as its stewards.
The Pope himself embodied the message he preached. He chose to live in a modest guesthouse rather than the papal apartments. He rode in a simple car instead of a luxurious one. He washed the feet of prisoners, of refugees, of those forgotten by society. He lived what he wrote, showing the world that true power comes not from wealth or influence, but from compassion, from service, from love.
Today, as Pope Francis remains hospitalized, the world watches again — not with excitement, but with deep concern. The man who carried the weight of the Church, who spoke with unwavering courage, who called for justice for the planet and its people, now finds himself frail. The question on many minds is: What happens next? Who will lead? Will his vision endure?
But perhaps the greater question is this: Have we listened? Have we truly heard what he has been telling us all these years? If Laudato Si’ was his urgent plea, have we answered?
Pope Francis did not write Laudato Si’ for scholars to dissect or governments to shelve. He wrote it for us, for every person who breathes this air, who drinks this water, who walks this Earth. He wrote it for the farmer struggling with unpredictable seasons, for the child in a city where smog dims the sky, for the elderly woman displaced by rising tides. He wrote it for those who have yet to be born, for the generations that will inherit the world we leave behind.
And so, as we pray for Pope Francis, let us also act. Let us remember his words, not just with admiration, but with conviction. Let us reject the culture of waste and embrace a culture of care. Let us protect the vulnerable, not exploit them. Let us see the Earth not as a resource to be used, but as a sacred home to be cherished.
The Pope has given us the message. The question is no longer what he will do next, but what we will.
This is our moment. This is our calling. Let us not wait for another crisis, another leader, another plea. Let us answer, now.
