If you happen to tune into Vatican TV right now, you’ll witness a scene that, for many, may seem somewhat unusual in the modern world: a queue of people patiently lining up inside St. Peter’s Basilica to pay their respects to the body of Pope Francis, now in repose. The coffin is open, allowing visitors a direct view of his body — a little grey, perhaps, but unmistakably recognisable. While this may be a familiar sight for some, it’s also a stark reminder of something most of us shy away from: death.
As I reflect on my experience at the funerals of his two predecessors, Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI, I am reminded of the reactions of those standing in similar queues. Phones were raised instantly as people, some grieving, others merely curious, sought to capture the moment before even taking in the true significance of what they were seeing.
Pope Benedict’s appearance, to put it bluntly, was far from flattering. His body, a shade of dark grey, failed to present the dignified image one might expect of a revered leader. I recall discussing this with an American Franciscan friar who, as we stood in the basilica, offered a simple but honest assessment: “Not looking his best,” he remarked. Neither of us was impressed by the work done in preparing the pope’s body. The thought occurred to us both that whoever had been tasked with laying him out had failed to do justice to the moment.
For many, especially those unaccustomed to seeing the deceased in such an open, public way, the sight of a body on display may be a deeply unsettling experience. In our modern, sanitised world, death is often something that happens behind closed doors — in hospitals, nursing homes, or private family settings. Corpses are regarded by some as macabre, a ghoulish reminder of our mortality. For many in today’s society, seeing a body in this context is a rare experience, something that stands out sharply from the detached, clinical approach we’ve grown used to when it comes to the passing of loved ones.
Yet, this avoidance of death is a relatively recent phenomenon, particularly in Western cultures. Historically, many societies maintained a far more intimate relationship with death, often honouring the deceased by keeping the body visible for family, friends, and even the broader community. This is still a common practice within Catholicism. Across Italy, embalmed saints are displayed in glass cases beneath altars, and in the case of the soon-to-be-canonised teenager Carlo Acutis, his body lies on show in Assisi, looking remarkably fresh — to the surprise and, for some, the discomfort of visitors.
This public display of the dead may seem strange or uncomfortable, yet it plays an important role in the way we as humans relate to our mortality. After all, the body is the vessel through which we experience life, and though the soul may be separate, the body serves as the visible, tangible part of who we are. Honour, respect, and remembrance for our mortal remains have been central tenets of human culture for centuries.
I was reminded of this when I recently attended a funeral in Ireland. As I stood before Nancy’s body, resting in her coffin, I recognised the serene dignity with which she was presented. The undertaker had clearly taken great care in preparing her, ensuring she looked as peaceful and dignified as possible. It was a moment of reflection, as I gently touched her cold hand and forehead, reminded once again of the stark difference between life and death. Death is not a distant concept; it is a reality that we all must face.
Seeing Pope Francis’s body, in all its frailty, serves as an important reminder of that reality. It encourages us to confront the end of life, to reflect on the fleeting nature of our own existence. While many may feel uncomfortable with such a sight, there is a lesson to be learned from it. Death is not something to be feared, hidden away, or sanitised. Instead, it is an integral part of life, deserving of our respect and recognition.
Ultimately, when we look upon Pope Francis’s body, we are reminded that he, like us all, will one day be dust. And in seeing him, we are also prompted to remember that such as he is, so too shall we be. This reflection on mortality, though sobering, is an essential part of the human experience. The sight of a deceased body, far from being a morbid or unpleasant spectacle, serves as an invitation to reflect on life — and death — with greater awareness and acceptance.
