What the Margins Teach Us About the Center
A tribute to Pope Francis and a reflection from the edge of Missouri
A tribute to Pope Francis and a reflection from the edge of Missouri
When a shepherd returns to the Father, we pause. With Pope Francis's death, we don’t just lose a pontiff—we lose a voice who stood deliberately at the edges. His papacy was not defined by pomp but by proximity. He gave the Church a new geography—not one of cathedrals but of kitchens and sidewalks, prison courtyards, and refugee camps. He led from the margins. And in doing so, he reminded us that the margins teach us about the center.
I felt this truth deeply on a recent visit to Potosi and Farmington, Missouri. After a long day of listening to agency leaders and clients, walking through the parish food pantry, visiting the local critical access hospital, and sharing meals with front-line coworkers in the vineyard, I sat in prayer—dinner dishes done, silence settling over me—and wept.
Not out of pity, but out of presence.
The weeping St. Ignatius of Loyola would call the Gift of Tears—those sacred moments when the heart recognizes what the mind resists. For Ignatius, those tears were not signs of weakness. They were signs of alignment—union with God’s dream for the world. That day in Potosi, I was undone by the faithfulness of people who have been quietly living the Gospel for generations, often unseen, often under-resourced, but never untethered from the mission.
The Edges as Sacred Terrain
Too often, we think of leadership as beginning from the center—from influence, strategy, and control. But the Gospel begins from the edge: Nazareth, a manger, and a cross outside the city gate.
St. Vincent de Paul, whose charism animates much of our work, said plainly: “Go to the poor: there you will meet God.” He didn’t say visit. He didn’t say solve. He said Go, and there you will meet God. It is not a metaphor. It’s a roadmap.
Pope Francis modeled this with such elegant clarity. He did not romanticize poverty or bureaucratize charity. He embodied solidarity—what he called a culture of encounter. He reminded us that the Church isn’t called to solve the world from a distance. It’s called to be near, to be with, to walk, and to kneel.
That day in Farmington and Potosi, I saw Christ—in the person coordinating food drives from a shed out back behind the Church, in the volunteer quietly making home visits and backpacks with meals for kids on the weekend, and in the social worker refusing to give up on a client. I didn’t bring God there. God was already there, waiting for me.
St. Vincent, Pope Francis, and the Way of the Edgewalker
Judi Neal’s concept of the Edgewalker describes leaders who dwell between worlds—comfortable in tension, fluent in paradox, and committed to transformation. These are not status quo leaders. They are prophets, bridge-builders, and servants. They are grounded enough to be present, and daring enough to be moved.
St. Vincent de Paul was such a man. He was a priest of the court who found Christ not in titles but in tattered shoes. He gave up comfort for communion. He stood at the intersection of poverty and policy, Church and street, and built a movement of mercy from the ground up. And so did Pope Francis.
Neither saw the margins as optional; they saw them as the source. Their reform didn’t begin with institutional critique; it began with personal encounter. Their leadership wasn’t a platform—it was a basin and towel.
And in that tradition, Catholic Charities must never become merely a network of programs. We must remain a movement of presence. We don’t just serve. We accompany. We listen. We cry.
The Desert as Teacher: A Contemplative Ecology of Mission
Douglas Christie, in The Blue Sapphire of the Mind, reminds us that those who fled to the deserts in the early Church weren’t escaping the world. They were learning how to re-enter it with new eyes. The desert was not desolation—it was attentiveness—the stillness that opens the soul to what is real.
He speaks of prosocial, the disciplined attention to God's presence, and of penthos, the gift of tears that comes when one is pierced by that presence. This is not a poetic image—it is a practical spirituality for leaders.
The margins demand this kind of attentiveness. They teach us how to see again. They slow us down, unmake our illusions, and return us to what matters. In that sense, the margins don’t just challenge the center—they redeem it.
What I Learned in Potosi
In my evening prayer, I recalled something Mother Teresa once said when someone asked to join her work in Calcutta. “Stay where you are. Find your own Calcutta.” That day, in the rural corners of Missouri, I found mine.
And in it, I found what the center often forgets:
That love is slow.
That dignity isn’t given—it’s recognized.
That systems matter, but presence transforms.
That tears are not a sign of failure—they are the sign that God has touched your heart.
Catholic Charities of the Archdiocese of St. Louis has been serving since 1912. But the work began much earlier—in 1723, with the first communities that served without fanfare. Their stories are rarely told, but their impact echoes in every parish hall and pantry across our Archdiocese. We walk in their footsteps.
From Mourning to Mission
Pope Francis gave us a blueprint. Not with policy. But with posture.
He knelt. He listened. He led from the edges.
Let us do the same—not to emulate greatness but to embody the Gospel. Let us lead not just with strategy but with sacrament. Let us go where the pain is. Let us stay long enough to weep. And when the tears come, let them not shame us. Let them guide us.
Because what the margins teach us about the center is this:
The only center that matters is the Cross.
And the only power that transforms is love.
Reflection + Conversation
Let this not just be a reading—but a moment of shared discernment.
Reflect:
Where have you encountered “your Calcutta”?
When have you experienced the gift of tears—not as sorrow, but as sacred clarity?
What is one way the margins have reshaped your understanding of the center?
Join the Dialogue:
In the comments, I invite you to share:
A story of someone you’ve met in the margins who changed you
How Pope Francis’s legacy has shaped your leadership or faith
What do you believe the Church needs to hear from the edges today
Let’s build a community of leaders who listen from the ground up.