[Congressional Record Volume 171, Number 70 (Monday, April 28, 2025)]
[Senate]
[Pages S2591-S2592]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                        REMEMBERING POPE FRANCIS

  Mr. DURBIN. Mr. President, my grandparents and my mother and her two 
siblings immigrated to the United States from Lithuania in the year 
1911. They came over on a ship from Germany to Baltimore and found 
their way to the city of my birth, East St. Louis, IL.
  There are very few things left from that voyage experience so long 
ago. My grandmother had brought with her a Lithuanian Catholic prayer 
book that was considered, at the time, to be contraband in Czarist 
Russia. It is a family treasure. I still have it. I keep it in my 
office as a reminder of her faith and mine.
  Today, I join people across the world and mourn the passing of Pope 
Francis. He was forgiving, hopeful, and committed to the notion of 
peace.
  Francis taught us that there is no one ``right'' way to be a 
Catholic; that the church can shape you, and you can shape the church, 
and in the process, he made the church stronger.
  Ten years ago, Pope Francis became the first Pope to deliver a joint 
address to Congress. I was honored to be present for that historic 
speech and to shake his hand.
  The Holy Father spoke in that speech about one of my political 
heroes, Abraham Lincoln. And Pope Francis reminded Members of Congress 
that:

       You are called to defend and preserve the dignity of your 
     fellow citizens in the tireless and demanding pursuit of the 
     common good, for this is the chief aim of all politics.

  Pope Francis used his platform to highlight the plight of immigrants 
and refugees, to ask compassion for those in the LGBTQ community whom 
the church had historically shunned, to advocate for peace in distant 
waters, and to protect our environments.
  Like myself, Pope Francis was the child of immigrants, and he often 
reminded us of our responsibility to welcome the stranger.
  In a recent letter to American Catholic bishops, Pope Francis 
affirmed our Nation's right to ``defend itself and keep communities 
safe.'' But he raised serious concerns about mass deportation, which 
``damages the dignity of many men and women, and of entire families, 
and places them in a state of particular vulnerability and 
defenselessness.''
  His message is so timely as our government ignores due process and, 
through an administrative error, sends

[[Page S2592]]

a person to a hell-hole prison in El Salvador and deports a 2-year-old 
to Honduras.
  In one of his final public acts, Pope Francis offered remarks for 
Easter Sunday. He was so ill he was unable to deliver the speech 
himself, so it was read by one of his assistants. It was a speech of 
peace. It was a speech of hope. It was a speech of a truly good man. In 
it, he pled:

       On this day, I would like all of us to hope anew and to 
     revive our trust in others, including those who are different 
     than ourselves, or who come from distant lands, bringing 
     unfamiliar customs, ways of life and ideas.

  Over the weekend, it was my honor to join Senator Susan Collins and 
three of our colleagues as part of a delegation of five Senators who 
represented the U.S. Senate at Pope Francis' funeral at Vatican City.
  The crowd was overwhelming. Estimated in the hundreds of thousands, 
they came from every corner of the Earth. Just in our small section was 
a delegation in business suits from Lesotho in Africa. There were 
Buddhists in bright orange robes, members of the Italian Parliament, a 
turbaned Sikh delegation from India, and our bipartisan House 
delegation, led by Nancy Pelosi and Republican Leader   Steve Scalise.
  Thousands of Catholic clergy on the altar and in the audience wore 
vestments representing every shade of the colors of scarlet and red. 
But the vast crowds of mourners and celebrants were simply admirers of 
Francis, who, in his humble way, touched so many lives. At the front of 
the alter was his simple wooden casket.
  The funeral ceremony was in Latin--the language of the Catholic 
Church when I was a young altar boy at St. Elizabeth's Church in East 
St. Louis, IL, in the 1950s.
  As I witnessed this solemn mass and read from the text, I could hear 
in my mind the rusty hinges of an opening door taking me back to the 
Latin mass and Gregorian chant of my childhood. It is all still there, 
``deo gratias.''
  How did this mass differ from the funeral of John Paul decades ago? I 
remember the crowds of Polish mourners who were there with their red 
and white flags for John Paul II. But with Francis, what struck me were 
the many waves of spontaneous cheering from the vast crowd when 
reference was made to his simple message for immigrants, for peace, and 
for understanding.
  Who could forget his five words:

       Who am I to judge?

  They defined his humility and his humanity for so many of us.
  After the ceremony, I went back to my hotel room and turned on my 
television. There was a recurring segment every few minutes. It showed 
a simple photograph of Francis and the Italian words, which I will 
probably mispronounce. They were: ``Grazie Francesco. Il papa della 
gente.'' Translated to English: ``Thank you, Francis, the Pope of the 
people.''
  We must continue to hold fast to the message of Pope Francis to love 
and respect one another. In a world of hate and fear, his message of 
peace and understanding is needed now more than ever.
  I yield the floor.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER (Mrs. Britt). The Senator from Arkansas.

                          ____________________