By Joseph Tek Choon Yee onAspire to Inspire, Columns
Vatican City — My family and I made a Jubilee Year pilgrimage, walking together through the Holy Doors of Rome. More than a physical journey, it was a sacred encounter — one that stirred the soul.
As a family, we stepped into a moment that comes only once every 25 years, drawn by a shared longing for renewal, mercy and deeper faith. The next Holy Year will be in 2050. I may not have the health or strength to do it then — or may not even be around. That thought isn’t sad — just a quiet call to be fully present, to walk these doors not only for myself but for those I love and for generations to come.
We journeyed through the Eternal City, hearts humbled among fellow pilgrims from across the world — from St. Paul Outside the Walls, to St. John Lateran and the Marian beauty of Santa Maria Maggiore. Each Holy Door felt like a threshold into deeper communion — with God, and with one another. We participated in prayers, Mass and the sacrament of Reconciliation. We had planned to enter the final Holy Door — that of St. Peter’s Basilica on Easter Monday, after celebrating the joyous Easter Mass in the presence of Pope Francis. But Heaven had its own plans.
That Easter Sunday, bells rang and Alleluias echoed across Rome but the next morning, the world received the saddest news that Pope Francis had passed away. The Easter Mass we attended became his final Mass. A bittersweet liturgy, now etched in our hearts forever.
When we finally stepped through our last Holy Door of St. Peter’s, it was no longer just a moment of completion, it became a farewell. A deeply moving and unforgettable act of love and gratitude to a shepherd who had led the flock with humility, simplicity, full of love and courage.
Just catching our flight, we were blessed to witness a solemn moment in sacred history — Pope Francis’s simple wooden coffin carried from his humble residence at Casa Santa Marta to St. Peter’s Basilica. Later, among tens of thousands, we joined pilgrims, clergy, and mourners from around the world to pay our final respects — united in love and gratitude for a shepherd who gave so much of himself. Now, he lies in state, awaiting his funeral on Saturday.
In keeping with the simplicity that defined his life and ministry, Pope Francis chose not to be buried within the grand halls of the Vatican, but at the Santa Maria Maggiore — a smaller, beloved basilica he often visited in quiet prayer, located beyond the Vatican walls. It is a tender, telling gesture. He will be the first pope to be laid to rest there since the 1600s, and the first in over a century to be buried outside the Vatican grounds.
True to form, he asked for nothing elaborate. Just a simple tomb in the earth, marked only by a plain gravestone bearing a single word: Francis. No titles. No grandeur. Just the name he carried as a humble servant of God.
Even in death, Pope Francis sought to teach — stripping down the funeral rites to offer one final lesson to the Church he loved so deeply. A lesson in humility. In returning to the essence of faith. His final resting place is not just a burial — it is a symbol, a prayer and his quiet call for the Church to keep walking the path of compassion, simplicity and mercy.
Jubilee Year and Holy Doors
For Catholics all over the world, the Jubilee Year holds deep meaning. One of the most cherished traditions during this sacred time is making a pilgrimage to the Holy Doors. At first glance, it might just look like a doorway — but to Catholics, it’s a powerful symbol. Walking through it represents crossing from darkness into light, from sin into grace, from weariness into renewed hope. It’s a spiritual homecoming.
My earlier writeup about the Jubilee Year can be found at www.theborneopost.com/2025/02/22/jubilee-2025-global-call-for-hope-renewal-and-unity/
For my family, this journey isn’t just about ticking a box or seeing famous places, although all pilgrims will be awe with the beauty of the basilicas. It’s about pausing our busy lives, grounding ourselves in faith, being one with family and saying: God, we still believe. Help our unbelief.
We’re not making this pilgrimage because we’re perfect. Far from it. We go because we’re human in need of mercy, of healing, of God’s gentle touch. We go to give thanks for all we’ve received, and to carry in prayers of those family members and our many friends who can’t be there.
Crossing the Holy Door doesn’t change everything overnight. But it marks a step. A choice. A reminder that even at any age and whoever we are, we are still journeying, still growing, still being drawn deeper into God’s love. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the whole point.
What was meant to be a pilgrimage of renewal and jubilation also became a time of sacred mourning for us. Yet in that blend of joy and sorrow, we discovered something timeless — the strength of faith, the power of family, and the quiet grace found even in farewell. Along the way, we met fellow pilgrims and encountered “human angels” who appeared in moments of difficulty, reminding us that grace often walks beside us in human form.
Remembering Pope Francis: He Waited for Easter
During our pilgrimage to Rome, as we journeyed through the sacred days of the Easter Triduum — one single liturgy from Holy Thursday, Good Friday to the glory of Easter Sunday — we had no idea that we would also become witnesses to a moment of profound historical and spiritual significance: the passing of Pope Francis.
My family and I stood in St. Peter’s Square that Easter morning, part of the crowd of 35,000 faithful gathered beneath the Roman sky for the Easter Mass. As the curtains parted on the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica, a hush fell over the crowd. The roar of anticipation gave way to reverent silence as the Holy Father surprisingly appeared. He raised his hand in blessing, a gesture now as tender as it was powerful. His voice, though strained, carried across the square: “Dear brothers and sisters, I wish you a happy Easter.” Those seven words, spoken with great effort, would become his final public message.
Personally, I think many people could feel something. As if they knew, it was the last time they’d see him. There was no booming chant of “Viva il Papa!” like in past years. Instead, the square was filled with something deeper — an unspoken reverence. It was much quieter than usual. Little that we know, he was giving us his last goodbye. Not with fanfare or speeches, but with his presence. With breath. With one final blessing from the heart of a shepherd who, even in suffering, chose to show up for his flock.
But that was not all. As the celebration drew to a close, Pope Francis made an unannounced appearance in his popemobile. Slowly, gently, he was driven among the faithful, waving, blessing, kissing babies, touching hearts. My family were so close, close enough to meet his gaze and return his wave. The air was filled with sacred joy — radiant, communal, unforgettable. It felt like a gift wrapped in grace; one we didn’t yet know was a farewell.
Our hearts were heavy the next day. We didn’t realise, at that moment, that we were witnessing his final hours of public ministry. That his gentle wave, his serene smile, and his quiet strength that Easter morning would be his last. Looking back, it’s as if Pope Francis waited — held on through the holiest days of the Church’s year—just long enough to proclaim with us all: “Jesus Christ is Risen!” Then, in the peace of Easter Monday at 7.35 am, he whispered his own final Amen, and returned to the Father. He has carried out his duty as shepherd for his flock till his last breath.
A Frail but Faithful Shepherd
It wasn’t long ago, in September 2024, Pope Francis embarked on one of the most demanding journeys of his papacy — a 12-day mission across Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, Timor-Leste and Singapore. At 87, with a fragile frame and a heart still burning with purpose, he covered over 20,000 miles in the name of peace, interfaith dialogue and unity with Asia. Despite his health struggles, he radiated joy and compassion, attending over 40 engagements with the vigour of someone half his age. It was nothing short of extraordinary.
But behind those smiles and warm gestures was a body that had long carried pain. From early 2025, Pope Francis fought through a life-threatening bout of pneumonia that gripped both his lungs. Doctors feared the worst — some even considered letting him go gently. His breathing, already compromised from a lung surgery in his 20s, grew weaker with each passing day. Yet the Pope’s spirit remained unshaken.
Even after surviving 38 harrowing days in hospital, physicians urged him to rest. But Francis had other plans. He chose not retreat, but return. No oxygen tubes. No withdrawal from the world. Just a quiet resolve to give whatever he had left to the flock he loved. His voice became softer, his steps slower, but his heart remained wide open — beating for the Church, for the poor, for the world.
Pope Francis taught us something profound in those final days: that true greatness lies not in strength of body, but in the courage to love until the very end. His breath may have grown faint, but his spirit blazed bright—a living flame of faith, humility and boundless mercy.
Pope Francis’ Papacy
Being Pope is a sacred but immense burden — shouldering the hopes, struggles, and faith of over a billion souls. It is a calling that demands strength, humility, and unwavering heart. The papacy is probably one of the world’s loneliest and most demanding vocations, where every word and gesture can echo across the globe. It demands not just unshakable faith, but immense resilience, deep wisdom, and the courage to lead through storms — both within and beyond the Church.
When Jorge Mario Bergoglio became pope in 2013, he chose a name no pontiff had ever taken: Francis. It was inspired by St Francis of Assisi – the saint of the poor, the humble and the earth. He was also the first Jesuit Pope in history, the first from the American continent, and the first non-European in over 1200 years.
From day one, Pope Francis lived by the name. For 12 remarkable years, Pope Francis bore that mantle with a heart wide open. His papacy was marked by the themes that defined his soul: care for creation, tenderness toward the marginalised, welcome for migrants and a relentless push to make the Church a place of mercy, healing and inclusion.
He stepped into the role after the historic abdication of Pope Benedict XVI in 2013. From that first simple “Buonasera” from the balcony of St. Peter’s, Francis captured the world’s attention — not with grandeur, but with gentleness. In that moment, he bowed his head and asked the people for their prayers. It was a sign of the Pope he would become: not a ruler looking down, but a shepherd walking among his flock.
His path was not without resistance. From his openness to divorced Catholics and LGBTQ persons, to his blunt honesty about clerical abuse and institutional failures, Pope Francis stirred debate and even outrage among some in the Church. He was called too liberal, even heretical by some critics. Yet through it all, he kept choosing the harder path — one of dialogue, inclusion and healing.
The world’s wounds became his mission. In a time of climate crisis, he called on humanity to protect our common home. In the face of refugee crises and war, he stood with the displaced and the forgotten. He reminded us that the Church is not a fortress, but a field hospital.
And he did it all with extraordinary humility. He chose to live in a guesthouse instead of the Apostolic Palace. Took the bus and paid his own hotel bill the day after his election. He refused the trappings of power because he believed leadership was service. He has chosen to own nothing to offer everything.
Authority, for him, meant washing the feet of prisoners, embracing the sick and dining with the homeless. He limped through much of his final years, worn by age and illness but he never wavered. His body may have been weak, but his spirit remained steadfast. He kept showing up, welcoming pilgrims, blessing children, embracing the broken-hearted. In his last days, there was no withdrawal from mission. Just the breath of a man who had given everything, still whispering mercy.
Farewell Papa
Pope Francis helped me reimagine holiness — not as perfection, but as presence. Not as lofty doctrine, but as lived compassion. He taught me that the Gospel speaks loudest when it touches the ground. When it includes the doubters, lifts the weary, and comforts the outcast. He was mercy in motion.
And now, his earthly journey is complete. As we remember him, these words echo with new meaning: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Yes, he did. He fought not with fury, but with mercy. He ran not for recognition, but to make room for others. He kept the faith not flawlessly, but with fierce, enduring hope.
Now, Pope Francis has laid down his staff. I want to believe that he leaves behind not just a memory, but a legacy — a Church more human, more listening, more compassionate. He has reminded me what it means to believe again. To believe in a Church that kneels beside the wounded and marginalised. In a Gospel that makes space for the restless and the lost. In a God who bends low to lift us higher. He showed me that holiness can look like kindness, and that leadership can mean kneeling to serve.
A Journey of Grace
As for my family, we were deeply blessed to make our Jubilee pilgrimage during Holy Week — walking through the Holy Doors, receiving the Jubilee Indulgence, joining Easter Mass and receiving Pope Francis’s final Urbi et Orbi blessing. And unexpectedly the next day, we mourned his passing and were granted the grace to pay our last respects.
Yes. It was as though he waited for Easter — because he believed in the promise of resurrection. Now, that promise is his. Light has found him. And Love has brought him home. To witness these sacred moments together — as a family — was a gift beyond words. A journey of faith, love and hope we will never forget. May Pope Francis rest in the peace he so often wished upon others. Happy Easter.
Who Will Be the Next Pope?
With Pope Francis’s passing, the world turns to the upcoming Conclave, where 135 cardinals will elect the next leader of the Catholic Church. Shaped by Francis’s appointments — many from Asia, Africa, and Latin America — the College of Cardinals reflects a more global Church, which could influence the direction ahead. While the outcome remains unpredictable, one thing is clear: the new pope will inherit a time of profound change, tasked with guiding over a billion Catholics through the challenges and hopes of a rapidly evolving world.
