Pope Francis has gone home to God. And while the world grieves, I can only imagine heaven trying to get him to slow down. St. Peter’s probably saying, “Francis, rest!” And Francis’s reply? “Rest? There’s still work to do!” That was the Pope we knew. A holy trouble-maker. A pastor who preferred the smell of the sheep. A man who traded titles for towels and grandeur for the gritty places where people actually hurt and hope. As a United Methodist elder who was raised in the Catholic Church, I have long held a deep and abiding love for the tradition that first introduced me to the sacred rhythms of faith. The rosary in my mom’s hands, the scent of incense in a hushed sanctuary, the solemnity of Good Friday - - I carry these with me always. I may have become Methodist by tradition and calling, but the Catholic Church still holds a piece of my heart. It’s family. And when Pope Francis stepped onto that balcony and chose the name Francis - - I felt something shift. He wasn’t just taking a name. He was taking a stand. And taking the name Francis was no accident. He was channeling the barefoot saint of Assisi, the one who heard creation sing and who loved the leper as much as the Lord. In a world obsessed with power, Pope Francis pointed to the margins and said, “That’s where we meet Christ.” His theology? Simple, and therefore revolutionary: Love the poor. Welcome the stranger. Protect the earth. Tear down walls. Build longer tables. Be the Church the world actually needs. That, friends, is what we Methodists call social holiness. Social holiness is faith that gets dirty. Pope Francis preached it. Lived it. Modeled it. Now, it’s our turn. We can’t canonize him (yet), but we can canonize his legacy - - in how we live. We pick up his torch. We live the prayer of St. Francis until it becomes the rhythm of our feet and the song of our lives. May we be instruments of peace, bearers of joy, and holy trouble-makers in our own right. Rest well, Francis. We’ve got work to do.