New Delhi [India], April 22: “I grew up in a home where gods didn’t compete—they coexisted.” With these poignant words, celebrity chef and educator Suvir Saran reflects on the passing of Pope Francis, offering a deeply personal tribute to a man who redefined what faith could look like.
Raised in a Hindu household in India, Saran’s childhood was shaped by a pluralistic spirit: Ganpati on the altar, Jesus in his grandmother’s room, the Quran resting peacefully on a shelf. Religion, he recalls, was never about division—it was about light, joy, and cohabitation. But that innocence faded as he grew older, especially as a queer man navigating religious spaces that often saw his identity as incompatible with faith.
Saran shares how he once admired the grandeur of the Catholic Church—the vestments, the rituals, the drama. But admiration turned to alienation when the same institution labeled his love a sin. “Our joy was a threat,” he writes, recalling how his desire for beauty clashed with religious dogma.
Yet even amid exclusion, he still longed to believe. And then came Pope Francis.
Described initially as a “placeholder pope,” Francis quickly defied expectations. “He wasn’t trying to tear the Church down. He was trying to remind it of its soul,” Saran writes. It began with five simple words: “Who am I to judge?” Spoken in 2013 about gay clergy, the phrase became a touchstone moment—not just for LGBTQ Catholics, but for all who had been pushed to the margins.
Francis didn’t overhaul Church doctrine, but he shifted the tone. He prioritized mercy over dogma, tenderness over authority. He blessed same-sex couples, decried hypocrisy within the Church, and brought attention to environmental degradation and economic inequality—issues he viewed not as political, but profoundly spiritual.
From washing the feet of Muslim refugees to praying alone in an empty, rain-soaked St. Peter’s Square during the COVID-19 pandemic, Francis led not from the throne, but from the margins.
Tributes poured in from spiritual leaders and political figures alike. Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar called him “a passionate advocate of interfaith dialogue,” while the Dalai Lama encouraged others to honor him by being “warm-hearted people.” Former U.S. President Barack Obama described him as “a rare leader who made us want to be better.”
Still, not all were receptive. Saran recounts a moment with a conservative Catholic who dismissed Francis’s inclusive words as “just one priest’s opinion”—a telling reminder of the resistance he often faced.
But perhaps that was the point. Francis made it harder for the world to look away from those it tried to ignore. He challenged the faithful not just to preserve tradition, but to embody compassion.
“He reminded us what religion could be at its best: not a wall, but a window,” Saran reflects.
With Francis’ passing, the Church stands at a crossroads once more. The Sistine Chapel waits, as names and futures are quietly debated. But beyond rituals and robes lies a greater legacy: a reminder that faith, when lived with humility and humanity, can heal wounds, warm hearts, and even restore belief in possibility.
“I loved religion’s glitter,” Saran writes. “But feared its dogma. [Pope Francis] didn’t save the Church. But he saved my belief that religion could be beautiful again.”