Heaven Is Under Your Feet

In the movie Field of Dreams, Kevin Costner is asked, "Is this heaven?"

His reply?

“No, this is Iowa!"

I thought of that quote earlier this week when I traveled to Iowa to talk about my book and women’s leadership. Coincidentally, I was also thinking a lot about heaven—above and here on Earth.

I started thinking about heaven on Easter Monday when I heard that my hero, Pope Francis, had made his way on up there. I’m sure he got a standing ovation when he got to heaven, as well he should. I was happy for him (but really sad for me).

On Easter Sunday, Pope Francis appeared before the multitudes who gathered for his blessing, and then he booked it on out on Monday in his own way, and on his own terms. On Saturday, Catholics from the world over gathered in Vatican City for his funeral and burial in Rome.

Pope Francis's final words, supposedly, were "Thank you!" I hope he knew how thankful so many of us were to him for the way he conducted himself, for the example he set, and for the way he lived, walked, and talked in our world. What an impact he made!

Imagine stepping into the job of a lifetime at 76 years old and then changing the world in just 13 years! Now those are some goals!

Thirteen years ago, I got to travel to Rome and cover the news when he became pope. It was such an amazing experience. From the moment he was announced as the pope, every decision he seemed to make was profound, inspiring, and thought-provoking.

He chose the name of St. Francis. He declined the papal apartment but to live in community with his fellow Jesuits. When he spoke out on political issues, as he often did, his voice always rose above the noise, and he always urged us to rise with him. He also cautioned us about our indifference to the poor. He urged us to embrace peace and to look beyond all that divides us.

Pope Francis visited prisons and washed the prisoners' feet. He met with LGBTQ advocates. He met with victims of the Church’s sexual abuse. He didn’t judge. Instead, he pastored to the world.

I never got to meet Pope Francis—though it was on my bucket list. Still, I loved him from afar, even as I always felt like I was loving him up close. I loved how he made me feel and how he made me think. I loved that he always made me think about what more I could do. And even though I disagreed with him on certain issues, he made me proud to be a Catholic. That’s saying a lot.

His faith was remarkable, his stamina was inspiring, and his voice was exactly what the world needed. It’s what it still needs. The Church will replace him, but he is irreplaceable, and that brings me to us. Yes, us. You and me.

We are now in a post-Pope Francis world, and it’s not unlike the Democrats who are in their post-Biden, post-Harris world. I actually think Democrats have a harder void to fill because they aren’t sure what their message should be for this moment. But I hope that whoever the conclave chooses, it’s someone who sticks to Pope Francis’s message.

He saw the Church as a field hospital, a place with a mission to pastor to those who are suffering, those who do not feel seen, and those who do not feel as though they belong. The pope had an inclusive message and a joyful one. He had a message that resonated across age, gender, and nationality. He wasn’t about division, and he didn’t demonize other religions.

I’ve often thought today's political leaders could learn so much from listening to him, watching him, and emulating him. He wasn’t afraid to change his mind when given evidence. He spent time himself in exile and changed the way he pastored. He was humble enough and wise enough to evolve. That’s what real leaders do: they grow, they change, and they evolve.

Now that Pope Francis is in heaven, the question is: what can we—each and every one of us—do to take up his mantle? You do not have to be Catholic to want to walk in his path, emulate his compassion, or use your voice to concern about the issues of the day. You do not have to be Catholic to want to care about one’s fellow human beings the way the pope did, regardless of where they live or the color of their skin. You do not have to be Catholic to be conscious of our Earth as he was, to acknowledge the poor, or to tend to the sick.

None of what the pope did was just about being Catholic, it was about being a human being. Rising above the noise and using our voices to elevate as opposed to fingerpointing—that’s a spiritual act. It moves humanity forward. It reminds us of the humanity that exists all around us. It’s compassionate, and it’s what this moment requires.

The other morning in church, my priest quoted Nelson Mandela. He said, “No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin”—or, I might add, their politics. “People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”

Loving someone who is different from you or who espouses different opinions than you can sometimes be a challenge, can’t it? But isn’t that what all our great spiritual leaders, from Pope Francis to Nelson Mandela to Martin Luther King to Gandhi, asked us to do in one way or another? They asked us not to be indifferent. They asked us not to demonize. They urged us to rise above making the other person the issue and to keep our eye on the good we want to bring about.

The truth is, we are all here for a moment. Then we, like Pope Francis, will make our way up and out. How we make the most of the moment we get define what, if anything, we leave behind. Thirteen years ago, most people in the world had never heard of the cardinal from Latin America. Today, everyone knows his name. They know what he stood for, and they know his voice stood for something greater than him. When he used it, the world listened.

The legacy Pope Francis leaves behind summons us all higher. It summons us all to be better. I watched a special on his life the other night when I got home from Iowa and found myself weeping about all he had to deal with and all he had to manage. He inherited a Church racked by sexual abuse scandal. He met with survivors, he apologized, and he fired people who had covered it up. He steered the Church into modern times as best he could against strong winds.

He stepped into political discussions with fierce compassion, always leading by example. He showed us how we can walk in this moment, meet with people we disagree with, and forgive who we need to—including ourselves. He spoke of mercy, and he showed us what a life of mercy looks like.

I thought about Francis when I stood with my family for my grandson Ford’s baptism at the end of the week. I thought about the Church he was being baptized into. I thought about the church I go to—and why I still go when so many have left. I go because my pastor also runs our church like a field hospital. I go because he reminds me not to be indifferent. I go to be challenged and comforted. I go to be seen, to be given mercy. I go because I need to be reminded every week to keep the faith and to have hope in myself and hope in humanity.

That’s the Church I want my children and grandchildren to be a part of. It’s not perfect—and neither are any of us. It is, however, a beacon in this noisy, mean world of mercy, of oneness, of service.

As the week came to a close, my friend Clay texted me the following: "Remember, the ground you’re walking on is holy ground because you are walking on it.” Heaven is under our feet. All of our feet. I love that.

So, my friends, see the ground you are walking on today as holy ground. See that, indeed, heaven is under your feet. Today, each of us can get busy emulating Pope Francis here on Earth. We can do our part to make this world of ours more conscious, more caring, and more compassionate. We can confront indifference and apathy, while also spreading love. You don’t have to be a pope to do any of that. He pastored one person at a time—and what a multitude he pastored to!

And finally, keep in mind that age does not have to be a deterrent. Remember, he stepped into the role of his life in his late seventies! So whatever your age, imagine you too get to create a bit of heaven here on Earth for someone else. What an honor and privilege that is. You don’t have to be a pope to do that.

Just a loving human being. And at this moment, our world needs loving, non-judging human beings who can and will minister and pastor to the rest of us. Will you join me?