There was a moment this week that made me stop and think. It was only five words. “You are not a burden.”
Now, when I tell you who said them, some of you might be tempted to look away. Please don’t.
This is not a “preachy” column; it isn’t a column about religion. And it’s certainly not about politics.
It’s about people. It’s about how sometimes the simplest words can make someone feel a whole lot better about themselves.
The words came from Pope Leo XIV, who was speaking to sick and disabled people during his visit to Lourdes in France.
“Dear brothers and sisters who are sick, I want to tell you that you are not a burden. You are the beating heart of our humanity.”
I thought: wow. How good’s that? That’s fantastic, profound even.
Not because I was brought up a Catholic. Not because he’s the Pope. It feels like there is nothing more wonderful than being told: you matter. You belong. You are not a burden.
And perhaps that is what stayed with me most about Pope Leo’s extraordinary visit to France.
It seemed, for a few days at least, that France had rediscovered something wonderfully simple — the joy of being together.
Hundreds of thousands of people turned out. More than 750,000 were estimated to have attended the Pope’s Mass in Paris, while around 80,000 young people gathered for a prayer vigil at the national stadium.
The pictures were remarkable. Crowds cheering, singing, waving flags and smiling. Families. Children. Young people. Old people. Sick people. Volunteers. Carers. And in among all those enormous crowds were some very small, very personal moments. One of them involved a beautiful little girl named Marie-Garance.
She has severe disabilities and was adopted by a Catholic couple who already had six children. As the Pope travelled through the crowd in his Popemobile, he stopped to bless her.
It was only a moment. But sometimes a moment is enough. The Pope looked at her, stopped for her and gave her his attention.
In a world where we are increasingly obsessed with speed, productivity, appearances and what people can contribute, there was something incredibly powerful about a global figure stopping everything simply to acknowledge one child.
And then there was 13-year-old Eva Molenmaker. Eva travelled from near Aix-en-Provence (I can’t even pronounce that, let alone know where it is in France) and played the young Bernadette in the musical Bernadette de Lourdes. During the Pope’s visit to Lourdes, she had the extraordinary experience of singing for him. When asked what she hoped to do with her life, Eva gave a beautiful answer: “I hope to sing for people and touch their hearts.”
How great’s that? Not become famous. Not make millions. Not get millions of likes or followers. Just sing for people and touch their hearts.
There was something about those words, and about the entire visit, that seemed to resonate well beyond people who would describe themselves as religious.
I noticed comments from people online saying things like, “I’m not religious, but . . .” And then came the confession.
“This really touched me.” “I don’t know why, but I’m emotional watching this.” “This man is amazing.” “The joy of the crowds has really got to me.”
I understand that reaction. Because even if you have a different view of the world, what was said about human beings was spot on.
The Pope spoke about dignity. He spoke about hope. He spoke about young people and their anxieties.
He warned about a future where artificial intelligence could create a “paradise of machines” while we somehow lose sight of what makes us human.
That struck me, too. We are becoming very clever at building machines that can think, calculate and communicate.
But perhaps the greater challenge is remembering how to simply care for one another.
At Lourdes, he reminded the sick that they were not a burden. To young people, he spoke about love rather than violence.
He told them: “Our only weapon is that of self-giving love.” I had to sit with that a while as, truthfully, I didn’t really know what he meant. To Barra-phrase it, I think it’s a fancy way of saying: sometimes the best thing you can give another person is a bit of yourself — your time, your kindness, your patience or simply your attention.
I reckon watching the scenes from France, you could almost forget we seem to live in a world that seems permanently angry.
There was no shortage of serious issues surrounding the visit, of course. The Catholic Church carries painful wounds of its own, and Pope Leo met privately with survivors of abuse. Those conversations matter enormously, too.
But what struck me watching from the other side of the world was the sheer amount of affection, generosity and human connection on display. I kinda wished I had been there to experience it firsthand.
For a few days, France seemed to be smiling.
