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What follows is the full text of the address from Rev. Antonio Spadaro, S.J., at the JST-SCU 2025 Commencement ceremony and upon the occasion of the conferring of the degree of Doctor of Divinity, honoris causa, "For his significant contributions to culturally contextualized theology, his extraordinary service to the global Church, and his unwavering promotion of Pope Francis's prophetic vision." You can visit here for the full text of the award citation. 

Thank you, President Julie Sullivan, Provost James M. Glaser, Chair of the Board of Directors, Agnieszka Winkler, Dean Agbonkhianmeghe Orobator, members of the Board of Directors, esteemed faculty and staff, students, distinguished guests, alumni, and friends.

I receive this honorary doctorate in Divinity with deep gratitude and humility. To be considered worthy of such recognition is beyond anything I ever imagined. I was genuinely astonished—and profoundly moved—when I received Fr. Orobator’s message inviting me to accept this extraordinary honor.

The first time I walked across the campus of Santa Clara University was in 2006, and I have returned many times since. This place has always felt like home. Here, I participated in seminars for young theologians on Theology and Digital Culture; here, I was present for a key moment in the progression of the China Forum, organized in collaboration with Georgetown University; and here, I engaged in conversations and encounters that have profoundly shaped both my intellectual and spiritual life.

To be recognized today by a Jesuit university—and for work associated with La Civiltà Cattolica—marks a meaningful milestone in my journey. It is a source of great joy and enduring encouragement for the road ahead.

But perhaps none of this would have come to pass without a phone call I received on May 14, 2013—an unexpected call from Pope Francis on my mobile phone. Even at that early moment, such gestures were already indicative of the kind of pontificate he would come to represent. From then on, I sought to follow his ministry with both reverence and critical attentiveness—aware of my limitations but driven by deep conviction and passion.

I had the privilege of conducting his first interview as Pope for the Jesuit Reviews and Magazines of many Countries. Curiously enough, when I first asked, he told me he didn’t know how to give interviews and that he wouldn’t grant any during his pontificate! That he ultimately agreed reveals, I believe, a discerning moment on his part —and perhaps underscores the significance of that first conversation.

He allowed me to follow him on his apostolic trips around the world, visiting more than 60 Countries, including Iraq, the Central African Republic, Mongolia, the Canadian territory of Nunavut, and others. I also attended six assemblies of the Synod of the Universal Church as a member for a papal appointment.

And now we find ourselves reflecting on the legacy of Pope Francis— yes, indeed, the pontificate of Pope Francis has now become a legacy! –– a legacy that is rich, multifaceted, and deeply spiritual.

I want to share with you today an essential aspect of that legacy, and by it, I mean Francis’ unique style of governance. Francis was a Jesuit, and his vision for reforming the Church was deeply rooted in the Ignatian spiritual tradition.

If someone tries to describe Pope Francis’ pontificate as a struggle or tension between spiritual renewal, pastoral care, and institutional reform—as if these were opposing or incompatible goals—they misunderstand the true nature of his pontificate. Had it been merely an idealistic project—no matter how noble—it would have become just another “ideology of change.”

Instead, Francis has consistently viewed the Church as an institution animated by the Holy Spirit, who rocks the boat of the Church. In the words of Pope Francis, the Holy Spirit “causes disorder with charisms, but in that disorder creates harmony.” For Bergoglio, the Church has never been a rigid monolith but rather a living harmony, constantly emerging from the tension and diversity of its members.

The then Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, in a conversation he had on August 7, 2024, at St. Jude Catholic Church in New Lenox, Illinois, said: "Francis is not afraid to rock the boat a bit, to shake things up. And when he does that, some people are uncomfortable. We all have different personalities, and we all have somewhat different ways of wanting to keep the boat calm: “Don't rock the boat,” “Please don't do that.”

And Francis is like, “You'll be alright.” It looks like Jesus is sleeping in the boat there, and the disciples are panicking, and they're like: “What are you sleeping for? We're going to die!”. And Jesus knows very well what’s going on, but he lets them be shaken up." This is Francis, seen by Leo.

I learned from Francis that we don’t have to be scared by disorder in our lives if we trust a superior harmony that we are called to ask for as grace. Disorder can be beneficial in achieving a deeper level of understanding and openness.

To guard against “ecclesial introversion” (Evangelii Gaudium 27), Francis has maintained in his governance a dynamic balance between spirit and institution. Neither negates the other; neither is reducible to the other.

As he put it plainly, the Church is “a pilgrim and evangelizing people, transcending any necessary institutional expression” (EG 111). In this light, the question of Francis’ “program” becomes irrelevant. He never approached the papacy with a blueprint or ideological plan of reforms prêt-à-porter.

Rather, he responded to the movement of the Spirit. As he said candidly in his Pentecost homily in 2020, recalling the experience of the Upper Room: “The Apostles go forth: unprepared, they set out, they take risks, they go out.”

Clearly, this vision implies that the pastor must be fully immersed in the life of the people of God to understand what is happening and to discern what must be done. A concrete example can be seen in what occurred in Chile. In his letter of April 8, 2018, to the bishops of Chile, following the report delivered by Archbishop Charles Scicluna regarding abuses committed by clergy, Pope Francis wrote:

“For my part, I recognize—and I want you to convey this accurately—that I have made grave errors in judgment and perception of the situation, particularly due to a lack of truthful and balanced information. From this moment, I ask forgiveness from all those I have offended, and I hope to be able to do so personally in the meetings I will have with representatives of the people interviewed.”

These words leave no doubt that it was only by immersing himself in the lives and sufferings of the people that the Pope came to grasp the true nature of events. Ready-made ideas are of no help, and official information may not be balanced or truthful. Only personal encounter and immersion make wise governance possible.

This way of proceeding is called discernment, which consists of acting in accordance with an understanding of God’s will in history. Its raw material is always the echo that reality generates within one’s inner life. It compels one to seek God wherever He may be found—not only within predetermined, well-defined, fenced-off, or “geo-localized” boundaries.

I learned from Francis that discernment obliges us to go beyond the boundaries, the fences we see in front of our eyes that prevent us from seeing clearly as God works in our lives and in the life of the world.

Discernment is never merely about ideas (even reformist ones) but about concrete history because reality is always greater than ideas. Actions and decisions, therefore, must be rooted in a careful reading of lived experience.

The life of the spirit has its own criteria. For example, if a reform proposal were presented, what mattered most to Francis was not merely its content but the spirit—whether good or bad—that animated it. That spirit revealed itself not only in the substance of the proposal but also in its tone, language, and style.

This was especially crucial in the synodal context, which he saw as the quintessential setting for spiritual discernment in governance. Even in the process of Church reform, it’s possible to pursue good ends but without the mediation of the Spirit or to proclaim truths without the “spirit of truth.” Francis’s sensitivity to this was profoundly mystical.

The principle that encapsulated his vision is found in a phrase from the Ignatian tradition: “This is divine: not to be constrained by what is greatest, and yet to be contained in what is smallest.”

This is a line of thought that has accompanied Bergoglio since at least the years when he served as Provincial, as evidenced by an essay of his entitled Conducir en lo grande y en lo pequeño (“Leading in the Great and in the Small”). It is perhaps his most significant text on leadership and one that the Pope himself has referred to in some conversations I had with him.

Reform, then, can occur in the smallest gesture, the tiniest step, even in a single encounter with a person or in an attentive response to a specific need. That is why Francis did not address only authorities, rulers, or social categories but often spoke directly to the victims of suffering and exploitation. He directed his attention to the small, the last, the discarded, the concrete situation—trusting that within these humble realities lies the seed of true evangelical reform.

This approach also made the “forms” of his magisterium flexible. A note in a document, for him, might have carried more significance than an entire paragraph of the official text. A homily at Santa Marta might have borne more theological weight than a formal address. The theological depth of Francis’ magisterium did not always conform to established “forms” but adapted itself to the needs of time and context.

The fundamental criterion that guided him in his spiritual reform was one he expressed from the outset in the interview I conducted with him in 2013: “I see clearly that the thing the Church needs most today is the ability to heal wounds and to warm the hearts of the faithful; it needs nearness, proximity. I see the Church as a field hospital after battle. It is useless to ask a seriously wounded person if they have high cholesterol and blood sugar! We need to heal their wounds. Then we can talk about everything else. Heal the wounds, heal the wounds…”.

Francis’s style of governance came from a church seen as a field hospital.

And this is what I firmly believe we are called to do in our life to make it meaningful and to make this world a better place: healing the wounds, healing the wounds, healing the wounds…

Thank you