I have been playing out a scenario in my head where the Pope is retiring because Jiminy Cricket, or some child or magical manic pixie dream girl showed him his conscience. And he is just being crushed with the weight of it all. The harmful legacy of the Catholic church, the extravagance of those red shoes, the holes his faithful have just ripped through people, in injustice and straying so far from the social justice piece that modern Catholics would like to see reflected in their church, rather than the volumes of hell and inequality that exist.
When this beam of realization hit him, he planned his retirement, and wants to spend his last days doing the scholarly work he is passionate about, writing this epic thesis trying to undo all the work he and his ilk have done. Right the course of the ship toward a modern era.
But then, this scenario goes fuck-all when he decides to give his last words to someone like Sinead O’Connor (who is going to believe her) or a backstabbing Cardinal who burns it in some secret chamber of the Vatican. Or, on the grail half full kind of view: maybe he tweets it, and it’s verified to be true.
Hey, a recovering Catholic atheist can dream, right?