From Ugochimereze Chinedu Asuzu
“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” – Matthew 5:9.
There are gestures that preach louder than sermons. There are acts that disarm even the most entrenched foes. In April 2019, one such act unfolded in the Apostolic Palace of the Vatican—a moment that will remain etched in human conscience for generations. The late Pope Francis, now of eternal memory, stunned the world when he knelt—yes, knelt—and kissed the feet of South Sudanese leaders, including President Salva Kiir and his opposition rivals, Riek Machar and Rebecca Garang. He didn’t do it for the cameras. He did it with tears in his voice and trembling in his soul.
“I am asking you as a brother: stay in peace,” he begged, “I am asking you with my heart.”
This was not diplomacy. It was divinity in motion.
Pope Francis was no stranger to humility. From shunning the papal palace to carrying his own bag, to personally calling strangers who wrote him letters, his humility wasn’t an affectation—it was conviction. But what he did in 2019 wasn’t just humility—it was radical peace-brokering. It was the gospel clothed in human flesh. The Vicar of Christ stooping to the dust to plead with power-drunk men to abandon their swords.
Who does that in today’s world?
Certainly not our so-called global leaders with their self-serving summits and empty resolutions. Pope Francis knew that peacemaking isn’t about strategy; it’s about sacrifice. He knew that sometimes, the only way to break hardened hearts is to break your own pride first.
And it worked. The leaders were visibly shaken. Salva Kiir, who had barely moved a muscle all evening, wiped a tear. Riek Machar, whose hands had orchestrated rebellion and retaliation, seemed momentarily stripped of resistance. They were undone—not by politics—but by papal prostration.
South Sudan’s road to peace has since remained fragile, but no one who witnessed that moment has remained the same. It was the Vatican’s Gethsemane. And Pope Francis became the unlikely prophet of peace in Africa’s youngest nation.
The world talks peace; Francis embodied it.
He leaves behind no missiles, no fleets, no legacy of empire. Just memories like this—of a man who believed that power lies not in how many you command, but in how low you're willing to stoop to save even one soul from war.
And in that act—of kissing the feet of enemies—Pope Francis perhaps taught us the most Christ-like thing this generation has ever seen.
He stooped, like Christ in the upper room—only this time, the basin was global diplomacy, and the feet belonged to men who had walked through war.
In the African spirit, elders do not kneel before younger men. But here was a white-haired pontiff, kissing the feet of men whose hands still smelled of gunpowder.
And now that the gentle giant of St. Peter’s Basilica sleeps in the Lord, the world must not forget what he stood—and knelt—for.
As he once said,
“Peace requires more than a signed agreement. Peace requires a new way of seeing others—as brothers, not rivals.”
In an age where leaders rule from thrones and not towels, where pride often postures as power, one man dared to kneel—not in weakness, but in witness. The world may never again see a pontiff kiss the feet of warlords, but every time we choose humility over hubris, every time we break bread instead of breaking ranks, we echo that holy moment in Rome.
Let the world remember: peace is not negotiated—it is embodied.
And when it is, even warlords weep.
_Ugochimereze Chinedu Asuzu
April 25, 2025
