Pope Francis’ LGBTQ+ Welcome Is Needed Now More Than Ever

Today’s post is from guest contributor Maxwell Kuzma, a transgender man living on a farm in Ohio who writes about the intersection of queerness and faith. You can follow him on Twitter @maxwellkuzma.

It’s been one year since I met Pope Francis–and it feels like our world and our church have changed dramatically since then. Yet, I still recall the twinkle in his eye and the warmth of his handshake. The welcome Pope Francis showed me—a trans Catholic—remains a living question for the Church: will that same spirit of recognition continue in a time of fear, hostility, and transition?

Pope Francis greeting Maxwell Kuzma in October 2024.

When I told him, “Soy un hombre transgénero,” (“I am a transgender man”), he smiled—not with confusion or hesitation, but with a kind of delighted recognition. The moment echoed his long and rich pastoral history of meeting with LGBTQ, and particularly transgender, people. And in my personal moment with him, when he looked at me, it felt like he saw not a scandal, but a son. I’ve spent the past year wondering what that welcome means—not just for me, but for what kind of church we are becoming. Through his simple, pastoral presence, Pope Francis offered me something that so many other Catholics had not: acceptance, welcome, and love.

That welcome stays with me, especially now, as being trans in America has become increasingly perilous. It reminds me what true pastoral care looks like—and how far our church and society still are from embodying it. New policies and laws strip away basic legal rights, remove access to healthcare, distort our lives into caricatures, and reduce us to theological talking points. To some Catholics, we are still seen as a threat, a theory, or an ideology. But we are not ideas. We are people. People with dignity, who deserve to be loved.

When I met Pope Francis, I didn’t need to explain any of that. His eyes said what words could not: You are welcome here.

Now, in this new papal era, I find myself wondering what that welcome will look like. Will the church that received me with Francis’s warmth continue to make room for people like me? Or will that spirit fade as leadership changes hands? Our new pope, Leo XIV—the first American pontiff—has expressed a desire to continue Francis’ legacy of listening. He has met with Fr. James Martin and affirmed that all are welcome, “todos, todos, todos.” Those words matter deeply. But as Sr. Jeannine Gramick recently asked, “Will actions affirm Pope Leo’s words on LGBTQ+ people? Will he meet with us, bless us, eat and drink with us, as Francis did?”

I ask the same.

Pope Leo XIV has so far shown a calm and courageous spirit when confronting pressing issues of our day. As Christopher Lamb has reported for CNN, Leo’s first months have already drawn criticism from conservative aligned Catholics after the Pope questioned whether opposing abortion while supporting the death penalty or the “inhuman treatment of immigrants” can truly be called pro-life. 

In a time when “pro-life” is often reduced to a single issue, Leo’s insistence on a consistent life ethic is striking. It reminds us that human dignity cannot be divided by ideology. Protecting migrants, the poor, the incarcerated—and yes, LGBTQ people as well—is not separate from the church’s defense of life. The same welcome I felt in Francis’s gaze is what a consistent life ethic demands: to see every person as worthy of protection and care. To affirm the lives of transgender and queer Catholics, to insist that we too are fearfully and wonderfully made, is to stand for life in its fullness.

I do not expect instant change. The church moves slowly, often painfully so for many LGBTQ people who end up left behind or lost in the shuffle. I believe in the seeds Francis planted and I find hope in the small communities of queer and trans Catholics who continue to live our faith openly, tenderly, and stubbornly in a time of great political darkness.

Pope Francis once said, “Who am I to judge?” For many of us queer Catholics, those five words cracked something open—a window of mercy in a church that has too often closed its doors. Just as defending life means more than enforcing rules or restrictions, extending Christian truth and love of neighbor means listening, protecting, and loving across differences. If more Catholics lived by that question, our church might begin to see life itself more clearly: not as a battlefield of purity and sin, but as a sacred communion of human dignity.

Whatever comes next, I will hold onto the memory of Pope Francis—the pastoral shepherd who met me not with suspicion, but with love. His welcome taught many of us what the church could look like.

The question now—one I carry with hope—is whether we, the people of God, will continue that welcome in our own communities, both civil and ecclesial. Francis’ welcome remains my compass, reminding me that the Spirit still moves, that faith can take root in unexpected soil, and that truth—however small or soft-spoken—can still transform the church. In every queer Catholic who still dares to pray, to build community, to hope: we carry his blessing forward.

—Maxwell Kuzma, October 9, 2025