On Monday morning, the world lost more than a religious leader. We lost a moral compass. A global shepherd for the poor. A gentle warrior who dared to tell the powerful the truth about their responsibilities to the powerless. His Holiness Pope Francis didn’t just preach from the pulpit—he lived among the people, especially the forgotten. In doing so, he redefined what moral leadership looks like in our time.
I’m not Catholic. But I have always admired Pope Francis—not simply for his spiritual authority, but for his economic clarity. He understood something most leaders still struggle to grasp: the economy is not just a system. It’s a reflection of our values. And if our values are broken—if we worship money more than we uplift people—then the system will break too.
Pope Francis believed in capitalism, but not the kind that exploits, extracts, and abandons. He believed in an economy that works for everyone—especially the poor, the marginalized, the excluded. I call this “Good Capitalism.” And in his own way, so did he.
Poverty is not just about money. It’s about a lack of access, a lack of opportunity, a lack of belief. It’s about systems that were never designed to work for everyone—but can be reimagined to do exactly that. Pope Francis preached the same gospel in different language. When he said, “No one can remain insensitive to the inequalities that persist in the world,” he was calling out the same economic injustice that inspired me to found Operation HOPE and launch Financial Literacy for All. When he declared that “an economy that excludes kills,” he wasn’t being dramatic. He was being accurate.
There’s a reason why Pope Francis chose the name of St. Francis of Assisi—the patron saint of the poor. He led with humility. He refused to live in the grand papal apartment. He drove a modest car. He washed the feet of prisoners. This wasn’t theater. It was theology. It was servant leadership in its purest form. And it was a quiet rebuke of the pride and greed that too often define our public life.
Pope Francis said, “The rich must help, respect, and promote the poor.” His life—and his death—should challenge all of us to ask harder questions: What kind of economy are we building? Who is it leaving behind? And what would it mean to put people—not profits—at the center of our decisions?
For me, this isn’t just theory. It’s practice. I’ve seen what happens when we teach someone how money works—when we improve a credit score, help someone buy their first home, or support a small business in a struggling community. Dignity returns. Hope is restored. And the economy grows—not just in dollars, but in strength.
This is what Pope Francis understood: that the economy is not a math problem. It’s a moral problem. And solving it starts not in boardrooms or bank vaults, but in hearts.
He may have been a pope. I’m just a businessman from Compton. But we both believed in the same truth: that we rise by lifting others. And that capitalism, when done right, can be one of the greatest tools for good the world has ever known. Pope Francis believed in “Good Capitalism.” I do too. And now more than ever, the world needs us to prove that it’s possible.
