Farewell Pope, hello space heroines

The universe operates on a cosmic joke we may never truly understand. Just as the Catholic world prepared to celebrate one of its most significant feast days, the "people's pope”, that rare leader who exchanged papal pomp for genuine human connection, took his final bow. Meanwhile, in a twist worthy of celestial satire, six accomplished women had a few days earlier floated silently in space, their sharp tongues calmed by the overwhelming majesty of the cosmos. The timing could not have been more perfect if Dante himself had scripted it.

This was a pontiff who revolutionised humility in an institution not exactly known for restraint. While his predecessors donned ermine-trimmed vestments, he chose simple white cassocks. Where popes of old resided in the Apostolic Palace's grandeur, he opted for the Vatican guesthouse. The man who sat on the Cathedra Petri, the Throne of Peter, a title so grand it sounds like it should come with velvet ropes, somehow made it feel like a kitchen chair where you would sip tea and trade stories.

His entire papacy was a masterclass in subverting expectations. These were not wide-eyed ingénues, but seasoned professionals who had clawed their way through male-dominated fields. Pop star Katy Perry, broadcaster Gayle King, civil rights activist Amanda Nguyen, rocket scientist Aisha Bowe, film producer Kerianne Flynn, and Lauren Sánchez; fiancée of Blue Origin owner Jeff Bezos, are all women accustomed to having their voices heard and their expertise respected. Yet, faced with the ineffable wonder of Earth from orbit, even these articulate pioneers were struck speechless.

Their silence was not failure; it was proof that some experiences transcend language. The juxtaposition is almost too perfect. A spiritual leader who brought celestial authority down to earth departs just as secular pioneers had a taste of space.

The pope’s death invites us to look inward, to consider humility and earthly connection. The astronauts’ journey forces our gaze outward, toward the stars. Both events highlight how small we are in the grand scheme, and yet how deeply we strive to matter. What binds these moments is shared humility. The pope’s deliberate simplicity was not weakness, but a radical assertion that true power lies in connection, not separation.

Similarly, the astronauts’ speechlessness reflected awe, not inadequacy. In both, ego dissolves in the presence of something greater, whether divine grace or cosmic scale. The timing provokes reflection on progress. As the Vatican prepares to elect a new leader, grappling with questions of tradition and modernity, women are helping propel humanity into new frontiers. One wonders: when will the Church catch up? Space programmes increasingly embrace diversity, recognising that the future is female. Meanwhile, the Vatican still debates whether women can even serve as deacons. The dissonance is striking, and sad. Ultimately, both events challenge how we define possibility.

The pope showed that spiritual leadership need not be aloof to be authentic. The astronauts demonstrated that exploration is no longer the preserve of the usual suspects. These are quiet revolutions, one in how we conceive leadership, the other in who we imagine as explorers. They remind us that the most lasting changes often come not from thunderous declarations, but from subtle shifts in what we consider normal, possible, and even sacred.

As the conclave grapples with relevance and identity, and space programmes push toward inclusivity, we are left with a moving truth; whether we look up to the stars or down on Earth, whether we kneel in prayer or float in awe, we are simply humans trying to understand our place in something far greater. And if that does not leave you a little bit speechless, you have not been paying attention.