Pope Francis’ Final Act of Love: A €200,000 Gift to Prisoners, a Legacy of Compassion

As his life drew to a close, Pope Francis made one last symbolic gesture—emptying his personal bank account to donate €200,000 to prisoners, a group he had long championed. This final act of generosity toward those he called his “brothers and sisters behind bars” embodied the essence of his papacy, according to Bishop Benoni Ambarus, auxiliary Bishop of Rome and director of the Office for Prison Pastoral Care. 

Despite his declining health, Francis refused to neglect society’s most forgotten. Just days before his death, he made a poignant visit to Rome’s Regina Coeli prison on Holy Thursday, April 17—a testament to his unwavering commitment to the incarcerated. 

From the start of his pontificate, Francis made headlines by washing prisoners’ feet and advocating for more compassionate justice systems.

Yet, as Ambarus noted, his appeals often went unheard. “Institutions did nothing to give even a small signal in response,” he lamented. 
In his final months, Francis intensified his efforts, both symbolically and concretely. One of his most significant initiatives was the opening of a Holy Door at Rebibbia prison—a rare honor typically reserved for St. Peter’s Basilica.

This idea, proposed by inmates themselves, was embraced by the pope as a way to “reignite the light” within prison walls. 

The Holy Door sparked a pastoral movement, with volunteers, priests, and religious sisters now regularly entering Rebibbia to celebrate Mass and share moments of reflection with prisoners.

Each visit, Ambarus emphasized, is designed to affirm the inmates’ humanity—not to treat them as spectacles but as fellow individuals deserving of dignity. 

Yet the systemic reforms Francis longed for—such as reduced sentences or improved detention conditions—never materialized. Even modest proposals, like shortening sentences by a month or two as a gesture of trust in redemption, were ignored. The lack of government action left many prisoners disillusioned, as they saw Francis as their only true advocate. 

When the pope passed away, inmates mourned him not just as a spiritual leader but as a father figure. In a touching tribute, they gave Ambarus a letter and a flower to place on Francis’ tomb. 

Beyond public gestures, Francis’ care for prisoners was deeply personal. Despite the Vatican’s financial constraints, he selflessly contributed €200,000 from his own savings to support prison ministries. “Don’t worry, I have something in my account,” he assured Ambarus.

In the end, Francis left nothing behind—even his burial expenses were covered by a benefactor, a final testament to his solidarity with the marginalized. 

The work he inspired continues, with around 50 volunteers now regularly engaging with prisoners at Rebibbia. “Being present, during and after detention, is often the greatest gift we can offer,” Ambarus said.

Many inmates serve their entire sentences without a single visitor. “Small acts—a letter, a conversation, or practical help—can restore the dignity that prison often strips away.” 

Pope Francis’ legacy lives on in these quiet acts of compassion, a reminder that even in darkness, hope can be rekindled.

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