Even the Vatican Has Walls — and That’s Not a Sin

Even the Vatican Has Walls — and That’s Not a Sin
A Reflection on Pope Francis, Donald Trump, and the Church That Endures
By Richard W. Horrell
www.LibertyBuildersUSA.com

It’s become a favorite line for those eager to discredit the Catholic Church:
"Even the Vatican has walls."

It usually follows right after the Pope says something about immigration or border security—tossed out like a spiritual mic drop, not to defend the poor, but to mock the faithful.

The phrase gained traction after Pope Francis, in 2016, made a now-infamous comment about Donald Trump’s proposed border wall. He said:

"A person who thinks only about building walls, wherever they may be, and not building bridges, is not Christian."
To many Catholics—especially in America—this felt like a sharp misjudgment. It overlooked the real reasons so many support strong borders: the drug crisis, child trafficking, and the need for lawful, orderly immigration. Millions of Americans who love their country—and love the poor—were painted with a broad brush.

Yes, Pope Francis misspoke.
He judged too quickly.
He spoke as a man shaped by his own life experience—a pastor from Latin America, a shepherd to the marginalized.

And you know what?
That’s okay.
Because he was human.

He was not perfect.
And he didn’t need to be.

The Church has had saints for popes and sinners for popes—often both at once.
Even Peter denied Christ three times.
Judas betrayed Christ for a few silver coins—and Christ loved him still.

We all carry a piece of that betrayal inside us.
What matters is that we learn, we love, and we keep following Christ.

People outside the Church often misunderstand this.
They think Catholics worship the Pope.
They think a papal misstep destroys our faith.
They are wrong.

Catholics do not worship the Pope.
Papal infallibility does not mean the Pope is perfect or sinless. It simply means that, under very specific conditions, the Holy Spirit protects the Pope from error when he solemnly defines a doctrine of faith or morals.

That’s it.

Not political opinions.
Not offhand comments on airplanes.
Only when speaking ex cathedra—from the seat of Peter, on matters of doctrine—is he protected.
Everything else?
He is a man like any other—flawed, forgiven, in need of mercy.

And that’s the beauty of our faith.
We follow a perfect Savior, not perfect men.

We pray for each other.
We confess our sins.
We cling to grace like drowning men cling to a raft.

That’s why the Church endures.
The Church exists precisely because we are not perfect.
We are a hospital for sinners, and Christ is our physician.

And about those walls?

Yes, the Vatican has walls.
Just like America.
Both have the right—and the duty—to protect those within.

Security is not a sin.
But neither is compassion.

The real question isn’t whether we build walls.
It’s whether we harden hearts.

Pope Francis made a mistake. He misjudged Donald Trump. And that mistake gave fuel to those who already hated the Church—and hated Trump too.

But here’s the secret:
The moment we admit that—even gently—we take away their power.
The mockery loses its sting.
Because we’re not afraid of the truth.

And in the end, the story doesn’t finish with a soundbite.
It finishes with something much greater.

And now, it has come.
The day we once imagined is here.

Pope Francis has gone home to God.
And Donald Trump—private, quiet, without cameras or campaign—walked into St. Peter’s Basilica to pay his respects.
Not as a politician.
Not as a celebrity.
But as a man honoring another man—both fallen, both bearing the scars of leadership, both now at the mercy of the only Judge who matters.

Because Trump, for all his flaws, understands human weakness.
He’s seen his own—whether he speaks of it or not.
Behind closed doors, between himself and God, that’s enough.

Because in the end, it’s between God and him.

And in that sacred moment, one fallen man honored another—not with bitterness, but with mercy.

That’s not politics.
That’s the Gospel.

This is not the death of our faith.
This is the depth of it.

And so, when they say:
"Even the Vatican has walls,"
just smile and say:

"Yes—and its gates are still open to anyone seeking Christ."
But just like in America, you can’t climb over the wall.
Like any home, you must come through the front door.
Maybe the door just needs to be more accessible.
Maybe we can all work on that.

And we should.
Because Christ is still calling,
and the gates are still open.