When Diego Neria Lejárraga walked into the Vatican to meet Pope Francis in 2015, he wasn’t just carrying personal pain. He was carrying centuries of rejection.
Diego, a Spanish man from Plasencia, had been vilified by his local church after coming out as transgender. He was called “the daughter of the devil” by a priest. Parishioners turned their backs on him. The place that was supposed to offer him spiritual refuge had instead become another place of violence.
So he did something most of us only dream about when screaming at institutions that fail us: he wrote to the boss. And not just any boss—the Pope. The actual Pope.
And Pope Francis, who we now know wasn’t afraid of breaking protocol (or shaking up the Catholic old guard), didn’t ignore him. He picked up the phone and called Diego personally.
See also: 9 Things About Pope Francis You Probably Never Knew That’ll Change How You See Him
When Pope Francis Met Diego: 90 Minutes That Felt Like Heaven
When Diego and his partner arrived at the Vatican for their private audience, they were received in the residence of Santa Marta—not the traditional Apostolic Palace, but the more down-to-earth guesthouse Francis chose to live in, because “he didn’t want to be a king.” Fitting, then, that this meeting would take place in a space of humility and intention.
They spoke for 90 minutes. Ninety minutes that, according to Diego, felt like heaven. Not because Francis had all the answers or suddenly rewrote Church doctrine on gender identity—but because he listened. He saw Diego as a human being. A man of faith. A man worthy of dignity, compassion, and inclusion.
Now, years later, with the news of Pope Francis’s death still fresh, Diego spoke again—this time in a live interview with TardeAR, an Argentine TV program. Holding back tears, he said:
“It was like being in heaven for a moment.”
And that alone? Radical.
@tardeartv Diego Neira, el amigo trans del Papa Francisco: “Me llamó directamente el Papa, me dijo que había leído mi carta, hablamos en muchas ocasiones, éramos grandes amigos” #papa #francisco #trans #vaticano ♬ sonido original – TardeAR
Why This Meeting Still Matters—Especially Now
Let’s be real: the Catholic Church hasn’t exactly been a safe space for trans people. Or queer people. Or women. Or divorced people. Or basically anyone who doesn’t fit into its 2,000-year-old binary-coded mold. But this meeting—that quiet, off-camera moment of kindness—cut through all that noise.
It wasn’t just about Diego. It was a message to every queer Catholic who has been told they are too much, too broken, too other.
It was Pope Francis saying: I see you.
And in a world where trans people are still fighting for basic rights, bodily autonomy, and safety—in schools, hospitals, families, and yes, even churches—being seen can be life-saving.
See also: Pope Francis’s Most Controversial Reforms—and Why They Matter Now
This Wasn’t Tokenism. It Was Legacy Work.
Pope Francis never claimed to be a progressive hero. He didn’t approve same-sex marriage. He didn’t rewrite doctrine. But what he did do was shift tone, crack open centuries-old doors, and refuse to participate in the Church’s obsession with purity politics.
He met with LGBTQ+ people. He told gay Catholics that “God loves you as you are.” He approved blessings for same-sex couples. He allowed trans people to be baptized and serve as godparents.
Was it enough? No.
Was it something? Absolutely.
And in a religion that changes at a glacial pace, something can ripple into everything.
See also: The “Black Pope” Prophecy: Nostradamus May Have Seen This Coming
Diego’s Story Is About All of Us
There’s something quietly revolutionary about a trans man in love, sitting across from the most powerful religious figure on Earth, talking about God. Not debating theology. Not defending his humanity. Just talking. Like equals.
Diego’s story is a reminder that resistance doesn’t always look like protest signs and megaphones (though we love those, too). Sometimes, it’s sitting down at the table and refusing to leave. Sometimes, it’s refusing to let your faith be taken from you—by bigots, by dogma, or by silence.
See also: “If I Can’t Marry You, I’ll Become a Priest”: Pope Francis Love Story That Changed His Life Forever
This Is What Grace Looks Like
Pope Francis is gone now. And with him, a papacy that—while imperfect—had the courage to break form. To say the quiet things out loud. To meet with the people his predecessors ignored.
But Diego is still here. And so are millions of queer, trans, and otherwise “unwelcome” Catholics who are refusing to disappear quietly.
As Diego said in TardeAR, remembering that extraordinary meeting:
“It was like being in heaven for a moment.”
For the rest of us? It was a glimpse of what the Church could be—if it stopped fearing difference and started embodying the radical love it claims to preach.
