History has a funny way of reducing people to trivia. Ask anyone about John Paul I, and you’ll likely hear one of two things: he smiled a lot, or he was murdered in his sleep.
33 days.
That’s how long his papacy lasted. It’s the 10th shortest in the history of the Catholic Church. But if you think Albino Luciani was just a blink in the timeline, you're missing the most interesting part of the story. Honestly, the man was a disruptor who didn’t even want the job.
He was the first pope born in the 20th century. He was the first to take a double name. He was also the first in centuries to refuse a coronation. No crown, no throne, no "we" instead of "I." Just a man from a poor mountain village who found himself at the center of a global power structure he planned to overhaul.
The Man Before the 33 Days
Albino Luciani wasn't a product of the Roman aristocracy. He grew up in the Italian Dolomites, in a town called Canale d'Agordo. His father was a bricklayer and a socialist—not exactly the typical background for a Prince of the Church.
He knew what it was like to be hungry.
His brother later recalled that during the lean years, they lived on boiled herbs and sawdust bread. This wasn't some "illustrative example" of piety; it was a gritty, difficult reality that shaped his entire worldview. When he eventually became the Bishop of Vittorio Veneto, he didn't drive a fancy car. He rode a bicycle.
He once sold a gold cross given to him by John XXIII just to fund a center for children with disabilities.
Before he was the Smiling Pope, he was a prolific writer. He wrote a book called Illustrissimi, which is basically a collection of open letters to people like Pinocchio, Mark Twain, and King David. It’s quirky, deep, and shows a guy who didn't take himself too seriously despite being the Patriarch of Venice.
That Chaotic August Conclave
When Paul VI died in August 1978, the Church was a mess. It was caught between the old-school traditionalists and the post-Vatican II reformers. The cardinals wanted a "pastoral" pope—someone who could talk to people, not just issue decrees from a marble palace.
Luciani was terrified.
He told his family he’d decline if elected. He even joked that he was "out of danger" because no one would pick him.
They picked him anyway.
It was one of the fastest conclaves in history. On the fourth ballot, they handed him the keys to the kingdom. He chose the name John Paul I to honor his two predecessors, John XXIII and Paul VI. It was a bridge between the old and the new. But the moment he stepped onto that balcony, you could see the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The Conspiracy Theories: What Actually Happened?
Let's talk about the elephant in the room. You’ve probably seen the movies or read the thrillers claiming the Mafia or a secret cabal of cardinals poisoned his tea.
David Yallop’s book In God’s Name made a fortune off this idea. He argued that the Pope was about to expose a massive corruption scandal involving the Vatican Bank and the P2 Masonic lodge.
Was there corruption? Absolutely. The Vatican Bank was a disaster at the time.
Was he murdered? Probably not.
The Vatican’s initial PR response was a train wreck, which didn't help. They lied about who found his body because they didn't want to admit a nun (Sister Vincenza Taffarel) had entered the Pope's bedroom at 5:00 AM. They also claimed he was reading the Imitation of Christ, when he was actually holding some papers about church appointments. These small lies created a vacuum that conspiracy theorists filled with cyanide and daggers.
The medical reality is more mundane but just as tragic. Luciani had poor health his entire life. He’d been hospitalized eight times and had four surgeries. The evening before he died, he complained of a sharp chest pain while praying with his secretary, John Magee. He refused to call a doctor. "It's fine," he basically said.
It wasn't. He died of a myocardial infarction—a heart attack.
In 2017, journalist Stefania Falasca published a book based on declassified Vatican documents and medical reports. She confirmed that his death was a natural consequence of a pre-existing heart condition and the massive stress of the papacy. No poison. No hitmen. Just a man whose body gave out under the pressure.
Why John Paul I Still Matters
It’s easy to dismiss a 33-day term as a footnote. But John Paul I changed the "vibe" of the papacy forever.
👉 See also: Red Counties in PA: Why the Rural-Urban Divide is Growing Deeper
He broke the "Sedia Gestatoria"—the portable throne popes were carried on. He hated it. He only used it a few times because his staff insisted that people couldn't see him otherwise. He wanted to be a "servant of the servants of God," not a monarch.
His Actual Impact:
- Language: He used "I" instead of the royal "We."
- Simplicity: He refused the papal coronation and the triple-tiered tiara.
- Catechesis: His four general audiences were legendary. He spoke like a father, not a lecturer.
- Beatification: In 2022, Pope Francis beatified him. This wasn't just for being a "nice guy." It was for a miracle in Argentina where an 11-year-old girl with terminal brain disease was inexplicably cured after her priest prayed for Luciani’s intercession.
Moving Beyond the Trivia
If you want to understand the modern papacy, you have to look at John Paul I. He set the stage for John Paul II’s charisma and Pope Francis’s focus on the poor. He was the first step toward a Church that looked more like a field hospital and less like a fortress.
Don't just remember him for the 33 days. Remember him for the humility he brought to a role that usually eats humble people alive.
What to do next
If you're genuinely interested in the "September Pope," stop reading the sensationalist thrillers. Instead:
- Read Illustrissimi: It’s his best work. You’ll see his humor and his intellect in a way no biography can capture.
- Visit Canale d'Agordo: If you're ever in northern Italy, his childhood home is now a museum. It puts his "poverty to papacy" story into perspective.
- Look at his last General Audience (Sept 27, 1978): It was on the virtue of charity. He died just hours later. It’s essentially his last will and testament to the world.