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Meditations and Prayers written by Pope Francis

The road to Calvary passes through the streets we tread each day. Usually, Lord, we are walking in the other direction, and so it may just happen that we encounter you, catch sight of your face, meet your gaze. We are going about our way as usual, and you are coming towards us. Your eyes look into our hearts.  Then we find it hard to continue on, as if nothing happened. We can turn around, contemplate you and follow you. We can walk in your footsteps and come to realize that it was good for us to change direction.

18.04.25 wc

I have always liked coming to prison on Holy Thursday to do the washing of the feet like Jesus. 

This year, I cannot do it, but I want to be close to you. I pray for you and your families.

17.04.25 pv

Homily of Pope Francis read by Cardinal Domenico Calcagno

Dear bishops and priests,

Dear brothers and sisters!

“The Alpha and the Omega, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty” (Rev 1:8), is Jesus himself. That same Jesus whom Luke presents to us in the synagogue of Nazareth, among those who have known him since he was a child, and are now amazed at him. Revelation — “apocalypse” — takes place within the limits of time and space: it has flesh as its fulcrum, which sustains our hope. The flesh of Jesus is our flesh. The final book of the Bible speaks of this hope. It does so in an extraordinary way, by dispelling all apocalyptic fears in the light of a crucified love.  In Jesus, the book of history is opened, and can be read.

We priests have our own history. On Holy Thursday, when we renew the promises made at our ordination, we confess that we can read that history only in the light of Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus, “who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood” (Rev 1:5) opens the scroll of our own lives and teaches us to find the passages that reveal its meaning and mission. If only we let him teach us, our ministry becomes one of hope, because in each of our stories God opens a jubilee: a time and an oasis of grace. Let us ask: Am I learning how to read the story of my life? Or am I afraid to do so?

An entire people finds refreshment when the jubilee begins in our lives: not only once every twenty-five years — we hope! — but in the daily closeness of priests to their people, where the prophecies of justice and peace are fulfilled. Jesus has “made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father” (Rev 1:6): such is the people of God. This kingdom of priests is not the same as a clergy. The “we” that Jesus shapes is a people whose boundaries we cannot see, where walls and barriers come tumbling down. The one who tells us, “See, I am making all things new” (Rev 21:5), has torn the veil of the Temple and has prepared for humanity a garden city, the new Jerusalem whose gates are always open (cf. Rev 21:25).  That is how Jesus “reads”, and teaches us to read, the ministerial priesthood: as pure service to the priestly people, who will soon inhabit a city that has no need of a temple.

For us priests, the Jubilee year thus represents a specific summons to a new beginning on our path of conversion. As pilgrims of hope, we are called to leave clericalism behind and to become heralds of hope. Naturally, if Jesus is the Alpha and Omega of our lives, we too may encounter the dissent he experienced in Nazareth. The shepherd who loves his people does not seek consensus and approval at any cost. Yet the fidelity of love changes hearts. The poor are the first to see this, but slowly it unsettles and attracts others too. “Look!  Every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account, all the tribes of the earth will wail. So it is to be. Amen” (Rev 1:7).

We are gathered here, dear brothers, to make our own and to repeat that “Amen.”  It is the confession of faith of the entire people of God: “Yes, it is so, solid as a rock!” The passion, death and resurrection of Jesus, which we are about to relive, are the soil that solidly sustains the Church and, within her, our priestly ministry. And what kind of soil is this?  What kind of humus allows us not only to survive, but also to flourish?  To understand this, we need to return to Nazareth, as Saint Charles de Foucauld so astutely realized.

“When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read” (Lk 4:16). Here we see at least two “customs” of Jesus: that of frequenting the synagogue and that of reading. Our lives are sustained by good habits. They may become routine, but they reveal where our heart is.  Jesus’ heart was in love with the word of God: at the age of twelve that was already clear, and now, as an adult, the Scriptures are his home. That is the same soil, the vital humus, that we find, once we become his disciples. “And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place” (Lk 4:17). Jesus knew what he was looking for. The synagogue ritual allowed for this: after the reading of the Torah, each rabbi could read prophetic words to apply the message to the lives of those who were listening.  Yet there is more here: Jesus chose to read the page of his own life. That is what Luke wants to tell us: from among the many prophecies, Jesus chooses the one he is to fulfil.

Dear priests, each of us has a word to fulfil. Each of us has a long-standing relationship with the word of God. We put it at the service of others only when the Bible remains our first home. Within it, each of us has some pages that touch us more than others. That is beautiful and important! We also help others to find the pages that touch their lives: such as newlyweds, when they choose the readings for their wedding; or those who are grieving and seek passages to entrust a dear one who has died to the mercy of God and the prayers of the community. There is a page for a vocation, normally at the beginning of each of our journeys. Whenever we read this page, God still calls us, if only we cherish it and do not allow our love to grow cold.

For each of us, the page that Jesus chose has a particular meaning. We follow him, and for that reason, his mission has to do directly with us. “He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:

‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because he has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives

and recovery of sight to the blind,

to let the oppressed go free,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’

And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down” (Lk 4:17-20).

The eyes of all are now fixed on Jesus. He has just proclaimed a jubilee. He did so, not as someone speaking about others but about himself. He said: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me”, as someone who knows the Spirit of which he speaks. Indeed, he adds: “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” This is divine: the word becomes reality. The facts now speak; the words are fulfilled. Something new and powerful is happening. “See, I am making all things new.” There is no grace, there is no Messiah, if the promises remain promises, if they do not become reality here below. Everything is now changed.

We now invoke this same Spirit upon our priesthood. We have received that Spirit, the Spirit of Jesus, and he continues to be the silent protagonist of our service. The people feel his breath when our words become a reality in our lives. The poor before all others, children, adolescents, women, but also any who have been hurt in their experience of the Church: all these have a “feel” for the presence of the Holy Spirit; they can distinguish him from worldly spirits, they recognize him in the convergence of what we say and what we do. We can become a prophecy fulfilled, and this is something beautiful! The sacred chrism that we consecrate today seals this mystery of transformation at work in the different stages of Christian life.  Take care, then, never to grow discouraged, for it is all God’s work. So believe!  Believe that God did not make a mistake with me! God never makes mistakes. Let us always remember the words spoken at our ordination: “May God who has begun the good work in you bring it to fulfilment.” He does.

It is God’s work, not ours: to bring good news to the poor, freedom to prisoners, sight to the blind and freedom to the oppressed. If Jesus once found this passage in the scroll, today he continues to read it in the life story of each one of us. First and foremost, because until our last day, he continues to tell us good news, to free us from prisons, to open our eyes and to lift the burdens from our shoulders. Yet also, because by calling us to share in his mission and sacramentally giving us a share in his life, he sets others free through us, often without our even knowing it. Our priesthood becomes a jubilee ministry, like his, accomplished without fanfare but through a devotion that is unobtrusive, yet radical and gratuitous. It is that of the Kingdom of God, the one recounted in the parables, effective and discreet like yeast, silent like seed. How often have the little ones recognized it in us? And are we able to say thank you?

Only God knows how abundant the harvest will be. We labourers experience the toil and the joy of the harvest. We live after Christ, in the messianic age. Despair has no place, but rather the restitution and forgiveness of debts; the redistribution of responsibilities and resources. This is what God’s people expect. They want to share in this and, by virtue of Baptism, they are a great priestly people. The oils that we consecrate in this solemn celebration are for their consolation and messianic joy.

The field is the world. Our common home, so wounded, and human fraternity, so often denied yet indelible, call us to take sides. God’s harvest is for everyone: a flourishing field that produces a hundred times more than was sown. May the joy of the Kingdom, which repays all our efforts, spur us on in our mission. Every farmer knows seasons when nothing seems to grow. There are also times like these in our lives. It is God who gives the growth and who anoints his servants with the oil of gladness.

Dear members of the faithful, people of hope, pray today for the joy of priests. May all of you experience the liberation promised by the Scriptures and nourished by the sacraments.  Many fears can dwell within us and terrible injustices surround us, but a new world has already been born. God so loved the world that he gave us his Son, Jesus. He pours balm upon our wounds and wipes away our tears. “Look! He is coming with the clouds” (Rev 1:7).  His is the Kingdom and the glory forever and ever. Amen.

17.04.25 m

Dear brothers and sisters, good morning!

As we celebrate Palm Sunday today, we have listened to the account of the Lord's Passion according to Luke (cf. Lk 22:14-23:56) in the Gospel. We have heard Jesus addressing the Father several times: " “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done.” (22:42); Father, forgive them, they know not what they do ‘ (23:34); Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" (23:46). We have seen him walk towards the cross defenceless and humiliated, with the feelings and the heart of a child clinging to his father's neck, fragile in the flesh, but strong in trusting abandonment, until he fell asleep, in death, in the Father’s arms.

These are feelings that the liturgy calls us to contemplate and make our own. We all have sorrows, physical or moral, and faith helps us not to give in to despair, not to close ourselves off in bitterness, but to face them, feeling enveloped, like Jesus, by the providential and merciful embrace of the Father.

Sisters and brothers, I thank you very much for your prayers. At this time of physical weakness, they help me to feel God's closeness, compassion and tenderness even more. I too am praying for you, and I ask you to entrust all those who suffer to the Lord together with me, especially those affected by war, poverty or natural disasters. In particular, may God receive in His peace the victims of the collapse of a building in Santo Domingo, and comfort their families.

The 15th of April will mark the second sad anniversary of the beginning of the conflict in Sudan, in which thousands have been killed and millions of families have been forced to flee their homes. The suffering of children, women and vulnerable people cries out to heaven and begs us to act. I renew my appeal to the parties involved, that they may end the violence and embark on paths of dialogue, and to the international community, so that the help needed may be provided to the populations.

And let us also remember Lebanon, where the tragic civil war began fifty years ago: with God's help, may it live in peace and prosperity.

May peace come at last to martyred Ukraine, Palestine, Israel, the Democratic Republic of Congo, to Myanmar, to South Sudan. May Mary, Mother of Sorrows, obtain this grace for us and help us to live this Holy Week with faith.

13.04.25 a

Homily of Pope Francis read by H.E. Cardinal Leonardo Sandri

“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord” (Lk 19:38). So the crowd greeted Jesus as he entered Jerusalem. The Messiah entered through the gate of the holy city, thrown open to welcome the one who, a few days later, would leave through the same gate, this time cursed and condemned, bearing the cross.

Today we too have followed Jesus, first in a festive procession and then along a path of pain and sorrow, as we enter upon this Holy Week of preparation for the commemoration of the Lord’s passion, death and resurrection.

As we look at the faces of the soldiers and the tears of the women in the crowd, our attention is drawn to an unknown person whose name suddenly appears in the Gospel: Simon of Cyrene. He was the man seized by the soldiers who then “laid the cross on him, and made him carry it behind Jesus” (Lk 23:26). At that moment, he was coming in from the countryside. He happened to be passing by when he unexpectedly found himself caught up in a drama that overwhelmed him, like the heavy wood that was placed on his shoulders.

As we make our own way towards Calvary, let us reflect for a moment on Simon’s actions, try to look into his heart, and follow in his footsteps at the side of Jesus.

First of all, Simon’s actions were ambivalent. On the one hand, he was forced to carry the cross. He did not help Jesus out of conviction, but out of coercion. On the other hand, he then becomes personally involved in the Lord’s passion. Jesus’ cross becomes Simon’s cross. He was not the Simon, called Peter, who had promised to follow the Master at all times. That Simon disappeared on the night of betrayal, even after he had exclaimed: “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death” (Lk 22:33). The one who now follows Jesus is not that disciple, but this man from Cyrene. Yet the Master had clearly taught: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (Lk 9:23). Simon of Galilee spoke but did not act. Simon of Cyrene acts but does not speak. Between him and Jesus, there is no dialogue; not a single word is spoken. Between him and Jesus, there is only the wood of the cross.

If we would know whether Simon of Cyrene helped or hated Jesus, in whose suffering he now had to share, whether he “took up” the Lord’s cross or simply carried it, we must look into his heart. While God’s heart is ever open, pierced by a pain that reveals his mercy, the human heart remains closed. We do not know what went on in Simon’s heart. Let us imagine ourselves in his place: would we feel anger or pity, compassion or annoyance? When we think of what Simon did for Jesus, we should also think of what Jesus did for Simon — what he did for me, for you, for each of us: he redeemed the world. The cross of wood that Simon of Cyrene bore is the cross of Christ, who himself bore the sins of all humanity. He bore them for love of us, in obedience to the Father (cf. Lk 22:42); he suffered with us and for us. In this unexpected and astonishing way, Simon of Cyrene becomes part of the history of salvation, in which no one is a stranger, no one a foreigner.

Let us follow, then, in Simon’s footsteps, for he teaches us that Jesus comes to meet everyone, in every situation. When we see the great crowds of men and women whom hatred and violence are compelling to walk the road to Calvary, let us remember that God has made this road a place of redemption, for he walked it himself, giving his life for us. How many Simons of Cyrene are there in our own day, bearing the cross of Christ on their shoulders! Can we recognize them? Can we see the Lord in their faces, marred by the burden of war and deprivation? Faced with the appalling injustice of evil, we never carry the cross of Christ in vain; on the contrary, it is the most tangible way for us to share in his redemptive love.

Jesus’ passion becomes compassion whenever we hold out our hand to those who feel they cannot go on, when we lift up those who have fallen, when we embrace those who are discouraged. Brothers and sisters, in order to experience this great miracle of mercy, let us decide how we are meant to carry our own cross during this Holy Week: if not on our shoulders, in our hearts. And not only our cross, but also the cross of those who suffer all around us; perhaps even the cross of some unknown person whom chance — but is it really chance? — has placed on our way. Let us prepare for the Lord’s paschal mystery by becoming each of us, for one another, a Simon of Cyrene.

13.04.25 m

Dear brothers and sisters,

The Gospel of this fifth Sunday of Lent presents to us the episode of the woman caught in adultery (Jn 8:1-11). While the scribes and the pharisees want to stone her, Jesus restores the lost beauty to this woman. She has fallen in the dust; Jesus passes his finger on this dust and writes a new story for her. It is the “finger of God”, who saves His children (cf. Ex 8:15) and frees them from evil (cf. Lk 11:20).

Dear friends, as during my hospitalization, even now in my convalescence I feel the “finger of God” and experience His caring touch. On the day of the Jubilee of the sick and the world of healthcare, I ask the Lord that this touch of His love may reach those who suffer and encourage those who care for them. And I pray for doctors, nurses and health workers, who are not always helped to work in adequate conditions and are sometimes even victims of aggression. Their mission is not easy and must be supported and respected. I hope that the necessary resources will be invested in treatment and research, so that health systems are inclusive and attentive to the most fragile and the poorest.

I thank the inmates of Rebibbia women’s prison for the note they have sent to me. I pray for them and for their families.

On International Day of Sport for Development and Peace, I hope that sport may be a sign of hope for so many people who need peace and social inclusion, and I thank the sporting associations that educate in fraternity in practical way.

Let us continue to pray for peace: in tormented Ukraine, stricken by attacks that are claiming many civilian victims, including a lot of children. And the same is happening in Gaza, where people are reduced to living in unimaginable conditions, without shelter, without food, without clean water. May the weapons be silenced and dialogue resumed; may all the hostages be freed and aid brought to the population. Let us pray for peace throughout the Middle East; in Sudan and South Sudan; in the Democratic Republic of the Congo; in Myanmar, hard hit by the earthquake; and in Haiti, where violence rages, and two religious sisters were killed a few days ago.

May the Virgin Mary protect us and intercede for us.

06.04.25 a

Homily of Pope Francis read by H.E. Archbishop Rino Fisichella

“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Is 43:19). God addressed these words to the people of Israel through the prophet Isaiah while they were in exile in Babylon. For the Israelites, it was a difficult time: it seemed that all was lost. Jerusalem had been conquered and destroyed by the soldiers of King Nebuchadnezzar II, and the people, now deported, had nothing left. The future was bleak and every hope seemed thwarted. Everything could have tempted the people in exile to give up, to grow bitter and to feel that they were no longer blessed by God.

Yet, in this very situation, the Lord invited them to embrace something new that was unfolding. Not something that would happen in the future, but something already happening, something springing up like a shoot. What is it? What could possibly come into being, or even have already sprouted, in such a desolate and forlorn landscape?

A new people was being born. A people that, having experienced the failure of past false securities, now discovered what is essential: to remain united and walk together in the light of the Lord (cf. Is 2:5). A people that would be able to rebuild Jerusalem because, far from the Holy City where the temple lay in ruins and where solemn liturgies could no longer be celebrated, it has learned to encounter the Lord in another way: through conversion of heart (cf. Jer 4:4), through the practice of the law and justice, through caring for the poor and needy (cf. Jer 22:3), through works of mercy.

It is the same message that we find, in a different way, in today’s Gospel (cf. Jn 8:1-11). Here too there is a person — a woman— whose life has been destroyed, not by physical exile, but by moral condemnation.  She is a sinner, and thus far from the law and condemned to ostracism and death. There seems to be no hope for her either. Yet God does not abandon her.  In fact, at the very moment when her accusers are ready to stone her — precisely then — Jesus enters her life, defends her and saves her from their violence, thus giving her the opportunity to begin a new life. “Go your way,” he says to her, “you are free,” “you are saved” (cf. v. 11).

Through these dramatic and moving stories, the liturgy invites us today, amid our Lenten journey, to renew our trust in God, who is ever near to us and ready to save us. No situation of exile, no violence, no sin, no fact of life can prevent him from standing at our door and knocking, ready to enter as soon as we open to him (cf. Rev 3:20). Indeed, it is precisely when the trials become more difficult that his grace and love embrace us all the more in order to raise us up.

Sisters and brothers, we read these texts as we celebrate the Jubilee of the Sick and Health Care Workers. Illness is certainly one of the harshest and most difficult of life’s trials, when we experience in our own flesh our common human frailty. It can make us feel like the people in exile, or like the woman in the Gospel: deprived of hope for the future. Yet that is not the case. Even in these times, God does not leave us alone, and if we surrender our lives to him, precisely when our strength fails, we will be able to experience the consolation of his presence. By becoming man, he wanted to share our weakness in everything (cf. Phil 2:6-8). He knows what it is to suffer (cf. Is 53:3).  Therefore, we can turn to him and entrust our pain to him, certain that we will encounter compassion, closeness and tenderness.

But not only that. In his faithful love, the Lord invites us in turn to become “angels” for one another, messengers of his presence, to the point where the sickbed can become a “holy place” of salvation and redemption, both for the sick and for those who care for them.

Dear doctors, nurses and health care workers, in caring for your patients, especially the most vulnerable among them, the Lord constantly affords you an opportunity to renew your lives through gratitude, mercy, and hope (cf. Spes Non Confundit, 11). He calls you to realize with humility that nothing in life is to be taken for granted and that everything is a gift from God; to enrich your lives with the sense of humanity we experience when, beyond appearances, only the things that matter remain: the small and great signs of love. Allow the presence of the sick to enter your lives as a gift, to heal your hearts, to purify them of all that is not charity, and to warm them with the ardent and gentle fire of compassion.

I have much in common with you at this time of my life, dear brothers and sisters who are sick: the experience of illness, of weakness, of having to depend on others in so many things, and of needing their support. This is not always easy, but it is a school in which we learn each day to love and to let ourselves be loved, without being demanding or pushing back, without regrets and without despair, but rather with gratitude to God and to our brothers and sisters for the kindness we receive, looking towards the future with acceptance and trust. The hospital room and the sickbed can also be places where we hear the voice of the Lord speak to us: “Behold, I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Is 43:19). In this way, we renew and strengthen our faith.

Benedict XVI — who gave us a beautiful testimony of serenity in the time of his illness — wrote that, “the true measure of humanity is essentially determined in relationship to suffering” and that “a society unable to accept its suffering members... is a cruel and inhuman society” (Spe Salvi, 38). It is true: facing suffering together makes us more human, and the ability to share the pain of others is an important step forward in any journey of holiness.

Dear friends, let us not exclude from our lives those who are frail, as at times, sadly, a certain mentality does today. Let us not banish suffering from our surroundings. On the contrary, let us turn it into an opportunity to grow together and to cultivate hope, thanks to the love that God first poured into our hearts (cf. Rom 5:5), the love that, above all things, remains forever (cf. 1 Cor 13:8-10, 13).

06.04.25 m

Dear brothers and sisters, Happy Sunday!

In today's Gospel (Lk 15:1-3, 11-32) Jesus notices that the Pharisees are scandalised and murmur behind His back, instead of being happy because sinners come to Him. So Jesus tells them about a father who has two sons: one leaves home, but then, having been reduced to poverty, he returns and is welcomed with joy. The other, the ‘obedient’ son, is indignant at his father and does not want to enter the feast. This is how Jesus reveals the heart of God: He is always merciful towards all; he heals our wounds so that we can love each other as brothers.

Dearest friends, let us live this Lent as a time of healing, all the more as it is the Jubilee. I too am experiencing it this way, in my soul and in my body. That is why I give heartfelt thanks to all those who, in the image of the Saviour, are instruments of healing for their neighbour with their word and their knowledge, with kindness and with prayer. Frailty and illness are experiences we all have in common; all the more, however, we are brothers in the salvation Christ has given us.

Trusting in the mercy of God the Father, we continue to pray for peace: in martyred Ukraine, in Palestine, Israel, Lebanon, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Myanmar, which is also suffering so much because of the earthquake.

I am following the situation in South Sudan with concern. I renew my heartfelt appeal to all leaders to do their utmost to lower the tension in the country. We must put aside our differences and, with courage and responsibility, sit around a table and engage in constructive dialogue. Only in this way will it be possible to alleviate the suffering of the beloved South Sudanese people and to build a future of peace and stability.

And in Sudan, the war continues to claim innocent victims.

I urge the parties concerned in the conflict to put the safeguarding of the lives of their civilian brothers and sisters first; and I hope that new negotiations will begin as soon as possible, capable of securing a lasting solution to the crisis. May the international community increase its efforts to address the appalling humanitarian catastrophe.

Thanks be to God, there are also positive events: for example, the ratification of the Agreement on the demarcation of the border between Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan, which is an excellent diplomatic achievement.

I encourage both countries to continue on this path.

May Mary, Mother of Mercy, help the human family to be reconciled in peace.

30.03.25

Dear brothers and sisters, happy Sunday!

The parable in today’s Gospel tells us about the patience of God, who urges us to make our life a time of conversion. Jesus uses the image of a barren fig tree, which has not borne the anticipated fruit and which, nevertheless, the farmer does not want to cut down: he wants to fertilize it again since “it may bear fruit in the future” (Lk 13:9). This patient farmer is the Lord, who works the soil of our lives with care and waits confidently for our return to Him.

In this long period of my hospitalization, I have had the opportunity to experience the Lord’s patience, which I also see reflected in the tireless care of the doctors and healthcare workers, as well as in the care and hopes of the relatives of the sick. This trusting patience, anchored in God’s unfailing love, is indeed necessary in our lives, especially when facing the most difficult and painful situations.

I am saddened by the resumption of heavy Israeli bombing on the Gaza Strip, causing many deaths and injuries. I call for an immediate halt to the weapons; and for the courage to resume dialogue, so that all hostages may be released and a final ceasefire reached. In the Strip, the humanitarian situation is again very serious and requires urgent commitment from the conflicting parties and the international community.

On the other hand, I am pleased that Armenia and Azerbaijan have agreed on the final text of the peace agreement. I hope that it may be signed as soon as possible, and may thus contribute to establishing lasting peace in the South Caucasus.

You are continuing to pray for me with great patience and perseverance: thank you very much! I pray for you too. And together, let us pray for an end to wars and for peace, especially in tormented Ukraine, Palestine, Israel, Lebanon, Myanmar, Sudan, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

May the Virgin Mary keep you and continue to accompany us on our journey towards Easter.

23.03.25

Excerpt below, for the full transcript click here

Pilgrims of Hope: the Gift of Life

On this, the 62nd World Day of Prayer for Vocations, I wish to extend to you a joyful and encouraging invitation to become pilgrims of hope by generously offering your lives as a gift.

A vocation is a precious gift that God sows in our heart, a call to leave ourselves behind and embark on a journey of love and service. Every vocation in the Church, whether lay, ordained or consecrated, is a sign of the hope that God has for this world and for each of his children.

Nowadays, many young people feel dismayed as they look to the future. Often they experience insecurity about their prospects of employment and a profound identity crisis, a crisis of meaning and values, which the confused messages of the digital world only aggravate. The unjust treatment of the poor and vulnerable, the indifference of a complacent and self-centred society, and the brutality of war all threaten the hopes for a fulfilling life that young people cherish in their hearts. Yet the Lord, who knows the human heart, does not abandon us in our uncertainty. He wants us to know that we are loved, called and sent as pilgrims of hope.

19.03.25

Dear brothers and sisters, happy Sunday!

Today, the second Sunday of Lent, the Gospel tells us about the Transfiguration of Jesus (Lk 9:28-36). Having climbed to the top of a mountain with Peter, James and John, Jesus immerses Himself in prayer and becomes radiant with light. In this way, He shows the disciples what is hidden behind the gestures He performs in their midst: the light of His infinite love.

I am sharing these thoughts with you while I am facing a period of trial, and I join with so many brothers and sisters who are sick: fragile, at this time, like me. Our bodies are weak but, even like this, nothing can prevent us from loving, praying, giving ourselves, being for each other, in faith, shining signs of hope. How much light shines, in this sense, in hospitals and places of care! How much loving care illuminates the rooms, the corridors, the clinics, the places where the humblest services are performed! That is why I would like to invite you, today, to join me in praising the Lord, who never abandons us and who, in times of sorrow, places people beside us who reflect a ray of His love.

I thank you all for your prayers, and I thank those who assist me with such dedication. I know that many children are praying for me; some of them came here today to “Gemelli” as a sign of closeness. Thank you, dearest children! The Pope loves you and is always waiting to meet you.

Let us continue to pray for peace, especially in the countries wounded by war: tormented Ukraine, Palestine, Israel, Lebanon, Myanmar, Sudan, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

And let us also pray for the Church, required to translate into concrete choices the discernment made in the recent Synodal Assembly. I thank the General Secretariat of the Synod, which over the coming three years will accompany the local Churches in this undertaking.

May the Virgin Mary keep you and help you to be, like Her, bearers of Christ’s light and peace.

16.03.25

Dear brothers and sisters,

Last Wednesday, with the rite of the Ashes, we began Lent, the forty-day-long penitential itinerary that calls us to the conversion of the heart and leads us to the joy of Easter. Let us commit ourselves to making it a time of purification and spiritual renewal, a path of growth in faith, hope and charity.

This morning, in Saint Peter’s Square, holy Mass was celebrated for the world of volunteering, which is experiencing its own Jubilee. In our societies, too enslaved to market logic, where everything risks being subject to the criterion of interest and the quest for profit, volunteering is prophecy and a sign of hope, because it bears witness to the primacy of gratuitousness, solidarity and service to those most in need. I express my gratitude to those who are engaged in this field: thank you for offering your time and abilities; thank you for the closeness and tenderness with which you care for others, reawakening hope in them!

Brothers and sisters, during my prolonged hospitalization here, I too experience the thoughtfulness of service and the tenderness of care, in particular from the doctors and healthcare workers, whom I thank from the bottom of my heart. And while I am here, I think of the many people who in various ways are close to the sick, and who are for them a sign of the Lord’s presence. We need this, the “miracle of tenderness” which accompanies those who are in adversity, bringing a little light into the night of pain.

I would like to thank all those who are showing their closeness to me in prayer: heartfelt thanks to you all! I pray for you too. And I join spiritually with those who in the coming days will participate in the spiritual Exercises of the Roman Curia.

Together let us continue to invoke the gift of peace, in particular in tormented Ukraine, Palestine, Israel, Lebanon, Myanmar, Sudan and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. In particular, I have learned with concern of the resumption of violence in some areas of Syria: I hope that they cease definitively, with full respect for all ethnic and religious components of society, especially civilians.

I entrust you all to the maternal intercession of the Virgin Mary. Happy Sunday, and arrivederci!

09.03.25

Homily of Pope Francis read by H.E. Cardinal Michael Czerny 

Jesus is led by the Spirit into the desert (cf. Lk 4:1). Every year, our Lenten journey begins by following the Lord there and sharing in that experience, which he transformed for our benefit.When Jesus entered the desert, a decisive change occurred: the place of silence became a place of listening. In the desert, our ability to listen is put to the test, because a choice must be made between two completely different voices. In this regard, the Gospel tells us that Jesus’ journey began with an act of listening and obedience: it is the Holy Spirit, the very power of God, who leads him to a place where nothing good springs from the ground or rains down from the sky. In the desert, we experience material and spiritual poverty, our need for bread and for God’s word.

Jesus, who is true man, experienced that hunger (cf. v. 2). He was tempted for forty days by a word that came not from the Holy Spirit, but from the evil one, the devil. Having begun the forty days of Lent, let us reflect on the fact that we too are tempted, yet are not alone. Jesus is with us, to guide us through the desert. The Son of God made man does not simply give us an example of how to combat evil. He gives us something much greater: the strength to resist its attacks and to persevere on our journey.

So let us consider three aspects of Jesus’ temptation and of our own: its beginning, the way it takes place and its result. In this way, we will find inspiration for our journey of conversion.

First of all, the beginning. Jesus’ temptation is intentional: the Lord does not go into the desert to show the strength of his will, but out of filial openness to the Spirit of the Father, whose guidance he readily and freely accepts. Our temptation, on the other hand, is not intentional: evil is prior to our freedom, attacking it from within, like an inner shadow and a constant threat. Whenever we ask God not to lead us into temptation (cf. Mt 6:13), we need to remember that he has already answered that prayer through Jesus, his incarnate Word, who remains with us always. The Lord is close to us and cares for us, especially in times of trial and uncertainty, when the tempter makes his voice heard. He is the father of lies (cf. Jn 8:44), perverse and perversive, for he knows God’s word without understanding it. Quite the opposite: just as he had done since the days of Adam in the Garden of Eden (cf. Gen 3:1-5), so he does now in the case of Jesus, the new Adam, in the desert.

Here we see the remarkable way in which Christ is tempted, namely, through his relationship with God, his Father. The devil is the one who separates and divides, whereas Jesus is the one who unites God and man, the mediator. In his perversion, the devil wants to destroy that bond and have Jesus exploit his position. He says: “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread” (Lk 4:3), and again: “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down” (v. 9) from the pinnacle of the Temple. In response to these temptations, Jesus, the Son of God, led by the Spirit, chooses the way that he will live out his filial relationship to the Father. This is what the Lord chooses: his unique and exclusive relationship with God, whose only Son he is, becomes a relationship that embraces everyone, without excluding anyone. Jesus’ relationship with the Father is not something to be grasped at (cf. Phil 2:6), or boasted of, in order to achieve success and attract followers, but rather a gift that he shares with the world for our salvation.

We too are tempted in our relationship with God, but in a completely different way. The devil whispers into our ear that God is not really our Father, that he has in fact abandoned us. Satan tries to convince us that there is no bread for the hungry, least of all from stones, that angels will not come to our aid when we are falling, and that at best, the world is in the hands of evil powers that crush nations by their arrogant schemes and the brutality of war. Yet just when the devil would have us believe that the Lord is far from us, and would tempt us to despair, God draws all the closer to us, giving his life for the redemption of the world.

The third aspect is the result of these temptations. Jesus, God’s Anointed One, vanquishes evil; he drives away the devil, who will nonetheless return to tempt him, waiting for “another opportunity” (v. 13). So the Gospel tells us, and we will keep this in mind when, on Golgotha, Jesus is tempted again: “If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross” (Mt 27:40; cf. Lk 23:35). In the desert, the Tempter is defeated, yet Christ’s victory is not yet definitive, as it will be in the paschal mystery of his death and resurrection. 

As we prepare to celebrate this, the central mystery of our faith, we realize that the result of our own trials is different. In the face of temptation, we sometimes fall; we are all sinners. Our defeat, however, is not definitive, because following our every fall, God lifts us up by his infinite love and forgiveness. Our testing does not end in failure, because, in Christ, we are redeemed from evil. As we journey through the desert with him, we follow a road previously untravelled: Jesus himself opens up before us this new path of liberation and redemption. By following the Lord in faith, from drifters we become pilgrims.

Dear sisters and brothers, I invite you to begin your Lenten journey in this way. And since, along the way, we need the “good will” (buona voluntà) that the Holy Spirit always sustains in us, I am pleased to greet all the “volunteers” (volontari) who are here in Rome today for their Jubilee pilgrimage. I thank you heartily, dear friends, because, following the example of Jesus, you serve your neighbours unstintingly. On the streets and in homes, in the company of the sick, the suffering and the imprisoned, with the young and the elderly, your generosity and commitment offer hope to our entire society. In the deserts of poverty and loneliness, all those small gestures are helping to make a new humanity blossom in the garden that is God’s dream, always and everywhere, for all of us.

09.03.25

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your prayers for my health from the Square, I accompany you from here. May God bless you and the Virgin protect you. Thank you.

06.03.25

Let us journey together in hope

Dear brothers and sisters,

We begin our annual pilgrimage of Lent in faith and hope with the penitential rite of the imposition of ashes. The Church, our mother and teacher, invites us to open our hearts to God’s grace, so that we can celebrate with great joy the paschal victory of Christ the Lord over sin and death, which led Saint Paul to exclaim: “Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Cor15:54-55). Indeed, Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, is the heart of our faith and the pledge of our hope in the Father’s great promise, already fulfilled in his beloved Son: life eternal (cf.Jn10:28; 17:3).[1]

This Lent, as we share in the grace of the Jubilee Year, I would like to propose a few reflections on what it means tojourney together in hope, and on the summons to conversion that God in his mercy addresses to all of us, as individuals and as a community.

First of all,to journey. The Jubilee motto, “Pilgrims of Hope”, evokes the lengthy journey of the people of Israel to the Promised Land, as recounted in the Book of Exodus. This arduous path from slavery to freedom was willed and guided by the Lord, who loves his people and remains ever faithful to them. It is hard to think of the biblical exodus without also thinking of those of our brothers and sisters who in our own day are fleeing situations of misery and violence in search of a better life for themselves and their loved ones. A first call to conversion thus comes from the realization that all of us are pilgrims in this life; each of us is invited to stop and ask how our lives reflect this fact. Am I really on a journey, or am I standing still, not moving, either immobilized by fear and hopelessness or reluctant to move out of my comfort zone? Am I seeking ways to leave behind the occasions of sin and situations that degrade my dignity? It would be a good Lenten exercise for us to compare our daily life with that of some migrant or foreigner, to learn how to sympathize with their experiences and in this way discover what God is asking of us so that we can better advance on our journey to the house of the Father. This would be a good “examination of conscience” for all of us wayfarers.

Second, to journeytogether. The Church is called to walk together, to be synoda[2]Christians are called to walk at the side of others, and never as lone travellers. The Holy Spirit impels us not to remain self-absorbed, but to leave ourselves behind and keep walking towards God and our brothers and sisters.[3]Journeying together means consolidating the unity grounded in our common dignity as children of God (cf.Gal3:26-28). It means walking side-by-side, without shoving or stepping on others, without envy or hypocrisy, without letting anyone be left behind or excluded. Let us all walk in the same direction, tending towards the same goal, attentive to one another in love and patience.

This Lent, God is asking us to examine whether in our lives, in our families, in the places where we work and spend our time, we are capable of walking together with others, listening to them, resisting the temptation to become self-absorbed and to think only of our own needs. Let us ask ourselves in the presence of the Lord whether, as bishops, priests, consecrated persons and laity in the service of the Kingdom of God, we cooperate with others. Whether we show ourselves welcoming, with concrete gestures, to those both near and far. Whether we make others feel a part of the community or keep them at a distance.[4]This, then, is a second call to conversion: a summons to synodality.

Third, let us journey togetherin hope, for we have been given a promise. Maythe hope that does not disappoint(cf.Rom5:5), the central message of the Jubilee,[5]be the focus of our Lenten journey towards the victory of Easter. As Pope Benedict XVI taught us in the EncyclicalSpe Salvi, “the human being needs unconditional love. He needs the certainty which makes him say: ‘neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord’ (Rom8:38-39)”.[6]Christ, my hope, has risen![7]He lives and reigns in glory. Death has been transformed into triumph, and the faith and great hope of Christians rests in this: the resurrection of Christ!

This, then, is the third call to conversion: a call to hope, to trust in God and his great promise of eternal life. Let us ask ourselves: Am I convinced that the Lord forgives my sins? Or do I act as if I can save myself? Do I long for salvation and call upon God’s help to attain it? Do I concretely experience the hope that enables me to interpret the events of history and inspires in me a commitment to justice and fraternity, to care for our common home and in such a way that no one feels excluded?

Sisters and brothers, thanks to God’s love in Jesus Christ, we are sustained in the hope that does not disappoint (cf.Rom5:5). Hope is the “sure and steadfast anchor of the soul”.[8]It moves the Church to pray for “everyone to be saved” (1 Tim2:4) and to look forward to her being united with Christ, her bridegroom, in the glory of heaven. This was the prayer of Saint Teresa of Avila: “Hope, O my soul, hope. You know neither the day nor the hour. Watch carefully, for everything passes quickly, even though your impatience makes doubtful what is certain, and turns a very short time into a long one” (The Exclamations of the Soul to God, 15:3).[9]

May the Virgin Mary, Mother of Hope, intercede for us and accompany us on our Lenten journey.

Rome, Saint John Lateran, 6 February 2025

Memorial of St Paul Miki and Companions, martyrs.

FRANCIS

[1]Cf. Encyclical LetterDilexit Nos(24 October 2024), 220.

[2]Cf. Homily for the Mass and Canonization of Giovanni Battista Scalabrini and Artemide Zatti, 9 October 2022.

[3]Ibid.

[4]Ibid.

[5]Cf. BullSpes Non Confundit,1.

[6]Encyclical LetterSpe Salvi(30 November 2007), 26.

[7]Cf. Easter Sequence.

[8]Cf.Catechism of the Catholic Church,1820.

[9]Ibid, 1821.

Homily of Pope Francis read by H.E. Cardinal Angelo De Donatis

This evening, we receive the imposition of the holy ashes. This brings to mind the memory of what we are, but also the hope of what we will be. The ashes remind us that we are dust, but they also set us on a journey towards the hope to which we are called. For Jesus descended to the dust of the earth and, by his Resurrection, has drawn us with himself into the Father’s heart.

Thus the Lenten journey towards Easter unfolds amidst the remembrance of our fragility and the hope that, at the end of the road, the Risen Lord is waiting for us.

First, we must remember. We bow our heads in order to receive the ashes as if to look at ourselves, to look within ourselves. Indeed, the ashes help to remind us that our lives are fragile and insignificant: we are dust, from dust we were created, and to dust we shall return. Moreover, there are so many times when, looking at ourselves or at the reality that surrounds us, we realise that “everyone stands as a mere breath [...] for nothing they are in turmoil; they heap up, and do not know who will gather” (Ps 39:5-6).

We learn this above all through the experience of our own fragility: our weariness, the weaknesses we have to come to terms with, the fears that dwell in us, the failures that consume us, the fleetingness of our dreams and the realisation that what we possess is ephemeral. Made of ashes and earth, we experience fragility through illness, poverty, and the hardships that can suddenly befall us and our families. We also experience it when, in the social and political realities of our time, we find ourselves exposed to the “fine dust” that pollutes our world: ideological opposition, the abuse of power, the re-emergence of old ideologies based on identity that advocate exclusion, the exploitation of the earth’s resources, violence in all its forms and war between peoples. This “toxic dust” clouds the air of our planet impeding peaceful coexistence, while uncertainty and the fear of the future continue to increase.

Furthermore, the condition of fragility reminds us of the tragedy of death. In many ways, we try to banish death from our societies, so dependent on appearances, and even remove it from our language. Death, however, imposes itself as a reality with which we have to reckon, a sign of the precariousness and brevity of our lives.

Despite the masks we wear and the cleverly crafted ploys meant to distract us, the ashes remind us of who we are. This is good for us. It reshapes us, reduces the severity of our narcissism, brings us back to reality and makes us more humble and open to one another: none of us is God; we are all on a journey.

Lent, however, is also an invitation to rekindle our hope. Although we receive the ashes with our heads bowed in remembrance of who we are, the Lenten season does not end there. On the contrary, we are invited to lift our eyes to the One who rises from the depths of death and brings us from the ashes of sin and death to the glory of eternal life.

The ashes remind us of the hope to which we are called in Jesus, the Son of God, who has taken upon himself the dust of the earth and raised it to the heights of heaven. He descended into the abyss of dust, dying for us and reconciling us to the Father, as we heard from Saint Paul: “For our sake, he made him to be sin who knew no sin” (2 Cor 5:21).

This, brothers and sisters, is the hope that restores to life the “ashes” of our lives. Without such hope, we are doomed passively to endure the fragility of our human condition. Particularly when faced with the experience of death, a lack of hope can lead us to fall into sadness and desolation, and we end up reasoning like fools: “Short and sorrowful is our life, and there is no remedy when a life comes to its end [...] the body will turn to ashes, and the spirit will dissolve like empty air” (Wis 2:1-3). Yet the hope of Easter that we journey towards reassures us of God’s forgiveness. Even while submerged in the ashes of sin, hope opens us up to the joyful acknowledgment of life: “For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth” (Job 19:25). Let us remember this: “Man is dust and to dust he shall return, but dust is precious in God’s eyes because God created man, destining him to immortality” (Benedict XVI, General Audience, 17 February 2010).

Brothers and sisters, having received the ashes, we walk towards the hope of Easter. Let us turn back to God. Let us return to him with all our hearts (cf. Joel 2:12). Let us place him at the centre of our lives, so that the memory of what we are — fragile and mortal as ashes scattered upon the wind — may finally be filled with the hope of the Risen Lord. Let us direct our lives towards him, becoming a sign of hope for the world. Let us learn from almsgiving to go beyond ourselves, sharing each other’s needs and nurturing the hope of a fairer world. Let us learn from prayer to discover our need for God or, as Jacques Maritain put it, that we are “beggars for heaven”, and so foster the hope that beyond our frailties there is a Father waiting for us with open arms at the end of our earthly pilgrimage. Finally, let us learn from fasting that we do not live merely to satisfy our needs, but that, hungry for love and truth, only the love of God and of one another can truly satisfy us and give us hope for a better future.

Let us persevere in the certainty that ever since the Lord took upon himself the ashes of humanity, “the history of the earth is the history of heaven. God and man are bound together in a single destiny” (C. Carretto, Il deserto nella città, Roma 1986, 55), and he will forever sweep away the ashes of death and make us shine with newness of life.

With this hope in our hearts, let us begin our journey. Let us be reconciled with God.

05.03.25

Dear brothers and sisters,

In this Sunday’s Gospel (Lk 6:39-45), Jesus makes us reflect on two of the five senses: sight and taste.

With regard to sight, He asks us to train our eyes to observe the world well and to judge our neighbour with charity. He says: “Remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye” (v. 42). Only with this gaze of care, not condemnation, can fraternal correction be a virtue. Because if it is not fraternal, it is not correction!

With regard to taste, Jesus reminds us that “every tree is known by its own fruit” (v. 44). And the fruits that come from man are, for example, his words, which ripen on his lips, since “for from the fullness of the heart the mouth speaks” (v. 45). Rotten fruits are violent, false, vulgar words; good ones are the just and honest words that give flavour to our dialogues.

And so we can ask ourselves: how do I look at other people, who are my brothers and sisters? And how do I feel looked at by others? Do my words have a good flavour, or are they imbued with bitterness and vanity?

Sisters and brothers, I am still sending you these thoughts from the hospital, where as you know I have been for several days, accompanied by doctors and healthcare professionals, whom I thank for the attention with which they are taking care of me. I feel in my heart the “blessing” that is hidden within frailty, because it is precisely in these moments that we learn even more to trust in the Lord; at the same time, I thank God for giving me the opportunity to share in body and spirit the condition of so many sick and suffering people.

I would like to thank you for the prayers, which rise up to the Lord from the hearts of so many faithful from many parts of the world: I feel all your affection and closeness and, at this particular time, I feel as if I am “carried” and supported by all God’s people. Thank you all!

I pray for you too. And I pray above all for peace. From here, war appears even more absurd. Let us pray for tormented Ukraine, Palestine, Israel, Lebanon, Myanmar, Sudan and Kivu.

Let us entrust ourselves confidently to Mary, our Mother. Happy Sunday, and arrivederci.

02.03.25

Homily of Pope Francis read by H.E. Archbishop Rino Fisichella

The message of today’s readings can be summed up in a single word: “gratuity”. That is surely a word dear to you as deacons, gathered here for the Jubilee celebration. So, let us reflect on three specific aspects of this fundamental dimension of the Christian life in general and your ministry in particular: forgiveness, selfless service and communion.

First: forgiveness. The proclamation of forgiveness is an essential part of your ministry as deacons. Indeed, forgiveness is an indispensable element of every ecclesial vocation and a requirement of every human relationship. Jesus points to its necessity and importance when he says, “Love your enemies” (Lk 6:27). This is certainly true: if we are to grow together and to share in one another’s strengths and weaknesses, achievements and failures, we need to be able to forgive and to ask forgiveness, to rebuild relationships and even to choose not to withhold our love from those who hurt or betray us. A world that feels nothing but hatred towards its adversaries is a world without hope and without a future, doomed to endless war, divisions and vendettas. Sadly, this is what we are witnessing today, on many different levels and in all parts of the world. Forgiveness means preparing a welcoming and safe future for us and our communities. Deacons, personally charged with a ministry that carries them to the peripheries of our world, are committed to seeing – and teaching others to see – in everyone, even in those who do us wrong and cause us suffering, a hurting sister or brother, and hence one in greater need than anyone of reconciliation, guidance and help.

Today’s first reading speaks of this openness of heart, presenting us with David’s loyal and selfless love for Saul, his king but also his persecutor (cf. 1 Sam 26:2, 7-9, 12-13, 22-23). We see this again in the exemplary death of the deacon Stephen, who forgives those who are stoning him (cf. Acts 7:60). Above all, we find it exemplified in Jesus, the model of all diakonia, who, in “emptying” himself to the point of giving his life for us on the cross (cf. Phil 2:7), prays for those who crucify him and opens the gates of Paradise to the good thief (cf. Lk 23:34, 43).

This brings us to the second point: selfless service. The Lord describes it in the Gospel in words that are simple and clear: “Do good and lend, expecting nothing in return” (Lk 6:35). A phrase that is brief, yet evokes the beauty of friendship. First, God’s friendship towards us, but also our own friendship. For you as deacons, selfless service is not a secondary aspect of your activity, but an essential dimension of your very being. Indeed, through your ministry, you devote yourselves to being “sculptors” and “painters” of the merciful face of the Father, and witnesses to the mystery of the Triune God.

In many Gospel passages, Jesus speaks of himself in this light. He does so with Philip, in the Upper Room, when, shortly after washing the feet of the Twelve, he says: “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (Jn 14:9). And again, when he institutes the Eucharist, he says: “I am among you as one who serves” (Lk 22:27). Yet even earlier, on the way to Jerusalem, when his disciples had argued among themselves about who was the greatest, he had explained that “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (cf. Mk 10:45).

Brother deacons, the “gratuitous” work you carry out as an expression of your consecration to the charity of Christ thus becomes your primary proclamation of God’s word, a source of confidence and joy for those who encounter you. As often as possible, perform it with a smile, without complaining and without seeking recognition, supporting one another, also in your relationships with bishops and priests, “as the expression of a Church committed to growing in the service of the Kingdom by appreciating all the grades of the ordained ministry” (Italian Episcopal Conference, Permanent Deacons in the Church in Italy. Guidelines and Norms, 1993, 55). Through your cooperation and generosity, you will be a bridge linking the altar to the street and the Eucharist to people’s daily lives. Charity will be your most beautiful liturgy and the liturgy your humblest service.

Now, we come to the final point: gratuity as a source of communion. Giving and expecting nothing in return unites; it creates bonds because it expresses and nurtures a togetherness that has no other aim but the gift of self and the good of others. Saint Lawrence, your patron, when asked by his accusers to hand over the treasures of the Church, showed them the poor and said: “These are our treasures!” That is how communion is built: by telling your brothers and sisters by your words but above all by your actions, both individually and as a community: “You are important to us;” “We love you;” “We want you to be part of our journey and our life.” This is precisely what you do. Those of you who are permanent deacons do so as husbands, fathers and grandparents who, by your service, choose to extend your families to include the needy in all the places where you live.

Dear deacons, your mission sets you apart from society only to be re-immersed in it in order to enable it to be an ever more open and welcoming place for everyone. It is one of the finest expressions of a synodal Church, one that “goes forth.”

Soon some of you, in receiving the sacrament of Holy Orders, will “descend” the steps of the ministry. I deliberately say “descend,” and not “ascend,” because being ordained is not an ascent but a descent, whereby we make ourselves small. We lower ourselves and divest ourselves. In the words of Saint Paul, through service, we leave behind the “earthly man,” and put on, in charity, the “man of heaven” (cf. 1 Cor 15:45-49).

Let us all reflect on what we are about to do, even as we entrust ourselves to the Virgin Mary, the handmaid of the Lord, and to Saint Lawrence, your patron. May they help us to experience every expression of our ministry with a humble and loving heart, and to be, in “gratuity,” apostles of forgiveness, selfless servants of our brothers and sisters, and builders of communion.

23.02.25

The Homily of Pope Francis read by Cardinal José Tolentino de Mendonça

In the Gospel we have just heard, Jesus proclaims the Beatitudes to his disciples and to a large crowd of people. We have heard them so many times, and yet they never cease to amaze us: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh” (Lk 6:20–21). These words overturn our worldly mentality and invite us to look at reality with new eyes, with God’s gaze, so we can see beyond appearances and recognize beauty even amidst frailty and suffering.

The second part of the Gospel passage contains harsh and admonishing words: “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep” (Lk 6:24–25). The contrast between “blessed are you” and “woe to you” reminds us of the importance of discerning where we find our security.

As artists and representatives of the world of culture, you are called to be witnesses to the revolutionary vision of the Beatitudes. Your mission is not only to create beauty, but to reveal the truth, goodness and beauty hidden within the folds of history, to give voice to the voiceless, to transform pain into hope.

We live in a time of complex financial and social crises, but ours is above all a spiritual crisis, a crisis of meaning. Let us ask ourselves questions about time and about purpose. Are we pilgrims or wanderers? Does our journey have a destination, or are we directionless? Artists have the task of helping humanity not to lose its way and to keep a hopeful outlook.

Be aware, however, that hope is not easy, superficial or abstract. No! True hope is interwoven within the drama of human existence. Hope is not a convenient refuge, but a fire that burns and irradiates light, like the word of God. That is why authentic art always expresses an encounter with mystery, with the beauty that surpasses us, with the pain that challenges us, with the truth that calls us. Otherwise, “woe to us!” The Lord’s warning is stern.

As the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil”. The mission of the artist is to discover this hidden greatness and reveal it, making it perceptible to our eyes and hearts. The same poet also perceived “the leaden echo” and “the golden echo” in the world. Artists are sensitive to these resonances, and through their work, they engage in discernment about the various echoes of the events of this world and help others to do the same. Men and women who represent the world of culture are called upon to evaluate these echoes, to explain them to us and to show us which path they lead us down: either they are seductive songs of sirens or the authentic appeals to humanity. You are asked to provide insight in order to help distinguish between what is like “chaff scattered by the wind” and what is solid, “like trees planted by streams of water”, capable of bearing fruit (cf. Ps 1:3-4).

Dear artists, I see in you guardians of beauty who are willing to attend to the brokenness of our world, listen to the cry of those who are poor, suffering, wounded, imprisoned persecuted or refugees. I see in you guardians of the Beatitudes! We live in a time when new walls are being erected, when differences become a pretext for division rather than an opportunity for mutual enrichment. But you, men and women of the world of culture, are called to build bridges, to create spaces for encounter and dialogue, to enlighten minds and warm hearts.

Some might say: “But what is the use of art in our wounded world? Are there not more urgent, more practical, more pressing things to do?”. And yet, art is not a luxury, but something that the spirit needs. It is not a flight from reality, but a charge, a call to action, an appeal and a cry. Educating about true beauty is educating about hope. And hope is never separated from the drama of existence; it runs through our daily struggles, the hardships of life and the challenges of our time.

In the Gospel we have heard today, Jesus proclaims as blessed those who are poor, afflicted, meek and persecuted. It is a change of mentality, a revolution of perspective. Artists are called to take part in this revolution. The world needs prophetic artists, courageous intellectuals and creators of culture.

Let the Gospel of the Beatitudes guide you, and may your art be a herald of a new world. Let us see your poetry! Never cease searching, questioning and taking risks. True art is never easy; it offers the peace of restlessness. And do not forget that hope is not an illusion; beauty is not a utopia. Yours is not a random gift but a calling. Respond, then, with generosity, passion and love.

16.02.25

Excerpt below, for the full transcript click on the picture link above

In our Jubilee journey of catechesis on Jesus, who is our hope, today we will reflect on the event of his birth in Bethlehem.

The Son of God enters history as our travelling companion, and begins to travel while still in His mother's womb. The evangelist Luke tells us that as soon as He was conceived, He went from Nazareth to the house of Zechariah and Elizabeth; and then, at the end of the pregnancy, from Nazareth to Bethlehem for the census. Mary and Joseph were forced to go to the city of King David, where Joseph had also been born. The long-awaited Messiah, the Son of the God Most High, allows Himself to be counted, that is, counted and registered, like any other citizen. He submits to the decree of an emperor, Caesar Augustus, who thinks he is the master of all the earth.

Luke places Jesus' birth in “an exactly datable time” and in “an exactly indicated geographical setting”, so that “the universal and the concrete touch each other” (BENEDICT XVI, The Infancy Narratives, 2012, 77). God, who comes into history, does not dismantle the structures of the world, but wants to illuminate them and recreate them from within.

Bethlehem means “house of bread”. There, the days of childbirth were fulfilled for Mary and there Jesus was born, bread descended from heaven to satisfy the hunger of the world (cf. Jn 6:51). The angel Gabriel had announced the birth of the Messianic King in the sign of greatness: “Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule of the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end” (Lk 1:32-33).

However, Jesus is born a way entirely unprecedented for a king. Indeed, “while they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” (Lk 2:6-7). The Son of God is not born in a royal palace, but at the back of a house, in the space where the animals are kept.

Luke thus shows us that God does not come into the world with resounding proclamations; he does not manifest himself with noise, but begins his journey in humility. And who are the first witnesses of this event? They are shepherds: men of little culture, malodorous from constant contact with the animals, they live on the margins of society. And yet they practice the occupation by which God himself makes himself known to his people (cf. Gen 48:15; 49:24; Ps 23:1; 80:2; Is 40:11). God chooses them as the recipients of the most beautiful news that has ever resounded in history: “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all people. For today in the city of David a saviour has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger”.

The place to meet the Messiah is a manger. Indeed, it happens that, after such expectation, “for the Saviour of the world, for He for whom all things were created (cf. Col 1:16), there is no room” (Benedict XVI, The Infancy Narratives, 2012, 80). The shepherds thus learn that in a very humble place, reserved to the animals, the long-awaited Messiah is born, and he is born for them, to be their Saviour, their shepherd. This news opens their hearts to wonder, praise and joyful proclamation. ‘Unlike so many other people, busy about many things, the shepherds become the first to see the most essential thing of all: the gift of salvation. It is the humble and the poor who greet the event of the Incarnation” (Apostolic Letter Admirabile signum, 5).

Brothers and sisters, let us, too, ask for the grace of being, like the shepherds, capable of wonder and praise before God, and capable of cherishing what He has entrusted to us: the talents, charisms, our vocation and the people he places beside us. Let us ask the Lord to be able to discern in weakness the extraordinary strength of the Child God, who comes to renew the world and transform our lives with his plan full of hope for all humanity.

12.02.25

Dear brothers and sisters,

Before concluding the celebration, I wish to greet you all, who have brought to life this Jubilee pilgrimage of the Armed Forces, Police and Security Forces. I thank the distinguished civil authorities for their presence, and the military Ordinaries and Chaplains for their pastoral service. I extend my greeting to all military personnel throughout the world, and I would like to recall the teaching of the Church in this regard. The Second Vatican Council says: “Those too who devote themselves to the military service of their country should regard themselves as the agents of security and freedom of peoples” (Pastoral Constitution Gaudium et spes, 79). This armed service is to be exercised only for legitimate defence, never to impose dominion over other nations, always observing the international conventions on matters of conflict (cf. ibid.), and before that, in sacred respect for life and creation.

Brothers and sisters, let us pray for peace, in tormented Ukraine, in Palestine, in Israel and throughout the Middle East, in Myanmar, in Kivu, and in Sudan. Let arms be silent everywhere, and let the cry of the peoples, who are asking for peace, be heard!

Let us entrust our prayer to the intercession of the Virgin Mary, Queen of Peace.

09.02.25 a

Jesus’ actions at the Lake of Gennesaret are described by the Evangelist with three verbs: he saw, he went aboard and he sat down. Jesus saw, Jesus went aboard and Jesus sat down. Jesus is not concerned with showing off to the crowds, with doing a job, with following a timetable in carrying out his mission. On the contrary, he always makes it his priority to encounter others, to relate to them, and to sympathize with the struggles and setbacks that often burden hearts and take away hope.

That is why Jesus, on that day, saw, went aboard and sat down.

First, Jesus saw. He has a discerning gaze that, even amid the great crowd, makes him able to spot two boats approaching the shore and to see the disappointment on the faces of those fishermen, now washing their empty nets after a night of fruitless labour. Jesus looks with compassion at those men. Let us never forget this: the compassion of God. God’s three attitudes are closeness, compassion and tenderness. Let us not forget: God is near, God is tender and God is always compassionate. Jesus looks with compassion at the expressions of those men, sensing their discouragement and frustration after having worked all night and caught nothing, their hearts as empty as the nets they haul.

(Excuse me, I will now ask the Master [of Liturgical Celebrations] to continue reading due to my difficulty in breathing.)

Seeing their discouragement, Jesus went aboard. He asks Simon to put out a little way from the shore and he climbs aboard the boat. In this way, he enters into Simon’s life and shares in his sense of disappointment and futility. This is significant: Jesus does not simply stand by and watch as things go wrong, as we often do, and then complain bitterly. Rather, taking the initiative, he approaches Simon, spends time with him at that difficult moment and chooses to board the boat of his life, which that night had seemed fraught with failure.

Then, once aboard, Jesus sat down. In the Gospels, this is typical of a master, of one who teaches others. Indeed, the Gospel states that Jesus sat down and taught. Glimpsing in those fishers’ eyes and hearts the frustration of a night of fruitless toil, Jesus boards the boat in order to proclaim the good news, to bring light to the dark night of disappointment, to tell of the beauty of God even amid the struggles of life, and to reaffirm that hope endures even when all seems lost.

Then the miracle happens: when the Lord gets into the boat of our lives to bring us the good news of God’s love that constantly accompanies and sustains us, then life begins anew, hope is reborn, enthusiasm revives, and we can once again cast our nets into the sea.

Brothers and sisters, this message of hope accompanies us today as we celebrate the Jubilee of the Armed Forces, Police and Security Personnel. I thank all of you for your service, and I greet all the Authorities present, the military associations and academies, and the military Ordinaries and chaplains. All of you have been entrusted with a lofty mission that embraces numerous aspects of social and political life: defending our nations, maintaining security, upholding legality and justice. You are present in penitentiaries and at the forefront of the fight against crime and the various forms of violence that threaten to disrupt the life of society. I think too of all those engaged in relief work in the wake of natural disasters, the safeguarding of the environment, rescue efforts at sea, the protection of the vulnerable and the promotion of peace.

The Lord also asks you to do as he does: to see, to go aboard and to sit down. To see, because you are called to keep your eyes ever open, alert to threats to the common good, to dangers menacing the lives of your fellow citizens, and to environmental, social and political risks to which we are exposed. To go aboard, because your uniforms, the discipline that has shaped you, the courage that is your hallmark, the oath you have taken — all these are things that remind you of the importance not only of seeing evil in order to report it, but also of boarding the storm-tossed boat and working to ensure that it does not run aground. For that too is part of your mission in the service of the good, freedom, and justice. Then, finally, to sit down, because your presence in our cities and neighbourhoods to uphold law and order, and your taking the part of the defenceless, can serve as a lesson for all of us. They teach us that goodness can prevail over everything. They teach us that justice, fairness and civic responsibility remain as necessary nowadays as ever. They teach us that we can create a more human, just and fraternal world, despite the opposing forces of evil.

In carrying out your work, which embraces your whole life, you are accompanied by your chaplains, an important priestly presence in your midst. Their job is not — as has at times unfortunately happened in history — to bless perverse acts of war. No. They are in your midst as the presence of Christ, who desires to walk at your side, to offer you a listening and sympathetic ear, to encourage you to set out ever anew and to support you in your daily service. As a source of moral and spiritual support, they accompany you at every step and help you to carry out your mission in the light of the Gospel and in the pursuit of the common good.

Dear brothers and sisters, we are grateful for what you do, at times at great personal risk. Thank you because by boarding our storm-tossed boats, you offer us protection and encourage us to stay our course. At the same time, I would encourage you never to lose sight of the purpose of your service and all your activity, which is to promote life, to save lives, to be a constant defender of life. And I ask you, please, to be vigilant. Be vigilant against the temptation to cultivate a warlike spirit. Be vigilant not to be taken in by the illusion of power and the roar of arms. Be vigilant lest you be poisoned by propaganda that instils hatred, divides the world into friends to be defended and foes to fight. Instead, be courageous witnesses of the love of God our Father, who wants us all to be brothers and sisters. Together, then, let us set out to be artisans of a new era of peace, justice and fraternity.

09.02.25

Excerpt below, for the full transcript click on the picture link above

Today we will contemplate the beauty of Jesus Christ our hope in the mystery of the Visitation. The Virgin Mary visits Saint Elizabeth; but it is above all Jesus, in His mother’s womb, who visits His people (cf. Lk 1:68), as Zechariah says in his hymn of praise.

After the astonishment and wonder at what has been announced to her by the Angel, Mary gets up and sets out on a journey, like all those who are called to in the Bible, because “the only act with which man can respond to God who is revealed to him is that of unlimited readiness” (H.U. von Balthasar, Vocation, Rome 2002, 29). This young daughter of Israel does not choose to protect herself from the world; she does not fear dangers and the judgements of others, but goes out towards other people.

When we feel loved, we experience a force that sets love in motion; as the apostle Paul says, “the love of Christ impels us” (2Cor 5:14), it drives us, it moves us. Mary feels the push of this love, and goes to help a woman who is her relative, but also an elderly woman who, after a long wait, is welcoming an unhoped-for pregnancy, difficult to deal with at her age. But the Virgin also goes to Elizabeth to share her faith in the God of the impossible and her hope in the fulfilment of His promises.

The encounter between the two women produces a surprising impact: the voice of Mary, “full of grace”, who greets Elizabeth provokes the prophecy in the child the older woman is carrying in her womb, and inspires in her a dual blessing: “Most blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” (Lk 1:42). And also a beatitude: “Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled” (v. 45).

Faced with the recognition of the messianic identity of her Son and her mission as mother, Mary does not speak of herself but of God, and raises a praise full of faith, hope and joy, a song that resounds every day in the Church during the prayer of Vespers: the Magnificat (Lk 1:46-55).

This praise to God the saviour, which gushed forth from the heart of his humble servant, is a solemn memorial that synthesizes and fulfils the prayer of Israel. It is interwoven with biblical resonances, a sign that Mary does not want to sing “out of the choir” but to tune in with the forefathers, exalting her compassion for the humble, those little ones whom Jesus in his preaching will declare “blessed” (cf. Mt 5:1-12).

The prominent presence of the paschal motif also makes the Magnificat a hymn of redemption, which has as its backdrop the memory of the liberation of Israel from Egypt. The verbs are all in the past, imbued with a memory of the love that lights up the present with faith and illuminates the future with hope: Mary sings of the grace of the past, but she is the woman of the present who carries the future in her womb.

The first part of this canticle praises God’s action in Mary, a microcosm of the people of God who adhere fully to the covenant (vv. 46-50); the second ranges from the work of the Father in the macrocosm of the history of His son (vv. 51-55), through three key words: memory, mercy, promise.

The Lord, who bowed down to the humble Mary to fulfil “great things” in her and make her the mother of the Lord, began to save His people starting from the exodus, remembering the universal blessing promised to Abraham (cf. Gen 12:1-3). The Lord God who is the faithful for ever, showered an uninterrupted stream of merciful love “from age to age” (v. 50) upon the people loyal to the covenant, and now manifests the fullness of salvation in His Son, sent to save the people from their sins. From Abraham to Jesus Christ and the community of believers, the Passover thus appears as the hermeneutical category for understanding every subsequent liberation, up to that realized by the Messiah in the fullness of time.

Dear brothers and sisters, let us ask the Lord today for the grace to be able to wait for the fulfilment of every one of His promises; and to help us to welcome Mary’s presence in our life. By following her example, may we all discover that every soul that believes and hopes “conceives and begets the Word of God” (Saint Ambrose, Exposition of the Gospel according to Luke 2, 26).

05.02.25

Excerpt below, for the full transcript click on the picture link above

Today the Gospel of the liturgy (Lk 2:22-40) tells us about Mary and Joseph who take the infant Jesus to the Temple of Jerusalem. In accordance with the Law, they present Him in God’s dwelling, to recall that life comes from the Lord. And while the Holy Family carries out what was always done among the people of Israel, from generation to generation, something happens that had never occurred before.

Two elders, Simeon and Anna, prophesy about Jesus: they both praise God and talk about the child “to all who were awaiting the redemption of Jerusalem” (v. 38). Their heartfelt voices resound among the ancient stones of the Temple, announcing the fulfilment of Israel’s expectations. Truly God is present in the midst of His people: not because He dwells within the four walls, but because He lives as a man among men. And this is the novelty of Jesus. In Simeon and Anna’s old age, the novelty takes place that changes the history of the world.

For their part, Mary and Joseph were amazed at what they heard (cf. v. 33). Indeed, when Simeon holds the child in his arms, he calls him in three beautiful ways, which are worthy of reflection. Three ways, three names that he gives Him. Jesus is salvation, Jesus is light; Jesus is a sign of contradiction.

First of all, Jesus is salvation. Simeon says, praying to God, “my eyes have seen your salvation, which you prepared in sight of all the peoples” (vv. 30-31). This always leaves us astounded: universal salvation concentrated in just one! Yes, because in Jesus dwells the fullness of God, of His Love (cf. Col 2:9).

Second aspect: Jesus is “a light for revelation to the Gentiles” (v. 32). Like the sun that rises over the world, this child will redeem it from the darkness of evil, pain and death. How much we need light, this light, even today!

Finally, the child embraced by Simeon is a sign of contradiction, “so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed” (v. 35). Jesus reveals the criterion for judging the whole of history and its drama, and also the life of each one of us. And what is this criterion? It is love: those who love, live; those who hate, die.

Jesus is salvation, Jesus is light, and Jesus is the sign of contradiction.

Enlightened by this encounter with Jesus, we can then ask ourselves: what do I expect in my life? What is my great hope? Does my heart wish to see the face of the Lord? Do I await the manifestation of His plan of salvation for humanity?

Let us pray together to Mary, mother most pure, that she may accompany us through the lights and shadows of history, that she may always accompany us to the encounter with the Lord.

02.02.25

“See… I have come to do your will, O God” (Heb 10:7). With these words, the author of the Letter to the Hebrews describes Jesus’ complete obedience to the Father’s plan. We read those words on the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, the World Day for Consecrated Life, in this Jubilee of Hope and in a liturgical setting marked by the symbolism of light. All of you, dear sisters and brothers who have chosen the path of the evangelical counsels, have devoted yourselves, like a “Bride before her Spouse... surrounded by his light” (SAINT JOHN PAUL II, Apostolic Exhortation Vita Consecrata, 15); you have devoted yourselves to that same luminous plan of the Father, which goes back to the origins of the world. It will be fully accomplished at the end of time, but even now it is made visible through “the marvels wrought by God in the frail humanity of those who are called” (ibid., 20). Let us reflect, then, on how, through the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience that you have professed, you can bring its light to the women and men of our time.

First: by the light of your poverty, which is rooted in the very life of God, in the eternal and total mutual gift of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit (ibid., 21). By the practice of poverty, consecrated persons, by their free and generous use of all things, become bearers of blessing for them. They manifest the goodness of those things in the order of love, rejecting everything that can obscure their beauty – selfishness, greed, dependence, violent use and misuse for the purpose of death and destruction – and embracing instead all that can highlight that beauty: simplicity, generosity, sharing and solidarity. And Paul says: “All [things] belong to you, and you belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God” (1 Cor 3:22-23). This is poverty.

Second, by the light of your chastity. This too has its origin in the Trinity and is “a reflection of the infinite love which links the three divine Persons” (Vita Consecrata, 21). The embrace of poverty, in renouncing conjugal love and following the path of continence, reaffirms the absolute primacy of God’s love, to be received with an undivided and spousal heart (cf. 1 Cor 7:32-36), and points to it as the source and model of every other love. We know that we are living in a world often marked by distorted forms of affectivity, in which the principle of pleasure - that principle - drives people to seek in others the satisfaction of their own needs rather than the joy born of a fruitful encounter. It is true. In relationships this gives rise to superficial and unstable attitudes, selfishness and hedonism, immaturity and moral irresponsibility. The chosen spouse of a lifetime is replaced by the “partner” of the moment, while children freely accepted as a gift are replaced by those demanded as a “right” or eliminated as “unwanted”.

Sisters, brothers, in light of this situation, and the “growing need for inner honesty in human relationships” (Vita Consecrata, 88) and greater human bonds between individuals and communities, consecrated chastity shows us and points out to the men and women of the twenty-first century a way to heal the malady of isolation through the exercise of a free and liberating way of loving. A way of loving that accepts and respects everyone, while coercing or rejecting no one. What a balm it is for the soul to encounter religious women and men capable of a mature and joyful relationality of this kind! They are a reflection of God’s own love (cf. Lk 2:30-32). To this end, however, it is important that our communities provide for the spiritual and affective growth of their members, already during initial formation as well as in ongoing formation. In this way, chastity can truly reveal the beauty of a self-giving love, and avoid such harmful phenomena as the souring of the heart or questionable choices that are a symptom of unhappiness, dissatisfaction, and lead at times, in more fragile individuals, to living “double lives”. Daily there is a battle against the temptation of a double life. It is every day.

Third, by the light of your obedience.The reading we have heard also speaks of this, since it shows us, in the relationship between Jesus and the Father, the “liberating beauty of a dependence which is filial and non-servile, marked by a deep sense of responsibility and animated by mutual trust” (Vita Consecrata, 21). It is precisely in the light of God’s word that your obedience becomes a gift and a response of love, and a sign for our society. Today we tend to talk much but listen little, in our families, our workplaces and especially on social networks, where we can exchange floods of words and images without really encountering others, since we do not truly interact with them. This is something interesting. Many times, in everyday dialogue, before one finishes speaking, an answer already comes out because the other does not listen. We need to listen before responding. Welcome the other person’s word as a message, as a treasure, even as a help for me. Consecrated obedience can act as an antidote to this isolated individualism, for it promotes an alternative model of relationship marked by active listening, where “speaking” and “listening” are followed by the concreteness of “acting”, even at the cost of setting aside our own tastes, plans and preferences. Only in this way, in fact, can a person fully experience the joy of gift, overcoming loneliness and discovering the meaning of his or her existence in God’s greater plan.

I would like to conclude by mentioning something further. Nowadays in consecrated life there is much talk about “returning to the origins”. But not a return to the origin as in going back to a museum, no. A return to the very origin of our life. The word of God that we have heard reminds us that the first and most important “return to the origins” in every consecration and for every one of us, is the return to Christ and to his “yes” to the Father. It reminds us that renewal, even before meetings and “round tables” – which must be done, they are useful – takes place in front of the tabernacle, in adoration. Sisters, brothers, we have somewhat lost the sense of adoration. We are too practical, we want to do things, but…adore. Adore. There must be the capacity for adoration in silence. And in this way we come to appreciate our Founders above all as women and men of deep faith, repeating with them, in prayer and in oblation: “See… I have come to do your will, O God” (Heb 10:7).

Thank you very much for your witness. It is a leaven in the Church. Thank you.

01.02.25 v

Dear brothers and sisters!

The Jubilee is for people and for the Earth a new beginning; it is a time when everything must be rethought within the dream of God. And we know that the word “conversion” indicates a change of direction. Everything can be seen, at last, from another perspective, and so our steps also go towards new goals. This is how hope, which never disappoints, arises. The Bible tells of this in many ways. And for us too, the experience of faith has been stimulated by encounters with people who have been able to change in life and have, so to speak, entered into God's dreams. For even though there is much evil in the world, we can distinguish who is different: their greatness, which often coincides with littleness, wins us over.

In the Gospels, the figure of Mary Magdalene stands out above all others for this. Jesus healed her with mercy (cf. Lk 8:2), and she changed: sisters and brothers, mercy changes, mercy changes the heart, and for Mary Magdalene, mercy brought her into God’s dreams and gave new purpose to her journey.

The Gospel of John tells of her encounter with the Risen Jesus in a way that makes us think. It is repeated several times that Mary turned around. The Evangelist chooses his words well! In tears, Mary looks first inside the tomb, then she turns around: the Risen one is not on the side of death, but on the side of life. He can be mistaken for one of the people we encounter every day. Then, when she hears her name spoken, the Gospel says that again Mary turns around. And this is how her hope grows: now she sees the tomb, but not like before. She can dry her tears, because she has heard her own name: only the Master pronounces it in this way. The old world still seems to be there, but it is no more. When we feel that the Holy Spirit is acting in our heart, and we feel that the Lord is calling us by name, do we know how to distinguish the voice of the Master?

Dear brothers and sisters, from Mary Magdalene, whom tradition calls “the apostle of the apostles”, we learn hope. One enters the new world by converting more than once. Our journey is a constant invitation to change perspective. The Risen One takes us into His world, step by step, on the condition that we do not claim to know everything already.

Let us ask ourselves today: do I know how to turn around to see things differently, with a different outlook? Do I have the desire for conversion?

An overconfident ego that is too proud prevents us from recognizing the Risen Jesus. Even when we weep and despair, we turn our back on Him. Instead of looking into the darkness of the past, into the emptiness of a tomb, from Mary Magdalene we learn to turn towards life. There our Master awaits us. There our name is spoken. For in real life there is a place for us, always and everywhere. There is a place for you, for me, for everyone. No one can take it, because it has always been meant for us. It is bad, as they say in the common parlance, it is bad to leave an empty seat: “This place is for me; if I don't go...”. Everyone can say: I have a place, I am a mission! Think about this: what is my place? What is the mission that the Lord gives us? May this thought help us to take a courageous attitude in life. Thank you.

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