Go to Galilee

At 8:30pm local time last night, in the Vatican Basilica, the Holy Father, Pope Francis presided at the Solemn Vigil of Easter.  The Rite began in the atrium of Saint Peter's Basilica with the blessing of the fire and the preparation of the Pascal candle.  Then followed the procession toward the altar, led by the Paschal candle, and the chanting of the Exsultet, followed by the Liturgy of the Word, the Liturgy of Baptism (during which the Pope celebrated the Sacraments of Christian Initiation - Baptism, Confirmation and First Communion - with ten neophytes from Italy, Bielorussia, Senegal, Lebanon, France and Belgium) and finally the Liturgy of the Eucharist which the Holy Father concelebrated with the Cardinals who were present.

Homily of His Holiness, Pope Francis

for the Solemn Vigil of Easter

The Gospel of the resurrection of Jesus Christ begins with the journey of the women to the tomb at dawn on the day after the Sabbath.  They go to the tomb to honour the body of the Lord, but they find it open and empty.  A mighty angel says to them: Do not be afraid! (Mt 28:5) and orders them to go and tell the disciples: He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee (v. 7).  The women quickly depart and on the way Jesus himself meets them and says: Do not fear; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me (v. 10). Do not be afraid, do not fear:  these are words that encourage us to open our hearts to receive the message.

After the death of the Master, the disciples had scattered; their faith had been utterly shaken, everything seemed over, all their certainties had crumbled and their hopes had died.  But now that message of the women, incredible as it was, came to them like a ray of light in the darkness.  The news spread: Jesus is risen as he said.  And then there was his command to go to Galilee; the women had heard it twice, first from the angel and then from Jesus himself: Let them go to Galilee; there they will see me. Do not fear and go to Galilee.

Galilee is the place where they were first called, where everything began!  To return there, to return to the place where they were originally called.  Jesus had walked along the shores of the lake as the fishermen were casting their nets.  He had called them, and they left everything and followed him (cf. Mt 4:18-22).

To return to Galilee means to re-read everything on the basis of the cross and its victory, fearlessly: do not be afraid.  To re-read everything – Jesus’ preaching, his miracles, the new community, the excitement and the defections, even the betrayal – to re-read everything starting from the end, which is a new beginning, from this supreme act of love.

For each of us, too, there is a Galilee at the origin of our journey with Jesus.  To go to Galilee means something beautiful, it means rediscovering our baptism as a living fountain, drawing new energy from the sources of our faith and our Christian experience.  To return to Galilee means above all to return to that blazing light with which God’s grace touched me at the start of the journey.  From that flame I can light a fire for today and every day, and bring heat and light to my brothers and sisters.  That flame ignites a humble joy, a joy which sorrow and distress cannot dismay, a good, gentle joy.

In the life of every Christian, after baptism there is also another Galilee, a more existential Galilee: the experience of a personal encounter with Jesus Christ who called me to follow him and to share in his mission.  In this sense, returning to Galilee means treasuring in my heart the living memory of that call, when Jesus passed my way, gazed at me with mercy and asked me to follow him. To return there means reviving the memory of that moment when his eyes met mine, the moment when he made me realize that he loved me.

Today, tonight, each of us can ask: What is my Galilee?  I need to remind myself, to go back and remember.  Where is my Galilee?  Do I remember it?  Have I forgotten it?  Seek and you will find it! There the Lord is waiting for you.  Have I gone off on roads and paths which made me forget it?  Lord, help me: tell me what my Galilee is; for you know that I want to return there to encounter you and to let myself be embraced by your mercy. Do not be afraid, do not fear, return to Galilee!

The Gospel is very clear: we need to go back there, to see Jesus risen, and to become witnesses of his resurrection.  This is not to go back in time; it is not a kind of nostalgia.  It is returning to our first love, in order to receive the fire which Jesus has kindled in the world and to bring that fire to all people, to the very ends of the earth.  Go back to Galilee, without fear!

Galilee of the Gentiles (Mt 4:15; Is 8:23)!  Horizon of the Risen Lord, horizon of the Church; intense desire of encounter…  Let us be on our way!

Can it be true?

Here are the words I shared with the people of faith who gathered to live the Easter Vigil, and with those who came to celebrate the Masses of Thanksgiving on Easter Day.

Believe it or not

Sometimes our eyes play tricks on us.  Magicians count on this fact as they practice their slights of hand, but the story we commemorate here in these days is no magic trick.

Early on that first Easter morning, Mary Magdalene (Matthew adds the other Mary as a companion) went to the tomb.  With heavy hearts, she was still struggling to accept the fact that Jesus was dead.  Her body numbed by the events of the past days, within her heart, she was no doubt pondering the same questions we would ask: Can it be true?  Is he really dead?  Imagine her surprise when she arrived at the tomb!  She expected to find it silent, sealed, but instead she found it open.  Just for a moment, was she gripped by fear?  Did she perhaps think that someone had stolen Jesus’ body?  This is the moment when her faith was most tested, and this was the moment when the angel appeared.

The same is true for us: Like Magdalene, we have listened to Jesus’ words, we have witnessed his presence in prayer, and in the sacraments.  He has fed us at his table.  He has told us about heaven and about the Resurrection, but no matter how often we hear these things, our eyes still play tricks, and we find ourselves wondering: Can it be true?  When we are faced with tragedies, our faith too is tested, and God sends an angel to us as well, to protect us, to walk with us, to soothe our weary and aching souls, and sometimes even to surprise us.

Do not be afraid, the angel told her, he has been raised … Jesus appears to us, just as he appeared to Magdalene on that morning.  He encourages us too: do not be afraid to tell others about what you have seen and heard, what you have come to believe.  Jesus Christ has been raised from the dead, just as he had promised, and we are the disciples who he encourages today to spread this good news: to those who are imprisoned by poverty or by lack of self-confidence, to those who are trapped beneath the weight of burdens far to heavy to bear, to those who cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel, to those who have forgotten what it feels like to be content, happy, even loved.

To those who have forgotten what joy feels like, we must not be afraid to proclaim the truth of Easter morning: He has been raised!  Go into our world today.  Go into our streets and proclaim this joyful news.  Show others the joy that is in our hearts, the joy that comes from knowing that Jesus Christ has overcome death, that he is risen to new life, and therefore we too can live in the expectation of everlasting life in heaven.

Happy Easter!

If not for you

At the conclusion of the Stations of the Cross in the Roman Colosseum last night, the Holy Father addressed those who were gathered, sharing with them a few thoughts based on the meditations they had just experienced.

Greetings of His Holiness, Pope Francis

at the conclusion of the Via Crucis

God placed upon the Cross of Jesus the entire weight of our sins, all the perpetual injustices committed by every Cain against his brother, all the bitterness of Judas' and Peter's betrayal, all the vanity of bullies, all the arrogance of false friends.  It was a heavy Cross, like the night facing abandoned persons, as heavy as the death of beloved people, heavy because it includes all the ugliness of evil.  However, it is also a glorious Cross, like the dawn that follows a very long night, because it includes the love of God which is greater than our sins, greater than our betrayals.  In the Cross, we see the monstrosity of mankind, when human beings allow themselves to be guided by evil; but we also see the immense mercy of God who does not treat us according to our sins, but with great mercy.

Before the Cross of Jesus, we see, we can almost touch with our own hands, the extent to which we are eternally loved; before the Cross we are all sons and daughters, not things or objects, as Saint Gregory Nazianzen affirmed when he turned to Christ with this prayer: If not for You, o my Christ, I would be nothing but a finite creature.  I was born and I feel so weak.  I eat, I sleep, I rest and I walk, but I get sick and I heal.  I am assailed by innumerable desires and torments, I enjoy the warmth of the sun and the fruit of the earth.  Then I die and my flesh turns to dust like the flesh of animals, who know not sin.  But I, what more do I have than they?  Nothing, if not God.  If not for You, O my Christ, I would be nothing but a finite creature.  O Christ; lead us from the Cross to the resurrection and teach us that evil does not have the last word; this honour belongs to love, mercy and forgiveness.  O Christ, help us to exclaim anew: Yesterday, I was crucified with Christ, today I am glorified with Him.  Yesterday I was dead with Him, today I live with Him.  Yesterday, I was buried with him, today I am risen with Him.

Finally, all together, let us remember the sick, remember all those who have been abandoned beneath the weight of the Cross, that they may find in the trials of the Cross, the strength of hope, the hope of the Resurrection and the love of God.

Meditations for the Via Crucis

Here are the texts of the meditations for Good Friday's Way of the Cross, which were led by Pope Francis at the Colosseum earlier tonight. The texts were written by Archbishop Giancarlo Maria Bregantini of Campobasso-Boiano.

Introduction
He who saw this has testified so that you also may believe. His testimony is true, and he knows that he tells the truth. These things occurred so that the Scripture might be fulfilled: “None of his bones shall be broken”. And again another passage of Scripture says: “They will look on the one whom they have pierced” (Jn 19:35-37).

Loving Jesus, 

you went up to Golgotha without hesitation, in utter love,

and let yourself be crucified without complaint.

Lowly Son of Mary,

you shouldered the burden of our night

to show us the immense light

with which you wanted to fill our hearts.

In your suffering is our redemption;

in your tears we see “the hour”

when God’s gracious love is revealed.

In your final breath, as a man among men,

you lead us back, seven times forgiven,

to the heart of the Father,

and you show us, in your last words,

the path to the redemption of all our sorrows.

You, the Incarnate All, empty yourself on the cross,

understood only by her, your Mother,

who stood faithfully beneath that gibbet.

Your thirst is a wellspring of hope,

a hand extended even to the repentant thief,

who this day, thanks to you, enters paradise.

To all of us, crucified Lord Jesus,

grant your infinite mercy, 

a fragrance of Bethany upon the world,

a cry of life for all humanity.

And at last, as we commend ourselves into the hands of your Father, 

open unto us the doors of undying Life! Amen.

First Station: Jesus is condemned to death
Pilate, wanting to release Jesus, addressed them again; but they kept shouting: Crucify him, crucify him! A third time he said to them: Why, what evil has he done? I have found in him no ground for the sentence of death; I will therefore have him flogged and then release him. But they kept urgently demanding with loud shouts that he should be crucified; and their voices prevailed. So Pilate gave his verdict that their demand should be granted. He released the man they asked for, the one who had been put in prison for insurrection and murder, and he handed Jesus over as they wished (Lk 23:21-25).

Pilate, timid and afraid of the truth, fingers pointed in accusation, and the growing clamour of the raging crowd: these are the first stages in Jesus’ death. Innocent, like a lamb, whose blood saves his people. Jesus, who walked among us bringing healing and blessing, is now sentenced to capital punishment. Not a word of gratitude from the crowd, which instead chooses Barabbas. For Pilate, the case is an embarrassment. He hands it over to the crowd and washes his hands of it, concerned only for his own power. He delivers Jesus to be crucified. He wants to know nothing more of him. For Pilate, the case is closed.

Jesus’ hasty condemnation thus embraces the easy accusations, the superficial judgements of the crowd, the insinuations and the prejudices which harden hearts and create a culture of racism and exclusion, a throw-away culture of anonymous letters and vicious slanders. Once we are accused, our name is immediately splayed across the front page; once acquitted, it ends up on the last!

And what about us? Will we have a clear, upright and responsible conscience, one which never forsakes the innocent but courageously takes the side of the weak, resisting injustice and defending truth whenever it is violated?

Lord Jesus,

there are hands which give support and hands which sign wrongful sentences. 

Grant that, sustained by your grace, we may cast no one aside.

Save us from slanders and lies.

Help us always to seek your truth,

to take the side of the weak,

and to accompany them on their journey.

Grant your light to all those appointed as judges in our courts,

that they may always render sentences that are just and true. Amen.

Second Station: Jesus takes up his cross
Jesus himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sin, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds we have been healed. For we were going astray like sheep, but now we have returned to the shepherd and guardian of our souls (1 Pet 2:24-25).

The wood of the cross is heavy, for on it Jesus bears the sins of us all. He staggers under that burden, too great for one man alone (Jn 19:17).

It is also the burden of all those wrongs which created the economic crisis and its grave social consequences: job insecurity, unemployment, dismissals, an economy that rules rather than serves, financial speculation, suicide among business owners, corruption and usury, the loss of local industry.

This is the cross which weighs upon the world of labour, the injustice shouldered by workers. Jesus shoulders it himself and teaches us to reject injustice and to learn, with his help, to build bridges of solidarity and of hope, lest we be like sheep who have lost our way amid this crisis.

Let us return, then, to Christ, the shepherd and guardian of our souls. Let us strive, side by side, to provide work, to overcome our fears and our isolation, to recover a respect for political life and to work to resolve our problems together.

The cross will become lighter if carried with Jesus, and if all of us lift it together, for by his wounds – which are now windows opening to his heart – we have been healed (cf. 1 Pet2:24).

Lord Jesus,

our night grows ever darker!

Poverty increases and becomes destitution.

We have no bread to give our children and our nets are empty.

Our future is uncertain. Provide the work we need.

Awaken in us a burning thirst for justice,

that our lives may not be a constant burden, 

but lived in dignity! Amen.

Third Station: Jesus falls for the first time
He has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases; yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole. (Is 53:4-5)

It is a frail, utterly human Jesus whom we contemplate in wonder in this most sorrowful station. Yet it is precisely by falling that he shows ever more fully his infinite love. He is hemmed in by the crowd, dazed by the screaming of the soldiers, smarting from the wounds inflicted at his flogging, grief-stricken at the depths of human ingratitude. And so he falls. He falls to the ground.

But in this fall, crushed by the weight of the cross and sheer fatigue, Jesus once more becomes the Teacher of life. He teaches us to accept our weaknesses, not to be disheartened by our failures, and frankly to acknowledge our limits: I can will what is right – says Saint Paul – but I cannot do it (Rom 7:18).

With the inner strength which comes to him from the Father, Jesus also helps us to accept the failings of others; to show mercy to the fallen and concern for those who are wavering. And he gives us the strength not to shut the door to those who knock and ask us for asylum, dignity and a homeland. In the awareness of our own weakness, we will embrace the vulnerability of immigrants, and help them to find security and hope.

For it is in the dirty water of the basin in the Upper Room, that is, in our own weakness, that we see reflected the true face of our God! For every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God (1 Jn 4:2).

Lord Jesus,

you humbled yourself to redeem our weaknesses. 

Help us to enter into true fellowship 

with the poorest of our brothers and sisters.

Uproot from our hearts the fear, complacency and indifference,

which prevent us from seeing you in immigrants, 

and from testifying that your Church has no borders, 

for she is truly the mother of all! Amen.

Fourth Station: Jesus meets his mother
Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary: This child is destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed – and a sword will pierce your own soul also (Lk 2:34-35). Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another (Rom 12:15-16).

This encounter of Jesus and Mary his mother is poignant and tearful. It expresses the invincible strength of that maternal love which overcomes all obstacles and always finds a way. But even more powerful is Mary’s gaze of compassion as she sympathizes with and comforts her Son. Our own hearts are full of wonder as we contemplate the grandeur of Mary, who, although a creature, becomes a neighbour to her God and Lord.

Mary’s gaze gathers up the tears shed by every mother for her distant children, for young people condemned to death, slaughtered or sent off to war, especially child soldiers. We hear in it the grief-stricken lament of mothers for their children who are dying of tumours caused by the burning of toxic waste.

Tears of bitterness! Tears of solidarity with the suffering of their children! Mothers keeping watch by night, their lamps lit, anxious and worried for their young who lack prospects or who fall into the abyss of drugs or alcohol, especially on Saturday nights!

At Mary’s side, we will never be a people of orphans! As with Juan Diego, Mary also offers us the caress of her maternal comfort and she tells us: Let not your heart be troubled… Am I not here who am your Mother? (Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium, 286).

Hail Mary, dear Mother,

grant me your holy blessing.

Bless me and all my family.

Deign to offer God all that I accomplish and endure this day,

in union with your merits and those of your most holy Son.

To your service I offer and devote myself and all that I have,

placing it under your mantle.

Obtain for me, my Lady, purity of mind and body

and grant that today

I may do nothing displeasing to God.

I ask you this through your Immaculate Conception 

and your untainted virginity. Amen

(Saint Gaspare Bertoni)

Fifth Station: Jesus is helped by Simon of Cyrene to carry his cross

They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross; it was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus (Mk 15:21).

Simon of Cyrene just happened to be passing by. But it became a decisive moment in his life. He was returning from the fields. A working man, a strong man. And so he was forced to carry the cross of Jesus, condemned to a shameful death (cf. Phil 2:8).

But this casual encounter leads to a life-changing decision to follow Jesus and to take up his cross each day in self-denial (cf. Mt 16:24-25). Mark tells us that Simon was the father of two Christians known to the community of Rome, Alexander and Rufus. A father who clearly impressed upon the hearts of his children the power of Jesus’ cross. Life, if you grasp it too tightly, decays and turns to dust. But if you give it away, it blossoms and bears fruit, for you and for the entire community!

Here is the real cure for that selfishness of ours which always lurks beneath the surface. Our relationship with others brings us healing and creates a mystic, contemplative fraternity capable of seeing the sacred grandeur of our neighbour, capable of finding God in everyone, capable too of putting up with life’s troubles by holding fast to the love of God. Only by opening my heart to divine love am I drawn to seek the happiness of others through the practice of charity: a night spent in hospital, an interest-free loan, a tear wiped away in the family, heartfelt generosity, farsighted commitment to the common good, a sharing of our bread and labour, the rejection of all jealousy and envy.

Jesus himself tells us: Just as you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers, you did it to me (Mt 25:40).

Lord Jesus,

in the Cyrenean, your friend, throbs the heart of your Church,

a shelter of love for all who thirst for you.

Helping our brothers and sisters is the key to the door of Life.

May our selfishness not make us pass by others;

help us instead to pour the balm of consolation on their wounds,

and thus become faithful companions along the way,

tirelessly persevering in our commitment to fraternity. Amen.

Sixth Station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus
Come, my heart says, seek his face! Your face; Lord, do I seek. Do not hide your face from me. Do not turn your servant away in anger, you who have been my help (Ps 27:8-9).

Jesus drags himself along, gasping. Yet the radiance of his countenance is undiminished. No amount of abuse can dim his beauty. The spittle and the blows were unable to obscure it. His face appears as a burning bush which, the more it is buffeted, the more it radiates salvation. Silent tears fall from the Master’s eyes. He bears the burden of one forsaken. And yet Jesus advances, he does not stop, he does not turn back. He confronts affliction. He is distressed by the cruelty all around him, yet he knows that his dying will not be in vain!

Jesus then halts before a woman who resolutely approaches him. It is Veronica, a true image of a woman’s tender love.

Here the Lord embodies our need for love freely given, for the knowledge that we are loved and kept safe by acts of kindness and concern. Veronica’s gesture is bathed in the precious blood of Jesus; it seems to wipe away the acts of irreverence which he endured in those hours of torture. Veronica is able to touch the gentle Jesus, to feel something of his radiance. Not only to alleviate his pain, but to share in his suffering. In Jesus, she sees all our neighbours who need to be consoled with a tender touch, and comes to hear the cries of pain of all those who, in our own day, receive neither practical assistance nor the warmth of compassion. Who die of loneliness…

Lord Jesus,

how burdensome it is, when we are separated from all those 

we thought would stand by us on the day of our desolation!

Cloak us in that cloth,

stained by your precious blood

shed along the path of abandonment,

which you too unjustly endured.

Without you, we do not have,

nor can we give, a modicum of solace. Amen.

Seventh Station: Jesus falls for the second time
They surrounded me … They surrounded me like bees, they blazed like a fire of thorns; in the name of the Lord I cut them off! I was pushed hard, so that I was falling, but the Lord helped me. The Lord has punished me severely, but he did not give me over to death (Ps 118:11,12-13,18).

Truly we see fulfilled in Jesus the ancient prophecies of the lowly and obedient Servant who takes upon himself all our history of sorrows. And so Jesus, prodded by the soldiers, stumbles, overcome by fatigue, surrounded by violence, utterly exhausted. Increasingly alone, amid the encircling gloom! His flesh is torn, his bones are weary.

In him we glimpse the bitter experience of those locked in prisons of every sort, with all their inhumane contradictions. Confined and surrounded, pushed hard and falling. Prisons today continue to be set apart, overlooked, rejected by society. Marked by bureaucratic nightmares and justice delayed. Punishment is doubled by overcrowding: an aggravated penalty, an unjust affliction, one which consumes flesh and bone. Some – too many! – do not survive… And when one of our brothers and sisters is released, we still see them as ex-convicts, and we bar before them the doors of social and economic redemption.

More serious is the practice of torture, which tragically is still practiced in different ways throughout our world. As it was in the case of Jesus, beaten, reviled by the soldiers, tortured with a crown of thorns, cruelly flogged.

Today, as we contemplate this second fall, how truly do those words of Jesus ring: I was in prison and you visited me (Mt 25:36). In every prison, at the side of each person being tortured, Christ is always there, Christ who suffers, is imprisoned and tortured. Even in our greatest suffering, he helps us not to yield to fear. Only with help can those who fall rise again, aided by skilled personnel, sustained by the fraternal support of volunteers, and put on their feet by a society which takes responsibility for the many injustices which occur within the walls of our prisons.

Lord Jesus,

boundless compassion grips me

as I see you fall to the ground for my sake.

I have no merit, and so many sins, inconsistencies and failures,

yet you respond with such immense love!

Cast off by society, put to death by judicial sentence,

you have blessed us for ever.

Blessed are we if today we join you in your fall, delivered from condemnation.

Help us not to flee from our responsibilities,

grant that we may abide in your abasement, safe from all pretense of omnipotence,

and be reborn to new life as creatures destined for heaven. Amen.

Eighth Station: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem

Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and your children (Lk23:28).

Like so many tapers of light, we see women lining the path of pain. Women of fidelity and courage, neither intimidated by the soldiers nor cringing before the wounds of the Good Master. They are prepared to approach him and to comfort him. Jesus stands there before them. Others trample on him as he falls exhausted to the ground. But the women are there, ready to give him the warmth of a loving heart. First they gaze at him from afar, but then they draw near, as would any friend, any brother or sister, who realizes that someone whom they love is in trouble.

Jesus is moved by their bitter lament, yet he tells them not to be disheartened by his sufferings; he tells them to be women not of grief but of faith! He asks for their solidarity in suffering, not merely a barren and plaintive sympathy. No more wailing, but a resolve to be reborn, to look to the future, to advance with faith and hope towards that dawn which will break even more radiantly upon those who journey with their eyes fixed on God. Let us weep for ourselves if we do not yet believe in Jesus, who proclaimed the kingdom of salvation. Let us weep for the sins we have not confessed.

Then too, let us weep for those men who vent on women all their pent-up violence. Let us weep for women enslaved by fear and exploitation. But it is not enough to beat our breast and to feel compassion. Jesus demands more. Women need to be given reassurance, following his example; they need to be cherished as an inviolable gift for all humanity. So that our children may grow in dignity and hope.

Lord Jesus,

stay the hand of those who strike women!

Lift women’s hearts from the abyss of despair

when they are victims of violence.

Look upon their tears of loneliness and abandonment,

and open our hearts to share their every sorrow,

fully and faithfully,

above and beyond mere compassion.

Make us a means of true liberation. Amen.

Ninth Station: Jesus falls for the third time
Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?... No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us! (Rom 8:35,37).

Saint Paul lists all his sufferings, yet he knows that Jesus was there before him: Jesus, who on the way to Golgotha fell once, twice, three times. Overwhelmed by hardship, persecution, the sword; weighed down by the wood of the cross. Drained! He seems to say, as we do, in our darkest moments: I can’t take it any more!

It is the cry of those persecuted, the dying, the terminally ill, those who strain under the yoke.

But in Jesus we also see strength: Although he causes grief, he will have compassion (Lam3:32). He shows us that in affliction, his consolation is always present, a surplus to be glimpsed in hope. Like the pruning which the heavenly Father, in his wisdom, performs on the branches that will bear fruit (cf. Jn 15:8). Not to lop them off, but to make them bloom anew. Like a mother in labour: in pain, she cries out, she endures the pangs of childbirth. Yet she knows that they are the pangs of new life, of spring flowers blossoming on branches recently pruned.

May our contemplation of Jesus, who falls yet rises once more, help us to overcome the kinds of narrowness which fear of the future impresses on our hearts, especially at this time of crisis. Let us leave behind our unhealthy nostalgia for the past, our complacency and our refusal to change, and the attitude that says: But we’ve always done it this way!. Jesus who stumbles and falls, but then rises, points us to a sure hope which, nourished by intense prayer, is born precisely at the moment of trial, not after or apart from it!

We will be more than conquerors, because of his love!

Lord Jesus,

Lift up, we pray, the unfortunate from the ground,

Raise the poor from the dust, set them with the princes of the people,

and grant them a seat of glory.

Shatter the bow of the strong and revive the strength of the weak,

for you alone enrich us by your poverty (cf. 1 Sam 2:4-8; 2 Cor 8:9). Amen.

Tenth Station: Jesus is stripped of his garments
When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four parts, one for each soldier. They also took his tunic; now the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top. So they said to one another: Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see who will get it. This was to fulfil what the Scripture says: They divided my clothes among themselves, and for my tunic they cast lots. And that is what the soldiers did (Jn 19:23-24).

They didn’t leave even a patch of cloth to cover Jesus’ body. They stripped him naked. He was without his cloak, his tunic, any garment whatsoever. They stripped him as an act of utter humiliation. He was covered only by the blood which flowed from his gaping wounds.

The tunic remained intact, a symbol of the Church’s unity, a unity found in patient journeying, in a peace that is crafted, in a tapestry woven with the golden threads of fraternity, in reconciliation and in mutual forgiveness.

In Jesus, innocent, stripped and tortured, we see the outraged dignity of all the innocent, especially the little ones. God did not prevent his naked body from being exposed on the cross. He did this in order to redeem every abuse wrongly concealed, and to show that he, God, is irrevocably and unreservedly on the side of victims.

Lord Jesus,

we want to return to childlike innocence, 

in order to enter the kingdom of heaven;

cleanse us of our uncleanness and our idols.

Take away our stony hearts which create divisions,

which damage the credibility of your Church.

Give us a new heart and a new spirit,

that we may live in accordance with your commands

and readily observe your laws. Amen.

Eleventh Station: Jesus is crucified
And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take. It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read: The King of the Jews. And with him they crucified two thieves, one on his right and one on his left. And the Scripture was fulfilled that says: And he was counted among the lawless (Mk 15:24-28).

And they crucified him! The punishment reserved for the despicable, for traitors and rebellious slaves. This is the punishment meted out to our Lord Jesus: coarse nails, spasms of pain, the anguish of his mother, the shame of being associated with two thieves, his garments divided like spoils among the soldiers, the cruel jeers of passers-by: He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him! (Mt 27:42).

And they crucified him! Jesus does not come down, he does not leave the cross. He stays there, obedient to the Father’s will to the very end. He loves and he forgives.

Today many of our brothers and sisters, like Jesus, are nailed to a bed of pain, at hospital, in homes for the elderly, in our families. It is a time of hardship, with bitter days of solitude and even despair: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (Mt 27:46).

May we never use our hands to inflict harm, but only to draw near, to comfort and to accompany the sick, raising them from their bed of pain. Sickness does not ask permission. It always comes unannounced. At times it upsets us, it narrows our horizons, it tests our hope. It is a bitter gall. Only if we find at our side someone able to listen to us, to remain close to us, to sit at our bedside… can sickness become a great school of wisdom, an encounter with God, who is ever patient. Whenever someone shares our infirmities out of love, even in the night of pain there dawns the paschal light of Christ, crucified and risen. What, in human terms, is a chastisement can become a redemptive oblation, for the good of our communities and our families. So it was for the saints.

Lord Jesus,

never leave my side,

sit beside my bed of pain and keep me company.

Do not leave me alone, stretch out your hand and lift me up!

I believe that you are Love, 

and I believe that your will is the expression of your Love;

so I abandon myself to your will,

for I put my trust in your Love. Amen.

Twelfth Station: Jesus dies on the cross
After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfil the Scripture): I am thirsty. A jar full of vinegar was standing there. So they put a sponge full of wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. When Jesus had received the vinegar, he said: It is finished. Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit (Jn 19:28-30).

Jesus’ seven last words on the cross are the perfection of hope. Slowly, with steps that are also our own, Jesus traverses all the darkness of night and abandons himself trustingly into the arms of his Father. It is the cry of the dying, the groan of the despairing, the entreaty of the lost. It is Jesus!

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (Mt 27:46). It is the cry of Job, of everyone struck by misfortune. And God is silent. He is silent because his response is there, on the cross: Jesus himself, the eternal Word who out of love became man; he is God’s answer.

Remember me… (Lk 23:42). The fraternal plea of the thief who became his companion in suffering, pierces Jesus’ heart; it is an echo of his own pain. And Jesus grants that request: Today you will be with me in paradise. The pain of others always redeems us, since it draws us out of ourselves.

Woman, here is your son! … (Jn 19:26). But it is his mother, Mary, who stood with John at the foot of the cross, who dispels all fear. She fills that scene with tenderness and hope. Jesus no longer feels alone. So it is with us, if beside our bed of pain there is someone who loves us! Faithfully. To the end.

I am thirsty (Jn 19:28). Like the child who asks his mother for drink, like the patient burning with fever… Jesus’ thirst is the thirst of all those who yearn for life, freedom and justice. And it is the thirst of the one who is thirstiest of all: God, who, infinitely more than ourselves, thirsts for our salvation.

It is finished (Jn 19:30). Everything: every word, every action, every prophecy, every moment of Jesus’ life. The tapestry is complete. The thousand colours of love now shine forth in beauty. Nothing is wasted. Nothing thrown away. Everything has become love. Everything completed for me and for you! And so, even dying becomes meaningful!

Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing (Lk 23:34). Now, heroically, Jesus emerges from the fear of death. For if we live freely in love, everything is life. Forgiveness renews, heals, transforms and comforts! It creates a new people. It ends wars.

Father, into your hands I commend my spirit (Lk 23:46). No longer emptiness and anguish. But complete trust in the Father’s hands, complete repose in his heart. For in God, all the fragments at last come together to form a whole!

O God, who in the passion of Christ our Lord

have set us free from death, the wages of our ancient sin,

inherited by the whole human race:

renew us in the image of your Son;

and as we have borne in ourselves, from birth,

the image of the earthly man, 

grant that, by the working of your Spirit, 

we may bear the image of the heavenly man.

Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Thirteenth Station: Jesus is taken down from the cross
When it was evening, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who was also a disciple of Jesus. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus; then Pilate ordered it to be given to him (Mt 27:57-58).

Before burial, Jesus is at last given back to his mother. She is the icon of a broken hearted woman, yet she tells us that death does not forbid a mother’s final kiss to her son. Bent over Jesus’ body, Mary is bound to him in a total embrace. This icon is known simply as Pietà – pity. It is heartrending, but it shows that death does not break the bond of love. For love is stronger than death! Pure love is the love that lasts. Evening has come. The battle is won. The bond of love has not been broken. Those who are prepared to sacrifice their life for Christ will find it. Transfigured, on the other side of death.

Tears and blood mingle in this tragic embrace. So it is in the lives of our families whenever we suffer an unexpected and grievous loss, an emptiness and a pain which cannot be soothed, especially at the death of a child.

Pity means being a neighbour to our brothers and sisters who grieve and cannot be consoled. It is great act of charity to care for those suffering from bodily wounds, from mental depression, from a despairing heart. To love to the very end is the supreme teaching which Jesus and Mary have left us. It is the daily fraternal mission of consolation which is entrusted to us in this faithful embrace of the dead Jesus and his sorrowful Mother.

Virgin of Sorrows,

at our altars you show us your radiant face;

with eyes lifted up to heaven 

and open hands,

you offer the Father, in a sign of priestly oblation,

the saving victim of your Son Jesus.

Show us the sweetness of that last faithful embrace

and grant us your maternal consolation,

that the sorrows of our daily lives

may never dim our hope of life beyond death. Amen.

Fourteenth Station:  Jesus is laid in the tomb
The new garden

Now there was a garden in the place where he was crucified, and in the garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid. They laid Jesus there (Jn 19:41-42).

That garden, with the tomb in which Jesus was buried, makes us think of another garden: the garden of Eden. A garden which through disobedience lost its beauty and became a wilderness, a place of death where once there was life.

The overgrown branches which block us from savouring the fragrance of God’s will – our attachment to money, our pride, our squandering of human lives – must now be trimmed back and grafted onto the wood of the Cross. This is the new garden: the cross planted upon the earth!

From on high, Jesus will now bring everything back to life. After his return from the pit of hell, where Satan had imprisoned so many souls, the renewal of all things will begin. His tomb represents the end of the old man. As with Jesus, God has not allowed his children to be punished by a relentless death. In the death of Christ all the thrones of evil, built on greed and hardness of heart, are toppled.

Death disarms us; it makes us realize that we are subject here on earth to a life that will come to an end. And yet, before the body of Jesus, laid in the tomb, we come to realize who we really are. Creatures who, in order to escape death, need their Creator.

The silence which fills that garden enables us to hear the whisper of a gentle breeze: I am the Living One and I am with you (cf. Ex 3:14). The curtain of the temple is torn in two. At last we see our Lord’s face. And we know fully his name: mercy and faithfulness. We will never be confounded, even in the face of death, for the Son of God was free among the dead (cf. Ps 88:6).

Protect me, God: for in you I take refuge.

You are my portion and cup,

my life is in your hands.

I keep you ever before me, for you are my God.

You stand at my right hand; I shall not waver.

And so my heart is glad and my soul rejoices; 

my body also rests secure.

For you do not leave my life among the dead,

or let your servant go down into the pit.

You will show me the path of life,

fullness of joy in your presence,

happiness for ever at your right hand. Amen.

(cf. Ps 15)

A different kind of leader

Here is the reflection I shared today, Good Friday, with those who gathered to commemorate the Lord's Passion.

Behold, the king!

Life changing events have a way of impressing themselves upon our memory: a husband and wife will always remember the day they exchanged their vows; a priest or a deacon will always remember the day he was ordained; a consecrated person will always remember the day she or he took vows; even children may remember the day they first received the gift of the Eucharist, a teenager will always remember the day he or she first sat behind the wheel of a car.

All these moments in life, and others like them, are indeed memorable, but the moment that we commemorate today is even more important, for on this day, our God gave his life for us.  One of the names the people gave to Jesus was King of the Jews.  During his trial, Pilate asked Jesus plainly: Are you the king of the Jews?  He had no doubt heard this accusation, and perhaps wanted to confirm it.  Jesus is indeed our king, and today we remember and celebrate the anniversary of his day of enthronement.

All the grandeur of a king is mentioned in the readings we have heard today, but not quite in the way we may have expected.  Every king needs a team of consulters who he can trust; Jesus disciples all fled after he was arrested, and those who didn’t denied even knowing him.  A king wears regal robes and royal insignia; Jesus’ body was marked by a whip and he was crowned with thorns.  The purple robe they draped over him was only placed there as a joke, so that they could mock him.  Great leaders are usually good orators; Jesus said nothing, but his silence was more eloquent than any spoken word.  Kings preside while sitting on thrones; Jesus presides from the throne of his cross.

Good leaders are beloved leaders.  Good leaders know how the hearts of the people they lead.  Good leaders are close to those who look to them for guidance.  The leader we revere bore our infirmities and carried our troubles.  Out of love for us, he gave his life for us.  Out of love for us, he offered up prayers and supplications … to the one who was able to save him … and his prayer was heard.  God always hears the prayers of the suffering: the impoverished, the hungry, the abused, and he comes to our help.

Out of love, Jesus gave everything for us.  The clothes had been taken off his back, and still he looked tenderly toward his mother; he saw his disciple there too: Woman, here is your son; here is your mother.  The blood that dripped from his broken body, he offers even now for his disciples each time we break bread and share the cup of salvation.  Even his dying words: I thirst speak to our hearts, for he continues today to thirst especially for our hearts.

It is finished.  Jesus bowed his head and gave his spirit into the waiting arms of the Father.  How often does Christ ask us to give just a fraction of ourselves out of love for him, out of love for our brothers and sisters?  Through the eyes of faith, we see this king of ours in the faces of all those who call out to us for help.  The question is: are we willing to do as he did, even to the point of giving our lives for them?

An example of service

Here is the text of the meditation I shared with those who gathered earlier tonight to participate in the first part of the Easter Triduum: the Mass of the Lord's Supper.

An act of love

In this church, and in churches around the world this night, God’s people are gathered to remember and to celebrate, but what precisely is it that we remember?  What are we here to celebrate?  We remember the command spoken by our God to his beloved people, our ancestors in faith, and we celebrate the love of our God, a deep abiding personal love that our God has for each and every one of his disciples.

The Book of Exodus recounts the Lord’s commands spoken to Moses, directions about a special meal which Moses in turn would instruct the Israelites to observe just before they were to leave for the Promised Land.  This special meal has come to be known as the Passover, and the directions for its observance are filled with many details: the date when it is to be prepared (Ex 12:3), what food is to be prepared (Ex 12:3-6; 8-11); and even how it is to be cooked (Ex 12:8).  While the meal is being consumed, there are even directions given about the signal that should be given to indicate the places where the celebration is taking place (Ex 12:7).  Then as now, God knows the needs of his people.  He knew that his people were about to set out on a journey, and needed to be sustained and strengthened before they could set out.  Every one of us is still on a journey, and our God journeys with us.  He provides us with food for our bodies and for our souls, until the day that our journey will be complete.

The scriptures tell us that at the appointed time, God sent his son into the world (cf. Jn 3:16).  Jesus tried to teach his disciples about God’s deep abiding love for them.  He even modeled it for them in the way he cared for each one of them, even as he was teaching them about the kingdom of heaven, and about the Father.  Even when he knew that his time on earth was limited, Jesus continued to teach the disciples.  The gospel passage we have heard tonight relates some of the details about a very intimate and personal encounter that Jesus lived with his disciples just hours before he was to suffer and die for us.  The meal they shared in that Upper Room has been repeated ever since, and every time it is observed, we take part, in a mystical sense in that very encounter of deep abiding love.

Jesus knew that one of his disciples was about to betray him.  God knows the hearts of each one of us who sits at his table.  He knows our strengths and our weaknesses (cf. Jn 13:2), and still he welcomes us. Like the meal described by Moses, the meal Jesus shared with his disciples was also deeply ritualistic, and it still holds a sense of mystery for those who participate in its observance today.

Saint Paul reminds us that it was Jesus who, on the night he was betrayed, took a loaf of bread, gave thanks, broke it and said, This is my Body that is for you, do this in remembrance of me. He then took a cup and told his disciples: This cup is the new covenant in my Blood.  Do this … in remembrance of me (1 Cor 11:23-26).  This is why we bless bread and wine at each Eucharist, but Jesus didn’t only ask his disciples to share physical food, he commanded them to serve one another in his name, and so we too must also serve others out of love.

This was the reason why Jesus got up from the table on the night of the Last Supper, took off his outer robe and tied a towel around himself, poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet (Jn 13:4-5).  The act of washing another person’s feet is a gesture of service.  It is a demonstration of a willingness to go to any length in order to respond to the needs of our brothers and sisters.  Are we willing to serve as Jesus challenges us to serve: he calls us and sometimes places us in situations we ourselves would not choose, but only so that we can be living witnesses of his love as we wash the feet of our brothers and sisters, purely out of love for them.

Are we willing to allow Jesus to wash our feet?  It’s hard enough to open ourselves to the possibilities that present themselves when we dare to welcome the challenge to serve; it’s sometimes even more difficult to allow ourselves to be served, even if that service is offered in tenderness and love.  There is no room for power and prestige in Jesus’ vision of service; each of us is a disciple, each of us is called to be of service to our brothers and sisters, with no regard for recompense, but purely motivated by love.  This is why Jesus told Peter: Unless I wash you, you can have no share with me (Jn 13: 8).

We who are gathered here tonight are no different from the disciples who were there in the Upper Room with Jesus that night.  We watch from a distance as Jesus, the one who is our teacher throws off his authority and comes down to our level, even choosing to wash our feet and to tenderly dry them.  As we re-enact this gesture of service, let us pray for the humility to allow our feet to be washed, feet that are too often covered in callouses, feet that carry the dirt and grime of everyday life, feet that speak of years of work, feet that reveal the deepest secrets that we choose to keep hidden from everyone else except from Jesus.  Let us also pray for the courage to become more like him.  If our Lord and Teacher has washed our feet, we also ought to wash one another’s feet (cf Jn 13:14).

On the margins

At 5:00pm today in Rome, the Holy Father, Pope Francis left the Vatican and travelled to the Saint Mary of Providence Centre, part of the Don Gnocchi Foundation located on the Via Casal del Marmo in the Casalotti-Boccea region of Rome.  There, he celebrated the Mass of the Lord's Supper at 5:30pm local time.  This liturgy which is celebrated in the evening hours of Holy Thursday marks the beginning of the Pascal Triduum.

This marks the second year in a row that the Holy Father has celebrated the Holy Thursday liturgy with the marginalized.  Last year, he did so at a youth detention centre; this year, he chose to pray with the elderly and the disabled.

According to Father Federico Lombardi, SJ, Director of the Holy See Press Office, the Pope washed the feet of nine Italians, one Muslim from Lybia, and Ethiopian woman, and a young man from Cape Verde.  All of them suffer from some form of illness.

The Don Gnocchi Foundation comprises thirty centres throughout Italy which are all dedicated to health care and research.  For those who work with the Centre, and for those who are cared for alike, Lent reminds us of the meaning of solitude, weakness, doubts, being tired and being confused, but to see the Pope coming to our workplace helps us to anticipate a bit of Easter.

In his homily today, Pope Francis spoke about the Lord who although He is God, became a servant, our servant.  This gesture on the part of the Lord leaves all of us with a special inheritance: we ought to be servants of one another.  He has made this road for love; you also ought to love and be servants of love.  This is the legacy that Jesus leaves us.

The Holy Father reminded those who were present that Jesus wanted us to live in this way.  The act of washing feet was usually carried out by slaves, the servants of those who came to eat at the table.  Since the streets were made up of dirt and earth, when a guest entered the house, it was necessary that their feet be washed.  The Holy Father's homily focused on Jesus' willingness to do the work of a slave: this is the legacy he has left us.  For this reason, when the Church commemorates the Last Supper, the occasion upon which Jesus instituted the Eucharist, we also wash one another's feet in order to remind ourselves that we must be servants to each other.

Inviting all those who were present to remember the love that Jesus tells us to have for others, he urged the faithful to consider ways in which they can serve others better, for this is what Jesus wants us to do.  Meanwhile, the Holy Father knelt before each of the twelve residents, washed, dried and kissed their feet.  Then, he continued with the Eucharistic banquet.

The President of the Don Gnocchi Foundation care home said that Pope Francis' visit fills them with pride and takes their thoughts and hearts on high.  It shows us the care of a Church that wears an apron and washes the feet of those who are evangelically the first.  This is a gift that the Pope gives our mission, embracing sixty years of history, beginning with our founder Don Carlo Gnocchi and including our daily activities, even the most commonplace labour of daily living.

In all her finery

Here is the text of the homily I prepared for the funeral which was celebrated today.  Just hours before the beginning of the Pascal triduum, I reflected on the words of promise spoken by Jesus to his disciples: do not let your hearts be troubled.

Funeral homily for Muriel Dulude

We began this liturgy today with a reminder that on the day of her baptism, Muriel was welcomed into the Church, given new life in Christ and clothed with a garment of salvation.  This lady, who some of us knew as our mother, our mother-in-law, our grandmother or our friend, was and still is a cherished child of God, and for this reason, we are here in this church today to remember and to celebrate.

We gather to remember the day when she was first welcomed into the Church, the day when her journey of faith began.  Saint Paul wrote to the early Christian community at Rome, reminding them that the spirit they received was not the spirit of slaves, but the spirit of children, and that this spirit that we all receive on the day of our baptism makes us cry out to God: Abba! Father!  Muriel was first taught about this relationship with God, our daddy, thanks to her own parents, and to other people of faith who were part of her childhood, and she in turn taught her own children about Jesus, and about the relationship of love that he cultivates and nourishes with each of his beloved children.

A few days ago, I spoke briefly with Muriel’s daughters.  They told me a bit about their mother, about the fact that many years ago, they feared that they might lose her, but that she surprised everyone and outlived physical challenges for quite some time.  I dare say that she understood Paul’s words of advice: what we suffer in this life can never be compared to the glory … which is waiting for us.  Now, finally reunited with the love of her life, Muriel and Guy are smiling down upon us from their place in heaven.

On the day of our baptism, each of us is given new life in Christ, and we spend the rest of our mortal lives coming to understand what this new life is all about.  From what I’ve heard, Muriel was well aware of the signs of this divine life which were present in her life.  She cherished her relationship with Guy, and she loved each of her children and her grandchildren very much.  Only a soul who has discovered the love of God is able to love with such fervour in return.  In her latter years, she endeared herself to the staff and residents at Marina Point here in the city, so much so that they all wanted to bid her farewell when it became evident that her time here on earth was coming to an end.  From our vantage point here on earth, it appears that this woman who was so much a part of our lives has now left us, and it is completely understandable that our hearts are broken at this moment of parting, but we too have been given new life in Christ, and because of this, we believe that one day our God will destroy death forever, that he will wipe away the tears from every cheek, and unite us once again with those we have loved when we meet him, the one who has always loved us with perfect love.

Today is Holy Thursday.  In just a few hours’ time, we will begin the liturgies of the Easter Triduum.  The events that we commemorate in these days are at the heart of our lives in Christ.  He is the one who has clothed us with a garment of salvation since the day when our faith lives began at the baptismal font, and it is because we have been clothed in this way that we can believe the words he spoke to his disciples only hours before he experienced his own passion and death: do not let your hearts be troubled. When we have to say goodbye to someone we love, we can often find ourselves responding to these words with the question that was voiced by Thomas: But Lord, we do not know where you are going, so how can we know the way?  What Jesus was asking his disciples to do then is the same that he is asking all of us to do today.  He asks the same of all of us who will remember and celebrate his passion, death and resurrection in the coming days: Trust in God still, and trust in me.  Even from heaven, God is still at work, preparing a place for each of us in the Father’s house.  When our place is ready, he will come from heaven to take us there.  In the meanwhile, each of us must pray for the gift of trust, and we must endeavour each day to be people of trust, showing the world the joy that is in our hearts, for one day we will see Muriel again, clothed in fine array.  Until that day, she prays for us, and we too must pray for one another as we make our way toward the joys of the kingdom which is our promised inheritance.

A wellspring of joy for God's little ones

Each year, normally during Holy Week, the Bishop of the diocese celebrates a special Mass known as the Mass of Chrism in presence of as many of the priests of his diocese.  In Rome, this Mass is celebrated in the morning of Holy Thursday, but in other dioceses throughout the world, it can be celebrated on other days if the bishop of that diocese decides that there is a good pastoral reason to do so.

At 9:30am today, Holy Thursday, the Holy Father, Pope Francis presided at the celebration of the Mass of Chrism which was celebrated in Saint Peter's Basilica at the Vatican.  Concelebrating with His Holiness at this morning's liturgy were Cardinals, Bishops and both Diocesan and Religious priests who are present in Rome.

Homily of His Holiness, Pope Francis

for the Mass of Chrism

Anointed with the oil of gladness

Dear Brother Priests,

In the eternal today of Holy Thursday, when Christ showed his love for us to the end (cf. Jn 13:1), we recall the happy day of the institution of the priesthood, as well as the day of our own priestly ordination. The Lord anointed us in Christ with the oil of gladness, and this anointing invites us to accept and appreciate this great gift: the gladness, the joy of being a priest. Priestly joy is a priceless treasure, not only for the priest himself but for the entire faithful people of God: that faithful people from which the priest is called to be anointed and which he, in turn, is sent to anoint.

Anointed with the oil of gladness so as to anoint others with the oil of gladness. Priestly joy has its source in the Father’s love, and the Lord wishes the joy of this Love to be ours and to be complete (Jn 15:11). I like to reflect on joy by contemplating Our Lady, for Mary, the Mother of the living Gospel, is a wellspring of joy for God’s little ones (Evangelii Gaudium, 288). I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that the priest is very little indeed: the incomparable grandeur of the gift granted us for the ministry sets us among the least of men. The priest is the poorest of men unless Jesus enriches him by his poverty, the most useless of servants unless Jesus calls him his friend, the most ignorant of men unless Jesus patiently teaches him as he did Peter, the frailest of Christians unless the Good Shepherd strengthens him in the midst of the flock. No one is more little than a priest left to his own devices; and so our prayer of protection against every snare of the Evil One is the prayer of our Mother: I am a priest because he has regarded my littleness (cf. Lk 1:48). And in that littleness we find our joy. Joy in our littleness!

For me, there are three significant features of our priestly joy. It is a joy which anoints us (not one which greases us, making us unctuous, sumptuous and presumptuous), it is a joy which is imperishable and it is a missionary joy which spreads and attracts, starting backwards – with those farthest away from us.

A joy which anoints us. In a word: it has penetrated deep within our hearts, it has shaped them and strengthened them sacramentally. The signs of the ordination liturgy speak to us of the Church’s maternal desire to pass on and share with others all that the Lord has given us: the laying on of hands, the anointing with sacred chrism, the clothing with sacred vestments, the first consecration which immediately follows… Grace fills us to the brim and overflows, fully, abundantly and entirely in each priest. We are anointed down to our very bones… and our joy, which wells up from deep within, is the echo of this anointing.

An imperishable joy. The fullness of the Gift, which no one can take away or increase, is an unfailing source of joy: an imperishable joy which the Lord has promised and which no one can take from us (Jn 16:22). It can lie dormant, or be clogged by sin or by life’s troubles, yet deep down it remains intact, like the embers of a burnt log beneath the ashes, and it can always be renewed. Paul’s exhortation to Timothy remains ever timely: I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands (cf. 2 Tim 1:6).

A missionary joy. I would like especially to share with you and to stress this third feature: priestly joy is deeply bound up with God’s holy and faithful people, for it is an eminently missionary joy. Our anointing is meant for anointing God’s holy and faithful people: for baptizing and confirming them, healing and sanctifying them, blessing, comforting and evangelizing them.

And since this joy is one which only springs up when the shepherd is in the midst of his flock (for even in the silence of his prayer, the shepherd who worships the Father is with his sheep), it is a guarded joy, watched over by the flock itself. Even in those gloomy moments when everything looks dark and a feeling of isolation takes hold of us, in those moments of listlessness and boredom which at times overcome us in our priestly life (and which I too have experienced), even in those moments God’s people are able to guard that joy; they are able to protect you, to embrace you and to help you open your heart to find renewed joy.

A guarded joy: one guarded by the flock but also guarded by three sisters who surround it, tend it and defend it: sister poverty, sister fidelity and sister obedience.

The joy of priests is a joy which is sister to poverty. The priest is poor in terms of purely human joy. He has given up so much! And because he is poor, he, who gives so much to others, has to seek his joy from the Lord and from God’s faithful people. He doesn’t need to try to create it for himself. We know that our people are very generous in thanking priests for their slightest blessing and especially for the sacraments. Many people, in speaking of the crisis of priestly identity, fail to realize that identity presupposes belonging. There is no identity – and consequently joy of life – without an active and unwavering sense of belonging to God’s faithful people (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 268). The priest who tries to find his priestly identity by soul-searching and introspection may well encounter nothing more than exit signs, signs that say: exit from yourself, exit to seek God in adoration, go out and give your people what was entrusted to you, for your people will make you feel and taste who you are, what your name is, what your identity is, and they will make you rejoice in that hundredfold which the Lord has promised to those who serve him. Unless you exit from yourself, the oil grows rancid and the anointing cannot be fruitful. Going out from ourselves presupposes self-denial; it means poverty.

Priestly joy is a joy which is sister to fidelity. Not primarily in the sense that we are all immaculate (would that by God’s grace we were!), for we are sinners, but in the sense of an ever renewed fidelity to the one Bride, to the Church. Here fruitfulness is key. The spiritual children which the Lord gives each priest, the children he has baptized, the families he has blessed and helped on their way, the sick he has comforted, the young people he catechizes and helps to grow, the poor he assists… all these are the Bride whom he rejoices to treat as his supreme and only love and to whom he is constantly faithful. It is the living Church, with a first name and a last name, which the priest shepherds in his parish or in the mission entrusted to him. That mission brings him joy whenever he is faithful to it, whenever he does all that he has to do and lets go of everything that he has to let go of, as long as he stands firm amid the flock which the Lord has entrusted to him: Feed my sheep (cf. Jn 21:16,17).

Priestly joy is a joy which is sister to obedience. An obedience to the Church in the hierarchy which gives us, as it were, not simply the external framework for our obedience: the parish to which I am sent, my ministerial assignments, my particular work … but also union with God the Father, the source of all fatherhood. It is likewise an obedience to the Church in service: in availability and readiness to serve everyone, always and as best I can, following the example of Our Lady of Promptness (cf. Lk 1:39, meta spoudes), who hastens to serve Elizabeth her kinswoman and is concerned for the kitchen of Cana when the wine runs out. The availability of her priests makes the Church a house with open doors, a refuge for sinners, a home for people living on the streets, a place of loving care for the sick, a camp for the young, a classroom for catechizing children about to make their First Communion… Wherever God’s people have desires or needs, there is the priest, who knows how to listen (ob-audire) and feels a loving mandate from Christ who sends him to relieve that need with mercy or to encourage those good desires with resourceful charity.

All who are called should know that genuine and complete joy does exist in this world: it is the joy of being taken from the people we love and then being sent back to them as dispensers of the gifts and counsels of Jesus, the one Good Shepherd who, with deep compassion for all the little ones and the outcasts of this earth, wearied and oppressed like sheep without a shepherd, wants to associate many others to his ministry, so as himself to remain with us and to work, in the person of his priests, for the good of his people.

On this Holy Thursday, I ask the Lord Jesus to enable many young people to discover that burning zeal which joy kindles in our hearts as soon as we have the stroke of boldness needed to respond willingly to his call.

On this Holy Thursday, I ask the Lord Jesus to preserve the joy sparkling in the eyes of the recently ordained who go forth to devour the world, to spend themselves fully in the midst of God's faithful people, rejoicing as they prepare their first homily, their first Mass, their first Baptism, their first confession… It is the joy of being able to share with wonder, and for the first time as God’s anointed, the treasure of the Gospel and to feel the faithful people anointing you again and in yet another way: by their requests, by bowing their heads for your blessing, by taking your hands, by bringing you their children, by pleading for their sick… Preserve, Lord, in your young priests the joy of going forth, of doing everything as if for the first time, the joy of spending their lives fully for you.

On this Thursday of the priesthood, I ask the Lord Jesus to confirm the priestly joy of those who have already ministered for some years. The joy which, without leaving their eyes, is also found on the shoulders of those who bear the burden of the ministry, those priests who, having experienced the labours of the apostolate, gather their strength and rearm themselves: get a second wind, as the athletes say. Lord, preserve the depth, wisdom and maturity of the joy felt by these older priests. May they be able to pray with Nehemiah: the joy of the Lord is my strength (cf. Neh 8:10).

Finally, on this Thursday of the priesthood, I ask the Lord Jesus to make better known the joy of elderly priests, whether healthy or infirm. It is the joy of the Cross, which springs from the knowledge that we possess an imperishable treasure in perishable earthen vessels. May these priests find happiness wherever they are; may they experience already, in the passage of the years, a taste of eternity (Guardini). May they know, Lord, the joy of handing on the torch, the joy of seeing new generations of their spiritual children, and of hailing the promises from afar, smiling and at peace, in that hope which does not disappoint.

General Audience on the meaning of Holy Week

This morning's General Audience began at 10:30am in Saint Peter's Square.  The Holy Father, Pope Francis met with groups of pilgrims and the faithful who had come from various parts of Italy and from all parts of the world.

In his catechesis, the Pope shared a meditation on Holy Week and its centrality in the liturgical year.

After having resumed his teaching in various languages, the Holy Father shared greetings with various groups of the faithful who were present.

The General Audience ended with the chanting of the Pater Noster and the imparting of the Apostolic Blessing.

Catechesis of His Holiness, Pope Francis

for the General Audience

Dear brothers and sisters, good morning!

Today, in the midst of Holy Week, the liturgy presents a sad story: the betrayal of Judas, who goes to the leaders of the Sanhedrin to negotiate and hand his Master over to them.  How much will you pay me if I give him to you?  In that moment, a price is put on Jesus' head.  This dramatic act signals the beginning of Christ's Passion, a path of pain which He chooses with absolute freedom.  He himself says it clearly: I give my life ... No one takes it from me: I myself offer it.  I have the power to give it and the power to take it back again (Jn 10:17-18).  This is what happens with this betrayal; it is the beginning of the way of humiliation and of suffering, Jesus walks it, all the way to the end.

Jesus reaches the depth of humiliation with his death on the cross.  This was the worst kind of death, reserved for slaves and for delinquents.  Jesus was considered a prophet, but died a delinquent.  Looking toward Jesus in his passion, we can see, as in a mirror, the suffering of all humanity and we can find the divine response to the mystery of evil, of suffering and of death.  Many times, we feel horror for the evil and suffering that surrounds us and we might ask ourselves: Why does God allow this?  It is a deep wound for us to see suffering and death, especially that of the innocent!  When we witness the suffering of children, it wounds us to the heart: it is one of the mysteries of evil.  And Jesus takes all this evil, all this suffering upon himself.  This week, it is good for all of us to look toward the crucifix, to kiss the wounds of Jesus, to kiss the crucifix.  He took upon himself all the suffering of humanity, and clothed himself in this suffering.

We expect God, in His omnipotence, to defeat injustice, evil, sin and suffering with a triumphant divine victory. Instead, God shows us a humble victory which humanly seems a failure. We can say that God conquers in failure! In fact, the Son of God appears on the cross as a defeated man: he suffers, is betrayed, is despised and finally dies. However, Jesus allows evil to rage on him and he takes it upon himself to defeat it. His Passion is not an incident; his death – that death – was written. Truly, we do not find many explanations. It is a disconcerting mystery, the mystery of God’s great humility: For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son (John 3:16). We think so much of Jesus’ grief this week and we say to ourselves: this is for me. Even if I were the only person in the world, he would have done it. He did it for me. We kiss the crucifix and we say: for me, thank you Jesus, for me.

When all seems lost, when there is no longer anyone because they strike the shepherd and the sheep of the flock will be scattered (Matthew 26:31), it is then that God intervenes with the power of the Resurrection. Jesus’ Resurrection is not the happy ending of a beautiful fable, it is not the happy end of a film, but it is the intervention of God the Father when human hope is shattered. In the moment in which everything seems to be lost, in the moment of grief in which many persons feel the need to come down from the cross, it is the moment closest to the resurrection. The night becomes darker in fact before the morning begins, before the light begins. God intervenes in the darkest moment and resuscitates.

Jesus, who chose to pass through this life, calls us to follow him on this same way of humiliation. When in certain moments of life we find some way to come out of our difficulties, when we sink into the thickest darkness, it is the moment of our humiliation and total stripping, the hour in which we experience the truth that we are fragile and sinners. It is in fact then, in that moment, that we must not mask our failure, but open ourselves confidently to hope in God, as Jesus did. Dear brothers and sisters, it will do us good this week to take the cross in hand and kiss it a lot, a lot and to say: thank you, Jesus, thank you, Lord. Amen.

Following the Holy Father's catechesis, the above text was summarized in various languages, and the Pope offered particular words of greeting to each linguistic group of pilgrims who were present at today's Audience.  To English-speaking visitors, he said:

I greet all the English-speaking pilgrims taking part in today’s Audience, including those from England, Australia, Canada and the United States. My particular greeting goes to the delegation from the NATO Defense College and to the many young people present. Upon all of you, and upon your families, I invoke the gifts of the Spirit for a fruitful celebration of the Passion, Death and Resurrection of the Lord. May God bless you all!