Today, the Holy See Press Centre published the text of a letter which the Holy Father, Pope Francis has addressed to all priests to mark the 160th anniversary of the death of the holy Pastor of Ars. On 4 August every year, we mark the liturgical memorial of Saint John Vianney, otherwise known as the Curé (Pastor) of Ars (France).
To my Brother Priests.
Dear Brothers,
A hundred and sixty years have passed since the death of the holy Curé of Ars, whom Pope Pius XI proposed as the patron of parish priests throughout the world (Apostolic Letter, Anno Iubilari, 23 April 1929). On this, his feast day, I write this letter not only to parish priests but to all of you, my brother priests, who have quietly left all behind in order to immerse yourselves in the daily life of your communities. Like the Curé of Ars, you serve in the trenches, bearing the burden of the day and the heat (cf Mt 20:12), confronting an endless variety of situations in your effort to care for and accompany God’s people. I want to say a word to each of you who, often without fanfare and at personal cost, amid weariness, infirmity and sorrow, carry out your mission of service to God and to your people. Despite the hardships of the journey, you are writing the finest pages of the priestly life.
Some time ago, I shared with the Italian bishops my worry that, in more than a few places, our priests feel themselves attacked and blamed for crimes they did not commit. I mentioned that priests need to find in their bishop an older brother and a father who reassures them in these difficult times, encouraging and supporting them along the way (Address to the Italian Bishops’ Conference, 20 May 2019).
As an older brother and a father, I too would like in this letter to thank you in the name of the holy and faithful People of God for all that you do for them, and to encourage you never to forget the words that the Lord spoke with great love to us on the day of our ordination. Those words are the source of our joy: I no longer call you servants… I call you friends (Jn 15:15) (Saint John XXIII, Encyclical Letter, Sacerdotii Nostri Primordia, 1 August 1959).
Pain
I have seen the suffering of my people (Ex 3:7)
In these years, we have become more attentive to the cry, often silent and suppressed, of our brothers and sisters who were victims of the abuse of power, the abuse of conscience and sexual abuse on the part of ordained ministers. This has been a time of great suffering in the lives of those who experienced such abuse, but also in the lives of their families and of the entire People of God.
As you know, we are firmly committed to carrying out the reforms needed to encourage from the outset a culture of pastoral care, so that the culture of abuse will have no room to develop, much less continue. This task is neither quick nor easy: it demands commitment on the part of all. If in the past, omission may itself have been a kind of response, today we desire conversion, transparency, sincerity and solidarity with victims to become our concrete way of moving forward. This in turn will help make us all the more attentive to every form of human suffering (Pope Francis, Letter to the People of God, 20 August 2018).
This pain has also affected priests. I have seen it in the course of my pastoral visits in my own diocese and elsewhere, in my meetings and personal conversations with priests. Many have shared with me their outrage at what happened and their frustration that for all their hard work, they have to face the damage that was done, the suspicion and uncertainty to which it has given rise, and the doubts, fears and disheartenment felt by more than a few (Meeting with Priests, Religious, Consecrated Persons and Seminarians, Santiago de Chile,16 January 2018). I have received many letters from priests expressing those feelings. At the same time, I am comforted by my meetings with pastors who recognize and share the pain and suffering of the victims and of the People of God, and have tried to find words and actions capable of inspiring hope.
Without denying or dismissing the harm caused by some of our brothers, it would be unfair not to express our gratitude to all those priests who faithfully and generously spend their lives in the service of others (cf 2 Cor 12:15). They embody a spiritual fatherhood capable of weeping with those who weep. Countless priests make of their lives a work of mercy in areas or situations that are often hostile, isolated or ignored, even at the risk of their lives. I acknowledge and appreciate your courageous and steadfast example; in these times of turbulence, shame and pain, you demonstrate that you have joyfully put your lives on the line for the sake of the Gospel (cf Letter to the Pilgrim People of God in Chile, 31 May 2018).
I am convinced that, to the extent that we remain faithful to God’s will, these present times of ecclesial purification will make us more joyful and humble, and prove, in the not distant future, very fruitful. Let us not grow discouraged! The Lord is purifying his Bride and converting all of us to himself. He is letting us be put to the test in order to make us realize that without him we are simply dust. He is rescuing us from hypocrisy, from the spirituality of appearances. He is breathing forth his Spirit in order to restore the beauty of his Bride, caught in adultery. We can benefit from rereading the sixteenth chapter of Ezekiel. It is the history of the Church, and each of us can say it is our history too. In the end, through your sense of shame, you will continue to act as a shepherd. Our humble repentance, expressed in silent tears before these atrocious sins and the unfathomable grandeur of God’s forgiveness, is the beginning of a renewal of our holiness (Meeting with the Priests of the Diocese of Rome, 7 March 2019).
Gratitude
I do not cease to give thanks for you (Eph 1:16).
Vocation, more than our own choice, is a response to the Lord’s unmerited call. We do well to return constantly to those passages of the Gospel where we see Jesus praying, choosing and calling others to be with him, and to be sent out to proclaim the message (Mk 3:14).
Here I think of a great master of the priestly life in my own country, Father Lucio Gera. Speaking to a group of priests at a turbulent time in Latin America, he told them: Always, but especially in times of trial, we need to return to those luminous moments when we experienced the Lord’s call to devote our lives to his service. I myself like to call this the deuteronomic memory of our vocation; it makes each of us go back 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 and gentle joy (Homily at the Easter Vigil, 19 April 2014).
One day, each of us spoke up and said yes, a yes born and developed in the heart of the Christian community thanks to those saints next door (Apostolic Exhortation, Gaudete et Exultate, 7) who showed us by their simple faith that it was worthwhile committing ourselves completely to the Lord and to his kingdom. A yes whose implications were so momentous that often we find it hard to imagine all the goodness that it continues to produce. How beautiful it is when an elderly priest sees or is visited by those children – now adults – whom he baptized long ago and who now gratefully introduce a family of their own! At times like this, we realize that we were anointed to anoint others, and that God’s anointing never disappoints. I am led to say with the Apostle: I do not cease to give thanks for you (cf Eph 1:16) and for all the good that you have done.
Amid trials, weakness and the consciousness of our limitations, the worst temptation of all is to keep brooding over our troubles (cf Jorge Mario Bergoglio, Las cartas de la tribulación, Herder, 2019, 21), for then we lose our perspective, our good judgement and our courage. At those times, it is important – I would even say crucial – to cherish the memory of the Lord’s presence in our lives and his merciful gaze, which inspired us to put our lives on the line for him and for his People. And to find the strength to persevere and, with the Psalmist, to raise our own song of praise, for his mercy endures forever (Ps 136).
Gratitude is always a powerful weapon. Only if we are able to contemplate and feel genuine gratitude for all those ways we have experienced God’s love, generosity, solidarity and trust, as well as his forgiveness, patience, forbearance and compassion, will we allow the Spirit to grant us the freshness that can renew (and not simply patch up) our life and mission. Like Peter on the morning of the miraculous draught of fishes, may we let the recognition of all the blessings we have received awaken in us the amazement and gratitude that can enable us to say: Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man (Lk 5:8). Only then to hear the Lord repeat his summons: Do not be afraid; from now on you will be fishers of men (Lk 5:10). For his mercy endures forever.
Dear brother priests, I thank you for your fidelity to the commitments you have made. It is a sign that, in a society and culture that glorifies the ephemeral, there are still people unafraid to make lifelong promises. In effect, we show that we continue to believe in God, who has never broken his covenant, despite our having broken it countless times. In this way, we celebrate the fidelity of God, who continues to trust us, to believe in us and to count on us, for all our sins and failings, and who invites us to be faithful in turn. Realizing that we hold this treasure in earthen vessels (cf 2 Cor 4:7), we know that the Lord triumphs through weakness (cf 2 Cor 12:9). He continues to sustain us and to renew his call, repaying us a hundredfold (cf Mk 10:29-30). For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for the joy with which you have offered your lives, revealing a heart that over the years has refused to become closed and bitter, but has grown daily in love for God and his people. A heart that, like good wine, has not turned sour but become richer with age. For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for working to strengthen the bonds of fraternity and friendship with your brother priests and your bishop, providing one another with support and encouragement, caring for those who are ill, seeking out those who keep apart, visiting the elderly and drawing from their wisdom, sharing with one another and learning to laugh and cry together. How much we need this! But thank you too for your faithfulness and perseverance in undertaking difficult missions, or for those times when you have had to call a brother priest to order. For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for your witness of persistence and patient endurance (hypomoné) in pastoral ministry. Often, with the parrhesía of the shepherd (cf Address to the Parish Priests of Rome, 6 March 2014),
we find ourselves arguing with the Lord in prayer, as Moses did in courageously interceding for the people (cf Num 14:13-19; Ex 32:30-32; Dt 9:18-21). For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for celebrating the Eucharist each day and for being merciful shepherds in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, neither rigorous nor lax, but deeply concerned for your people and accompanying them on their journey of conversion to the new life that the Lord bestows on us all. We know that on the ladder of mercy we can descend to the depths of our human condition – including weakness and sin – and at the same time experience the heights of divine perfection: Be merciful as the Father is merciful (Retreat to Priests, First Meditation, 2 June 2016). In this way, we are capable of warming people’s hearts, walking at their side in the dark, talking with them and even entering into their night and their darkness, without losing our way (A. Spadaro, Interview with Pope Francis, in La Civiltà Cattolica 3918, 19 September 2013, p. 462). For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for anointing and fervently proclaiming to all, in season and out of season (cf 2 Tim 4:2) the Gospel of Jesus Christ, probing the heart of your community in order to discover where its desire for God is alive and ardent, as well as where that dialogue, once loving, has been thwarted and is now barren (Apostolic Exhortation, Evangelii Gaudium, 137). For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for the times when, with great emotion, you embraced sinners, healed wounds, warmed hearts and showed the tenderness and compassion of the Good Samaritan (cf Lk 10:25-27). Nothing is more necessary than this: accessibility, closeness, readiness to draw near to the flesh of our suffering brothers and sisters. How powerful is the example of a priest who makes himself present and does not flee the wounds of his brothers and sisters! (cf Address to the Parish Priests of Rome, 6 March 2014). It mirrors the heart of a shepherd who has developed a spiritual taste for being one with his people (Evangelii Gaudium, 268), a pastor who never forgets that he has come from them and that by serving them he will find and express his most pure and complete identity. This in turn will lead to adopting a simple and austere way of life, rejecting privileges that have nothing to do with the Gospel. For his mercy endures forever.
Finally, let us give thanks for the holiness of the faithful People of God, whom we are called to shepherd and through whom the Lord also shepherds and cares for us. He blesses us with the gift of contemplating that faithful People in those parents who raise their children with immense love, in those men and women who work hard to support their families, in the sick, in elderly religious who never lose their smile. In their daily perseverance, I see the holiness of the Church militant (Gaudete et Exultate, 7). Let us be grateful for each of them, and in their witness find support and encouragement. For his mercy endures forever.
Encouragement
I want your hearts to be encouraged (Col 2:2)
My second great desire is, in the words of Saint Paul, to offer encouragement as we strive to renew our priestly spirit, which is above all the fruit of the working of the Holy Spirit in our lives. Faced with painful experiences, all of us need to be comforted and encouraged. The mission to which we are called does not exempt us from suffering, pain and even misunderstanding (cf Apostolic Letter, Misericordia et Misera, 13. Rather, it requires us to face them squarely and to accept them, so that the Lord can transform them and conform us more closely to himself. Ultimately, the lack of a heartfelt and prayerful acknowledgment of our limitations prevents grace from working more effectively within us, for no room is left for bringing about the potential good that is part of a sincere and genuine journey of growth (Gaudete et Exultate, 50).
One good way of testing our hearts as pastors is to ask how we confront suffering. We can often act like the levite or the priest in the parable, stepping aside and ignoring the injured man (cf Lk 10:31-32). Or we can draw near in the wrong way, viewing situations in the abstract and taking refuge in commonplaces, such as: That’s life …, or Nothing can be done. In this way, we yield to an uneasy fatalism. Or else we can draw near with a kind of aloofness that brings only isolation and exclusion. Like the prophet Jonah, we are constantly tempted to flee to a safe haven. It can have many names: individualism, spiritualism, living in a little world … (Gaudete et Exultate, 50). Far from making us compassionate, this ends up holding us back from confronting our own wounds, the wounds of others and consequently the wounds of Jesus himself (cf Jorge Mario Bergolio, Reflexiones en esperanza, Vatican City, 2013, p. 14).
Along these same lines, I would mention another subtle and dangerous attitude, which, as Bernanos liked to say, is the most precious of the devil's potions (Evangelii Gaudium, 83). It is also the most harmful for those of us who would serve the Lord, for it breeds discouragement, desolation and despair (Cf. Barsanuph of Gaza, Letters, in Vitto Cutro – Michał Tadeusz Szwemin, Bisogno di paternità (Warsaw, 2018), p. 124). Disappointment with life, with the Church or with ourselves can tempt us to latch onto a sweet sorrow or sadness that the Eastern Fathers called acedia. Cardinal Tomáš Špidlík described it in these terms: If we are assailed by sadness at life, at the company of others or at our own isolation, it is because we lack faith in God’s providence and his works… Sadness paralyzes our desire to persevere in our work and prayer; it makes us hard to live with… The monastic authors who treated this vice at length call it the worst enemy of the spiritual life (L’arte di purificare il cuore, Rome, 1999, p. 47).
All of us are aware of a sadness that can turn into a habit and lead us slowly to accept evil and injustice by quietly telling us: It has always been like this. A sadness that stifles every effort at change and conversion by sowing resentment and hostility. That is no way to live a dignified and fulfilled life; it is not God’s will for us, nor is it the life of the Spirit, which has its source in the heart of the risen Christ, to which we have been called (Evangelii Gaudium, 2). Dear brothers, when that sweet sorrow threatens to take hold of our lives or our communities, without being fearful or troubled, yet with firm resolution, let us together beg the Spirit to rouse us from our torpor, to free us from our inertia. Let us rethink our usual way of doing things; let us open our eyes and ears, and above all our hearts, so as not to be complacent about things as they are, but unsettled by the living and effective word of the risen Lord (Gaudete et Exultate, 137).
Let me repeat: in times of difficulty, we all need God’s consolation and strength, as well as that of our brothers and sisters. All of us can benefit from the touching words that Saint Paul addressed to his communities: I pray that you may not lose heart over my sufferings (Eph 3:13), and I want your hearts to be encouraged (Col 2:22). In this way, we can carry out the mission that the Lord gives us anew each day: to proclaim good news of great joy for all the people (Lk 2:10). Not by presenting intellectual theories or moral axioms about the way things ought to be, but as men who in the midst of pain have been transformed and transfigured by the Lord and, like Job, can exclaim: I knew you then only by hearsay, but now I have seen you with my own eyes (Job 42:2). Without this foundational experience, all of our hard work will only lead to frustration and disappointment.
In our own lives, we have seen how with Christ, joy is constantly born anew (Evangelii Gaudium, 1).
Although there are different stages in this experience, we know that, despite our frailties and sins, with a tenderness which never disappoints, but is always capable of restoring our joy, God makes it possible for us to lift up our heads and start anew (Evangelii Gaudium, 3). That joy is not the fruit of our own thoughts or decisions, but of the confidence born of knowing the enduring truth of Jesus’ words to Peter. At times of uncertainty, remember those words: I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail (Lk 22:32). The Lord is the first to pray and fight for you and for me. And he invites us to enter fully into his own prayer. There may well be moments when we too have to enter into the prayer of Gethsemane, that most human and dramatic of Jesus’ prayers… For there we find supplication, sorrow, anguish and even bewilderment (Mk 14:33 ff) (Jorge Mario Bergoglio, Reflexiones en esperanza, Vatican City, 2013, p. 26).
We know that it is not easy to stand before the Lord and let his gaze examine our lives, heal our wounded hearts and cleanse our feet of the worldliness accumulated along the way, which now keeps us from moving forward. In prayer, we experience the blessed insecurity which reminds us that we are disciples in need of the Lord’s help, and which frees us from the promethean tendency of those who ultimately trust only in their own powers and feel superior to others because they observe certain rules (Evangelii Gaudium, 94).
Dear brothers, Jesus, more than anyone, is aware of our efforts and our accomplishments, our failures and our mistakes. He is the first to tell us: Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls (Mt 11:28-29).
In this prayer, we know that we are never alone. The prayer of a pastor embraces both the Spirit who cries out Abba, Father! (cf Gal 4:6), and the people who have been entrusted to his care. Our mission and identity can be defined by this dialectic.
The prayer of a pastor is nourished and made incarnate in the heart of God’s People. It bears the marks of the sufferings and joys of his people, whom he silently presents to the Lord to be anointed by the gift of the Holy Spirit. This is the hope of a pastor, who with trust and insistence asks the Lord to care for our weakness as individuals and as a people. Yet we should also realize that it is in the prayer of God’s People that the heart of a pastor takes flesh and finds its proper place. This sets us free from looking for quick, easy, ready-made answers; it allows the Lord to be the one – not our own recipes and goals – to point out a path of hope. Let us not forget that at the most difficult times in the life of the earliest community, as we read in the Acts of the Apostles, prayer emerged as the true guiding force.
Brothers, let us indeed acknowledge our weaknesses, but also let Jesus transform them and send us forth anew to the mission. Let us never lose the joy of knowing that we are the sheep of his flock and that he is our Lord and Shepherd.
For our hearts to be encouraged, we should not neglect the dialectic that determines our identity. First, our relationship with Jesus. Whenever we turn away from Jesus or neglect our relationship with him, slowly but surely our commitment begins to fade and our lamps lose the oil needed to light up our lives (cf Mt 25:1-13): Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me … because apart from me you can do nothing (Jn 15:4-5). In this regard, I would encourage you not to neglect spiritual direction. Look for a brother with whom you can speak, reflect, discuss and discern, sharing with complete trust and openness your journey. A wise brother with whom to share the experience of discipleship. Find him, meet with him and enjoy his guidance, accompaniment and counsel. This is an indispensable aid to carrying out your ministry in obedience to the will of the Father (cf Heb 10:9) and letting your heart beat with the mind that was in Christ Jesus (Phil 2:5). We can profit from the words of Ecclesiastes: Two are better than one … One will lift up the other; but woe to the one who is alone and falls, and does not have another to help! (Ecc 4:9-10).
The other essential aspect of this dialectic is our relationship to our people. Foster that relationship and expand it. Do not withdraw from your people, your presbyterates and your communities, much less seek refuge in closed and elitist groups. Ultimately, this stifles and poisons the soul. A minister whose heart is encouraged is a minister always on the move. In our going forth, we walk, sometimes in front, sometimes in the middle and sometimes behind: in front, in order to guide the community; in the middle, in order to encourage and support, and at the back in order to keep it united, so that no one lags too far behind … There is another reason too: because our people have a nose for things. They sniff out, discover, new paths to take; they have the sensus fidei (cf Lumen Gentium, 12) … What could be more beautiful than this? (Meeting with Clergy, Consecrated Persons and Members of Pastoral Councils, Assisi, 4 October 2013). Jesus himself is the model of this evangelizing option that leads us to the heart of our people. How good it is for us to see him in his attention to every person! The sacrifice of Jesus on the cross is nothing else but the culmination of that evangelizing style that marked his entire life.
Dear brother priests, the pain of so many victims, the pain of the people of God and our own personal pain, cannot be for naught. Jesus himself has brought this heavy burden to his cross and he now asks us to be renewed in our mission of drawing near to those who suffer, of drawing near without embarrassment to human misery, and indeed to make all these experiences our own, as eucharist (Evangelii Gaudium, 268-270). Our age, marked by old and new wounds, requires us to be builders of relationships and communion, open, trusting and awaiting in hope the newness that the kingdom of God wishes to bring about even today. For it is a kingdom of forgiven sinners called to bear witness to the Lord’s ever-present compassion. For his mercy endures forever.
Praise
My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord (Lk 1:46)
How can we speak about gratitude and encouragement without looking to Mary? She, the woman whose heart was pierced (cf Lk 2:35), teaches us the praise capable of lifting our gaze to the future and restoring hope to the present. Her entire life was contained in her song of praise (cf Lk 1:46-55). We too are called to sing that song as a promise of future fulfilment.
Whenever I visit a Marian shrine, I like to spend time looking at the Blessed Mother and letting her look at me. I pray for a childlike trust, the trust of the poor and simple who know that their mother is there, and that they have a place in her heart. And in looking at her, to hear once more, like the Indian Juan Diego: My youngest son, what is the matter? Do not let it disturb your heart. Am I not here, I who have the honour to be your mother? (cf Nican Mopohua, 107, 118, 119).
To contemplate Mary is to believe once again in the revolutionary nature of love and tenderness. In her, we see that humility and tenderness are not virtues of the weak but of the strong, who need not treat others poorly in order to feel important themselves (Evangelii Gaudium, 288)
Perhaps at times our gaze can begin to harden, or we can feel that the seductive power of apathy or self-pity is about to take root in our heart. Or our sense of being a living and integral part of God’s People begins to weary us, and we feel tempted to a certain elitism. At those times, let us not be afraid to turn to Mary and to take up her song of praise.
Perhaps at times we can feel tempted to withdraw into ourselves and our own affairs, safe from the dusty paths of daily life. Or regrets, complaints, criticism and sarcasm gain the upper hand and make us lose our desire to keep fighting, hoping and loving. At those times, let us look to Mary so that she can free our gaze of all the clutter that prevents us from being attentive and alert, and thus capable of seeing and celebrating Christ alive in the midst of his people. And if we see that we are going astray, or that we are failing in our attempts at conversion, then let us turn to her like a great parish priest from my previous diocese, who was also a poet. He asked her, with something of a smile: This evening, dear Lady / my promise is sincere; / but just to be sure, don’t forget / to leave the key outside the door (cf Amelio Luis Calori, Aula Fúlgida, Buenos Aires, 1946). Our Lady is the friend who is ever concerned that wine not be lacking in our lives. She is the woman whose heart was pierced by a sword and who understands all our pain. As mother of all, she is a sign of hope for peoples suffering the birth pangs of justice… As a true mother, she walks at our side, she shares our struggles and she constantly surrounds us with God’s love (Evangelli Gaudium, 286).
Dear brothers, once more, I do not cease to give thanks for you (Eph 1:16), for your commitment and your ministry. For I am confident that God takes away even the hardest stones against which our hopes and expectations crash: death, sin, fear, worldliness. Human history does not end before a tombstone, because today it encounters the 'living stone' (cf 1 Pet 2:4), the risen Jesus. We, as Church, are built on him, and, even when we grow disheartened and tempted to judge everything in the light of our failures, he comes to make all things new (Homily at the Easter Vigil, 19 April 2014).
May we allow our gratitude to awaken praise and renewed enthusiasm for our ministry of anointing our brothers and sisters with hope. May we be men whose lives bear witness to the compassion and mercy that Jesus alone can bestow on us.
May the Lord Jesus bless you and the Holy Virgin watch over you. And please, I ask you not to forget to pray for me.
Fraternally,
Francis
Rome, at Saint John Lateran
on 4 August 2019
Memorial of the Holy Curé of Ars.
Texto original en español
Texte en français
Letter of His Holiness, Pope Francis
addressed to priests
To my Brother Priests.
Dear Brothers,
A hundred and sixty years have passed since the death of the holy Curé of Ars, whom Pope Pius XI proposed as the patron of parish priests throughout the world (Apostolic Letter, Anno Iubilari, 23 April 1929). On this, his feast day, I write this letter not only to parish priests but to all of you, my brother priests, who have quietly left all behind in order to immerse yourselves in the daily life of your communities. Like the Curé of Ars, you serve in the trenches, bearing the burden of the day and the heat (cf Mt 20:12), confronting an endless variety of situations in your effort to care for and accompany God’s people. I want to say a word to each of you who, often without fanfare and at personal cost, amid weariness, infirmity and sorrow, carry out your mission of service to God and to your people. Despite the hardships of the journey, you are writing the finest pages of the priestly life.
Some time ago, I shared with the Italian bishops my worry that, in more than a few places, our priests feel themselves attacked and blamed for crimes they did not commit. I mentioned that priests need to find in their bishop an older brother and a father who reassures them in these difficult times, encouraging and supporting them along the way (Address to the Italian Bishops’ Conference, 20 May 2019).
As an older brother and a father, I too would like in this letter to thank you in the name of the holy and faithful People of God for all that you do for them, and to encourage you never to forget the words that the Lord spoke with great love to us on the day of our ordination. Those words are the source of our joy: I no longer call you servants… I call you friends (Jn 15:15) (Saint John XXIII, Encyclical Letter, Sacerdotii Nostri Primordia, 1 August 1959).
Pain
I have seen the suffering of my people (Ex 3:7)
In these years, we have become more attentive to the cry, often silent and suppressed, of our brothers and sisters who were victims of the abuse of power, the abuse of conscience and sexual abuse on the part of ordained ministers. This has been a time of great suffering in the lives of those who experienced such abuse, but also in the lives of their families and of the entire People of God.
As you know, we are firmly committed to carrying out the reforms needed to encourage from the outset a culture of pastoral care, so that the culture of abuse will have no room to develop, much less continue. This task is neither quick nor easy: it demands commitment on the part of all. If in the past, omission may itself have been a kind of response, today we desire conversion, transparency, sincerity and solidarity with victims to become our concrete way of moving forward. This in turn will help make us all the more attentive to every form of human suffering (Pope Francis, Letter to the People of God, 20 August 2018).
This pain has also affected priests. I have seen it in the course of my pastoral visits in my own diocese and elsewhere, in my meetings and personal conversations with priests. Many have shared with me their outrage at what happened and their frustration that for all their hard work, they have to face the damage that was done, the suspicion and uncertainty to which it has given rise, and the doubts, fears and disheartenment felt by more than a few (Meeting with Priests, Religious, Consecrated Persons and Seminarians, Santiago de Chile,16 January 2018). I have received many letters from priests expressing those feelings. At the same time, I am comforted by my meetings with pastors who recognize and share the pain and suffering of the victims and of the People of God, and have tried to find words and actions capable of inspiring hope.
Without denying or dismissing the harm caused by some of our brothers, it would be unfair not to express our gratitude to all those priests who faithfully and generously spend their lives in the service of others (cf 2 Cor 12:15). They embody a spiritual fatherhood capable of weeping with those who weep. Countless priests make of their lives a work of mercy in areas or situations that are often hostile, isolated or ignored, even at the risk of their lives. I acknowledge and appreciate your courageous and steadfast example; in these times of turbulence, shame and pain, you demonstrate that you have joyfully put your lives on the line for the sake of the Gospel (cf Letter to the Pilgrim People of God in Chile, 31 May 2018).
I am convinced that, to the extent that we remain faithful to God’s will, these present times of ecclesial purification will make us more joyful and humble, and prove, in the not distant future, very fruitful. Let us not grow discouraged! The Lord is purifying his Bride and converting all of us to himself. He is letting us be put to the test in order to make us realize that without him we are simply dust. He is rescuing us from hypocrisy, from the spirituality of appearances. He is breathing forth his Spirit in order to restore the beauty of his Bride, caught in adultery. We can benefit from rereading the sixteenth chapter of Ezekiel. It is the history of the Church, and each of us can say it is our history too. In the end, through your sense of shame, you will continue to act as a shepherd. Our humble repentance, expressed in silent tears before these atrocious sins and the unfathomable grandeur of God’s forgiveness, is the beginning of a renewal of our holiness (Meeting with the Priests of the Diocese of Rome, 7 March 2019).
Gratitude
I do not cease to give thanks for you (Eph 1:16).
Vocation, more than our own choice, is a response to the Lord’s unmerited call. We do well to return constantly to those passages of the Gospel where we see Jesus praying, choosing and calling others to be with him, and to be sent out to proclaim the message (Mk 3:14).
Here I think of a great master of the priestly life in my own country, Father Lucio Gera. Speaking to a group of priests at a turbulent time in Latin America, he told them: Always, but especially in times of trial, we need to return to those luminous moments when we experienced the Lord’s call to devote our lives to his service. I myself like to call this the deuteronomic memory of our vocation; it makes each of us go back 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 and gentle joy (Homily at the Easter Vigil, 19 April 2014).
One day, each of us spoke up and said yes, a yes born and developed in the heart of the Christian community thanks to those saints next door (Apostolic Exhortation, Gaudete et Exultate, 7) who showed us by their simple faith that it was worthwhile committing ourselves completely to the Lord and to his kingdom. A yes whose implications were so momentous that often we find it hard to imagine all the goodness that it continues to produce. How beautiful it is when an elderly priest sees or is visited by those children – now adults – whom he baptized long ago and who now gratefully introduce a family of their own! At times like this, we realize that we were anointed to anoint others, and that God’s anointing never disappoints. I am led to say with the Apostle: I do not cease to give thanks for you (cf Eph 1:16) and for all the good that you have done.
Amid trials, weakness and the consciousness of our limitations, the worst temptation of all is to keep brooding over our troubles (cf Jorge Mario Bergoglio, Las cartas de la tribulación, Herder, 2019, 21), for then we lose our perspective, our good judgement and our courage. At those times, it is important – I would even say crucial – to cherish the memory of the Lord’s presence in our lives and his merciful gaze, which inspired us to put our lives on the line for him and for his People. And to find the strength to persevere and, with the Psalmist, to raise our own song of praise, for his mercy endures forever (Ps 136).
Gratitude is always a powerful weapon. Only if we are able to contemplate and feel genuine gratitude for all those ways we have experienced God’s love, generosity, solidarity and trust, as well as his forgiveness, patience, forbearance and compassion, will we allow the Spirit to grant us the freshness that can renew (and not simply patch up) our life and mission. Like Peter on the morning of the miraculous draught of fishes, may we let the recognition of all the blessings we have received awaken in us the amazement and gratitude that can enable us to say: Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man (Lk 5:8). Only then to hear the Lord repeat his summons: Do not be afraid; from now on you will be fishers of men (Lk 5:10). For his mercy endures forever.
Dear brother priests, I thank you for your fidelity to the commitments you have made. It is a sign that, in a society and culture that glorifies the ephemeral, there are still people unafraid to make lifelong promises. In effect, we show that we continue to believe in God, who has never broken his covenant, despite our having broken it countless times. In this way, we celebrate the fidelity of God, who continues to trust us, to believe in us and to count on us, for all our sins and failings, and who invites us to be faithful in turn. Realizing that we hold this treasure in earthen vessels (cf 2 Cor 4:7), we know that the Lord triumphs through weakness (cf 2 Cor 12:9). He continues to sustain us and to renew his call, repaying us a hundredfold (cf Mk 10:29-30). For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for the joy with which you have offered your lives, revealing a heart that over the years has refused to become closed and bitter, but has grown daily in love for God and his people. A heart that, like good wine, has not turned sour but become richer with age. For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for working to strengthen the bonds of fraternity and friendship with your brother priests and your bishop, providing one another with support and encouragement, caring for those who are ill, seeking out those who keep apart, visiting the elderly and drawing from their wisdom, sharing with one another and learning to laugh and cry together. How much we need this! But thank you too for your faithfulness and perseverance in undertaking difficult missions, or for those times when you have had to call a brother priest to order. For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for your witness of persistence and patient endurance (hypomoné) in pastoral ministry. Often, with the parrhesía of the shepherd (cf Address to the Parish Priests of Rome, 6 March 2014),
we find ourselves arguing with the Lord in prayer, as Moses did in courageously interceding for the people (cf Num 14:13-19; Ex 32:30-32; Dt 9:18-21). For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for celebrating the Eucharist each day and for being merciful shepherds in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, neither rigorous nor lax, but deeply concerned for your people and accompanying them on their journey of conversion to the new life that the Lord bestows on us all. We know that on the ladder of mercy we can descend to the depths of our human condition – including weakness and sin – and at the same time experience the heights of divine perfection: Be merciful as the Father is merciful (Retreat to Priests, First Meditation, 2 June 2016). In this way, we are capable of warming people’s hearts, walking at their side in the dark, talking with them and even entering into their night and their darkness, without losing our way (A. Spadaro, Interview with Pope Francis, in La Civiltà Cattolica 3918, 19 September 2013, p. 462). For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for anointing and fervently proclaiming to all, in season and out of season (cf 2 Tim 4:2) the Gospel of Jesus Christ, probing the heart of your community in order to discover where its desire for God is alive and ardent, as well as where that dialogue, once loving, has been thwarted and is now barren (Apostolic Exhortation, Evangelii Gaudium, 137). For his mercy endures forever.
Thank you for the times when, with great emotion, you embraced sinners, healed wounds, warmed hearts and showed the tenderness and compassion of the Good Samaritan (cf Lk 10:25-27). Nothing is more necessary than this: accessibility, closeness, readiness to draw near to the flesh of our suffering brothers and sisters. How powerful is the example of a priest who makes himself present and does not flee the wounds of his brothers and sisters! (cf Address to the Parish Priests of Rome, 6 March 2014). It mirrors the heart of a shepherd who has developed a spiritual taste for being one with his people (Evangelii Gaudium, 268), a pastor who never forgets that he has come from them and that by serving them he will find and express his most pure and complete identity. This in turn will lead to adopting a simple and austere way of life, rejecting privileges that have nothing to do with the Gospel. For his mercy endures forever.
Finally, let us give thanks for the holiness of the faithful People of God, whom we are called to shepherd and through whom the Lord also shepherds and cares for us. He blesses us with the gift of contemplating that faithful People in those parents who raise their children with immense love, in those men and women who work hard to support their families, in the sick, in elderly religious who never lose their smile. In their daily perseverance, I see the holiness of the Church militant (Gaudete et Exultate, 7). Let us be grateful for each of them, and in their witness find support and encouragement. For his mercy endures forever.
Encouragement
I want your hearts to be encouraged (Col 2:2)
My second great desire is, in the words of Saint Paul, to offer encouragement as we strive to renew our priestly spirit, which is above all the fruit of the working of the Holy Spirit in our lives. Faced with painful experiences, all of us need to be comforted and encouraged. The mission to which we are called does not exempt us from suffering, pain and even misunderstanding (cf Apostolic Letter, Misericordia et Misera, 13. Rather, it requires us to face them squarely and to accept them, so that the Lord can transform them and conform us more closely to himself. Ultimately, the lack of a heartfelt and prayerful acknowledgment of our limitations prevents grace from working more effectively within us, for no room is left for bringing about the potential good that is part of a sincere and genuine journey of growth (Gaudete et Exultate, 50).
One good way of testing our hearts as pastors is to ask how we confront suffering. We can often act like the levite or the priest in the parable, stepping aside and ignoring the injured man (cf Lk 10:31-32). Or we can draw near in the wrong way, viewing situations in the abstract and taking refuge in commonplaces, such as: That’s life …, or Nothing can be done. In this way, we yield to an uneasy fatalism. Or else we can draw near with a kind of aloofness that brings only isolation and exclusion. Like the prophet Jonah, we are constantly tempted to flee to a safe haven. It can have many names: individualism, spiritualism, living in a little world … (Gaudete et Exultate, 50). Far from making us compassionate, this ends up holding us back from confronting our own wounds, the wounds of others and consequently the wounds of Jesus himself (cf Jorge Mario Bergolio, Reflexiones en esperanza, Vatican City, 2013, p. 14).
Along these same lines, I would mention another subtle and dangerous attitude, which, as Bernanos liked to say, is the most precious of the devil's potions (Evangelii Gaudium, 83). It is also the most harmful for those of us who would serve the Lord, for it breeds discouragement, desolation and despair (Cf. Barsanuph of Gaza, Letters, in Vitto Cutro – Michał Tadeusz Szwemin, Bisogno di paternità (Warsaw, 2018), p. 124). Disappointment with life, with the Church or with ourselves can tempt us to latch onto a sweet sorrow or sadness that the Eastern Fathers called acedia. Cardinal Tomáš Špidlík described it in these terms: If we are assailed by sadness at life, at the company of others or at our own isolation, it is because we lack faith in God’s providence and his works… Sadness paralyzes our desire to persevere in our work and prayer; it makes us hard to live with… The monastic authors who treated this vice at length call it the worst enemy of the spiritual life (L’arte di purificare il cuore, Rome, 1999, p. 47).
All of us are aware of a sadness that can turn into a habit and lead us slowly to accept evil and injustice by quietly telling us: It has always been like this. A sadness that stifles every effort at change and conversion by sowing resentment and hostility. That is no way to live a dignified and fulfilled life; it is not God’s will for us, nor is it the life of the Spirit, which has its source in the heart of the risen Christ, to which we have been called (Evangelii Gaudium, 2). Dear brothers, when that sweet sorrow threatens to take hold of our lives or our communities, without being fearful or troubled, yet with firm resolution, let us together beg the Spirit to rouse us from our torpor, to free us from our inertia. Let us rethink our usual way of doing things; let us open our eyes and ears, and above all our hearts, so as not to be complacent about things as they are, but unsettled by the living and effective word of the risen Lord (Gaudete et Exultate, 137).
Let me repeat: in times of difficulty, we all need God’s consolation and strength, as well as that of our brothers and sisters. All of us can benefit from the touching words that Saint Paul addressed to his communities: I pray that you may not lose heart over my sufferings (Eph 3:13), and I want your hearts to be encouraged (Col 2:22). In this way, we can carry out the mission that the Lord gives us anew each day: to proclaim good news of great joy for all the people (Lk 2:10). Not by presenting intellectual theories or moral axioms about the way things ought to be, but as men who in the midst of pain have been transformed and transfigured by the Lord and, like Job, can exclaim: I knew you then only by hearsay, but now I have seen you with my own eyes (Job 42:2). Without this foundational experience, all of our hard work will only lead to frustration and disappointment.
In our own lives, we have seen how with Christ, joy is constantly born anew (Evangelii Gaudium, 1).
Although there are different stages in this experience, we know that, despite our frailties and sins, with a tenderness which never disappoints, but is always capable of restoring our joy, God makes it possible for us to lift up our heads and start anew (Evangelii Gaudium, 3). That joy is not the fruit of our own thoughts or decisions, but of the confidence born of knowing the enduring truth of Jesus’ words to Peter. At times of uncertainty, remember those words: I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail (Lk 22:32). The Lord is the first to pray and fight for you and for me. And he invites us to enter fully into his own prayer. There may well be moments when we too have to enter into the prayer of Gethsemane, that most human and dramatic of Jesus’ prayers… For there we find supplication, sorrow, anguish and even bewilderment (Mk 14:33 ff) (Jorge Mario Bergoglio, Reflexiones en esperanza, Vatican City, 2013, p. 26).
We know that it is not easy to stand before the Lord and let his gaze examine our lives, heal our wounded hearts and cleanse our feet of the worldliness accumulated along the way, which now keeps us from moving forward. In prayer, we experience the blessed insecurity which reminds us that we are disciples in need of the Lord’s help, and which frees us from the promethean tendency of those who ultimately trust only in their own powers and feel superior to others because they observe certain rules (Evangelii Gaudium, 94).
Dear brothers, Jesus, more than anyone, is aware of our efforts and our accomplishments, our failures and our mistakes. He is the first to tell us: Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls (Mt 11:28-29).
In this prayer, we know that we are never alone. The prayer of a pastor embraces both the Spirit who cries out Abba, Father! (cf Gal 4:6), and the people who have been entrusted to his care. Our mission and identity can be defined by this dialectic.
The prayer of a pastor is nourished and made incarnate in the heart of God’s People. It bears the marks of the sufferings and joys of his people, whom he silently presents to the Lord to be anointed by the gift of the Holy Spirit. This is the hope of a pastor, who with trust and insistence asks the Lord to care for our weakness as individuals and as a people. Yet we should also realize that it is in the prayer of God’s People that the heart of a pastor takes flesh and finds its proper place. This sets us free from looking for quick, easy, ready-made answers; it allows the Lord to be the one – not our own recipes and goals – to point out a path of hope. Let us not forget that at the most difficult times in the life of the earliest community, as we read in the Acts of the Apostles, prayer emerged as the true guiding force.
Brothers, let us indeed acknowledge our weaknesses, but also let Jesus transform them and send us forth anew to the mission. Let us never lose the joy of knowing that we are the sheep of his flock and that he is our Lord and Shepherd.
For our hearts to be encouraged, we should not neglect the dialectic that determines our identity. First, our relationship with Jesus. Whenever we turn away from Jesus or neglect our relationship with him, slowly but surely our commitment begins to fade and our lamps lose the oil needed to light up our lives (cf Mt 25:1-13): Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me … because apart from me you can do nothing (Jn 15:4-5). In this regard, I would encourage you not to neglect spiritual direction. Look for a brother with whom you can speak, reflect, discuss and discern, sharing with complete trust and openness your journey. A wise brother with whom to share the experience of discipleship. Find him, meet with him and enjoy his guidance, accompaniment and counsel. This is an indispensable aid to carrying out your ministry in obedience to the will of the Father (cf Heb 10:9) and letting your heart beat with the mind that was in Christ Jesus (Phil 2:5). We can profit from the words of Ecclesiastes: Two are better than one … One will lift up the other; but woe to the one who is alone and falls, and does not have another to help! (Ecc 4:9-10).
The other essential aspect of this dialectic is our relationship to our people. Foster that relationship and expand it. Do not withdraw from your people, your presbyterates and your communities, much less seek refuge in closed and elitist groups. Ultimately, this stifles and poisons the soul. A minister whose heart is encouraged is a minister always on the move. In our going forth, we walk, sometimes in front, sometimes in the middle and sometimes behind: in front, in order to guide the community; in the middle, in order to encourage and support, and at the back in order to keep it united, so that no one lags too far behind … There is another reason too: because our people have a nose for things. They sniff out, discover, new paths to take; they have the sensus fidei (cf Lumen Gentium, 12) … What could be more beautiful than this? (Meeting with Clergy, Consecrated Persons and Members of Pastoral Councils, Assisi, 4 October 2013). Jesus himself is the model of this evangelizing option that leads us to the heart of our people. How good it is for us to see him in his attention to every person! The sacrifice of Jesus on the cross is nothing else but the culmination of that evangelizing style that marked his entire life.
Dear brother priests, the pain of so many victims, the pain of the people of God and our own personal pain, cannot be for naught. Jesus himself has brought this heavy burden to his cross and he now asks us to be renewed in our mission of drawing near to those who suffer, of drawing near without embarrassment to human misery, and indeed to make all these experiences our own, as eucharist (Evangelii Gaudium, 268-270). Our age, marked by old and new wounds, requires us to be builders of relationships and communion, open, trusting and awaiting in hope the newness that the kingdom of God wishes to bring about even today. For it is a kingdom of forgiven sinners called to bear witness to the Lord’s ever-present compassion. For his mercy endures forever.
Praise
My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord (Lk 1:46)
How can we speak about gratitude and encouragement without looking to Mary? She, the woman whose heart was pierced (cf Lk 2:35), teaches us the praise capable of lifting our gaze to the future and restoring hope to the present. Her entire life was contained in her song of praise (cf Lk 1:46-55). We too are called to sing that song as a promise of future fulfilment.
Whenever I visit a Marian shrine, I like to spend time looking at the Blessed Mother and letting her look at me. I pray for a childlike trust, the trust of the poor and simple who know that their mother is there, and that they have a place in her heart. And in looking at her, to hear once more, like the Indian Juan Diego: My youngest son, what is the matter? Do not let it disturb your heart. Am I not here, I who have the honour to be your mother? (cf Nican Mopohua, 107, 118, 119).
To contemplate Mary is to believe once again in the revolutionary nature of love and tenderness. In her, we see that humility and tenderness are not virtues of the weak but of the strong, who need not treat others poorly in order to feel important themselves (Evangelii Gaudium, 288)
Perhaps at times our gaze can begin to harden, or we can feel that the seductive power of apathy or self-pity is about to take root in our heart. Or our sense of being a living and integral part of God’s People begins to weary us, and we feel tempted to a certain elitism. At those times, let us not be afraid to turn to Mary and to take up her song of praise.
Perhaps at times we can feel tempted to withdraw into ourselves and our own affairs, safe from the dusty paths of daily life. Or regrets, complaints, criticism and sarcasm gain the upper hand and make us lose our desire to keep fighting, hoping and loving. At those times, let us look to Mary so that she can free our gaze of all the clutter that prevents us from being attentive and alert, and thus capable of seeing and celebrating Christ alive in the midst of his people. And if we see that we are going astray, or that we are failing in our attempts at conversion, then let us turn to her like a great parish priest from my previous diocese, who was also a poet. He asked her, with something of a smile: This evening, dear Lady / my promise is sincere; / but just to be sure, don’t forget / to leave the key outside the door (cf Amelio Luis Calori, Aula Fúlgida, Buenos Aires, 1946). Our Lady is the friend who is ever concerned that wine not be lacking in our lives. She is the woman whose heart was pierced by a sword and who understands all our pain. As mother of all, she is a sign of hope for peoples suffering the birth pangs of justice… As a true mother, she walks at our side, she shares our struggles and she constantly surrounds us with God’s love (Evangelli Gaudium, 286).
Dear brothers, once more, I do not cease to give thanks for you (Eph 1:16), for your commitment and your ministry. For I am confident that God takes away even the hardest stones against which our hopes and expectations crash: death, sin, fear, worldliness. Human history does not end before a tombstone, because today it encounters the 'living stone' (cf 1 Pet 2:4), the risen Jesus. We, as Church, are built on him, and, even when we grow disheartened and tempted to judge everything in the light of our failures, he comes to make all things new (Homily at the Easter Vigil, 19 April 2014).
May we allow our gratitude to awaken praise and renewed enthusiasm for our ministry of anointing our brothers and sisters with hope. May we be men whose lives bear witness to the compassion and mercy that Jesus alone can bestow on us.
May the Lord Jesus bless you and the Holy Virgin watch over you. And please, I ask you not to forget to pray for me.
Fraternally,
Francis
Rome, at Saint John Lateran
on 4 August 2019
Memorial of the Holy Curé of Ars.
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