In keeping with the established tradition in the Diocese of Rome, a penitential liturgy was held today at the Vatican for all the clergy of that Diocese. The Holy Father was supposed to attend, but remained at the Casa Santa Marta due to a slight imposition.
Pope Francis had prepared a speech for the meeting with clergy, which was read aloud by His Eminence, Cardinal Angelo De Donatis, Vicar General for His Holiness for the Diocese of Rome.
Bitterness in the life of a priest
An inner reflection
I do not want to reflect so much on the tribulations that derive from the mission of the priest: they are things that are well known and already widely diagnosed. I wish to speak with you, on this occasion, about a subtle enemy who finds many ways to disguise himself and hide, and like a parasite slowly steals the joy of the vocation to which we were called. I want to talk to you about that bitterness while focused around the relationship with faith, the Bishop, and our confreres. We know that other roots and situations may exist. But these summarize many encounters that I have had with some of you.
Right away, I want to note two things: the first is that these lines are the result of listening to some seminarians and priests from different Italian dioceses; they cannot or should not refer to any specific situation. The second is that most of the priests I know are happy with their lives and consider this bitterness to be part of normal living, without any drama. I preferred to repeat what I have heard rather than express my opinion on the topic.
Looking our bitterness in the face and confronting it allows us to make contact with our humanity, with our blessed humanity, and so remember that as priests we are not called to be omnipotent but sinful men who are forgiven and sent. As Saint Irenaeus of Lyon said: what is not taken into consideration is not redeemed. Let these bitternesses also show us the way towards greater adoration of the Father and help us to experience again the strength of his merciful anointing (cf Lk 15: 11-32). To put it in the psalmist's language: You have changed my lament into dance, you have taken off my sackcloth, you have clothed me with joy, so that my heart will sing to you, without keeping silent (Ps 30: 12-13).
The first cause of bitterness: problems with the faith
We believed it was He, the disciples of Emmaus confided to each other (cf. Lk 24:21). A disappointed hope is at the root of their bitterness. But we must reflect: is it the Lord who has disappointed us or have we exchanged hope with our expectations? Christian hope does not really disappoint and it does not fail. Hope is not a matter of being convinced that things will get better, but that everything that happens makes sense in the light of Easter. But to hope in a Christian way it is necessary - as Saint Augustine taught Proba - to live a life of substantial prayer. It is there that you learn to distinguish between expectations and hopes.
Now, the relationship with God - more than a matter of pastoral disappointments - can be a profound cause of bitterness. Sometimes it almost seems that He does not respect the expectations of a full and abundant life which we had on the day of our ordination. Sometimes an unfinished adolescence does not help us to move on from dreams to reality. Perhaps as priests we are too respectable in our relationship with God and we do not dare to protest in prayer, as the psalmist does on many occasions - not only for ourselves, but also for our people; because the shepherd also carries the bitterness of his people -; but also the psalms have been censored and we can hardly make our own a spirituality of protest. So we fall into cynicism: discontented and a little frustrated. The real protest - of the adult - is not against God but before Him, because it arises precisely from a level of confidence in Him: the person praying reminds the Father who he is and what is worthy of his name. We have to sanctify his name, but sometimes the disciples have to wake up the Lord and say to him: Don't you care that we are lost? (Mk 4,35-41). So the Lord wants to involve us directly in his kingdom. Not as spectators, but actively participating.
What is the difference between expectation and hope? Expectation arises when we spend our lives saving our lives: we struggle to find safety, rewards, progress ... When we receive what we want, we almost feel that we will never die, that it will always be like this! Because we are the reference point. Instead, hope is something that is born in the heart when you decide not to defend yourself anymore. When I recognize my limitations, and that not everything starts and ends with me, then I recognize the importance of trusting. Already the Theatine Lorenzo Scupoli, in his spiritual Combat, taught this concept: the key to everything is in a dual and simultaneous movement: to be wary of yourself and to trust in God. I hope, not when there is nothing more to do, but when I stop giving of myself by doing things just for me. Hope rests on an alliance: God spoke to me and promised me on the day of my ordination that I would have a full life, with the fullness and flavour of the Beatitudes; my life would certainly be troubled - like that of all men - but beautiful. My life is flavourful if I live Easter, not if things go as I say.
And here we understand another thing: listening to history is not enough to understand these processes. We must listen to history and look at our own lives in the light of the Word of God. The disciples of Emmaus overcame their disappointment when the Risen Christ opened their minds to the intelligence of the Scriptures. Here: things will get better not only because we will change superiors, or mission, or strategies, but because we will be comforted by the Word. The prophet Jeremiah confessed: Your Word was the joy and gladness of my heart (Jer 15:16).
Bitterness - which is not a fault - must be accepted. It can be a great opportunity. Perhaps it is also healthy, because it makes the inner alarm bells ring: be careful, you have exchanged security for an alliance, you are becoming foolish and half-hearted. There is a sadness that can lead us to God. Let us welcome it, we need not get angry with ourselves. It may be the right time. Even Saint Francis of Assisi experienced it, he reminds us of it in his Testament (cf Franciscan sources, 110). Bitterness will change into a great sweetness, and the easy, worldly sweetnesses will turn into bitterness.
The second cause of bitterness: problems with the Bishop
I don't want to fall into rhetoric or look for a scapegoat, or even defend myself or defend those in my area. The commonplace attitude that finds the blame for everything in superiors no longer holds. We are all missing something in the small and the large. Nowadays there seems to be a general atmosphere (not only among us) of a widespread mediocrity, which does not allow us to climb on to easy judgments. But the fact remains that much bitterness in the life of the priest is the result of omissions by the Pastors.
We all experience our limitations and shortcomings. We face situations in which we realize that we are not adequately prepared ... But going out to perform the services and ministries with greater visibility, the shortcomings become more evident and noisy; and it is also a logical consequence that there is a lot of play in this relationship, for better or for worse. What omissions? We do not allude here to the often inevitable divergences about managerial problems or pastoral styles. This is tolerable and part of life on this earth. As long as Christ is not all in all, everyone will try to impose themselves on everyone else! It is the fallen Adam in us who plays these jokes.
The real problem that causes bitterness is not the differences (and perhaps not even the mistakes: even a bishop has the right to make mistakes like all creatures!), But rather two very serious and destabilizing reasons for priests.
First of all a certain soft authoritarian drift: we do not accept those of us who think differently. With a word you are transferred to the category of those who are rowing against the tide, with a distinction you are registered among the discontented. Parrhesia is buried in the frenzy of imposing plans. The cult of initiatives is replacing the essential: one faith, one baptism, one God who is Father of all. Adherence to initiatives risks becoming the yardstick of communion. But it does not always coincide with the unanimity of opinions. Nor can one claim that communion is exclusively one-way: priests must be in communion with the bishop ... and bishops in communion with priests: it is not a question of democracy, but of fatherhood.
In his Rule, Saint Benedict - we are in the famous chapter III - recommends that the abbot, when facing an important question, should consult the entire community, including the youngest monks. Then he continues by reiterating that the final decision is up to the abbot alone, that everything must be disposed of with prudence and equity. For Benedict, there is no question of authority, quite the opposite, it is the abbot who answers before God for the running of the monastery; however it is said that in deciding he must be prudent and fair. We know the first word well: prudence and discernment are part of the common vocabulary.
Equity is less usual: equity means taking everyone's opinion into account and safeguarding the representative nature of the flock, without making preferences. The great temptation of the shepherd is to surround himself with his people, with neighbours; and so, unfortunately, real competence is supplanted by a certain presumed loyalty, no longer distinguishing between those who please and those who advise selflessly. This makes the flock suffer a lot, and the flock often accepts without externalizing anything. The Code of Canon Law recalls that the faithful have the right, and sometimes even the duty, to express their thoughts to the sacred Pastors on what concerns the good of the Church (Can. 212 § 3). Of course, in this time of precariousness and widespread fragility, the solution seems to be authoritarianism (in the political sphere this is evident). But the real cure - as Saint Benedict advises - lies in fairness, not in uniformity.
A second reason for bitterness comes from a 'loss' in the ministry of pastors: suffocated by management problems and personnel emergencies, we risk neglecting the munus docendi. The bishop is the teacher of faith, of orthodoxy and 'orthopathy', of right belief and right feeling in the Holy Spirit. In episcopal ordination, the epiclesis is prayed with the Gospel Book open on the candidate's head and the imposition of the miter externally reaffirms the munus of transmitting not personal beliefs but evangelical wisdom. Who is the catechist of that permanent disciple who is the priest? The bishop of course! But who remembers it? It could be argued that priests do not usually want to be educated by bishops. And it's true. But this - even if it were - is not a good reason to give up the munus. The holy people of God have the right to have priests who teach them to believe; and deacons and priests have the right to have a bishop who in turn teaches them to believe and hope in the One Master, the Way, the Truth and the Life, who inflames their faith. As a priest I don't want the bishop to please me, but to help me believe. I wish I could found my theological hope in him! Sometimes we are reduced to following only our confreres in crisis (and it is a good thing), but even the healthy donkeys need a more targeted, serene ear to listen, and not only in times of emergency. So here is a second omission that can cause bitterness: the renunciation of the munus docendi towards priests (and not only priests). Authoritarian pastors who have lost the authority to teach?
The third cause of bitterness: problems among us
In recent years, priests have suffered the blows of scandals: financial and sexual. Suspicion has drastically made relationships colder and more formal; one no longer enjoys the gifts of others, on the contrary, it seems that ours is a mission to destroy, minimize, make people suspect. In the face of scandals, the evil one tempts us by pushing us towards a Donatist vision of the Church: where everyone inside is impeccable, and everyone who is wrong is out out! We have false conceptions of the militant Church, in a sort of ecclesiological puritanism. The Bride of Christ is and remains the field in which wheat and weeds grow together, up toward paradise. Anyone who has not made this evangelical vision of reality his own exposes himself to unspeakable and useless bitterness.
However, the public and publicized sins of the clergy have made everyone more cautious and less willing to forge meaningful bonds, especially in order to share the faith. Common appointments multiply - ongoing formation and other activities - but you participate with a less willing heart. There is more community, but less communion! The question we ask ourselves when we meet a new confrere emerges silently: Who do I really have before me? Can I trust him?.
It is not a matter of loneliness: it is not a problem but an aspect of the mystery of communion. Christian solitude - that of those who enter their rooms and pray to the Father in secret - is a blessing, the true source of the loving welcome of the other. The real problem lies in not finding time to be alone anymore. Without loneliness there is no free love, and others become a substitute for the voids. In this sense as priests we must always re-learn how to be alone evangelically, like Jesus at night with the Father.
It is half loneliness - let's face it - because it is the loneliness of the shepherd who is full of names, faces, situations, of the shepherd who arrives in the evening tired of talking with his Lord about all these people. The shepherd's solitude is a solitude inhabited by the laughter and tears of people and the community; it is a solitude filled with faces to offer to the Lord.
Here the drama is isolation, which is something other than loneliness. Isolation not only and not so much external - we are always in the midst of people - as an inherent trait in the soul of the priest. I start with the deepest isolation and then touch its most visible form.
Isolated from grace: lapped up by secularism we no longer believe or feel that we are surrounded by heavenly friends - the cloud of witnesses (cf Heb 12: 1) -; we seem to experience that our story, our afflictions, do not affect anyone. The world of grace has gradually become foreign to us, the saints seem to be only the imaginary friends of children. The Spirit that inhabits the heart - substantially and not in only as an idea - is something that perhaps we have never experienced due to dissipation or negligence. We know, but we don't touch. This distance from the strength of grace produces rationalisms or sentimentalisms. Never a redeemed flesh.
To isolate oneself from history: everything seems to be consumed in the here and now, without hope in promised goods and in a future reward. Everything opens and closes with us. My death is not the passing of the witness, but an unjust interruption. The more special, powerful, rich in gifts you feel, the more you close your heart to the continuous meaning of the history of the people of God to whom you belong. Our individualized consciousness makes us believe that there has been nothing before and nothing after. This is why we struggle so much to take care of and to keep what our predecessors have begun well: we often arrive in the parish and we feel compelled to start with a clean slate, in order to distinguish ourselves and mark the difference. We are unable to continue to live the good that we did not give birth to! We start from scratch because we do not feel the taste of belonging to a community that is on a journey of salvation.
Isolated from others: isolation from grace and history is one of the causes of the inability among us to establish significant relationships of trust and evangelical sharing. If I am isolated, my problems seem unique and insurmountable: nobody can understand me. This is one of the favorite thoughts of the father of lies. We remember the words of Bernanos: Only after a long time is it recognized, and the sadness that announces it, precedes it, how sweet it is! It is the most substantial of the elixirs of the devil, his ambrosia! (Diary of a country priest, Milano 2017, 103). This is a thought that gradually takes shape and closes us in ourselves; it distances us from others and puts us in a position of superiority because nobody would live up to our needs. It is a thought that by reason of repeating its words ends up nesting in us. Whoever hides his sins will not succeed, whoever confesses and abandons them will find mercy (Pr 28,13).
The devil does not want you to speak, does not want you to tell, does not want you to share. So you are looking for a good spiritual father, a smart elderly man who can accompany you. Never isolate yourself, never! The deep feeling of communion occurs only when, personally, I become aware of the we that I am, that I have been and that I will be. Otherwise, the other problems come cascading down: from isolation, from a community without communion, competition arises and certainly not cooperation; the desire for recognition emerges and not the joy of shared holiness; one enters into a relationship either to compare oneself or to support one another.
We remember the people of Israel when, walking in the desert for three days, they arrived in Mara, but could not drink the water because it was bitter. Faced with the protest of the people, Moses called on the Lord and the water became sweet (cf Ex 15.22-25). The holy faithful people of God know us better than anyone else. They are very respectful and know how to accompany and take care of their shepherds. They know our bitterness and they also pray to the Lord for us. Let's add our prayers to their prayers, and ask the Lord to turn our bitterness into fresh water for his people. We ask the Lord to give us the ability to recognize what is embittering us and in this way, allow us to transform ourselves and be reconciled people who reconcile, pacified people who pacify, people full of hope that instil hope in others. The people of God are waiting for us to be teachers of the spirit, capable of pointing out the wells of fresh water in the middle of the desert.
Testo originale nella lingua italiana
Pope Francis had prepared a speech for the meeting with clergy, which was read aloud by His Eminence, Cardinal Angelo De Donatis, Vicar General for His Holiness for the Diocese of Rome.
Speech of the Holy Father, Pope Francis
for the penitential liturgy at the Vatican
Bitterness in the life of a priest
An inner reflection
I do not want to reflect so much on the tribulations that derive from the mission of the priest: they are things that are well known and already widely diagnosed. I wish to speak with you, on this occasion, about a subtle enemy who finds many ways to disguise himself and hide, and like a parasite slowly steals the joy of the vocation to which we were called. I want to talk to you about that bitterness while focused around the relationship with faith, the Bishop, and our confreres. We know that other roots and situations may exist. But these summarize many encounters that I have had with some of you.
Right away, I want to note two things: the first is that these lines are the result of listening to some seminarians and priests from different Italian dioceses; they cannot or should not refer to any specific situation. The second is that most of the priests I know are happy with their lives and consider this bitterness to be part of normal living, without any drama. I preferred to repeat what I have heard rather than express my opinion on the topic.
Looking our bitterness in the face and confronting it allows us to make contact with our humanity, with our blessed humanity, and so remember that as priests we are not called to be omnipotent but sinful men who are forgiven and sent. As Saint Irenaeus of Lyon said: what is not taken into consideration is not redeemed. Let these bitternesses also show us the way towards greater adoration of the Father and help us to experience again the strength of his merciful anointing (cf Lk 15: 11-32). To put it in the psalmist's language: You have changed my lament into dance, you have taken off my sackcloth, you have clothed me with joy, so that my heart will sing to you, without keeping silent (Ps 30: 12-13).
The first cause of bitterness: problems with the faith
We believed it was He, the disciples of Emmaus confided to each other (cf. Lk 24:21). A disappointed hope is at the root of their bitterness. But we must reflect: is it the Lord who has disappointed us or have we exchanged hope with our expectations? Christian hope does not really disappoint and it does not fail. Hope is not a matter of being convinced that things will get better, but that everything that happens makes sense in the light of Easter. But to hope in a Christian way it is necessary - as Saint Augustine taught Proba - to live a life of substantial prayer. It is there that you learn to distinguish between expectations and hopes.
Now, the relationship with God - more than a matter of pastoral disappointments - can be a profound cause of bitterness. Sometimes it almost seems that He does not respect the expectations of a full and abundant life which we had on the day of our ordination. Sometimes an unfinished adolescence does not help us to move on from dreams to reality. Perhaps as priests we are too respectable in our relationship with God and we do not dare to protest in prayer, as the psalmist does on many occasions - not only for ourselves, but also for our people; because the shepherd also carries the bitterness of his people -; but also the psalms have been censored and we can hardly make our own a spirituality of protest. So we fall into cynicism: discontented and a little frustrated. The real protest - of the adult - is not against God but before Him, because it arises precisely from a level of confidence in Him: the person praying reminds the Father who he is and what is worthy of his name. We have to sanctify his name, but sometimes the disciples have to wake up the Lord and say to him: Don't you care that we are lost? (Mk 4,35-41). So the Lord wants to involve us directly in his kingdom. Not as spectators, but actively participating.
What is the difference between expectation and hope? Expectation arises when we spend our lives saving our lives: we struggle to find safety, rewards, progress ... When we receive what we want, we almost feel that we will never die, that it will always be like this! Because we are the reference point. Instead, hope is something that is born in the heart when you decide not to defend yourself anymore. When I recognize my limitations, and that not everything starts and ends with me, then I recognize the importance of trusting. Already the Theatine Lorenzo Scupoli, in his spiritual Combat, taught this concept: the key to everything is in a dual and simultaneous movement: to be wary of yourself and to trust in God. I hope, not when there is nothing more to do, but when I stop giving of myself by doing things just for me. Hope rests on an alliance: God spoke to me and promised me on the day of my ordination that I would have a full life, with the fullness and flavour of the Beatitudes; my life would certainly be troubled - like that of all men - but beautiful. My life is flavourful if I live Easter, not if things go as I say.
And here we understand another thing: listening to history is not enough to understand these processes. We must listen to history and look at our own lives in the light of the Word of God. The disciples of Emmaus overcame their disappointment when the Risen Christ opened their minds to the intelligence of the Scriptures. Here: things will get better not only because we will change superiors, or mission, or strategies, but because we will be comforted by the Word. The prophet Jeremiah confessed: Your Word was the joy and gladness of my heart (Jer 15:16).
Bitterness - which is not a fault - must be accepted. It can be a great opportunity. Perhaps it is also healthy, because it makes the inner alarm bells ring: be careful, you have exchanged security for an alliance, you are becoming foolish and half-hearted. There is a sadness that can lead us to God. Let us welcome it, we need not get angry with ourselves. It may be the right time. Even Saint Francis of Assisi experienced it, he reminds us of it in his Testament (cf Franciscan sources, 110). Bitterness will change into a great sweetness, and the easy, worldly sweetnesses will turn into bitterness.
The second cause of bitterness: problems with the Bishop
I don't want to fall into rhetoric or look for a scapegoat, or even defend myself or defend those in my area. The commonplace attitude that finds the blame for everything in superiors no longer holds. We are all missing something in the small and the large. Nowadays there seems to be a general atmosphere (not only among us) of a widespread mediocrity, which does not allow us to climb on to easy judgments. But the fact remains that much bitterness in the life of the priest is the result of omissions by the Pastors.
We all experience our limitations and shortcomings. We face situations in which we realize that we are not adequately prepared ... But going out to perform the services and ministries with greater visibility, the shortcomings become more evident and noisy; and it is also a logical consequence that there is a lot of play in this relationship, for better or for worse. What omissions? We do not allude here to the often inevitable divergences about managerial problems or pastoral styles. This is tolerable and part of life on this earth. As long as Christ is not all in all, everyone will try to impose themselves on everyone else! It is the fallen Adam in us who plays these jokes.
The real problem that causes bitterness is not the differences (and perhaps not even the mistakes: even a bishop has the right to make mistakes like all creatures!), But rather two very serious and destabilizing reasons for priests.
First of all a certain soft authoritarian drift: we do not accept those of us who think differently. With a word you are transferred to the category of those who are rowing against the tide, with a distinction you are registered among the discontented. Parrhesia is buried in the frenzy of imposing plans. The cult of initiatives is replacing the essential: one faith, one baptism, one God who is Father of all. Adherence to initiatives risks becoming the yardstick of communion. But it does not always coincide with the unanimity of opinions. Nor can one claim that communion is exclusively one-way: priests must be in communion with the bishop ... and bishops in communion with priests: it is not a question of democracy, but of fatherhood.
In his Rule, Saint Benedict - we are in the famous chapter III - recommends that the abbot, when facing an important question, should consult the entire community, including the youngest monks. Then he continues by reiterating that the final decision is up to the abbot alone, that everything must be disposed of with prudence and equity. For Benedict, there is no question of authority, quite the opposite, it is the abbot who answers before God for the running of the monastery; however it is said that in deciding he must be prudent and fair. We know the first word well: prudence and discernment are part of the common vocabulary.
Equity is less usual: equity means taking everyone's opinion into account and safeguarding the representative nature of the flock, without making preferences. The great temptation of the shepherd is to surround himself with his people, with neighbours; and so, unfortunately, real competence is supplanted by a certain presumed loyalty, no longer distinguishing between those who please and those who advise selflessly. This makes the flock suffer a lot, and the flock often accepts without externalizing anything. The Code of Canon Law recalls that the faithful have the right, and sometimes even the duty, to express their thoughts to the sacred Pastors on what concerns the good of the Church (Can. 212 § 3). Of course, in this time of precariousness and widespread fragility, the solution seems to be authoritarianism (in the political sphere this is evident). But the real cure - as Saint Benedict advises - lies in fairness, not in uniformity.
A second reason for bitterness comes from a 'loss' in the ministry of pastors: suffocated by management problems and personnel emergencies, we risk neglecting the munus docendi. The bishop is the teacher of faith, of orthodoxy and 'orthopathy', of right belief and right feeling in the Holy Spirit. In episcopal ordination, the epiclesis is prayed with the Gospel Book open on the candidate's head and the imposition of the miter externally reaffirms the munus of transmitting not personal beliefs but evangelical wisdom. Who is the catechist of that permanent disciple who is the priest? The bishop of course! But who remembers it? It could be argued that priests do not usually want to be educated by bishops. And it's true. But this - even if it were - is not a good reason to give up the munus. The holy people of God have the right to have priests who teach them to believe; and deacons and priests have the right to have a bishop who in turn teaches them to believe and hope in the One Master, the Way, the Truth and the Life, who inflames their faith. As a priest I don't want the bishop to please me, but to help me believe. I wish I could found my theological hope in him! Sometimes we are reduced to following only our confreres in crisis (and it is a good thing), but even the healthy donkeys need a more targeted, serene ear to listen, and not only in times of emergency. So here is a second omission that can cause bitterness: the renunciation of the munus docendi towards priests (and not only priests). Authoritarian pastors who have lost the authority to teach?
The third cause of bitterness: problems among us
In recent years, priests have suffered the blows of scandals: financial and sexual. Suspicion has drastically made relationships colder and more formal; one no longer enjoys the gifts of others, on the contrary, it seems that ours is a mission to destroy, minimize, make people suspect. In the face of scandals, the evil one tempts us by pushing us towards a Donatist vision of the Church: where everyone inside is impeccable, and everyone who is wrong is out out! We have false conceptions of the militant Church, in a sort of ecclesiological puritanism. The Bride of Christ is and remains the field in which wheat and weeds grow together, up toward paradise. Anyone who has not made this evangelical vision of reality his own exposes himself to unspeakable and useless bitterness.
However, the public and publicized sins of the clergy have made everyone more cautious and less willing to forge meaningful bonds, especially in order to share the faith. Common appointments multiply - ongoing formation and other activities - but you participate with a less willing heart. There is more community, but less communion! The question we ask ourselves when we meet a new confrere emerges silently: Who do I really have before me? Can I trust him?.
It is not a matter of loneliness: it is not a problem but an aspect of the mystery of communion. Christian solitude - that of those who enter their rooms and pray to the Father in secret - is a blessing, the true source of the loving welcome of the other. The real problem lies in not finding time to be alone anymore. Without loneliness there is no free love, and others become a substitute for the voids. In this sense as priests we must always re-learn how to be alone evangelically, like Jesus at night with the Father.
It is half loneliness - let's face it - because it is the loneliness of the shepherd who is full of names, faces, situations, of the shepherd who arrives in the evening tired of talking with his Lord about all these people. The shepherd's solitude is a solitude inhabited by the laughter and tears of people and the community; it is a solitude filled with faces to offer to the Lord.
Here the drama is isolation, which is something other than loneliness. Isolation not only and not so much external - we are always in the midst of people - as an inherent trait in the soul of the priest. I start with the deepest isolation and then touch its most visible form.
Isolated from grace: lapped up by secularism we no longer believe or feel that we are surrounded by heavenly friends - the cloud of witnesses (cf Heb 12: 1) -; we seem to experience that our story, our afflictions, do not affect anyone. The world of grace has gradually become foreign to us, the saints seem to be only the imaginary friends of children. The Spirit that inhabits the heart - substantially and not in only as an idea - is something that perhaps we have never experienced due to dissipation or negligence. We know, but we don't touch. This distance from the strength of grace produces rationalisms or sentimentalisms. Never a redeemed flesh.
To isolate oneself from history: everything seems to be consumed in the here and now, without hope in promised goods and in a future reward. Everything opens and closes with us. My death is not the passing of the witness, but an unjust interruption. The more special, powerful, rich in gifts you feel, the more you close your heart to the continuous meaning of the history of the people of God to whom you belong. Our individualized consciousness makes us believe that there has been nothing before and nothing after. This is why we struggle so much to take care of and to keep what our predecessors have begun well: we often arrive in the parish and we feel compelled to start with a clean slate, in order to distinguish ourselves and mark the difference. We are unable to continue to live the good that we did not give birth to! We start from scratch because we do not feel the taste of belonging to a community that is on a journey of salvation.
Isolated from others: isolation from grace and history is one of the causes of the inability among us to establish significant relationships of trust and evangelical sharing. If I am isolated, my problems seem unique and insurmountable: nobody can understand me. This is one of the favorite thoughts of the father of lies. We remember the words of Bernanos: Only after a long time is it recognized, and the sadness that announces it, precedes it, how sweet it is! It is the most substantial of the elixirs of the devil, his ambrosia! (Diary of a country priest, Milano 2017, 103). This is a thought that gradually takes shape and closes us in ourselves; it distances us from others and puts us in a position of superiority because nobody would live up to our needs. It is a thought that by reason of repeating its words ends up nesting in us. Whoever hides his sins will not succeed, whoever confesses and abandons them will find mercy (Pr 28,13).
The devil does not want you to speak, does not want you to tell, does not want you to share. So you are looking for a good spiritual father, a smart elderly man who can accompany you. Never isolate yourself, never! The deep feeling of communion occurs only when, personally, I become aware of the we that I am, that I have been and that I will be. Otherwise, the other problems come cascading down: from isolation, from a community without communion, competition arises and certainly not cooperation; the desire for recognition emerges and not the joy of shared holiness; one enters into a relationship either to compare oneself or to support one another.
We remember the people of Israel when, walking in the desert for three days, they arrived in Mara, but could not drink the water because it was bitter. Faced with the protest of the people, Moses called on the Lord and the water became sweet (cf Ex 15.22-25). The holy faithful people of God know us better than anyone else. They are very respectful and know how to accompany and take care of their shepherds. They know our bitterness and they also pray to the Lord for us. Let's add our prayers to their prayers, and ask the Lord to turn our bitterness into fresh water for his people. We ask the Lord to give us the ability to recognize what is embittering us and in this way, allow us to transform ourselves and be reconciled people who reconcile, pacified people who pacify, people full of hope that instil hope in others. The people of God are waiting for us to be teachers of the spirit, capable of pointing out the wells of fresh water in the middle of the desert.
Testo originale nella lingua italiana
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