Religión Digital
This July 4th, when his native country, the United States, celebrates the 250th anniversary of its independence, Leo XIV decided months ago that he would spend it in Lampedusa, a small Italian island closer to Tunisia than to Sicily, sadly famous for the arrival of migrants on its shores and the tragic shipwrecks that have cost the lives for years of thousands of people driven by misery to the desperate intention of reaching that first frontier of Europe by any means.
A “Gateway to Europe” that in Lampedusa is also a physical place, so called not by chance and where this morning, shortly after landing at 9 in Lampedusa, the Pope, received by Alessandro Damiano, Metropolitan Archbishop of Agrigento and other civil authorities, briefly met with a migrant family.
Robert F. Prevost had previously gone by car to the Lampedusa cemetery for a floral tribute at the graves of several migrants. Subsequently he went to the «Molo Favaloro» for the blessing of the plaque that names that dock in honor of Pope Francis, who 13 years ago chose that place as his first journey, full of prophetic significance that Leo XIV has now also wanted to underscore (also in the Mass) with his presence and the substantive messages he left in the homily of the Eucharist he presided over in the «Arena» stadium in Salina, before the image of Our Lady of Porto Salvo.
“The Pope continues to accompany them, sustains them and encourages them”, he told them, after the greeting from the island’s mayor, and after recalling his predecessor Francis’s stay, 13 years earlier in that same place, as well as to thank them for wanting to rename the dock where migrants arrive with the name of the Argentine Pope.
“I have come to thank you, brothers and sisters of Lampedusa, for the closeness that many among you have decided to exercise. The miracle of compassion has happened once more,” the Pope noted in his homily before a crowd listening to him on the dock of the Italian island, where, as the Pontiff pointed out, glossing the evangelical passage from Luke, “here they have not only seen one, but thousands of human beings fallen into the hands of bandits who rob them of everything, beat them and leave, abandoning them half dead”.
“The Gospel resounds where peoples meet, persons are welcomed, their lives intertwine, diverse cultures engage in dialogue. It falls silent, however, where each one makes himself an island, where contact is avoided and exchange is interrupted”, Prevost emphasized, stressing that “there are also those who choose not to become neighbors and those who decide not to decide”.
“The dead in this sea are victims either of decisions made or of decisions omitted. Disinterest in the common good and corruption in places of origin, a global economic system that generates poverty and exclusion, the fear that fosters prejudice and contempt, the thought that these problems do not concern us, the criminal calculations of those who profit from the drama of others, the slow and difficult transition from mere management of emergencies to the development of organic and shared policies: all of this reproduces, today, the hurried ‘passing by’”, which is cited in the evangelical passage.
“There is never a lack of those who fear contamination”
At this point, Robert F. Prevost lamented that “unfortunately, there is never a lack of those who fear contamination by coming into contact with others, thereby denying —even in the face of suffering and death— the common origin in God”, which led him to “affirm that religious affiliation must never become a reason for discrimination, as if faith had limits and were not, instead, a universal call to salvation. Where walls of separation existed, Christ has torn them down. There is no love of God without love of neighbor and there is no neighbor if I do not draw near. To stop, to be moved, to bend down, to weep before the pain of others —as Jesus has done— means to enter into the movement of love, in which God has revealed himself”.
For this reason –he added–, from this edge of Europe in the Mediterranean Sea, the call that the migratory phenomenon directs to European society is better seen. Both in this respect –and as regards the ecological transition and the promotion of peace– Europe possesses a unique potential, which derives from its history and its culture and, for this very reason, an equivalent responsibility”.
The appeal to Europe was direct, clear, categorical, and at a moment when the construction of deportation centers in countries outside the Union’s borders is being approved. “By its geographic position and by its institutional structure, Europe has the capacity —in this area— to face the crisis in an organic manner, inserting emergency aid into a long-term strategic plan, capable of welcoming, protecting, promoting and integrating migrants and, at the same time, working for development, so that no one is forced to emigrate. All of this while safeguarding respect for the dignity of each person. It is a duty of public institutions, but also of all of civil society and the Church”.
Recalling what he had said a few weeks before in Tenerife, the Pope reminded that “also in Lampedusa the culture of welcome has a tourist vocation that, unfortunately, can feel threatened by migratory routes and develop in indifference or even in opposition to its most dramatic aspects. For many, in fact, vacations only imply distraction, lightness, carefree abandon. It even seems that an invisible wall should be raised between the sea of the shipwrecked and that of vacationers“.
Facing them, the Augustinian Pope made them a request: “Have the courage to think differently. Little by little, with creativity, you will manage that all those who come to spend a period, even of rest on this island, can become more human by measuring themselves against your charity, with what the sea has taught you and with the encounters that have educated you. There is authentic rest where the meaning of life is rediscovered; there is true well-being when the economy is just and fraternal. In this economy, care for creation and social friendship unite in a synthesis that humanity seeks today”.
The Pope’s Homily
Dear brothers and sisters:
God is always first in loving us. The beauty of the sea, of this island and of your faces is a reflection of that gratuitous initiative: love precedes us, surrounds us and gathers us. I am grateful to the Lord for being able to visit you, following in the footsteps of Pope Francis, who on July 8, 2013 wanted to come to Lampedusa on his first journey as Successor of Peter.
The apostles, as you know, sailed the Mediterranean and experienced the hospitality of the inhabitants of its islands and its coasts, a crossroads of civilization for millennia. The Gospel resounds where peoples meet, persons are welcomed, their lives intertwine, diverse cultures engage in dialogue. It falls silent, however, where each one makes himself an island, where contact is avoided and exchange is interrupted. In this sense, the parable of the good Samaritan, which has just been proclaimed, describes a story that continues (cf. Lk 10,25–37). The Encyclical Fratelli tutti has helped us to reread it in the dramatic historical circumstances in which we are still immersed. God’s Word is always timely and leads us to a conversation from which we emerge transfigured. How, then, will we respond to the love of the one who has loved us first?
Dear friends, today Lampedusa and Linosa find themselves on a dangerous road, like the one going down from Jerusalem to Jericho (cf. v. 30). Here they have not only seen one, but thousands of human beings fallen into the hands of bandits who rob them of everything, beat them and leave, abandoning them half dead (cf. Lk 10,30). The sea has taken the others, those who did not manage to reach where they hoped. Yet we feel their presence, which challenges us as much as those of those who have disembarked, in need of attention and help. Before any other intellectual consideration or ideological conviction, the impact with the one who lies before us, stripped of everything, calls us to closeness. The Letter to the Hebrews has told us “Remember […] those who are ill-treated, as if you yourselves were suffering in your bodies” (Heb 13,3). This is the heart of the evangelical parable: we draw close, we become neighbors (cf. Lk 10,36-37)!
I have come to thank you, brothers and sisters of Lampedusa, for the closeness that many among you have decided to exercise. The miracle of compassion has happened once more — “When he saw him, he was moved with compassion” (v. 33)— an interior revolution that makes the “feeling” of God spring up within us and expands our thoughts, our hearts and our lives. I thank the volunteers, the associations gathered in the “Forum Lampedusa Solidario”, the civil institutions, the Coast Guard, the mayors and the administrations that have succeeded one another over time; thanks to the deacons, priests, religious sisters, doctors, psychologists, educators; thanks to the security forces and all those who, with or without the gift of faith, have decided to love together. Yes, because among you love is organized, that love of which compassion, which sees the brother in the sea, is like the first tremor, the deep call to dare what one would never have thought. I greet the migrant persons who are here: they themselves have not simply received, but many times have exercised solidarity in their journey, as poor people helping the poorest. Thank you, brothers and sisters, because there is nothing that can be taken for granted in your gesture of becoming neighbors, nothing that is automatic.
The parable tells us this: love is always in freedom and freedom is in decisions. There are also those who choose not to become neighbors and those who decide not to decide. The dead in this sea are victims either of decisions made or of decisions omitted. Disinterest in the common good and corruption in places of origin, a global economic system that generates poverty and exclusion, the fear that fosters prejudice and contempt, the thought that these problems do not concern us, the criminal calculations of those who profit from the drama of others, the slow and difficult transition from mere management of emergencies to the development of organic and shared policies: all of this reproduces, today, the hurried “passing by” (cf. vv. 31.32) of the evangelical account.
In the parable, a priest happens to be there “by chance” (v. 31) and, after him, a Levite. The two see, but pass by. Unfortunately, there is never a lack of those who fear contamination by coming into contact with others, thereby denying —even in the face of suffering and death— the common origin in God, the infinite dignity of every human being and the call to love without limits. It is time to recognize and affirm that religious affiliation must never become a reason for discrimination, as if faith had limits and were not, instead, a universal call to salvation. Where walls of separation existed, Christ has torn them down (cf. Eph 2,14). There is no love of God without love of neighbor and there is no neighbor if I do not draw near. To stop, to be moved, to bend down, to weep before the pain of others —as Jesus has done— means to enter into the movement of love, in which God has revealed himself.
Dear friends, whoever allows himself to be led by this dynamic of compassion, of mercy, begins to live in a different way, to be a citizen in a different way, to work in a different way. Then the civilization of love can truly emerge, proposed by my holy predecessors John XXIII, Paul VI and John Paul II. Together with a great number of prophets and martyrs of the past century, they understood that to the abysses of the human heart and to the horrors of war, only mercy can respond through new beginnings. Now, on the shoulders of these giants, we have entered a millennium in which to give spiritual, cultural, legal, political and economic form to the civilization of love. May the immensity of the pain we observe lead us to embrace the radicality of this call.
Like the Samaritan we can change our program and direction. We have more resources and opportunities than the Samaritan to give historical form to hope. He “approached him and bound up his wounds, pouring oil and wine; then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him” (Lk 10,34). We too must recognize that “the civilization of love is not born from a single spectacular gesture, but from a sum of small and tenacious fidelities, which confront dehumanization” (Encyclical Letter Magnifica Humanitas, 213). Of this, friends of Lampedusa, you are witnesses! Here, in confronting you, our time is better understood and each one can verify the direction of one’s own life. “Of course, not everyone has the same power to influence reality […]. Nevertheless, no one is exempt from responsibility. Each one has his own sphere of action, and there —not elsewhere— he is called to choose whether to feed the logic of force —even if only through indifference, cynicism, lies and hatred—; or whether to promote the logic of peace —with truth, sobriety, closeness and care—” (ibíd., 212).
For this reason, from this edge of Europe in the Mediterranean Sea, the call that the migratory phenomenon directs to European society is better seen. Both in this respect –and as regards the ecological transition and the promotion of peace– Europe possesses a unique potential, which derives from its history and its culture and, for this very reason, an equivalent responsibility. By its geographic position and by its institutional structure, Europe has the capacity —in this area— to face the crisis in an organic manner, inserting emergency aid into a long-term strategic plan, capable of welcoming, protecting, promoting and integrating migrants and, at the same time, working for development, so that no one is forced to emigrate. All of this while safeguarding respect for the dignity of each person. It is a duty of public institutions, but also of all of civil society and the Church.
Sisters and brothers, as I said recently in Tenerife, during the apostolic journey to Spain, also in Lampedusa the culture of welcome has a tourist vocation that, unfortunately, can feel threatened by migratory routes and develop in indifference or even in opposition to its most dramatic aspects. For many, in fact, vacations only imply distraction, lightness, carefree abandon. It even seems that an invisible wall should be raised between the sea of the shipwrecked and that of vacationers. Have the courage to think differently. Little by little, with creativity, you will manage that all those who come to spend a period, even of rest on this island, can become more human by measuring themselves against your charity, with what the sea has taught you and with the encounters that have educated you. There is authentic rest where the meaning of life is rediscovered; there is true well-being when the economy is just and fraternal. In this economy, care for creation and social friendship unite in a synthesis that humanity seeks today.
The first reading has reminded us that in practicing hospitality, “some have entertained angels without knowing it” (Heb 13,2). Be then, in the small, prophecy of what we can achieve together on a large scale. The first beneficiaries will be you and your families, overcoming the divisions and divergences that only charity can dissolve. May the parish, in particular, be a community in which, as in the school of the Gospel, you learn together to welcome, accompany and integrate, in a style of communion.
We have here next to the altar the image of the Virgin of Porto Salvo, patroness of Lampedusa. Perhaps you know that Saint Augustine liked to describe human life as navigation by a sea in turmoil and its destiny as a firm and safe harbor. Let us not be overcome by fear, but consider daily difficulties as a time of opportunity and witness. May your faith, dear friends, be intensified by these years of trial and generous commitment. May this venerated image speak to you again with the force of a time in which all those who have passed on to you this devotion trusted themselves to the intercession of the Virgin with radical sincerity. We all have in God a safe harbor, of which each Christian community is called to be a reflection on earth. And to you, community of Lampedusa and Linosa, may you never lack the breath of faith, hope and charity: “O’scià!” [Typical greeting of Lampedusa].