On 17 November, Pope Francis celebrated Mass in St. Peter’s Basilica for the VIII World Day of the Poor, an initiative that began in 2016 with his apostolic letter Misericordia et misera.
Below is the full homily of Pope Francis:
The words we have just heard could provoke feelings of anguish in us; in fact, they are a great message of hope. Indeed, if Jesus on the one hand seems to describe the state of mind of someone who has seen the destruction of Jerusalem and thinks that the end has come, at the same time he announces something extraordinary: in the hour of darkness and desolation, just at the moment when everything seems to be collapsing, God comes, God draws near, God gathers us together to save us.
Jesus invites us to have a more acute gaze, to have eyes capable of “reading from within” the events of history, to discover that, even in the anguish of our hearts and of our times, there is an unshakeable hope that shines. For this reason, on this World Day of the Poor, let us pause precisely on these two realities: anguish and hope. Realities that are always at war within our hearts.
First, anguish. This is a widespread feeling in our time, where social communication amplifies problems and wounds, making the world more insecure and the future more uncertain. Likewise, today’s Gospel opens with a scenario that projects the people’s tribulation into the cosmos, and it does so using apocalyptic language: “The sun will be darkened, the moon will stop shining, the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken” (Mk 13:24-25).
If we limit our gaze to the narrative of events, we will be overcome by anguish. In fact, even today we see the sun darkening and the moon fading, we see hunger and poverty oppressing many brothers and sisters who have nothing to eat, we see the horrors of war, we see innocent deaths. Faced with this reality, we risk sinking into despondency and failing to notice the presence of God in the drama of history. In this way, we condemn ourselves to impotence; we see the growing injustice around us, causing the suffering of the poor, yet we allow ourselves to be carried along by the inertia of those who, out of convenience or laziness, think that “the world is like this” and “there is nothing I can do.” Thus, even the Christian faith is reduced to a passive devotion, which does not bother the powers of this world and does not produce any concrete commitment to charity. And while part of the world is condemned to live on the margins of history, while inequalities grow and the economy punishes the weakest, while society is consecrated to the idolatry of money, it happens that the poor and the excluded can do nothing but continue to hope (cf. Ex ap. Evangelii gaudium, 54).
But Jesus, in the midst of this apocalyptic picture, kindles hope. He opens our horizons completely, broadening our gaze so that we may learn to welcome, even in the precariousness and pain of the world, the presence of God’s love that comes close to us, that does not abandon us, that acts for our salvation. Precisely when the sun darkens and the moon stops shining and the stars fall from the sky, the Gospel says, “the Son of Man will be seen coming on the clouds, full of power and glory. And he will send out his angels to gather together his elect from the four corners of the compass, from one end of the horizon to the other” (vv. 26-27).
With these words, Jesus is primarily indicating his death, which will soon take place. On Calvary, in fact, the sun will be darkened and darkness will descend upon the world; but precisely at that moment the Son of Man will come on the clouds, because the power of his resurrection will shatter the chains of death, the eternal life of God will emerge from the darkness of the tomb and a new world will be born from the rubble of a history wounded by evil.
Brothers and sisters, this is the hope that Jesus wants to offer us. And he does so through a beautiful image: look at the fig tree, he says, because “when its branches become flexible and its leaves come forth, you know that summer is near” (v. 28). In the same way, we too are called to read the situations of our earthly life: where there seems to be only injustice, pain and poverty, precisely at that dramatic moment, the Lord comes close to free us from slavery and make life shine (cf. v. 29). And he comes close to us with our Christian proximity, with our Christian fraternity. It is not a matter of throwing a coin into the hands of a needy person. I ask two things to those who give alms: do you touch people’s hands or do you throw the coin to them without touching them? Do you look into the eyes of the person you are helping or do you look the other way?
It is we, his disciples, who, thanks to the Holy Spirit, can sow this hope in the world. It is we who can and must kindle the lights of justice and solidarity as the shadows of a closed world widen (cf. Encyclical Fratelli tutti, 9-55). It is we who are made to shine by his grace; it is our life imbued with compassion and charity that becomes a sign of the presence of the Lord, always close to the suffering of the poor, to heal their wounds and change their fate.
Brothers and sisters, let us not forget that Christian hope, which has reached its fullness in Jesus and is realized in his Kingdom, needs our commitment, it needs a faith that works in charity, it needs Christians who do not pretend to be ignorant. I saw a photograph by a Roman photographer: he photographed an adult couple, almost elderly, leaving a restaurant in winter. The woman was well covered with a fur coat and so was the man. At the door was a poor woman, sitting on the ground, begging, and both of them looked the other way. This happens every day. Let us ask ourselves: do I pretend to be ignorant when I see the poverty, the need, the pain of others? A twentieth-century theologian said that the Christian faith must arouse in us a “mysticism with open eyes”: not a spirituality that flees from the world, but, on the contrary, a faith that opens its eyes to the suffering of the world and to the unhappiness of the poor, in order to exercise the same compassion as Christ. Do I have the same compassion as the Lord for the poor, for those who have no work, no food, and are marginalized by society? And we must not only focus on the great problems of global poverty, but on the little that we can all do in our daily lives: with our lifestyle, with attention to and care for the environment in which we live, with the constant search for justice, sharing our goods with the poorest, committing ourselves socially and politically to improve the reality that surrounds us. It may seem like little to us, but our little will be like the first leaves that sprout from the fig tree, a foretaste of the approaching summer.
Dear brothers, on this World Day of the Poor I would like to recall a warning from Cardinal Martini. He said that we must be careful not to think that there is first the Church, already consolidated in itself, and then the poor whom we choose to care for. In reality, we become the Church of Jesus to the extent that we serve the poor, because only in this way does the Church “become” herself, that is, the Church becomes a house open to all, a place of God’s compassion for the life of every man” (cf. CM Martini, Città senza mura. Lettere e discorsi alla diocesi 1984, Bologna 1985, 350).