Vatican City, Jun 29, 2020 / 08:30 am (CNA).- Here is the full text of Pope Francis’ homily on the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul delivered June 29, 2020 at the Basilica of St. Peter, and checked against delivery.
On the feast of the two Apostles of this city, I would like to share with you two key words: unity and prophecy.
Unity. We celebrate together two very different individuals: Peter, a fisherman who spent his days amid boats and nets, and Paul, a learned Pharisee who taught in synagogues. When they went forth on mission, Peter spoke to Jews, and Paul to pagans. And when their paths crossed, they could argue heatedly, as Paul is unashamed to admit in one of his letters (cf. Gal 2:11). In short, they were two very different people, yet they saw one another as brothers, as happens in close-knit families where there may be frequent arguments, but unfailing love. Yet the closeness that joined Peter and Paul did not come from natural inclinations, but from the Lord. He did not command us to like one another, but to love one another. He is the one who unites us, without making us all alike. He unites us in our differences.
Today’s first reading brings us to the source of this unity. It relates how the newly born Church was experiencing a moment of crisis: Herod was furious, a violent persecution had broken out, and the Apostle James had been killed. And now Peter had been arrested. The community seemed headless, everyone fearing for his life. Yet at that tragic moment no one ran away, no one thought about saving his own skin, no one abandoned the others, but all joined in prayer. From prayer they drew strength, from prayer came a unity more powerful than any threat. The text says that, “while Peter was kept in prison, the Church prayed fervently to God for him” (Acts 12:5). Unity is the fruit of prayer, for prayer allows the Holy Spirit to intervene, opening our hearts to hope, shortening distances and holding us together at times of difficulty.
Let us notice something else: at that dramatic moment, no one complained about Herod’s evil and his persecution. No one insulted Herod — and we are so used to insulting those who hold responsibility. It is pointless, even tedious, for Christians to waste their time complaining about the world, about society, about everything that is not right. Complaints change nothing. Let us remember that complaints are the second door closed to the Holy Spirit, as I said on the day of Pentecost: the first is narcissism, the second discouragement, the third pessimism. Narcissism takes you to the mirror, to continually look at yourself; discouragement to complaints; pessimism to the dark, in the dark. These are the attitudes that close the door to the Holy Spirit. Those Christians did not cast blame; they prayed. In that community, no one said: “If Peter had been more careful, we would not be in this situation.” No one. Peter, as a human, had reasons to be criticized, but no one criticized him. They did not talk about Peter; they prayed for him. They did not talk about Peter behind his back, but they spoke to God. We today can ask: “Are we protecting our unity with prayer? The unity of the Church? Are we praying for one another?” What would happen if we prayed more and complained less? … with speech that was a little more calm. The same thing that happened to Peter in prison: now as then, so many closed doors would be opened, so many chains that bind would be broken. And we would be amazed, like the girl who — seeing Peter at the gate — did not open it, but ran inside, amazed with the joy of seeing Peter. Let us ask for the grace to be able to pray for one another. Saint Paul urged Christians to pray for everyone, especially those who govern (cf. 1 Tim 2:1-3). “But this ruler is to be …,” and the descriptions are many. I will not say them because this is not the time nor the place to say the qualifications that are heard against the rulers. Let God judge them, but let us pray for those who govern. Let us pray; they need prayer. This is a task that the Lord has entrusted to us. Are we carrying it out? Or do we simply talk, criticize, and do nothing? God expects that when we pray we will also be mindful of those who do not think as we do, those who have slammed the door in our face, those whom we find it hard to forgive. Only prayer unlocks chains, only prayer paves the way to unity.
Today we bless the pallia to be bestowed on the dean of the College of Cardinals and the metropolitan archbishops named in the last year. The pallium is a sign of the unity between the sheep and the Shepherd who, like Jesus, carries the sheep on his shoulders, so as never to be separated from it. Today too, in accordance with a fine tradition, we are united in a particular way with the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople. Peter and Andrew were brothers, and, whenever possible, we exchange fraternal visits on our respective feast days. We do so not only out of courtesy, but as a means of journeying together towards the goal that the Lord points out to us: that of full unity. Today they were unable to come due to the problem of travel due to the coronavirus, but when I went down to venerate the remains of Peter, I felt in my heart my beloved brother Bartholomew. They are here with us.
The second word is prophecy. Unity and prophecy. The Apostles were challenged by Jesus. Peter heard Jesus’ question: “Who do you say I am?” (cf. Mt 16:15). At that moment he realized that the Lord was not interested in what others thought, but in Peter’s personal decision to follow him. Paul’s life changed after a similar challenge from Jesus: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” (Acts 9:4). The Lord shook Paul to the core: more than just knocking him to the ground on the road to Damascus, he shattered Paul’s illusion of being respectably religious. As a result, the proud Saul turned into Paul. Paul, a name that means “small”. These challenges and reversals are followed by prophecies: “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church” (Mt 16:18); and, for Paul: “He is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name before the Gentiles and kings and the sons of Israel” (Acts 9:15). Prophecy is born whenever we allow ourselves to be challenged by God, not when we are concerned to keep everything quiet and under control. It doesn’t come from my thoughts, it doesn’t come from my closed heart. It is born if we allow ourselves to be challenged by God. When the Gospel overturns certainties, prophecy arises. Only someone who is open to God’s surprises can become a prophet. And there they are: Peter and Paul, prophets who look to the future. Peter is the first to proclaim that Jesus is “the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16). Paul, who considers his impending death: “From now on there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord will award to me” (2 Tim 4:8).
Today we need prophecy, real prophecy: not fast talkers who promise the impossible, but testimonies that the Gospel is possible. What is needed are not miraculous shows — it hurts me when I hear it said: “We want a prophetic Church.” Well, what do you do for the Church to be prophetic? We need lives that show the miracle of God’s love. Not forcefulness, but forthrightness. Not palaver, but prayer. Not speeches, but service. Do you want a prophetic Church? Start serving and be silent. Not theory, but testimony. We are not to become rich, but rather to love the poor. We are not to save up for ourselves, but to spend ourselves for others. To seek not the approval of this world — that of being good with everyone — no, this is not prophecy, but we need the joy of the world to come. Not better pastoral plans that seem to have their own efficiency, as if they were sacraments, efficient pastoral projects, no, but we need pastors who offer their lives: lovers of God. That is how Peter and Paul preached Jesus, as men in love with God. At his crucifixion, Peter did not think about himself, but about his Lord, and, considering himself unworthy of dying like Jesus, asked to be crucified upside down. Before his beheading, Paul thought only of offering his life; he wrote that he wanted to be “poured out like a libation” (2 Tim 4:6). That was prophecy. Not words. That was prophecy, the prophecy that changes history.
Dear brothers and sisters, Jesus prophesied to Peter: “You are Peter and on this rock I will build my Church”. There is a similar prophecy for us too. It is found in the last book of the Bible, where Jesus promises his faithful witnesses “a white stone, on which a new name is written” (Rev 2:17). Just as the Lord turned Simon into Peter, so he is calling each one of us, in order to make us living stones with which to build a renewed Church and a renewed humanity. There are always those who destroy unity and stifle prophecy, yet the Lord believes in us and he asks you: “You, do you want to be a builder of unity? Do you want to be a prophet of my heaven on earth?” Brothers and Sisters, let us be challenged by Jesus, and find the courage to say to him: “Yes, I do!”
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Bending low to uplift the downtrodden is a win-win situation. Compassion, mercy, empathy, sympathy – empowers the receiver and enriches the giver.
“That we might have compassion on those whom we encounter along the way, above all on those who suffer and are in need, to draw near to them and do what we can do to give them a hand”. Francis when at his best addresses reality as we experience, leaving us with the pointed question, Do we see and touch the ones in need or is almsgiving purely incidental to satisfy our own need? We may assent to the truth in this, although truth may have a wider spectrum. Interior disposition a demarcation between caritas and convention, the latter the wealthy who contribute large sums for sake of appearance, perhaps prospect of appeasing God. inspired by the Holy Spirit seeks no reward other than the good. All acts of charity have teleological coherence with the Rule, who is God. The measure is the deliberative good intended evident in the act. If, like Francis, we undermine those principles that determine a good end, that end is manifestly obscure interiorly incoherent with the Rule, the beginning and end of all good acts. As Christ alludes, even criminals love those who love them. Even criminals are known to give to the poor for sake of show, a sense of self affirmation. Conscience is only valid when it is formed with knowledge of the good, that which is prescient within the soul, the natural law within, and revealed by God through and in his Son. A poorly formed conscience does not in this context find validity because of its selectivity, since all, that is, universally share the same human nature created in God’s image with the same inherent principles of determining good from evil. Added is a response [TCT] by Fr Gerald Murray to Pope Francis’ allusion to Archbishop Cordileone on Pastors not being pastoral: “Cordileone did nothing more than simply and courageously enforce canon law in view of the ‘salvation of souls, which in the Church must always be the supreme law.’ [canon 1752]. When he promulgated the Code of Canon Law in 1983, Pope St. John Paul II stated: We therefore, exhort all our beloved children to observe, with sincere mind and ready will, the precepts laid down, buoyed by the hope that a zealous Church discipline will flourish anew, and that from it the salvation of souls will be ever more fervently promoted, with the assistance of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the Church’” (Apostolic Constitution Sacrae disciplinae leges). In summary this is what remains the paramount issue with this pontificate, which has undermined for stated purpose of merciful love the inviolability of principles of justice that shape our right reason and form conscience. Charity then is not a throw blanket that warmly covers our sins. That idea is completely dispelled with Christ’s passion and death on the Cross.
Unable to comment on Sandra Miesel’s as usual informative historical account, this one The blessings and example of St Benedict, I’ll post here perhaps too not out of place.
What struck me were Ms Miesel’s references to miracles, which having been duly corrected [with a nuance of admonition] by her on the miracle of the Holy Eucharist at Bolsena, as having contributed to the celebration of the solemnity – that the alleged miracle had no influence on the institution of the solemnity. I’ve been careful since. Surprised [happily] today to find her listing in detail several miracles [not one] attributed to St Benedict. From a blessing that shattered a poisoned cup of wine, to bread poisoned by a local jealous pastor, apprehended as such by Benedict, who then orders a raven to carry it away into the wilderness, to seven dancing naked girls [around the hermitage] to tempt Benedict.
Seven! It would take only one to sorely test me. But then Benedict was a great saint. What marvels of proof of Benedict’s sanctity. I’m edified by Ms Miesel’s seeming change of heart on miracles. Perhaps she might reconsider the influence of the alleged one at Bolsena.