Below is the text from Pope Francis’ homily on Sept. 4, 2022, in St. Peter’s Square, on the occasion of the beatification of Pope John Paul I.
Jesus is making his approach to Jerusalem, and today’s Gospel tells us that “large crowds were travelling with him” (Lk 24:25). To travel with Jesus means to follow him, to turn out to be his disciples. Yet, the Lord’s message to those people was not exactly appealing; the truth is, it was quite demanding: whoever doesn’t love him greater than his or her circle of relatives, whoever doesn’t carry the cross, whoever stays attached to earthly goods, can’t be his disciple (cf. vv. 26-27.33). Why does Jesus say this stuff to the crowds? What do these admonitions mean? Allow us to try to reply these questions.
First, we see an important crowd of individuals following Jesus. We will imagine that many were attracted by his words, astonished on the things he did, and saw him as a source of hope for the longer term. What would any teacher of that point or, for that matter, what would any astute leader do, seeing that his or her words and charisma attract crowds and increase his or her popularity? The identical thing happens today, at times of private or societal crisis, once we are especially prey to feelings of anger or we fear things that threaten our future. We turn out to be more susceptible and thus, on the tide of emotion, we glance to those that can shrewdly reap the benefits of the situation, benefiting from society’s fears and promising to be the “saviour” who can solve all its problems, whereas in point of fact they’re searching for wider approval and for greater power, based on the impression they make, their ability to have things in hand.
God doesn’t exploit our needs or use our vulnerability for his own aggrandizement. He doesn’t wish to seduce us with deceptive guarantees or to distribute low cost favours; he isn’t interested by huge crowds.
The Gospel tells us that this isn’t Jesus’ way. God’s style is different. It is necessary to know God’s style, how he acts. God acts in response to a mode, and God’s style is different from that of certain people, since he doesn’t exploit our needs or use our vulnerability for his own aggrandizement. He doesn’t wish to seduce us with deceptive guarantees or to distribute low cost favours; he isn’t interested by huge crowds. He isn’t obsessive about numbers; he doesn’t seek approval; he doesn’t idolize personal success. Quite the opposite, he appears to be anxious when people follow him with giddy excitement and enthusiasm. Because of this, as an alternative of yielding to the allure of recognition – for popularity is alluring – he asks every person to discern fastidiously their reason for following him and the results that it’s going to entail. For a lot of in those crowds might need been following Jesus because they hoped he could be a pacesetter who could set them free from their enemies, someone who, once in power, could share that power with them, or someone who by performing miracles could make hunger and disease disappear. We will follow the Lord for any variety of reasons. A few of these, it should be acknowledged, are worldly. An ideal religious exterior can serve to cover the mere satisfaction of 1’s own needs, the search of private prestige, the need for a certain social status or to maintain things under control, the thirst for power and privilege, the need for recognition and so forth. This happens even nowadays amongst Christians. Yet that isn’t the kind of Jesus. That can not be the kind of his disciples and of his Church. If anyone follows Jesus with this type of self-interest, she or he has taken the improper path.
The Lord demands a distinct attitude. To follow him doesn’t mean to turn out to be a part of a court or a triumphal procession, and even to receive a lifetime insurance policy. Quite the opposite, it means “carrying one’s cross” (Lk 14:27): shouldering, like him, one’s own burdens and people of others, making one’s life a present, not a possession, spending it in imitation of his own generous and merciful love for us. These are decisions that engage the totality of our lives. Because of this, Jesus desires that his disciples prefer nothing to this love, even their deepest affections and biggest treasures.
To do that, we’d like to look to him greater than to ourselves, to learn how you can love, and to learn this from the Crucified One. In him, we see the love that bestows itself to the very end, without measure and without limits. The measure of affection is to like without measure. Within the words of Pope John Paul, “we’re the objects of undying love on the a part of God” (Angelus, 10 September 1978). An undying love: it never sinks beneath the horizon of our lives; it shines upon us and illumines even our darkest nights. After we gaze upon the Crucified Lord, we’re called to the heights of that love, to be purified of our distorted ideas of God and of our self-absorption, and to like God and others, in Church and society, including those that don’t see things as we do, to like even our enemies.
Pope John Paul managed to speak the goodness of the Lord. How beautiful is a Church with a completely satisfied, serene and smiling face, a Church that never closes doors, never hardens hearts.
To like even at the fee of sacrifice, silence, misunderstanding, solitude, resistance and persecution. To like in this fashion, even at this price, because, as Blessed John Paul I also said, if you need to kiss Jesus crucified, “you can not help bending over the cross and letting yourself be pricked by a number of thorns of the crown on the Lord’s head” (General Audience, 27 September 1978). A love that perseveres to the top, thorns and all: no leaving things half done, no cutting corners, no fleeing difficulties. If we fail to aim high, if we refuse to take risks, if we content ourselves with a watered-down faith, we’re, as Jesus says, like those that wish to construct a tower but don’t estimate the fee; they “lay the foundations”, but then are “not in a position to finish the work” (v. 29). If the fear of losing ourselves makes us stop giving ourselves, we leave things undone: our relationships and work, our responsibilities and commitments, our dreams and even our faith. After which we find yourself living life halfway – and the way many individuals live life halfway, and we also regularly are tempted to live life halfway – without ever taking the decisive step – that is what it means to live life halfway – without ever chickening out, without ever taking risks for the great, and without ever truly committing ourselves to helping others. Jesus asks us precisely this: live the Gospel and you’ll live your life, not halfway but to the complete. Live the Gospel, live life, with no compromises.
Dear brothers and sisters, our recent Blessed lived that way: in the enjoyment of the Gospel, without compromises, loving to the very end. He embodied the poverty of the disciple, which isn’t only detachment from material goods, but in addition victory over the temptation to place oneself on the centre, to hunt one’s own glory. Quite the opposite, following the instance of Jesus, he was a meek and humble pastor. He considered himself as dust on which God deigned to write down (cf. A. LUCIANI/JOHN PAUL I, Opera Omnia, Padua, 1988, vol. II, 11). That’s the reason he could say: “The Lord really helpful it a lot: be humble. Even when you will have done great things, say: ‘We’re useless servants’” (General Audience, 6 September 1978).
With a smile, Pope John Paul managed to speak the goodness of the Lord. How beautiful is a Church with a completely satisfied, serene and smiling face, a Church that never closes doors, never hardens hearts, never complains or harbours resentment, doesn’t grow indignant or impatient, doesn’t look dour or suffer nostalgia for the past, falling into an attitude of going backwards. Allow us to pray to him, our father and our brother, and ask him to acquire for us “the smile of the soul”, a transparent smile that doesn’t deceive, the smile of the soul. Allow us to pray, in his own words: “Lord take me as I’m, with my defects, with my shortcomings, but make me turn out to be what you would like me to be” (General Audience, 13 September 1978). Amen
[Read next: “Pope Francis beatifies John Paul I, the ‘smiling pope’ who governed the church for 33 days in 1978.”]