The Church, the True Reform
Simone Riva - “If we don't think Francis is the cure, it's because we don't understand the disease.” Taking up the challenge of these words, often repeated by Don Julián Carrón during the pontificate of Pope Francis, I learned to look with curiosity at the Pope's moves, which were certainly outside the patterns I was used to and in which I felt comfortable.
The Pope's first Apostolic Exhortation, Evangelii Gaudium, was a real breath of fresh air, not with respect to the past, but to a certain stale way of living the present, made up of the repetition of things that no one believes anymore, of words spoken without belief, of judgments made to eliminate others, of clear and well-rehearsed concepts that moved no one.
Right at the beginning of the Exhortation, we find one of the most poignant provocations: “I invite all Christians, in every place and situation, to renew their personal encounter with Jesus Christ, or at least to make the decision to let themselves be encountered by Him, to seek Him every day without ceasing. There is no reason why anyone should think that this invitation is not meant for them” (n. 3).
These days, the rhetoric of almost all the media is marked by the presentation of the Pope as if Christ had nothing to do with what has happened in recent years, as if the assistance of the Holy Spirit—certainly never automatic—had stopped at the moment of his election and were not instead a “today.” Instead, there is a common thread that has run through Pope Francis’ service to the Church and to every man and woman of our time: the preference of Christ for our lives.
The culmination of this story can be found in the latest encyclical, published last October, Dilexit Nos, which is like a final cry, a testament, a trumpet sounding in the deafening silence of the formalism of many, even those who have tried to use Francis and the Church.
The impetus of Evangelii Gaudium could not have found a more effective destination than Dilexit Nos, and an unstoppable relaunch for the future. Two pillars that will undoubtedly be a support and guide for the next successor of the Apostle Peter.
Regarding the election of the Pope in recent days, I reread what Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger said in 1997 when asked if it was the Holy Spirit who chose him: “I would not say so, in the sense that the Holy Spirit picks out the Pope. . . . I would say that the Spirit does not exactly take control of the affair, but rather like a good educator, as it were, leaves us much space, much freedom, without entirely abandoning us. Thus the Spirit’s role should be understood in a much more elastic sense, not that he dictates the candidate for whom one must vote. Probably the only assurance he offers is that the thing cannot be totally ruined. There are too many contrary instances of popes the Holy Spirit obviously would not have picked!”
The method of the “good educator” is what we see in the Easter episodes recounted in the Gospels these days. Jesus is deeply concerned that the event of his Passover should be repeated in the lives of those he meets, without rushing things and ensuring that the experience isn’t merely replaced by an explanation.
The story of the disciples of Emmaus is emblematic from this point of view: the mysterious Wayfarer even pretends not to know what happened in Jerusalem in the previous days, so as not to spare his interlocutors the journey of discovery.
Pope Francis followed the same path, identifying with those in front of him and giving himself all the time necessary for something new to truly enter people’s lives, not by force of words, but by an appeal that touches the most passionate part of a person. As he wrote in Dilexit Nos: “In this liquid world, it is necessary to speak again about the heart; to aim at the place where every person, of every category and condition, finds their synthesis; where concrete people have the source and root of all their other strengths, convictions, passions, and choices” (n. 9).
But we live in a society of serial consumers who live from day to day and are dominated by the rhythms and noises of technology, without much patience for the processes that interiority requires (Dilexit Nos, 9).
The temptation to replace with discourse and explanations is always around the corner, but as the great Charles Péguy wrote, quoted by Balthasar in Stili Laicali: “When we say that the Church has received eternal promises, we must strictly understand that she has received the promise never to succumb to her own aging, her hardening, her rigidity, her habit and her memory. The promise never to become dead wood and a dead soul. Never to succumb to its dossiers and its history. Never to succumb to the accumulation of its paperwork and the rigidity of its bureaucracy. And that saints will always spring forth anew” (Note Conjointe sur M. Descartes et la Philosophie Cartésienne, 1914).
For this reason, the only thing to ask for and expect is the grace of holiness, which is the true reform, because it is the reform of oneself. Perhaps this is what the Pope meant when he asked us to pray for him.
The adventure of the Church continues, within the events of the world, with the same relentless alternative that Francis himself outlined in his Christmas greetings to the Roman Curia for 2023 and which, in these days, seems more urgent than ever in the face of so much partisanship: “The difference is not between progressives and conservatives, but between those who are in love and those who are accustomed.”
Each of us can examine what we desire most for our lives and what is capable of responding to the yearning of our hearts. We can reflect on what has contributed to our own change thus far. The alternative is to continue not understanding what the disease is.
