Paolo
Cugini
I was hungry and you gave me
food (Mt 25 35).
Listen, O people, for the time
of the superfluous has come to an end and the hour of the essential knocks at
the gates of history. Let us seek no further, let us not accumulate rivers of
words or treatises that weigh like stones on our consciences. It is all here,
and nothing will be added that is not already written in the beating of the
human heart.
The days will come, and these
are already here, when the great cathedrals of thought will crumble to pieces
before a single fragment of humanity. The Gospel is not a doctrine to be
learned, but a path of exodus. It is the forced exit from the desert of selfishness,
the mastery of that instinct that whispers to us to survive alone, enclosed
within the confines of our petty problems, blind to everything else.
The Mystery of Mysteries is
not hidden in impenetrable heavens, but is contained in a gesture that shakes
the foundations of the world: feeding the hungry. Let us look to the Son of
Man: He did not reveal His divinity in the brilliance of lightning, but in the
dust of the ground, washing the feet, embracing the wounded flesh of the leper,
becoming a caress for the sick. This is the prophecy we must embody: the path
of humanization is the only true path to divinization. There is no God without
man, without woman; there is no divine light that does not pass through our
bowed hands.
Here is the great revelation
that the world does not want to hear: In every hungry person who meets our
gaze, in every persecuted person who knocks on our door, in the refugee who has
no country and in the stranger who has no face, the Mystery dwells. Jesus cried
out to the centuries: "I was hungry, I was thirsty, I was naked."
Every time we bend down to the outcasts of the earth, we will not only touch
human flesh, but we will encounter the Mystery. And that encounter will leave a
mark that no forgetfulness can erase.
Let us abandon theologies of
detachment. Let us embrace the only doctrine that saves: the experience of the
Mystery occurs in welcoming the stranger. May our worship be truth, not smoke;
may our liturgies be a listening ear that opens the heart. Because the truth of
what we celebrate on the altar will only be seen in the way we walk alongside
the least.
He who has ears to hear, let
him hear: the light of the Mystery dwells within us, but it will shine only
when we become bread for the hungry.
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