Homily of Pope Francis

The Word of God helps us today to pray through three characters: in Jesus' parable, the Pharisee and the tax collector pray; in the first reading, we speak of the prayer of the poor.

1. The Pharisee's prayer begins: "My God, I give you thanks." This is a very good beginning because the best prayer is the prayer of gratitude, the prayer of praise. But we immediately see the reason why he gives thanks: "because I am not like other men" (Lk 18:11). And he also explains the reason: he fasts twice a week, whereas it was obligatory only once a year; he gives a tenth of everything he has, whereas the tithe was prescribed only for the most important produce (cf. Deut 14:22ff). In short, he boasts because he fulfills particular precepts to the best of his ability. But he forgets the greatest one: to love God and neighbor (cf. Mt 22:36-40). Too sure of himself, of his ability to observe the commandments, of his merits and virtues, he is self-centered. The tragedy of this man is that he is devoid of love. But even the best things, without love, are useless, as Saint Paul says (cf. 1 Cor 13). And without love, what is the result? In the end, instead of praying, he praises himself. In fact, he asks nothing of the Lord because he doesn't feel needy or indebted, but rather he feels entitled. He is in the temple of God, but he practices the religion of self. And so many "illustrious" groups, so many "Catholic Christians," are on this path!

And besides forgetting God, he forgets his neighbor, or rather, he despises him: for him, his neighbor is vile, worthless. He considers himself superior to others, whom he literally calls “the remnants, the leftovers” (“loipoi,” Luke 18:11). That is to say, they are “leftovers,” refuse from which one must distance oneself. How often do we see this dynamic at work in life and in history! How often does the one who is in the lead, like the Pharisee in relation to the tax collector, not erect walls to increase the distance, making others even more like refuse? Or, by considering them backward and vile, he despises their traditions, erases their histories, occupies their territories, and usurps their property. How many supposed superiorities transform into oppression and exploitation, even today—we saw this during the Synod when we spoke of the exploitation of creation, of people, of the populations of the Amazon, of human trafficking, of the trade in people! The mistakes of the past have not been enough to stop us from destroying others and inflicting wounds on our brothers and our sister Earth: we saw this in the disfigured face of the Amazon. The religion of self continues, hypocritical with its rites and “prayers”—many people are Catholic, declare themselves Catholic, but have forgotten to be Christians and human beings—it forgets the true worship of God, which always comes through love of neighbor. Even Christians who pray and go to Mass on Sunday are followers of this religion of self. We can examine ourselves inwardly to see if, even for us, someone is inferior, disposable, even if only in words. Let us pray for the grace not to consider ourselves superior, not to believe we are above the law, not to become cynical and mocking. Let us ask Jesus to heal us of the tendency to speak ill of and complain about others, of the tendency to despise someone: these are things that displease God. And providentially, today, not only the indigenous people of the Amazon, but also the poorest members of developed societies, our sick brothers and sisters of the L'Arche Community, are joining us at this Mass. They are with us, in the front row.

2. Let us turn to the other prayer. The tax collector's prayer, on the contrary, helps us understand what pleases God. He does not begin with his merits, but with his shortcomings; not with his wealth, but with his poverty: this is not economic poverty—tax collectors were rich and even earned unjustly, at the expense of their fellow citizens—but he feels a poverty of life, because one never lives well in sin. This man who exploits others recognizes his poverty before God, and the Lord hears his prayer, made up simply of seven words but expressing true sentiments. In fact, while the Pharisee was standing in front (cf. v. 11), the tax collector stands at a distance and “does not even lift up his eyes to heaven,” because he believes that Heaven exists and is vast, while he feels small. And “he beats his breast” (cf. v. 13), because in the breast there is the heart. His prayer springs precisely from the heart, it is transparent: he places his heart before God, not appearances. To pray is to allow oneself to be seen from within by God—it is God who looks at me when I pray—without pretense, without excuses, without justifications. We often laugh at repentance filled with justifications. More than repentance, it resembles self-canonization. Indeed, opacity and falsehood—these are the justifications—come from the devil; from God, light and truth, comes the transparency of my heart. It was beautiful, and I am very grateful to you, dear Synod Fathers and Brothers, for having engaged in dialogue during these weeks, wholeheartedly, with sincerity and frankness, placing our weariness and hopes before God and our brothers.

Today, by looking at the tax collector, we rediscover where to begin: with the conviction that we all need salvation. This is the first step in the religion of God, who is merciful to those who recognize their own wretchedness. Conversely, the root of all spiritual failing, as the ancient monks taught, is believing oneself to be righteous. To consider oneself righteous is to leave God, the only righteous one, out of the house. This initial attitude is so important that Jesus illustrates it for us with a paradoxical comparison, placing together in the parable the most pious and devout person of the time, the Pharisee, and the quintessential public sinner, the tax collector. And the judgment is reversed: the one who is good but presumptuous fails; the one who is wicked but humble is exalted by God. If we examine ourselves honestly, we see both the tax collector and the Pharisee within ourselves. We are a little bit like tax collectors, because we are sinners, and a little bit like Pharisees, because we are presumptuous, capable of justifying ourselves, champions of artificial justifications! With others, this often works, but not with God. With God, this method doesn't work. Let us pray for the grace to feel that we need mercy, that we are inwardly poor. This is also why it does us good to spend time with the poor, to remind us of our own poverty, to remind us that it is only in an atmosphere of inner poverty that God's salvation works.

3. We thus come to the prayer of the poor, from the first reading. This prayer, says Ben Sira the Wise, “pierces the clouds” (35:21). While the prayer of the self-righteous remains on the ground, crushed by the gravitational forces of selfishness, the prayer of the poor rises directly to God. The sense of faith of God’s people has seen in the poor “the gatekeepers of Heaven”: this sensus fidei that is missing in the Pharisee’s declaration. It is they who will open wide or not the gates of eternal life for us, they who did not see themselves as masters in this life, who did not put themselves before others, who had their wealth only in God. They are living icons of Christian prophecy.

During this Synod, we have had the grace to listen to the voices of the poor and to reflect on the precariousness of their lives, threatened by predatory development models. And yet, precisely in this situation, many have testified to us that it is possible to see reality differently, welcoming it with open hands as a gift, considering creation not as a means to be exploited, but as a home to be protected, trusting in God. He is Father and, as Ben Sira the Wise says, “he hears the prayer of the oppressed” (v. 16). And often, even within the Church, the voices of the poor are not heard, or are even mocked or silenced because they are inconvenient. Let us pray for the grace to know how to listen to the cry of the poor: it is the cry of hope of the Church. The cry of the poor is the cry of hope of the Church. By making their cry our own, our prayer, too, we are certain, will pierce the clouds.

MASS FOR THE CONCLUSION

OF THE SYNOD OF BISHOPS

PAPAL CHAPEL

HOMILY OF POPE FRANCIS

Vatican Basilica

30th Sunday in Ordinary Time,

October 27, 2019

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