Dear brothers and sisters,

We will continue to meditate on some parables of the Gospel, which are an opportunity to change perspective and open ourselves up to hope. The lack of hope, at times, is due to the fact that we fixate on a certain rigid and closed way of seeing things, and the parables help us to look at them from another point of view.

Today I would like to talk to you about an expert, knowledgeable person, a doctor of the Law, who however needs to change his perspective, because he is concentrated on himself and does not notice others (cf. Lk 10:25-37). Indeed, he questions Jesus on the way in which eternal life is “inherited”, using an expression that intends it as an unequivocal right. But behind this question perhaps it is precisely the need for attention that is concealed: the only word he asks Jesus to explain is the term “neighbour”, which literally means he who is near.

Jesus therefore tells a parable that is a path for transforming that question, to pass from who loves me? to who has loved? The first is an immature question, the second is the question of an adult who has understood the meaning of his life. The first question is the one we ask when we sit in the corner and wait, the second is the one that drives us to set out on the path.

The parable that Jesus tells has, in fact, a road as its setting, and it is a difficult and impervious road, like life. It is the road travelled by a man going down from Jerusalem, the city on the mountain, to Jericho, the city below sea level. It is an image that already foreshadows what might happen: it happens that the man is attacked, beaten, robbed and left half dead. It is the experience that happens when situations, people, sometimes even those we have trusted, take everything from us and leave us in the middle of the road.

However, life is made up of encounters, and in these encounters, we emerge for what we are. We find ourselves in front of others, faced with their fragility and weakness, and we can decide what to do: to take care of them or pretend nothing is wrong. A priest and a Levite go down that same road. They are people who serve in the Temple of Jerusalem, who live in the sacred space. And yet, the practice of worship does not automatically lead to being compassionate. Indeed, before being a religious matter, compassion is a question of humanity! Before being believers, we are called to be human.

We can imagine that, after staying a long time in Jerusalem, that priest and that Levite are in a hurry to return home. It is indeed haste, so present in our lives, that very often prevents us from feeling compassion. Those who think that their own journey must take precedence are not willing to stop for another.

But here comes someone who is actually able to stop: he is a Samaritan, hence a person belonging to a despised people (cf. 2 Kings 17). In his case, the text does not specify the direction, but only says that he was travelling. Religiosity does not enter into this. This Samaritan simply stops because he is a man faced with another man in need of help.

Compassion is expressed through practical gestures. The Evangelist Luke ponders the actions of the Samaritan, whom we call “good”, but in the text he is simply a person: a Samaritan approaches, because if you want to help someone, you cannot think of keeping your distance, you have to get involved, get dirty, perhaps be contaminated; he binds the wounds after cleaning them with oil and wine; he loads him onto his horse, taking on the burden, because one who truly helps if one is willing to feel the weight of the other’s pain; he takes him to an inn where he spends money, “two silver coins”, more or less two days of work; and he undertakes to return and eventually pay more, because the other is not a package to deliver, but someone to care for.

Dear brothers and sisters, when will we too be capable of interrupting our journey and having compassion? When we understand that the wounded man in the street represents each one of us. And then the memory of all the times that Jesus stopped to take care of us will make us more capable of compassion.

Let us pray, then, that we can grow in humanity, so that our relationships may be truer and richer in compassion. Let us ask the Heart of Jesus for the grace increasingly to have the same feelings as him.

In these days, my thoughts turn often to the Ukrainian people, affected by serious new attacks against civilians and infrastructure. I assure all the victims, in particular children and families, of my closeness and my prayer.

I strongly reiterate my appeal to stop the war and to support every initiative of dialogue and peace. I ask everyone to join in prayer for peace in Ukraine and wherever there is suffering because of war.

From the Gaza Strip, the cry of mothers, of fathers rise ever more intensely to Heaven, as they  hold the lifeless bodies of their children and who are continually forced to move in search of a little food and safer shelter from bombings.

I renew my appeal to the leaders: cease fire, release all hostages, fully respect humanitarian law. 

Mary Queen of Peace, pray for us.

I am happy to welcome the English-speaking pilgrims and visitors taking part in today’s Audience, especially those coming from England, Scotland, Norway, Ghana, Kenya, Australia, China, Hong Kong, India, Indonesia, Myanmar, the Philippines, South Korea, Taiwan, Vietnam, Canada and the United States of America.  As we prepare to commemorate the Lord’s Ascension into Heaven, I pray that each of you and your families may experience a renewal of hope and joy. God bless you all!

Finally, my thoughts go to the young people, the sick and the newlyweds. Thinking of the imminent Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord, I encourage each one to spread and witness, like the Apostles, the Gospel of Christ. My blessing to all!

28.05.25