One is then led to wonder whether this sense of wonder – Cardinal Jean-Marc Aveline said he wept at the sight of people flocking to the Champs-Élysées – might not also stem from the fact that, for far too many years, the belief was that a revival could be fostered not by nurturing the true spirit of the People of God – those who sing the ‘Salve Regina’ whenever they can and who make their way to the Grotto of Massabielle – but rather by setting up colossal synodal projects, convening endless assemblies on pastoral plans, training and development. By organising synods on synodality of infinite duration, longer than councils themselves and with vague, predictable and utopian content. Projects and groups, circles and workshops. All intent on discussing vertical and horizontal synodality, and the never-ending involvement of the laity. Things that interest no one, save for niche groups of theologians in search of lost time, sociologists convinced they are still in the twilight of the 1960s, and the odd radical priest who claims priests are unnecessary. Could this finally be the moment when it is realised that the Church cannot be reformed by sitting round a table writing documents that almost no one will ever read? A very clear signal has come from the heart of French Catholicism. 

A year ago, St Peter’s Square was packed with crowds to welcome the new Pope Leo; there is still a queue of young people at the Sanctuary of the Renunciation in Assisi, where he lies buried in a glass coffin, wearing his trainers and polo shirt. Is this possible?

Thus, it went almost unnoticed—a quick glance at the press review reveals only Catholic publications that reported the figure with great enthusiasm—even the record viewing figures with which a large part of Italy welcomed "Il mio nome è Carlo", Giacomo Campiotti’s film about the life of Carlo Acutis, which Canale 5 broadcast last Sunday (a Mediaset production) and which was watched by 4,269,000 viewers, achieving a 29.6 per cent share – the highest of the evening. Peaks reached 40 per cent share—figures usually reserved for the national football team or De Martino’s Pacchi—and the performance among young viewers was particularly notable, with 32.6 per cent of the 15–34 age group tuning in. What can one say? Surely they were not all ‘Acutis boys’, those from the World Youth Day. All this amid a silence so profound it makes no sound at all.

What was the film like? Giacomo Campiotti, a humanist director, has, throughout his career, treated us to fine films in which the human element takes centre stage, as well as television works often aimed at young people, such as "Braccialetti rossi", and a specialisation in biopics of saints, including "Bakhita – The African Saint", "Giuseppe Moscati – The Love That Heals", and "Saint Philip Neri" starring Gigi Proietti. He hasn’t strayed from the right path this time either, even though television productions and a mainstream audience are, by definition, limiting: everything must be explained, yet at the same time nothing more than necessary should be said. Emotion is just around the corner, but the ‘saintly’ image is kept in check. For those familiar with the streets of Carlo’s Milan – the flower-filled Piazza Tommaseo and the Church of Santa Maria Segreta, the parish he attended and where one of his relics is now kept – in short, the upper-middle-class Milan of the city centre, the Marcelline school, the Jesuit grammar school just a stone’s throw away – the images have a curious documentary-film feel to them. Yet the film avoids excessive hagiography (we have seen far worse); after all, ever since the days of Maria Goretti and Cielo sulla Palude, intellectual film critics have taught us that ‘one is only a saint in hindsight’ – never to exaggerate.

It was to be expected that many would watch Il mio nome è Carlo. But perhaps not quite so many. It is one of those rare instances where social media and television intersect that deserves a bit of a surprise; but ‘everything conspires to keep us silent’, as Rilke lamented. What remains are the repetitive reports on the ‘millennial saint’, the ‘patron saint of the internet’. Campiotti’s film is wise not to dwell on these aspects, which are, on closer inspection, superficial and non-essential. It tells, with extreme simplicity, the story of a child and a teenager, his direct and sincere friendships, and the many acts of charity that seem almost impossible at that age. A boy who was drawn to, led by, and loved by Someone he could not even have imagined. “Sadness is looking inwards; happiness is looking towards God.” “The Eucharist is my motorway to heaven.” These are words one cannot utter on one’s own, not even as an adult. And yet they were truly spoken, and they drew his friends and schoolmates along with him. And then many other young people.

It is the strange story of Carlo Acutis. But it has something in common with the catechumens of France, with the young people who sang the Salve Regina in Latin to the amazement of many. An unexpected event, which one is tempted to brush aside. After all, when one does not know what to say, it is better to remain silent. And yet one cannot help but be amazed. At least a little. At least for the sake of the ratings.

A law and a principle that prevent a president from attending a papal mass and which, on a more mundane level – as is customary in December news coverage in our newspapers – make it impossible for some local mayors to give the go-ahead for a nativity scene to be set up in a public square. Strict secularism clashes with a world moving in a completely different direction, where religion has returned with a vengeance to dominate cultural debate and, not infrequently in a dangerous manner, the political arena. In France, over the last two decades, it was the exponential growth of Islam – and its radicalisation – that set the pace of the debate: the banlieues, the ghetto neighbourhoods, the mosques, the prayer centres. This has fuelled Le Pen’s far-right movement, which today courts the Catholic electorate, even though Marine Le Pen – a staunch secularist – voted to enshrine the right to abortion in the Constitution.

There was no longer any mention of Catholics, however. France, by tradition the eldest daughter of the Church, had buried its own history beneath a slab of marble. Rejecting it. At the turn of the millennium, Valéry Giscard-d’Estaing, who was himself a Catholic, ignored John Paul II’s plea to include a reference to Europe’s Judeo-Christian roots in the Preamble to the European Constitution. ‘Better not,’ replied the President of the Convention: ‘Times have changed; now is the time for neutrality. It’s not Schuman’s world any more!’ Those were the years when the courts ordered the removal of crosses in the Pyrenees because they were a recognisable sign of religious affiliation, and when there were lengthy debates over whether the crosses on ancient municipal banners were still permitted to remain. Then, one afternoon, Notre-Dame caught fire, and some French people saw in that blaze and in the falling spire a wound to their very identity. That moment of realisation was short-lived, but it left a legacy.

Catholic and deeply Marian France re-emerged with great vigour the moment the Pope set foot at Orly Airport, accompanied by the festive ringing of every bell in the republic. At Notre-Dame that afternoon, Leo was moved to tears as the dense crowd shouted “Merci” – thank you – at him. Thank you for giving voice once more to that need for community which they felt had been crushed and somewhat mocked by the remnants of that antiquated anti-clericalism, typical of French academics horrified that the Roman Pontiff had been allowed to celebrate Mass at the Place de la Concorde, where the heads of priests and sovereigns once fell beneath the blade of Monsieur Guillotin. Observers had expected 600,000 faithful, but a further 200,000 turned up—not for a concert, but for a Mass. The Champs-Élysées were thronged with pilgrims, and priests were hearing confessions in the street, seated on pavements or camping chairs. The Italian newspapers were somewhat distracted, busy seeking links, consistencies and discontinuities with previous pontificates, amidst a resurgence of traditionalism, evergreen environmentalism, hospitality and so on. The French newspapers, on the other hand, immediately grasped what was happening. From Le Monde, which, right from the Pope’s first speech at the Élysée, noted a clear spirit—one might say evangelical—in his ‘Yes, Yes’, No No, in his statements on secularism and the Catholic presence in the public sphere (“Offensif”, as the prestigious daily put it in its headline), right through to Le Figaro, which gauged the enthusiasm of a people ready to celebrate. Moreover, observers across the Alps realised that, as Le Figaro itself wrote, “the impact of Leo XIV is immense and extends far beyond the Catholic Church. The Church had been awaiting his arrival, a source of comfort in these times of moral and spiritual crisis. But today, French society as a whole welcomes an authoritative figure who gives meaning to life – that is to say, a sense of direction”. Even Macron realised this, and at the last minute chose to be part of the celebrations by attending Mass in Metz.

There were political speeches and references to local issues – euthanasia above all – but the Pope always returned to that ‘something’ we are seeking. ‘Seeing you gathered here, dear brothers and sisters, heirs to a long and beautiful history of holiness in France, I say to you: draw, in turn, from this source which is the pierced Heart of Jesus. Yes, you thirst for God, for life, for truth, for unity, for peace, for communion, for happiness. You long to rediscover a radiant horizon, to build a renewed nation starting from its roots nourished by faith. Do not keep your faith in Jesus Christ solely for yourselves, but let it overflow to quench the thirst and satisfy the people you meet. It is up to you to bring hope where discouragement and spiritual aridity reign’. Leone did not opt for the ‘youth-oriented’ tone that is, alas, typical of many bishops who, in every corner of the world, are seeking in good faith strategies to prevent entire generations from drifting away after Confirmation (when it is actually celebrated). No TikTok slang: the Pope has opted for words that are very traditional, yet ever-living: “Dear young people, every person’s religious experience expresses this search for meaning that inspires the human soul. In Jesus, the Redeemer of the world, God makes himself known by speaking to people as to friends: He is the source of living water, the light in the darkness. In the joy of faith, therefore, let us exclaim together this evening: for us, to live is Christ!”. Jean-Marie Guenois wrote that “rarely has a Pope been so radical in his appeal to the spiritual imperative of conversion. The homily delivered during Mass at Lourdes on Sunday morning appears to be one of the most powerful of this young pontificate. It is addressed in particular to practising Catholics, but it is also, in the spirit of the Successor of Peter, a spiritual and mystical response to the recent French law on euthanasia”. He spoke of conversion and penance, the requests that the Virgin made of Bernadette Soubirous in 1858. On Sunday evening, as the torchlight procession drew to a close in Lourdes, the Pope said, “How moving it is to see the faithful, from generation to generation, responding with love and trust to the tender invitation of the Virgin Mary. How comforting it is to hear Christians singing hymns full of fervour and faith, and walking, with a light in their hands, towards their Heavenly Mother, the Mother whom Jesus gave us on the Cross. I give thanks to the Lord that I, too, may respond this evening to our Mother’s call by becoming a pilgrim amongst pilgrims”. Some might call this traditional, old-fashioned and outdated language. Perhaps even pre-conciliar. In reality, it is the realisation that the fervour shown during those four days in France is aimed at finding that ‘something’ which is ceaselessly sought.

The circumstances surrounding Werfel and his wife’s escape from occupied Paris bear no resemblance to those of the thousands of French agnostics – or even those of the old republican anti-clericalist persuasion – who witnessed Pope Prevost’s visit. One factor, however, unites them: it is the surprise, perhaps even the sense of wonder, at an unexpected event. They were simply struck by the sight of the crowds who welcomed Leo, prayed with him, and the young people who sang in Latin with him. Franz Werfel experienced the same sense of amazement. A secular Jew with humanitarian and pacifist convictions, he had neither knowledge of nor interest in the history he was about to encounter. “Since the famous city was just thirty kilometres away, we were advised to give it a go and knock on its gates.” They let us in.

“In this way, Providence led me to Lourdes, whose marvellous history I had not previously had even the faintest notion of.” He was amazed by that place, tucked away beneath the mountains, full of convents and hostels for the sick. They remained in hiding for seven weeks. During those days, Werfel began to learn about the history of the apparitions; he discovered the Grotto of Massabielle and the life of Bernadette Soubirous. He was deeply moved. He was even more struck by the fact that such an extraordinary story was almost unknown to much of the world. So he made a vow: if they ever managed to flee to America, ‘before any other work, I would sing Bernadette’s song as best I could’. And so it was that in 1941, in New York, he wrote "The Song of Bernadette". It became a great success; in 1943, it was adapted into a film, Henry King’s hagiographic melodrama, which was so different from Werfel’s clear, sympathetic yet never doctrinal narrative.

In the introduction to the first edition, in which he recounts the dramatic discovery of Lourdes, he writes: “The sceptical reader, faced with the events narrated here, may ask with even greater justification than in the case of historical epics: ‘What is true? What is invented?’. I reply: all the remarkable events that make up the content of this book actually took place. They began no more than eighty years ago and therefore unfold in the full light of history; their truth is attested to, in faithful testimony, by friends, enemies and impartial observers. My account does not in the slightest alter this truth’.” Werfel did not convert. He merely wished to bear witness to a surprise, which was also the discovery of another faith and another France – such as the rural France of the Pyrenees in the mid-nineteenth century, not too dissimilar to the one that welcomed him on the banks of the Gave. “I dared to sing Bernadette’s song, I who am not a Catholic but a Jew.” Like many commentators—those not primarily concerned with defending the status quo—who have felt the backlash of a strange discovery. (Bernadette’s song is published by Gallucci).

It is typically Augustinian to observe the looming barbarism at close quarters, yet with a mystical eye on the City of God and a measured indulgence towards the vices of the earthly city. In Metz, Leone spoke as head of the Church and as a statesman; he paid due homage to the Church’s opposition to the war industry and rearmament plans, yet without failing to denounce pacifism as ‘naive irenism’, far removed from the call for surrender directed at the victim of aggression and from the culture of reversing responsibility in the Ukrainian war, not to mention the famous ‘courage of the white flag’. He lacked the heavenly complexity or theological subtlety of Benedict XVI when the latter—himself a pure-bred Augustinian—reconstructed the cultural and spiritual genesis of Europe in his address at the Collège des Bernardins (September 2008), but, on the other hand, he possessed the character of a man of balance who sought to redeem his Church from populist experimentation, reaffirming – as far as possible, in a world that has turned 180 degrees on the ethical foundations of its own culture of life and love – principles that are no longer shouted from the rooftops but remain non-negotiable. It is often said that style is the man himself, and the Leonine style is moderation, the spirit that reflects upon and allows things to mature—a quality which, after the prolonged stagnation of recent decades, faithful bishops, cardinals and priests evidently felt the need for.

Leone seemed at ease in a setting marked by the presence of economic and political Europe and its authorities, and by the memory of one of its founding fathers, the man from Lorraine who envisaged the coal and steel of a renewed Franco-German community as the building blocks for the Cathedral of the alliance – rediscovered and revitalised in the midst of war. It was striking—especially after the contentious and hostile estrangement between Francis’s Church and Europe and the West—to witness the fluid ritual of a shift in tone and content, conciliatory and effusive, in the papal rhetoric dedicated to this strange creation of governments, bureaucracies, banks, institutions, procedures and technocracies, the Union that did not adopt a Constitution and did not recognise the Christian roots of its civil origins. He smiled calmly at President Macron, the secular liberal whom his venerable predecessor would gladly have bitten.

This visit therefore takes on particular significance in today’s France, a country often riven by tensions. The Church’s demonstration of unity also appears as a moment of cohesion for the country as a whole, a dimension reinforced by the appeal that emerged from the interfaith meeting in Metz. The spirituality and sense of shared purpose that were palpable during the Mass in Place de la Concorde in Paris and on the lawn of the sanctuary at Lourdes illustrate a France that is far more peaceful than is usually portrayed. This raises questions about the potential consequences for political life in general, and more specifically for the presidential campaign. The long weekend marking Pope Leo’s visit was also characterised by a kind of political truce, giving the impression of a pause for reflection amidst the usual deluge of political skirmishes. The Mass in Paris was attended by the main centre and right-wing presidential candidates: Frédéric Attal, Édouard Philippe, Bruno Retailleau, Marine Le Pen and Éric Zemmour, not to mention numerous prominent figures such as Prime Minister Sébastien Lecornu, Nicolas Sarkozy, François Fillon and Dominique de Villepin. Emmanuel Macron, for his part, attended the Mass in Metz. The absence of left-wing leaders, moreover, highlights the significance of secular culture, a long-standing feature in a country that has long been divided on religious issues.

The Pope’s visit sought to combine an appeal to the nation’s Christian heritage – emphasising the figures of French saints during the evening event with young people in Saint-Denis – with a defence of a European Union open to universality, understood as a means of overcoming clashes between national or religious identities. The perspective is therefore clearly pro-European, with an emphasis also on the value of European institutions – a message that may appear to mark a dividing line between the traditional right and the Rassemblement National, which has always pursued a nationalist line. Immediately, Vincent Bolloré’s media outlets—at the heart of an ultra-conservative project—sought to sidestep the reference to a universalist pro-European stance, which clashes with their own Eurosceptic political narrative. Yet the Pope’s words are crystal clear, and even this social and political faction will be unable to ignore the positive mark the Pontiff has made not only on Europe but also on the institutional path of the European Union. This form of cognitive dissonance may not lead them to change their vote in the presidential election, but it could bring about a shift in the way they view Europe – a vision the Pope has reaffirmed as indispensable for Catholics, whether in France or elsewhere.

‘Realism and courage’ are needed; the yearning for peace must be safeguarded and nurtured, and it would be unthinkable for a Pope who has made unarmed and disarming peace his post-election slogan not to say so. However, we must look deeper, beyond the street marches amidst shrouds staged for the cameras and appearances on evening talk shows: “The pursuit of peace in Europe, as in the rest of the world, must not be confused with a naïve irenicism. On the contrary, Schuman’s words are more relevant than ever: ‘World peace cannot be safeguarded without creative efforts commensurate with the dangers that threaten it’”. At the same time, the Pope reiterates his rejection of rearmament, which he describes as an “illusion”: “Promoting peace is an active endeavour” and “today we must ask ourselves whether we are truly making ‘creative efforts’ to promote world peace, or whether we are simply trying to ‘stem the tide of war’ and better prepare ourselves for those we presume are yet to come”. Here, with all due respect, one might point out that the principle is sound and even sacrosanct, but that to engage in dialogue as Schuman hoped, there would need to be at least two parties involved: Emmanuel Macron, in his speech, spoke of Russian aggression against Ukraine. Dialogue is possible with Zelensky, the victim of that aggression. The one who says ‘ni’et’ is a few thousand kilometres further north, along the Moskva River. The Europe outlined by the Pontiff of Chicago is Christian: “One cannot therefore speak of Europe without mentioning Christianity. Robert Schuman was well aware of this when he stated: ‘Christianity has taught the inherent equality of all men, children of the same God, redeemed by the same Christ, without distinction of race, colour, class or profession. It has led to the recognition of the dignity of work and the obligation for all to engage in it. It has recognised the primacy of inner values which, alone, ennoble humankind. The universal law of love and charity has made every person our neighbour, and it is upon this that social relations in the Christian world have been based ever since”.

In Metz too, the Pope returned to the subject of secularism, one of the key themes that dominated his triumphant visit to France. On this occasion, he cited Article 17 of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union, which encourages ‘an open, transparent and regular dialogue with the Churches’. This is significant because “the secularism that governs the life of states does not merely imply the non-denominational nature of civil institutions, but presupposes genuine collaboration between the parties, as well as respect, on the part of state and EU authorities, for the autonomy of the Churches and the promotion of their freedom of organisation, expression and worship”. Ultimately, Leone said, “it is a matter of returning to the source of the values that form the foundation of civil coexistence, namely the universal values of the inviolable and inalienable rights of the person, freedom, democracy, equality and the rule of law”. After Mass in Metz Cathedral (which the President also attended, despite his presence not having been originally planned), the Pope set off for Rome. He was seen off by Macron and his wife, a squadron of hussars and the gentle sunset over the Moselle.

But what ‘privileged caste’? These days, cardinals are like stressed-out company CEOs. Meetings, appointments, interviews, insults

But what about today? In the collective imagination, the cardinal is the ‘powerful one’. Someone who, essentially, does nothing. Rich, incredibly rich, wandering about all day in an ermine-trimmed robe. Myths to dispel. First and foremost, cardinals do work: they are either heads of dioceses (certainly not an enviable role) or of some department within the Curia. When they retire, at seventy-five or thereabouts, the drama often begins. The A4-sized diaries, once full of notes, invitations and dinners, celebrations and meetings, remain empty. In the morning, they get up, recite the breviary, say Mass (not all of them) and then stay at home. Some dig out the pile of unread books, those set aside for retirement. But even this grows tiresome, and the volumes remain there, on desks and coffee tables, alongside reams of unused Post-it notes and bundles of letterhead where the only thing written is the letterhead itself, bearing titles and a coat of arms (for those who have one). One waits for an invitation to a patron saint’s festival five hundred kilometres away. Vespers or Mass, or both. To see people, talk, forge relationships. Perhaps to rekindle that inspiration for the people which was not properly nurtured during the Roaring Twenties. When an appointment does come up—perhaps a journalist seeking an audience to discuss Fatima or Częstochowa—the cardinal ends up retying the threads of his own history, perhaps leafing through photo albums, recalling speeches he has given and Popes he has embraced. There, in the large apartments often shared with three nuns. They form a family; they are not servants, as certain rhetoric would have us believe. Nuns who effectively become housekeepers, much like the legendary Pascalina Lehnert, who, with the air of a Prussian general, ran Pius XII’s household, personally overseeing his diet and diary. And it is said that when the Pope died, the cardinals did not think twice about showing the nun the door, lowering her personal belongings from the window in a basket. Whether legend or not, it gives an idea of the influence nuns wield in the homes and lives of the cardinals. Years ago, on the Italian bishops’ television channel, there was a programme that followed the daily lives of bishops and a few cardinals. From dawn to dusk, from the alarm clock to Compline. And this close relationship was evident. One segment showed a brief exchange between the then Archbishop of Ancona, Cardinal Edoardo Menichelli, and the mother superior of his residence. The topic: eternal life and the final encounter with the Bridegroom. The cardinal asked the nun if she was looking forward to that moment, and she, whilst peeling an apple, replied without hesitation: ‘As late as possible.’ And everyone burst out laughing. One thinks of the cardinals who spend their days at table admiring their silver spoons, at endless lunches, such as those described by Mann: cooked ham with shallot sauce, “such a quantity of vegetables that a single dish could have satisfied them all”, carp in red wine, cheeses and puddings, wines of every type and origin jealously guarded in secret cellars. But this is the Buddenbrooks’ house, after all. In the cardinals’ home, in the year of our Lord 2026, there is a little trolley with liqueurs resting on embroidered placemats, just like the ones you used to see on top of the television in Grandma’s living room. And instead of carp and the enormous ham with shallot sauce, a simple, wholesome soup.

No lavish feasts, with carp in red wine, ham with shallot sauce and marvellous puddings. On the table is a simple, wholesome soup

In the collective imagination, the cardinal is Richelieu: an almost absolute ruler, capable of deciding the fate of a man or a woman with a wave of the hand. A serving curial prefect today is, rather than a Richelieu, more like a stressed-out company managing director: dealing with staff, making decisions and reporting them to his superior (who is not the CEO, but the Vicar of Christ), giving interviews, preparing speeches, organising meetings, and compulsively checking social media to see how many attacks have been posted. But what of that leisurely ease, that devotion to jests and pastimes! Times have changed; it is no longer the era when the word of a cardinal sealed pacts or charted courses. ‘Some might say that we have long since become accustomed to boredom, that boredom is the true condition of man,’ says the country curate in Bernanos’s novel. That is where we are. Apathy reigns, almost supreme: ‘But I wonder,’ continues the young curate, ‘whether mankind has ever known such a contagion of boredom, such a leprosy. An unfulfilled despair, a vile form of despair, something that might resemble the fermentation of a decayed Christianity’.

They support charitable organisations without making too much of a fuss about it. Just as the Gospel teaches. But this is an age in which poverty, alas, must be flaunted. Always

Besides, the image of a prince cloaked in purple really clashes with the profile Jorge Mario Bergoglio maintained in his native Buenos Aires. Biographies and hagiographies recall that he lived alone and not in the bishop’s residence. He cooked his own meals—reportedly an excellent cook, with stuffed squid that has delighted generations of friends—travelled by underground and bus, and had his red cassock made by his sister rather than at a luxury tailor’s. It is unclear how many others like him serve the Church worldwide. At the last conclave, those from the most remote suburbs were like bulls in a china shop: they wandered about bewildered and disoriented; more than one said they couldn’t wait to get home. Some fled to the Castelli, certainly not in search of relief from the heat (it was between late April and early May) but for peace and quiet. Periodically, newspapers publish “investigations” into the cardinals’ wealth, usually focusing on the Curial members: their property holdings are detailed—this cardinal who even has a second home, perhaps even a third; that one who also owns a vineyard. There is even a cardinal who has an olive grove and produces olive oil. All this, it is argued, is because they are well paid – four thousand euros a month and even more – not to mention the famous ‘cardinal’s allowance’ (more money). But the nuns who make up the community have to be paid and supported, and their travels – whether journeys to the other side of the world or a Mass to be celebrated six hours away by train – also incur expenses. They also give to charity and help the most vulnerable. Often without anyone knowing about it, remaining faithful to the Gospel teaching that ‘when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret; and your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you’. For weeks, newspapers and television channels recounted the deeds of Cardinal Konrad Krajewski, ‘Don Corrado’, among the homeless under Bernini’s colonnade and on Via della Conciliazione, and among the occupants of the Spin Time Labs building, where he personally reconnected the electricity supply. He too, although dressed as an electrician, is to all intents and purposes a prince of the Holy Roman Church.

Princely mansions? In reality, large flats with old-fashioned parquet flooring or pre-war terrazzo. And lace doilies on top of old televisions

At the end of the day, there’s nothing new here: it’s the idea of the wealthy Church. The one tourists conjure up when they chat on the coaches on the way back from the capital… so much gold, so much luxury. There is simply too much of it. The argument goes that the Church should instead embrace poverty rather than doing everything and more ‘ad maiorem gloriam’. This is an age—a thoroughly hypocritical one—in which poverty must be flaunted. It is no longer enough to give to charity without anyone knowing; one must be seen, must show it off so that everyone is aware. The point is to demonstrate that one is neither rich nor a prince nor powerful. What a paradox. Cardinal Giacomo Biffi, a man who right to the end emphasised that Jesus was anything but poor – “he wore a tunic made from a single piece of cloth, without seams” – practically shouted at the top of his voice that “Christians must be poor, not the Church. Today, however, wealthy Christians say that the Church must be poor’. Just like those many people who extol the poverty of St Francis, thinking that it consisted solely of his habit. And they forget, for example, that in his view even poverty had a limit: it had to stop at the foot of the altar.

A range of female perspectives on the Ten Commandments, which – with humour or bitterness – are reinterpreted, not without a degree of severity, even towards women

Unfortunately, the layout—with its garish, childish colours and scenes straight out of books ‘for young ladies’ (what we’d call Young Adult today)—appeals to entirely the wrong audience, suggesting trivial, romantic and simplistic pop stories. Instead, these are profound, well-reasoned stories that take women’s engagement with the commandment in question very seriously, whilst often straying considerably from the biblical text and giving rise to narratives that are not always easy to unpick in the light of the commandment they illustrate. There is, however, one notable exception: Federica Bosco, whose contribution on “remember to keep holy the Sabbath” strikes a light-hearted tone somewhere between a crime thriller and a romance, pitting three young protagonists—two brothers and a sister by different fathers—against a witch-like grandmother, a wealthy businesswoman, whom they would like to see dead soon so they can pocket her inheritance. Her story is entitled "Nostra signora che sei nell'attico", and on Sundays these grandchildren do not go to Mass, but instead attend a weekly lunch at which they are mocked and mistreated by the terrible old woman and only rarely given a little of the money they so desperately need. After all, does not the Creator too bestow favours upon believers and non-believers alike in a reckless manner, without regard for whether the reward is deserved or not, and whether the sign of the cross, for example, is made with faith and honesty rather than insincerely to elicit sympathy?

Right from the first two commandments – the most difficult ones from which to draw inspiration – Maraini and Baresani choose arduous and contrarian paths. “Thou shalt have no other God but me,” begins the Our Father who art in heaven, and Maraini transforms him into a bizarre winged little girl with a neck as long as a Modigliani figure, who appears at the foot of the bed of a woodcraftswoman, Sara, capable of creating marvellous dolls and puppets but who is perhaps not very accustomed to looking within herself. The child recounts ancient biblical stories and puts her in touch with that mysterious, superior being who, however, it turns out, never answers any of her questions; in short, the child has to fend for herself. Because he has grown disillusioned with his creation: “too much squabbling, too many fights, too many intrigues…”. ‘Well, well,’ Sara reflects, ‘wasn’t it actually he who did all those wicked things?’ There is no answer, and the only god we can turn to is none other than ourselves (this is the little girl’s unwitting lesson); nor is it even a question of women and men, because everyone – absolutely everyone – can rely only on their own inner self. Some readers may note that women are granted an additional opportunity, given that the winged child appeared to a woman and not to a man.

The most challenging task, however, was entrusted to Camilla Baresani: “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain”. As a child, I used to rack my brains over this second commandment. But what did it mean? Not to swear? Not only that: we really had to be careful not to bring the Creator into the conversation inappropriately, not to drag him into our insignificant difficulties. Yet I also wondered whether we could not even call upon Him when we were sad and a classmate had taken our snack at school. “God will punish you,” I would have liked to say menacingly to the little thief. Yet no: do not utter that name, for heaven’s sake. The Unnameable One could not care less about my snack; He has far more pressing matters to attend to, such as fanning the flames of wars that engulf the planet in order to test the wicked, who remain wicked nonetheless, while the virtuous continue to suffer. Although I may not have used those precise words to myself, something very similar eroded my faith in that Divine Being who did not wish to be disturbed. Returning to the Rizzoli series, how does Baresani navigate this challenging commandment? She handles it skillfully, suggesting that since the King of the World—or rather, of the Worlds—chooses not to be drawn into human affairs, readers might as well leave him alone and instead portray him as a lazy, domineering figure, an opportunistic male of the worst sort. ‘Jasmine Wants It All’ is the title of the story, but the one who truly wants it all without sacrificing anything is the charming Sergio Lenzi, who claims to be in love with her. The one who is madly in love, however, is the beautiful twenty-year-old Jasmine, a pedicurist for the wealthy Mrs Simona Colombo, Sergio’s wife, who has been dazzled by the luxury of the Lenzi household and the admiration shown to her by the master of the house. She soon becomes his mistress—more than a mistress, a slave treated in the finest possible way, confined to a stunning house yet left there for hours on end on her own, buried under designer gifts and various other pleasantries. Her god is Sergio—or rather, Sergio Giovanni (as he insists she call him)—who, however, has made her swear never to mention his name; in short, never to speak to anyone—and I mean absolutely no one—about that relationship. It might seem like the usual ménage à trois found in so many similar stories we’ve heard time and again, but here the perspective is original: it is the girl’s, with her bewildered naivety and her ridiculous yet genuine innocence, which then becomes Simona’s perspective. In fact, it will be the betrayed wife who opens her eyes to the true nature of the man who believed himself to be a god, and Sergio Giovanni Lenzi – or simply Sergio – will thus be torn to shreds. I’ve added that vaudeville-style excess myself, because the story, in reality, is capable of plunging a bloodied knife both into Jasmine’s deprived circumstances – which lead her to dream of her Prince Charming – and into Simona’s seemingly enviable social position, as she throws herself wholeheartedly into her work to protect herself from the collapse of the financial stability she achieved through marriage, yet of which she alone bears the burden, paying for her choice with devastating gloom.

Veronica Raimo’s Sabbie mobili represents an even more unexpected plunge into tragedy, honouring – in its own way – the fourth commandment, ‘honour thy father and thy mother’; or perhaps, in fact, dishonouring it. The mother she portrays is a deranged woman, unworthy of her role yet too unwell to realise it, and she risks ruining her only son, aged nine, who, fatherless, is trying to find his own way in the world. The plot is stripped down to the bare minimum: a tale of unspoken truths, of disorientation, of pain verging on the unbearable, which the writer conveys between the lines with rare mastery and a secret wisdom.

It is the unsettling portrait of a man, Guido Pacher – a Freudian psychoanalyst who seems to understand little about himself and, above all, about women – that Viola Di Grado chooses to use to illustrate the fundamental commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ in her book Questo mondo non è casa. She does not affirm the law but instead adopts a vengeful stance against male power and against men’s inability to truly ‘see’ into a woman’s heart. One must not kill, yet in some cases, in killing, one glimpses a justice that does not come from the Most High, and in this short novel there is great skill in refraining from taking a stance. It is left to the reader to do so, whilst also learning something about the complexity of human nature, both male and female. It is interesting to note that in Italian we have only one word for ‘solitude’, whereas English has two, ‘loneliness’ and ‘solitude’: the endured, excruciating loneliness, and the chosen, positive and wise solitude. It is Pacher who reflects on a line by Marianne Moore: ‘the cure for loneliness is solitude’. In Italian, this is simplified as follows: the cure for loneliness is solitude. Yet it ought to be rendered more complex: the cure for a loneliness one suffers from is a solitude we choose to experience or in which to settle. Yet this is precisely what none of the characters can manage – neither Pacher, nor the wife who left him for another man, nor his rebellious patient. And in this inability to embrace solitude lies the seed of so much human violence.

Regarding the fundamental commandment “Thou shalt not kill”, Viola Di Grado does not opt for an affirmation of the law, but rather for a vindictive opposition to male power

The most feminist story in the collection, however, is that of thirty-year-old Jennifer Guerra, who is, after all, one of the most interesting theorists of new feminism. Yet she does not write about the present day. Her story is set on the eve of the legendary ‘68, and Jennifer had not yet been born. Her protagonist is a shy girl from the provinces, Carla, who moves to Padua on her own to work as a secretary in a factory. The book is in fact titled La fabbrica dei bottoni and is inspired by the sixth commandment: ‘Thou shalt not commit impure acts.’ She has never undone any buttons – at least not those sewn onto men’s trousers – because she feels awkward and timid in her dealings with the opposite sex. She thinks only of defending herself. Then she encounters a group of proto-feminist schoolgirls practising ‘self-help’ – that is, teaching one another about their own bodies, especially the most intimate parts – because only by ‘knowing themselves’ can they wrest control from others, both physically and morally. After thorough psychological preparation, this involves sitting on the floor without knickers, spreading one’s legs in front of a mirror and scrutinising oneself carefully under the guidance of a more experienced woman who recites the names of the various parts of the vagina and what lies within. A decidedly impure act, especially for a religion that could never have imagined such a transgression. The experience marks a rebirth for Carla, who begins to open up not only to herself but to the world; her shame transforms into liberating joy. The narrative recalls the joyful feminist revolution of the 1970s on university campuses and, indeed, the transgressive self-help practices that we believed we were pioneering: could such approaches already have been in vogue in Italy almost a decade earlier?

Jennifer Guerra recounts a decidedly impure act, which transforms shame into self-discovery and liberating happiness

The mood is quite different with “Thou shalt not steal” – a subtly ironic atmosphere that evokes the claustrophobic ambience of Agatha Christie’s many novels, in which the murderer is sought in a hotel, a house or on a ship… In the Hotel of Lost Time, however, there is no murderer; instead, the grave sin is robbing oneself of the time to understand and to comprehend, deceiving oneself and becoming lost in an incurable discontent that only finds the thread of life when it is too late. The narrative flow is beautiful, as is the choice of so many different characters and situations, yet all are in a bind – and the worst part is that this predicament is of their own making. There is no light-heartedness, however, in Come la rosa by Gabriella Genisi, which explores the grave consequences of failing to observe the eighth commandment: ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness’. And how could there be any light-heartedness when the subject here is femicide? Genisi drives the narrative forward with relentless clarity. She delves deep into unacceptable feelings and aberrant motivations without complacency or sentimentality. She knows how to reveal a character simply by describing their actions: ‘He wiped the plate clean with a crumb of bread, poured himself another couple of glasses of wine, belched contentedly and went off to sleep’. The avowedly feminist trio among the ten books—all of which are truly worth reading, and which men would do well to read—concludes with Ritanna Armeni and her Sono mia. The commandment is the penultimate one, “thou shalt not covet another man’s wife”, in which the young Tommaso, obsessed with his love for Francesca—who does indeed love him in return—is terrified of losing her, of being betrayed. And so no man must desire Francesca, for she is his alone, nor must she desire other men in the name of her own autonomy. This possessive and misguided love is undoubtedly a dangerous and inevitably violent escalation. Here, as in other stories in this series that address the theme in a more veiled manner, the man’s delusion of superiority is brought to the fore, along with his need for tyrannical control, which finds ready support in the woman’s understanding attitude (‘this is what his love for me has come to’, is the troubling thought, the extremely dangerous conviction that leads to forgiveness rather than immediate escape whilst there is still time).

There is nothing frivolous about Gabriella Genisi’s novel, which is dedicated to the eighth commandment: ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness’. It deals with femicide.

I have already written in this newspaper on 10 October last year about Lidia Ravera’s Più dell’amore, which brings the series to a close with a highly critical re-examination of the commandment ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s goods’ – at a time when many titles in the series were still missing from the list. I shall not repeat myself, except to say that this is a story capable of striking a discordant chord, one of the finest by the Turin-based writer. I shall simply recall that it contrasts a poor girl, who falls in love with a painting, with a very rich and very generous man who, however, would never part with that painting. And the fundamental question the author indirectly poses is: who is more to blame? The one who is so rich as to feel no burden in being generous, or the one who has nothing and takes something from the one who has everything?

Let posterity be the judge, with one regret: the disorganisation and the gaps between them with which these short books were published – books that take on greater significance when read in sequence. The significance of a female perspective that is never taken for granted and rich in insights, for everyone: women, men and non-binary people.

It was not the first time that Leo XIV, travelling between Paris and the city of the Marian shrine, had emphasised this point. He had always done so, ever since his first, extremely harsh speech, delivered in front of a stunned Emmanuel Macron. A speech which, whilst in Italy was somewhat watered down by seeking out mostly hidden meanings, was understood perfectly well in France. So much so that Le Monde, on its front page, described it as “offensif”, offensive. Also on Sunday, in the early afternoon, he called on “the entire community of healthcare workers to remember the profound meaning of their vocation: to care for a person who is suffering, and not to eliminate them”. ‘Yes, dear friends,’ added the Pontiff, ‘be passionate servants of life! No one has the right, ever, on the basis of laboratory algorithms, to decide the fate of a particular embryo or an elderly person! Medicine must never become the servant of planned death!’

So far, three themes have recurred in the Pope’s speeches and homilies: the faith to be spread in a context marked by secularism (“Do not keep your faith in Jesus Christ to yourselves alone, but let it overflow to quench the thirst and fulfil the needs of the people you meet. It is up to you to bring hope where discouragement and spiritual aridity reign”, he said at the Place de la Concorde), life to be promoted, and peace to be defended against the winds of war (“Grant France wise and generous leaders, ready to make sacrifices, capable of facing challenges and eager to serve the common good. May they keep the country at peace within the community of nations. May they make its voice heard in promoting the defence of fundamental human rights and peace in the world, rejecting the logic of war once and for all”, was a passage from Saturday evening’s prayer at the Grotto).

During his meeting with the bishops, the Pope urged them “to remain vigilant in order to defend the Church’s freedom and right to evangelise, to educate people in true freedom and to practise worship publicly, so that charity may be visibly practised in the name of Jesus Christ”. Referring to the earlier emphasis on the battle against euthanasia, he added: “I am aware of your determination and your courage – you have clearly demonstrated this during the recent debates on end-of-life issues – and I urge you to persevere, together with all people of good will who defend the same values”. In his homily delivered before the 200,000 pilgrims who had gathered at the Priarie, the vast green space on the other side of the Gave, Leo XIV said that “in the face of current trends seeking to redefine the value of human life in the face of illness, suffering or old age, the Grotto of Massabielle stands as a sanctuary of Christian hope. Here, no form of frailty is rejected. Your crutches, your wheelchairs, your hidden tears are not obstacles: this is the place par excellence where you are fully respected, welcomed and transfigured by God’s infinite love”. The homily took to heart the words the Virgin addressed to Bernadette Soubirous: “We find the insistent call to conversion in the words Mary spoke right here: ‘Penance! Penance! Penance!’”

On Monday, three events are scheduled in Metz: the interfaith meeting, the meeting entitled “Alle radici dell’Europa per la pace e l’unità” and Mass at 4 pm. The return to Rome will follow.

29 September 440: Leo I, who would come to be known as the Great, was consecrated in Rome. Elected whilst he was in Gaul, he regarded the date of his consecration as his ‘birthday’. Reflecting on the characteristics and prerogatives of the Bishop of Rome, he developed a comprehensive theological and legal framework. He seized every opportunity to emphasise that the Pope was the ‘successor’ of the Apostle Peter. The word was not chosen at random and did not have a generic meaning, but rather the far more precise one derived from Roman law concerning, precisely, ‘succession’: the heir legitimately took the place of the deceased, assuming the same legal status. By applying the same principle to the Bishop of Rome, and carefully distinguishing between legal status (heritable by law) and personal status (obviously non-transferable), Leo coined the expression ‘unworthy heir of Peter’. The Pope did not inherit Peter’s merits or holiness, but his office—that is, the role which the Gospel describes as the task of guarding the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven, and of binding and loosing. Rome was not merely the ‘Apostolic See’, but precisely the ‘See of Peter’; indeed, as Leo wrote to Bishop Anastasius of Thessalonica in 446, ‘the sole See of Peter which has charge of the universal Church’. And that charge could be fulfilled by exercising the fullness of power. Leo the Great acted in accordance with these principles with great vigour, asserting papal authority – doctrinal and disciplinary – before bishops, emperors and synods. Set against his theological and juridical framework, other important and well-known events of Leo’s papacy seem even less significant, such as his role in the diplomatic mission that halted Attila’s Huns in 452 or his dealings with Genseric’s Vandals, who sacked Rome in 455.

Among the content creators who, amidst prayers, songs and testimonies, took turns at the altar were: the Dominican friar Paul-Adrien, who has 681,000 subscribers on YouTube; Victor Dubois de Montreynaud, alias “Catho de service”, who has 298,000 followers on TikTok; and the traditionalist abbot Matthieu Raffray, with 201,000 followers on Instagram. “They have introduced a new way of sharing one’s faith and are managing to bring Catholics together,” a 30-year-old woman attending the vigil told AFP. The challenge facing these ‘apostles of the web’, these digital missionaries, is to use their visibility to bring their followers out of the online world and pray together. And Thursday’s success confirms that they are on the right track. “It shows that the Church is alive and allows us to reconnect with our faith,” Charles, aged 20, told AFP. Saint-Sulpice has thus become the first major venue for the papal visit, even before the Pope’s arrival in France. This visit was preceded by weeks of digital mobilisation. Catholic content creators have, in fact, transformed the anticipation of the Pope’s visit into a series of posts, discussions, calls to prayer and initiatives across various social media platforms. “Catho de Service”, aged 26, took the visit of Pope Leo XIV to the streets of Paris, approaching passers-by with this sign: “Is the Pope’s visit good news for France? Shall we talk about it?”. Amen Media, the project founded by Paul Delafosse, has produced reports, interviews and humorous content dedicated to the papal visit: the Pope stuck on metro line 13, the capital’s most chaotic line; the Pope on a Vélib, Paris’s public bicycle scheme; or the Pope discovering the périph, the ring road that separates the City of Light from the suburbs.

The Amen Media team, composed primarily of volunteers, plans to trace the words “Léon XIV” in Paris on the Strava sports app – which allows users to view a running route – and on social media; this week, it promoted the new track written by the young Catholic rapper Saul 2 Tarse to mark the papal visit. “Let’s turn up the heat with this unreleased track ‘Léon XIV’ by the promising artist Saul 2 Tarse. Share it far and wide,” reads Amen Media’s Instagram post. Padreblog, a project now comprising five priests, has also prepared for the visit with short videos featuring catechesis, Q&As and explanations of the faith. The group operates as a fully-fledged editorial organisation, analysing views, comments and the duration of Reels using AI. The stated aim is, first and foremost, to reach the “recommençants” – those who are returning to the faith or taking their first steps towards it. Then there are the stars of Catholicism 2.0, such as Sœur Albertine, with over 330,000 followers on Instagram and around 200,000 on TikTok, who talks about religious life, prayer, sexuality and relations with other religions. According to David Douyère, a lecturer in information and communication sciences, digital evangelisation works both externally and internally within the Church: it serves to reach those who have never attended a church, but also to offer religious content to young Catholics who have limited knowledge of their own tradition.

He emphasised that “the tireless work of the Catholic Church, through the richness of its expressions and institutions, is certainly valuable and commendable for the well-being of society as a whole”. Echoing Ratzinger, he said that “culture and faith stand as the pillars that foster harmony between different peoples and religions in the service of peace and reconciliation amongst people” and “in this sphere too, education presents a particularly important challenge”. He mentioned humanism, “which sought to unify the Greco-Roman heritage and the Christian faith”, the Enlightenment and its achievements, “in particular religious freedom”. He then spoke of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which “aimed to foster a general awareness of the inalienable dignity of the human person”. He quoted Georges Bernanos, who “saw the risk of blind obedience and irresponsibility taking hold in a ‘Paradise of Machines’”, and went on to discuss artificial intelligence and his encyclical, Magnifica humanitas. Leone also addressed peace and war, urging, “I urge you never to resign yourselves to the prospect of war by considering it ‘inevitable’, but to tirelessly promote dialogue and diplomacy, with a view to preserving peaceful societies that respect the dignity and rights of the individual and of peoples”. He returned to this theme in the early afternoon during his visit to UNESCO headquarters. There, reflecting on the words contained in the Preamble to the organisation’s Constitution, written in 1945, he said that at that time “humanity had realised that scientific progress, when separated from wisdom, can become a devastating weapon; that culture, when it bows to ideology, can become lies and propaganda; that education, when it renounces the truth, degrades into an instrument for manipulating consciences. Peace,’ added Leo XIV, ‘cannot be built solely through treaties, nor through compromises between opposing forces. Peace is true when it springs from the virtue of justice rather than from a mere contract, from a righteous will rather than from an unstable balance of interests’. The Pontiff reflected on a paradox: “Whilst intelligence is attributed to computational systems, we struggle to recognise the inalienable dignity of human beings, whose lives are assessed according to the criterion of efficiency and, when deemed no longer productive, are rejected and discarded”. The human being, the Pope went on to say, “is certainly the one who is born, but is also the one who dies. Our dignity is not destroyed by illness or pain, nor does it depend on the achievements of which a person is capable. On the contrary, it requires loving care at every stage of life”.

The most moving moment came when he entered Notre-Dame Cathedral, becoming the first Pope to set foot there since its reconstruction following the fire. Leone arrived after a journey in an open-top car, greeted by a sizeable crowd of the faithful – something not to be taken for granted in the City of Light. In the homily delivered during Vespers, the Pontiff also spoke of the liturgy, one of the most sensitive issues in the daily life of French Catholics. Leone’s appeal was that “liturgical celebrations should always be observed with dignity and decorum, even where smaller communities gather. Be conscious heirs of the Fathers and Saints of the Church who, throughout the centuries, have handed down to us the profound meaning and beauty of the liturgy, always bearing witness to great humility before the Mystery being celebrated. Eucharistic joy is affirmed and spreads where harmony is restored, where dignity is reborn, where authority becomes service, where freedom is set on its path once more. It is the greatest gift we can share. Place, therefore, your communion with the Successor of Peter and with the Church above your personal sensibilities, so as to foster the unity of the People of God. Together, we shall be the prophecy that a reconciled world is possible.”

This evening, a large prayer vigil with young people at the Saint-Denis stadium: the 70,000 tickets sold out in fifteen minutes. Tomorrow, Mass at the Place de la Concorde, followed by the departure for Lourdes. On Monday, the group will travel to Metz, the birthplace of Robert Schuman.

The Pope recalled France’s “rich Christian roots”, emphasising that “the soul of your homeland has developed by drawing from Christianity a spiritual, cultural, intellectual, artistic and missionary genius that today shines throughout the world”. He mentioned humanism “which sought to unify the Greco-Roman heritage and the Christian faith”, the Enlightenment and its achievements, “in particular religious freedom”. He then cited the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which “aimed to create a general awareness of the inalienable dignity of the human person”. He quoted Georges Bernanos, who “saw the risk of blind obedience and irresponsibility taking hold in a ‘Paradise of Machines’”, that is to say, artificial intelligence.

But Leone also spoke of peace and war: “I urge you never to resign yourselves to the prospect of war by regarding it as ‘inevitable’, but to promote dialogue and diplomacy tirelessly, in order to preserve peaceful societies that respect the dignity and rights of individuals and peoples. Faced with the rumblings of war and the multifaceted crises shaking our world, France has a calling to remain a tireless architect of peace and multilateralism, particularly within our beloved Europe. May France, true to its values, chart a course towards a peace that is both unarmed and disarming, and responsibly offer its irreplaceable contribution to the cause of peace. May your freedom grow ceaselessly through your commitment to the common good; may your fraternity embrace the whole of humanity; and may the equality to which you aspire always be founded on the principles of justice and charity, without eliminating differences between people, but allowing them to bear fruit harmoniously for the benefit of society as a whole.”

This afternoon, the Pope will visit UNESCO headquarters, then at 5:15 p.m. he will celebrate Vespers at Notre-Dame Cathedral. This evening, at the Saint-Denis stadium, there will be a vigil with young people.

In Paris, a meeting is scheduled at the Élysée Palace with the authorities, civil society and the diplomatic corps, followed by a visit to UNESCO, the celebration of Vespers at Notre-Dame and the vigil with young people at the Saint-Denis Stadium, where the 70,000 available seats sold out in a quarter of an hour. Tomorrow, meanwhile, Mass will be held at the Place de la Concorde, with 660,000 people registered to attend.

In Lourdes, Leo XIV will recite the rosary at the Grotto of Massabielle and preside over the evocative torchlight procession, whilst in Metz the focus will be on Europe. According to the Vatican Press Office, there is a possibility that some bilateral political meetings may take place there.

The Pope’s visit is also being followed with great interest by the secular community, due to tensions with the Élysée Palace in the run-up to the trip. Leo XIV has, in fact, declined Macron’s invitation to a gala dinner, military honours from the Presidential Guard, the awarding of the Legion of Honour and even a guided tour of Notre-Dame led by the French President. The Holy See has, however, denied that there is a crisis in relations with Paris and emphasised that this is an apostolic journey, not a political one.

However, the atmosphere in France is highly politicised, due to the approaching presidential elections and the law on end-of-life care enacted just over a month ago, which has alienated the Catholic community from Macron.

State-recognised schools have taken a similar stance in a joint statement issued by Agesc, Ciofs Scuola, Fidae and the Jesuit Education Foundation: “School must be a place where no one is excluded and where everyone can feel welcomed, recognised and supported. In light of the measures announced by the government regarding the presence of foreign pupils in classrooms, we believe it is essential to start with one word: inclusion. Any situations of significant imbalance in class composition must be addressed with common sense, without turning an organisational and educational problem into a criterion for exclusion. It is not a pupil’s nationality that determines the challenges faced by a class. We must take into account knowledge of the Italian language, the educational needs of children and young people, the social and local context, and the conditions under which individual schools operate”. Here too, it is essential to consider the context, given that “inclusion is not achieved through automatic mechanisms or percentages applied indiscriminately. It requires the involvement of schools, families, local authorities and local communities, together with adequate investment in cultural mediation, Italian language teaching, teacher training and support for organisations operating in the most challenging areas”. For this reason too, the associations write, “our schools are willing to welcome a greater number of children and young people, thereby also contributing to a more balanced distribution of pupils and providing concrete support for integration processes. But this willingness must be accompanied by conditions that genuinely enable all families to choose a state-recognised private school, regardless of income or background”. At the conclusion of the Permanent Council of the Italian Episcopal Conference (CEI), the Secretary-General, Monsignor Giuseppe Baturi, said that “the school is called to be the very best that society has to offer: a place of encounter, of passion for the truth, of self-knowledge and of the ability to take on one’s own responsibility towards the world. For this reason, it cannot but be inclusive”.

As we recall here, this initiative follows on from one a year ago, when two hundred priests gathered at the Church of Sant’Andrea al Quirinale to voice their protest against ‘the genocide of the Palestinian people’. This was not a prayer vigil, but a call on politicians to end their inaction and silence and to make their voices heard – naturally against Israel. Yesterday, in addition to “denouncing the genocide taking place in Gaza, the unjustified violence against the Palestinian civilian population and the state of apartheid in force for over 70 years throughout the occupied Palestinian territories”, calls were also made for “the suspension of arms sales to those committing crimes against civilians”, ‘the disarmament of the State of Israel to prevent further deaths of innocent people’, as well as ‘the prosecution for war crimes of all those responsible for the mass extermination currently taking place in Gaza’. As for the Hamas pogrom, there was nothing: not even a footnote or a side note. On the contrary, among the network’s objectives is the need for “the recognition of personal, political and military responsibilities, through independent and fair investigations into 7 October 2023, and into what happened before and after that date”.

The procession made its way through the streets amidst banners, singing, guitar music and Gospel readings. Tourists were particularly curious and approached the priests to gain a better understanding of what the event was all about. “You don’t often see priests demonstrating, but in reality we prayed and then walked through the city in the blood of the martyrs,” said Father Rito Maresca, who organised the campaign. “I’m happy; we prayed that there would be no more indifference,” said another priest, Father Pietro. “Everyone can contribute to change; we are priests and we pray, whilst others can choose what to do to stop the genocide in Gaza.”

Of course, he will deliver his sermons and preside over the evocative torchlight procession in Lourdes, but it is the purely political aspect that is attracting the keen attention of observers, experts in ecclesiastical matters and historians. As is only to be expected, his relationship with Emmanuel Macron has come under the microscope – the president who was denied by the Vatican a gala dinner, military honours with the Presidential Guard, various other honours and even permission to accompany Leo on a tour of Notre-Dame: the Pope is going there for Vespers, not for guided tours. There is no animosity; it is simply that, for Rome, the trip is an apostolic journey, not a state visit. A glance at the programme would be enough to realise this. This is not a spur-of-the-moment reaction to local grandeur, nor is it due to an overly political interpretation of the trip: proof of this is the fact that on Monday, in Metz, bilateral meetings between the Pontiff and some foreign leaders could also take place, should the conditions be right. But everything in its own time and place: in Metz, there will be much talk of Europe, the process of integration, its origins and its current state. People go to Notre-Dame to sing the Magnificat. And so be it for the purists of laïcité who protested against the Mass at the Place de la Concorde, a place that should never, ever host the head of supreme ignorance. Be that as it may: the best response came from the 600,000 people who attended the Eucharistic celebration.

Cardinal François-Xavier Bustillo, Bishop of Ajaccio, told Le Figaro that “the Pope is coming first and foremost in the name of life: this is the meaning behind the slogan for his visit. But he is not coming to preach. He will clearly set out his vision of life, in a free country, at a time when we are constantly hearing of so many deaths. Our country, and the West in general, is rather thanatophilic: the death of the planet, the death of a political system, the death of an economic system, the death of the Church, and so on. Ultimately, it is depressing. After all, who is still proclaiming life? This ties in with another concern on a French, European and almost global scale: the demographic winter. Why winter and not spring? At the root of this lie many fears: of the future, of running out of money, of losing one’s way. The driving force of the West is, tragically, fear. And with fear as the driving force, we cannot move forward. If we close maternity wards, increase the number of care homes for the elderly, and pass a law on euthanasia, then what future can a people like this possibly have? Believing in life is a matter of urgency for the country.”

It is clear, therefore, that Leo XIV will by no means gloss over the issues that have most fuelled the debate between the government and the diverse array of opponents to the end-of-life bill – comprising a laity more proactive than it has been in years and a episcopate steadfast in its rejection of the text approved by the National Assembly. But this will obviously not be the central focus of the visit. “The Pope has a duty to speak,” added Bustillo, “and through his words he will convey hope, values and a call to Christian identity.” What is certain is that “the state is secular, but society is secularised. The distinction is important,” the Bishop of Ajaccio told Le Figaro. “This country has recently seen a surge in requests for adult baptism, and the Pope is not indifferent to this phenomenon. Many set off for India, Tibet or the Amazon in search of a moment of spirituality. Others, on the contrary, are rediscovering their roots in the Church. The Pope tells us that Europe – the old Europe – is not dead: he has visited Spain and Monte Carlo, and is coming to France. John Paul II reawakened the East; Leo XIV might reawaken the West. There is a fine complementarity with Francis, who had focused more on the peripheries. Leo, on the other hand, also addresses countries with an ancient Catholic tradition, whose cultural and spiritual heritage deserves to be revived, without arrogance or complexes’. Cardinal Bustillo, who has recently published the book La necessità di riparare (San Paolo), is a great advocate of ‘popular religion’, that is, ‘a people who set out in procession, in celebrations, in confraternities. It is important that this dimension coexists within the Church alongside a more intellectual or mystical aspect. But you don’t need to have read St Thomas’s Summa to take part in a procession.”