Dear Brothers and Sisters,
This
morning I have the joy of celebrating my first Chrism Mass as the
Bishop of Rome. I greet all of you with affection, especially you, dear
priests, who, like myself, today recall the day of your ordination.
The
readings of our Mass speak of God’s “anointed ones”: the suffering
Servant of Isaiah, King David and Jesus our Lord. All three have this
in common: the anointing that they receive is meant in turn to anoint
God’s faithful people, whose servants they are; they are anointed for
the poor, for prisoners, for the oppressed… A fine image of this “being
for” others can be found in the Psalm: “It is like the precious oil
upon the head, running down upon the beard, on the beard of Aaron,
running down upon the collar of his robe” (Ps 133:2). The image of
spreading oil, flowing down from the beard of Aaron upon the collar of
his sacred robe, is an image of the priestly anointing which, through
Christ, the Anointed One, reaches the ends of the earth, represented by
the robe.
The sacred robes
of the High Priest are rich in symbolism. One such symbol is that the
names of the children of Israel were engraved on the onyx stones mounted
on the shoulder-pieces of the ephod, the ancestor of our present-day
chasuble: six on the stone of the right shoulder-piece and six on that
of the left (cf. Ex 28:6-14). The names of the twelve tribes of Israel
were also engraved on the breastplate (cf. Es 28:21). This means that
the priest celebrates by carrying on his shoulders the people entrusted
to his care and bearing their names written in his heart. When we put
on our simple chasuble, it might well make us feel, upon our shoulders
and in our hearts, the burdens and the faces of our faithful people, our
saints and martyrs.
From
the beauty of all these liturgical things, which is not so much about
trappings and fine fabrics than about the glory of our God resplendent
in his people, alive and strengthened, we turn to a consideration of
activity, action. The precious oil which anoints the head of Aaron does
more than simply lend fragrance to his person; it overflows down to
“the edges”. The Lord will say this clearly: his anointing is meant for
the poor, prisoners and the sick, for those who are sorrowing and
alone. The ointment is not intended just to make us fragrant, much less
to be kept in a jar, for then it would become rancid … and the heart
bitter.
A good priest can be
recognized by the way his people are anointed. When our people are
anointed with the oil of gladness, it is obvious: for example, when they
leave Mass looking as if they have heard good news. Our people like to
hear the Gospel preached with “unction”, they like it when the Gospel
we preach touches their daily lives, when it runs down like the oil of
Aaron to the edges of reality, when it brings light to moments of
extreme darkness, to the “outskirts” where people of faith are most
exposed to the onslaught of those who want to tear down their faith.
People thank us because they feel that we have prayed over the realities
of their everyday lives, their troubles, their joys, their burdens and
their hopes. And when they feel that the fragrance of the Anointed One,
of Christ, has come to them through us, they feel encouraged to entrust
to us everything they want to bring before the Lord: “Pray for me,
Father, because I have this problem”, “Bless me”, “Pray for me” – these
words are the sign that the anointing has flowed down to the edges of
the robe, for it has turned into prayer. When we have this relationship
with God and with his people, and grace passes through us, then we are
priests, mediators between God and men. What I want to emphasize is
that we need constantly to stir up God’s grace and perceive in every
request, even those requests that are inconvenient and at times purely
material or downright banal – but only apparently so – the desire of our
people to be anointed with fragrant oil, since they know that we have
it. To perceive and to sense, even as the Lord sensed the hope-filled
anguish of the woman suffering from hemorrhages when she touched the hem
of his garment. At that moment, Jesus, surrounded by people on every
side, embodies all the beauty of Aaron vested in priestly raiment, with
the oil running down upon his robes. It is a hidden beauty, one which
shines forth only for those faith-filled eyes of the woman troubled with
an issue of blood. But not even the disciples – future priests – see
or understand: on the “existential outskirts”, they see only what is on
the surface: the crowd pressing in on Jesus from all sides (cf. Lk
8:42). The Lord, on the other hand, feels the power of the divine
anointing which runs down to the edge of his cloak.
We
need to “go out”, then, in order to experience our own anointing, its
power and its redemptive efficacy: to the “outskirts” where there is
suffering, bloodshed, blindness that longs for sight, and prisoners in
thrall to many evil masters. It is not in soul-searching or constant
introspection that we encounter the Lord: self-help courses can be
useful in life, but to live by going from one course to another, from
one method to another, leads us to become pelagians and to minimize the
power of grace, which comes alive and flourishes to the extent that we,
in faith, go out and give ourselves and the Gospel to others, giving
what little ointment we have to those who have nothing, nothing at all.
A
priest who seldom goes out of himself, who anoints little – I won’t say
“not at all” because, thank God, our people take our oil from us anyway
– misses out on the best of our people, on what can stir the depths of
his priestly heart. Those who do not go out of themselves, instead of
being mediators, gradually become intermediaries, managers. We know the
difference: the intermediary, the manager, “has already received his
reward”, and since he doesn’t put his own skin and his own heart on the
line, he never hears a warm, heartfelt word of thanks. This is
precisely the reason why some priests grow dissatisfied, lose heart and
become in some sense collectors of antiques or novelties – instead of
being shepherds living with “the smell of the sheep”, shepherds in the
midst of their flock, fishers of men. True enough, the so-called crisis
of priestly identity threatens us all and adds to the broader cultural
crisis; but if we can resist its onslaught, we will be able to put out
in the name of the Lord and cast our nets. It is not a bad thing that
reality itself forces us to “put out into the deep”, where what we are
by grace is clearly seen as pure grace, out into the deep of the
contemporary world, where the only thing that counts is “unction” – not
function – and the nets which overflow with fish are those cast solely
in the name of the One in whom we have put our trust: Jesus.
Dear
lay faithful, be close to your priests with affection and with your
prayers, that they may always be shepherds according to God’s heart.
Dear
priests, may God the Father renew in us the Spirit of holiness with
whom we have been anointed. May he renew his Spirit in our hearts, that
this anointing may spread to everyone, even to those “outskirts” where
our faithful people most look for it and most appreciate it. May our
people sense that we are the Lord’s disciples; may they feel that their
names are written upon our priestly vestments and that we seek no other
identity; and may they receive through our words and deeds the oil of
gladness which Jesus, the Anointed One, came to bring us. Amen.