The Scriptures make it clear that Christ bore the weight of humanity’s sin—not symbolically, but in a real and overwhelming way, a burden He accepted out of love. Saint Paul captures this truth with startling clarity: “For our sake, He made Him to be sin who knew no sin” (2 Cor 5:21). In essence, the Father allowed His Son to take upon Himself the full consequences of human rebellion, absorbing the cost of our brokenness.
Pope Benedict XVI, reflecting on this profound mystery in Deus Caritas Est, described it boldly as a “turning of God against Himself.” Not because God is divided, but because perfect love sometimes demands a self-giving so radical it appears almost self-wounding. Christ enters the very space where humanity has failed, responding to our disobedience with perfect obedience. The Cross is not a punishment inflicted by divine wrath; it is love entering the darkest corners of human history—those corners filled with betrayal, injustice, and hatred.
This love does not favor the righteous or the grateful alone. Christ extends it to all, even His enemies, fulfilling His command: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Mt 5:44). His sacrifice reveals a love powerful enough to reach the indifferent, the hostile, and the spiritually numb. It is a love that does not wait for us to deserve it.
Yet in today’s world, this message struggles to be heard. We live immersed in speed, novelty, and distraction—much like the Athenians described in Acts, who “spent their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new” (Acts 17:21). Modern distractions take the form of endless scrolling, sensationalized news, shallow debates, and the frantic pursuit of attention. These noises drown out the deeper truths of faith, replacing genuine reflection with emptiness.
The paschal mystery—Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection—calls us out of this noise. It invites us into a dialogue not rooted in novelty, but in salvation. God does not seek chatter; He seeks hearts ready to listen. He speaks most clearly through the suffering of His Son, a suffering echoed in the pain of the innocent, the poor, the forgotten, and the wounded of our world.
Confronting that suffering forces us to see how far humanity has strayed from God’s vision. Violence tears through communities. Greed shapes economic systems that exploit the vulnerable. Environmental destruction exposes our disregard for creation. Even in prosperous societies, loneliness and despair spread like contagion. These wounds are not just social—they are spiritual. When humanity turns from God, fractures follow.
But the paschal mystery never leaves us in despair. It calls us to ongoing conversion—a continual reorientation of mind, heart, and life. True conversion is measured not by words or resolutions, but by transformed priorities. Here, the ancient practice of almsgiving takes on profound meaning. Giving to the poor is not mere obligation; it is a way to imitate Christ’s self-emptying love. Charity humbles the giver, restores dignity to the receiver, breaks cycles of indifference, and heals hearts.
Lent sharpens our awareness of all this. It is a season that strips away illusions, when prayer, fasting, and almsgiving work together to realign us toward God. Lent demands honesty—about our failures, attachments, fears, and our own complicity in injustice.
This year, something unique will happen during Lent. From March 26 to 28, young economists, entrepreneurs, thinkers, and innovators from around the world will gather in Assisi to imagine and build economic models that are humane, just, sustainable, and inclusive.
The choice of Assisi is intentional. It is the home of Saint Francis, a radical reminder that true wealth begins with spiritual freedom, not material accumulation. Francis abandoned privilege not because wealth is evil, but because he understood how easily it blinds us to the value of human life. The attendees aim to follow that spirit—not by rejecting the modern world, but by transforming it from within. They seek solutions that honor workers, protect creation, uplift the marginalized, and foster real community rather than exploitation.
If these efforts succeed, it will be because they draw on the spiritual depth at the heart of the Christian story—the depth revealed in the suffering and triumph of Christ.
As Lent approaches, we too are invited to do our part. We are asked to examine our relationships, habits, treatment of others, and willingness to live with compassion. We are challenged to ask whether our choices reflect the love Christ showed us—love willing to sacrifice, forgive, and embrace the unworthy.
We also turn to Mary, Mother of Jesus, who knows suffering and hope intimately. She stood at the foot of the Cross, witnessing the cost of redemption with unwavering faith. Her intercession strengthens all who seek to follow her Son. Through her prayers, we ask for hearts renewed in humility, courage, and mercy.
Lent is not meant to be gloomy. It is a season of purification—removing what is false so that truth can flourish. When we allow God to work within us, we become capable of offering peace where there is conflict, generosity where there is need, truth where there is confusion, and hope where there is despair.
Ultimately, Christ calls us to be “the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world” (Mt 5:13-14). Salt preserves goodness; light reveals truth. Accepting this calling is to embrace the Gospel as a daily mission, not a distant ideal.
May this Lent renew our hearts. May it free us from distractions and divisions that cloud our vision. And may it remind us that the path to meaning, peace, and joy begins at the Cross and leads to the Resurrection—where God’s love proves stronger than sin, stronger than death, and powerful enough to transform the world, one heart at a time.