by Bro. Alberto Parise MCCJ
“The present document can help us see that the teaching of the social Encyclicals Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti is not unrelated to our encounter with the love of Jesus Christ. For it is by drinking of that same love that we become capable of forging bonds of fraternity, of recognizing the dignity of each human being, and of working together to care for our common home.” Dilexit Nos 217
The chronicle of recent months confirms more and more each day the evident truth that the world we live in, marked by wars and imbalances, seems to have lost its heart, the authentic sense of humanity. As Benedict XVI had already noted in Caritas in Veritate, and on various occasions Pope Francis has reiterated, at the root of the sad scenario characterizing our time is an anthropological crisis. It is a distorted vision of humanity and the world that crystallizes in a society navigating on the surface, living in a rush without knowing why, wrapped in an insatiable consumerism and a narcissistic individualism (DN 2) that closes in on itself, without the capacity for healthy relationships and for welcoming God (DN 17). Social encyclicals, like Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti, reflect on this reality, engage in discernment, and propose paths of transformation inspired by the Gospel. But such a transformation presupposes a conversion of the heart.
The symbol of the heart, the most intimate center of the human person – who is soul and body – indicates the depth that unifies all dimensions of humanity: physical, psychic, and spiritual (DN 21). In this unifying center, the background of meaning and an orientation of the person takes shape, as corporeal and spiritual (DN 3), and it emerges as the place of sincerity, where one cannot deceive or disguise one’s naked truth (DN 5). The fundamental dynamic of all this lies in the fact that it is in this depth that the human person experiences the presence and love of God, the possibility of letting oneself be transformed by this love, of becoming an instrument of God’s action, of incarnating the Word of life.
The Heart of the Simple
In my missionary experience in Kenya, in the slums of Nairobi, I have always been struck and challenged by the faith of simple people. For example, I remember Wambui (not real name), a middle-aged grandmother who took care of her orphaned grandchildren after the death of their mother, her daughter, from AIDS. You could meet her in the morning, when she went in search of some way to make ends meet, without the certainty of having something to put on the table for the children in the evening. Yet, she started over again every day. Her mantra, in the informal Swahili of the slums, was Mungu iko! – that is, “God is there!” It was not fatalism, nor a fallacious illusion of a stopgap God. No, it is a hope beyond all despair, founded on the lived experience of God’s closeness, compassion, and tenderness. How many people like her have testified to me about this experience of personal encounter, of relationship with the Risen One! First of all, the vivid sense of His presence, a perception that changes the eyes and the heart. Testimonies that have sparked in me a strong desire to experience this presence, which is a gift of grace.
At times, this desire has found an answer, in the most difficult and harsh moments, in a grace that manifests itself to me as a silent presence, before which nothing remains but the awareness that God exists and is everything. Especially in borderline situations, where no solution or way out is seen, from this silence emerges something like a word, inviting one to follow it immediately: as often appears in the Gospel, “immediately” is God’s time. It is acting with faith, as a human response to God’s love, and how many times it has led me to marvel at how the Risen One works through us. Not through our ego, but through a docile heart that lets God’s love and action pass into history. “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last” (John 15:16), Jesus told us. The Father’s will is fulfilled in the fruits of our service, of fraternity, and of our participation in the mission (DN 163). For a moment, one perceives reality transparently, transfigured in the Risen One, the first fruit of the mission, whose goal is the transfiguration of the cosmos so that all reality may participate in the mystery of the Incarnation. As Laudato Si’ reminds us (LS 83):
“The ultimate destiny of the universe is in the fullness of God, which has already been attained by the risen Christ, the measure of the maturity of all things. Here we can add yet another argument for rejecting every tyrannical and irresponsible domination of human beings over other creatures. The ultimate purpose of other creatures is not to be found in us. Rather, all creatures are moving forward with us and through us towards a common point of arrival, which is God, in that transcendent fullness where the risen Christ embraces and illumines all things. Human beings, endowed with intelligence and love, and drawn by the fullness of Christ, are called to lead all creatures back to their Creator.“
This dynamic of the heart brings to light two other aspects: joy and humility. The joy of the Gospel, of the Word that becomes incarnate in reality and transforms it; a joy expressed in praise, in wonder, in thanksgiving. And the awareness that our heart is not self-sufficient, but fragile and wounded. As Dilexit nos emphasizes (DN 30),
“it is not enough to know the Gospel or to carry out mechanically its demands. We need the help of God’s love. Let us turn, then, to the heart of Christ, that core of his being, which is a blazing furnace of divine and human love and the most sublime fulfilment to which humanity can aspire. There, in that heart, we truly come at last to know ourselves and we learn how to love.“
Mission and Social Transformation
The dynamic of the heart also shapes the process of evangelization, which is making God’s Kingdom present in the world (EG 176). During my first missionary assignment in Kariobangi, in the slums of Nairobi, I was involved in social ministry and the promotion of justice and peace. In a context of rising tensions between local gangs (the mungiki, a Gikuyu group, and the taliban, a vigilante group predominantly from the Luo community supported by a local politician), a wave of violence erupted, culminating in a massacre on March 3, 2002. Following the killing of a vigilante, the taliban that same night killed three youths believed to be responsible, who later turned out to be mungiki members. Three days later, the latter carried out a brutal reprisal, killing and mutilating many people on the streets of Kariobangi. National shock followed, along with tensions, fears of an uncontrollable escalation, and political manipulation ahead of the elections. No one knew what to do, how to respond to a situation on the brink of the abyss.
But the unheard-of happened: precisely where everything divides – politics, ethnicity, poverty, exclusion, and even religion – an interfaith peace group was formed for the first time, overcoming distrust, petty particular interests, and antagonisms. A commission of religious leaders began visiting the surviving victims house by house, bringing listening, closeness, tenderness, security, and the opportunity to pray together. In such a climate, we could feel how, each time, the memory of these people was transformed. After a few months, the survivors and families of the victims were eager to meet and continue the journey of healing and reconciliation together.
I vividly remember the first meeting: in the same room were the parents of the three murdered youths belonging to the mungiki, and the survivors and families of the victims of the mungiki retaliation. Despite fears, still-fresh pain, and differences, this encounter of humanity opened new possibilities. The path then became very articulated over a period of more than a year. Among the many meetings and activities that contributed to the reconciliation process, one stands out: the encounter with the movement of Community Peace Museums. These are expressions of local communities that keep ancestral traditions of peace alive. The elders of these communities met the survivors of Kariobangi, shared their experiences, and accompanied them through a process of reconnection with their roots, following the path of the spirituality of Utu (African humanism), using ancestral knowledge and traditional means of communication, such as stories, proverbs, material culture, peace trees, and so on.
A social transformation occurred, passing through healing, a unification of broken and fragmented lives, later harmonized and regenerated by acquiring a new meaning: a sense of mission to promote peace and fraternity in the slums. Thus, by loving, they rediscovered why and for what purpose to live, experiencing a deep state of connection and harmony (cf. DN 23).
Of course, it was not a linear, simple journey without contradictions. There were difficult moments, some steps backward, conflicts, the experience of the viscosity of reality, which hinders and weighs down the path. Yet, precisely in the midst of these struggles, in the heart of these people, the Gospel met their culture at a level they had not yet experienced. And starting from the heart, this group managed to unite their differences and diverse wills and pacify them, letting themselves be guided by the Spirit as brothers and sisters. In the Heart of Jesus, we become capable of relating in a healthy and happy way and of building in this world the Kingdom of love and justice. Our heart united with that of Christ is capable of this social miracle (DN 28).
The Heart of Jesus invites us to hope that every wound can be healed, even if deep. Faced with losses or irreversible situations, complete reparation seems impossible, but the encounter with Christ leads to regeneration, to becoming a new creation, reconciled and with peace in the heart, like the Risen One who always bears in his body the marks of the passion and death (DN 186).
The Common Good and Social Peace
The fourth chapter of Evangelii Gaudium presents the dynamics of this construction of the Kingdom. In every nation, inhabitants develop the social dimension of their life by configuring themselves as responsible citizens within a people, not as a mass dragged by dominant forces. But becoming a people is something more, and requires a constant process in which every new generation finds itself involved. It is a slow and arduous work that demands a willingness to integrate and to learn how to do so until developing a culture of encounter in a pluriform harmony (EG 220). In Pope Francis’s magisterium, the theme of “people” is central and must be interpreted in relation to Lumen Gentium as an ecclesiological symbol of a Church that is a sign and instrument of intimate union with God and of the unity of the whole human race, in an eschatological perspective, reflecting the dynamic of the “already and not yet.” A red thread connecting Pope Francis’s social encyclicals is this vision of social and intercultural dialogue for social transformation in the spirit of the Gospel, in the sense of justice, equality, fraternity, and care for our common home. Dilexit Nos emphasizes that the dynamics of such transformation are sustained by the dynamics of a heart that assimilates itself to the Heart of Jesus.
Let’s examine it in detail: Evangelii Gaudium presents four fundamental principles that guide the paths of social transformation in the sense described above. First, the principle that “time is greater than space” (EG 222-225). This expression has a profoundly spiritual, pastoral, and also political meaning. Pope Francis explains:
“This principle enables us to work slowly but surely, without being obsessed with immediate results. It helps us patiently to endure difficult and adverse situations, or inevitable changes in our plans.” (EG 223)
“Space” refers to the management of power, control, efficiency, and dominance over things, over reality, over others. It is the obsession with the immediate, with possession. “Time,” on the other hand, represents process, growth, patience, gradual transformation, and faithfulness on the journey. The Pope invites us not to “occupy spaces” (i.e., to dominate), but to initiate processes that allow seeds to mature, people to change, and grace to act. In Evangelii Gaudium, this principle is of great importance in the context of missionary pastoral care and the building of social peace. Pope Francis proposes a Church that does not impose quick and definitive solutions from above, but one that inserts itself into the concrete history of people, accompanying real, albeit imperfect and slow, processes of change. This also applies to social and political processes: it is better to initiate an imperfect but inclusive and lasting journey than to “occupy a space” by imposing a truth without listening, dialogue, or graduality.
But above all, this principle reflects a heart in constant listening to God, who works in time and invites us to patience, hope, and trust in His work. Jesus Himself, in His preaching, sows the Kingdom of God but does not impose it. He uses parables that speak of seeds, of leaven, of slow but effective growth. The logic of the Kingdom is that of transformative time, not of conquerable space.
To say that “time is greater than space” means affirming the primacy of process over imposition, of faithfulness over conquest, of sowing over immediate harvest. It is an invitation to build with patience and hope, trusting in the transformative power of God’s grace.
The second principle states that “unity prevails over conflict” (EG 226-230). This is an invitation not to fear differences or conflicts, but to face them with a spirit of reconciliation and constructively. Evangelical unity is not imposed but is built patiently through dialogue, listening, and charity, making visible the face of a reconciled Church and humanity. The challenge is to transcend conflict, integrating it into a journey of reconciliation and communion, where differences are not erased but harmonized. The unity the Pope speaks of is not uniformity but a reconciliation of differences. True unity, therefore, is born from a journey through conflict, not from its denial. It is a higher unity that preserves differences without letting them explode into destructive oppositions. The Heart of Jesus, a symbol of discernment, compassion, and union with the Father’s will, also illustrates the theological foundation of this principle: every conflict can become a place of new life if welcomed in the Spirit.
The third principle, “reality is more important than the idea” (EG 231-233), invites us to avoid ideological abstractions and always start from the concreteness of reality. Ideas are necessary to understand and guide action, but they must not prevail over reality nor replace it. Ideas must arise from real experience, serve the concrete lives of people, and not be instruments to dominate or distort it. Francis warns against the danger of a disincarnate idealism that imposes abstract schemes on reality; furthermore, he denounces the ideologization of faith, which reduces Christianity to a conceptual or moralistic system, forgetting the real encounter with Christ and with our brothers and sisters.
In light of what has been said, it is clear that the commitment to the common good, to the care of our common home, and to peace does not stem from an ideology or a “secular” project, but is the fully human response to God’s love experienced in the Heart of Jesus.
Evidently, all of this is connected to the Incarnation of the Word and its realization in history (EG 231). In other words, the Gospel becomes incarnate in history; it is not imposed as a theory. To evangelize means to listen, to touch, to share, not merely to explain or convince. The idea must become “flesh,” as happened in the Incarnate Word.
Finally, the fourth principle, “the whole is greater than the part” (EG 234-237), is an invitation to overcome closed-mindedness, particularisms, and sterile oppositions in order to build a real and inclusive communion. It is not about denying differences, but about inserting them into a shared journey, where every part enriches the whole, and the whole gives meaning to every part. It is the logic of the Gospel, which calls everyone to unity in diversity. The text illustrates this principle with the powerful image of the “polyhedron” (EG 236):
“Here our model is (…) the polyhedron, which reflects the convergence of all its parts, each of which preserves its distinctiveness. (…); it is the sum total of persons within a society which pursues the common good, which truly has a place for everyone.“
Unlike a sphere, where everything is uniform, in a polyhedron each face has its own shape and position, but together they form a single, harmonious structure. This is how society should be as well: diverse yet united, pluralistic yet cohesive. All of this requires a heart capable of humility, to recognize that my point of view is only a part; capable of listening and dialogue, to build a common horizon together; and capable of integration, so that no one is discarded, either culturally or socially.
Conclusion
The transformation of the world in the spirit of the Gospel is, concretely, a process of redemption from social sin—from structures of sin that generate and sustain poverty, underdevelopment, violence, and degradation. As Francis emphasizes (DN 182),
“In union with Christ, amid the ruins we have left in this world by our sins, we are called to build a new civilization of love. (…) Amid the devastation wrought by evil, the heart of Christ desires that we cooperate with him in restoring goodness and beauty to our world.“
Indeed, the repetition of sins against others often ends up consolidating a structure of sin that affects the development of peoples. A dominant mentality is thus formed that considers normal or rational what is, in reality, merely selfishness and indifference, leading to social alienation. In its forms of social organization, production, and consumption, such a society makes the realization of human solidarity more difficult (DN 183). To build a civilization of love, humanity needs the Heart of Jesus—that is, the life, fire, and light that come from Christ (DN 184).
God—continues Pope Francis—has willed to limit Himself, and the suffering and evil that afflict the world are, in reality, part of the birth pangs, inviting us to collaborate with the Creator. Our collaboration, letting the love of God pass through us, can allow God’s power to spread into our lives and into the world (DN 192). The meaning of the things we do, of the commitment poured out for the healing of wounds, for the regeneration of persons and peoples—ultimately, for the construction of a civilization of love—is to accompany the joyful encounter with the love of Christ who embraces and saves (DN 208).
