On September 19, 1870, troops of the new Kingdom of Italy surrounded the city of Rome, which at the time was ruled by Blessed Pius IX, styled by his loyal people Il Papa Re, the Pope-King. Pius had refused entry to the Italian army and gave orders for his soldiers to resist the attackers, yet he commanded that, as soon as the ancient walls of Rome were breached, they should surrender. He did not want lives sacrificed unnecessarily, but he did want it known to the world that papal sovereignty had been violated by force and not taken legitimately. Ultimately, the pontiff did not surrender or agree to arrangements which offered concessions to both parties. He refused to acknowledge the occupation, withdrew into the Vatican, and waited on the Lord. For the next fifty-nine years, the jurisdiction of the Pope was in question and Pius IX and his successors considered themselves to be “prisoners of the Vatican.” Finally, in 1929, an agreement was reached between Pope Pius XI and Mussolini, which established the relationship between the Vatican and Italy that exists (with some changes) today.
Often, like Pope Pius IX, we are not satisfied with observing the first breach of the wall. Outraged, we want to fight on. Sometimes we want to see blood. We want to see the enemy repulsed. Nay, made to pay.
Like so many, my blood has boiled during the last few months. Like so many, I have been anxious, even fearful, though I live in the faraway Antipodes. And yes, the baser side of me has wanted individuals to pay, to be confounded, to flee with coals upon their heads and millstones tied round their necks. I need hardly explain what I am talking about. The seismic shift in geopolitics is one of those rare historical events that will change the lives of every man, woman and child on the planet.
While all this goes on, a successor of Il Papa Re convalesces in his apartment after a month in a Roman hospital. In his condition, he is as unkinglike a man as anyone could possibly imagine. While millions of people across the world stormed heaven for his recovery, Francis continues to serve the People of God from his sickbed. On March 3, 2025, two days after a public verbal attack on President Volodymyr Zelensky in the Oval Office, the Pope addressed these words to the world:
Jesus asks us to train our eyes to observe the world well and to judge our neighbor with charity. Only with this caring gaze that does not condemn can fraternal correction become a virtue.
“Observe the world well.” Jesus counselled something similar when he told His disciples to be as “cunning as serpents”— “judge our neighbor with charity.” The Master told us to be “as innocent as doves” — do not condemn. How hard this dance of justice and mercy can be. And yet, this is the gospel.
Injustice and our difficulty responding to it is, of course, as old as the human race. The sacred author of Psalm 73 meditated on the tyranny of the unjust when he wrote:
Their mouths rage against the heavens
while their tongues are never stilled on the earth.So the people blindly follow them
and find nothing offensive in their words.
Should we rage against the heavens too? Should we who petition God for the healing of a man also pray for the destruction of the perpetrators of injustice?
Like many, in times of personal trial I take refuge in the Holy Mass. I open my heart to the readings, to the words of the Savior, to the words of the Church in praise and petition to its Lord and Bridegroom. On one occasion I was at Mass, hearing the words of Christ, “Take this, all of you, and drink from it, for this is the chalice of my Blood, the Blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in memory of me.”
Normally when I hear these words I understand “I give you my life and invite you to receive, and share it.” Yet on that day I understand the chalice in a different way, clear as a bell, as if the Master was speaking directly to me. I understood it in the same way that the sons of thunder understood it when, seeking the highest places in the Kingdom of God, the Savior asked them, “Can you drink the chalice that I shall drink?” He was saying, “Drink my blood; live my passion; love even to the cross.”
This call in the Eucharist, uttered at our altars every day, is the answer to injustice, to the cries of millions oppressed by lies, avarice and ambition. It is offered by God. It is the answer of Christ, in His Mystical Body, to the mouths that rage against the heavens, and to the people who blindly follow them and find nothing offensive in their words: the God of justice and mercy humbled Himself so that He could be a gentle king because love is of greater worth than power.
It is a mighty answer, an unanswerable answer, an insuperable thunder. Why? Because it is the answer of Love Himself, of He whose blood conquered the world, of He who, though dying on a cross, had already conquered death. It is the answer of He who, glorious in the self-same flesh that hung on that cross, will come to judge the living and the dead.
Meanwhile, we stand in love with the oppressed and if we can do nothing else, we bear their pain in our hearts and unite them to those of the Crucified. And yes, as a wise, old man once counselled when he seemed close to death, we cast the caring glance that does not condemn even towards the oppressors. He tells us to “judge our neighbor with charity.” Notice judge. For they are already judged in love by God. Streams of grace will continue to fall on them, on all women and men, until we stand before Him on our last day. This is the judgement of God. It is a judgement of love. Only this can free us from the disquiet that afflicts us. Only the peace of Christ can give peace to the world.
A final word about Blessed Pius IX. While a political agreement was not reached for half a century, the King of Italy, Victor Emmanuel II, was a devout Catholic and was dismayed to find himself the enemy of Pius IX. He was excommunicated for attacking Rome but, as death approached in January 1878, Pius sent envoys to lift the excommunication. Pope and king were reconciled, and Pius died just one month after Victor Emmanuel. In a world where justice seems non-existent, history sometimes shows us examples of His justice overcoming impossible odds. For God, justice is mercy. Justice is peace.
Image: Vatican News.
Gary Campbell is a freelance writer living in Australia, writing history and educational literature. He has also worked as a schoolteacher. Gary was a member of the Society of St. Pius X (SSPX) for 12 years, including as an ordained priest for five years. He was reconciled to Rome in 1999 and laicized.
Popular Posts