You've got mail -- a letter from Cardinal Pizzaballa, sent April 27 to the Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem, over which he presides. The letter is addressed to the Catholics of the Middle East, whose center is in Jerusalem. But even a few lines in, it becomes apparent that his audience is each of us, wherever we are -- because, as he says, "Jerusalem is the heart of the world." What Jerusalem is, what it suffers and what it wrestles with and what it will become, is nothing less than the pattern for life in this world -- and the promise of the next.
So it's worth your reading, especially if world events have left you feeling low on hope and short on clues for what to do about it. It's a long letter; the cardinal admits it up front, and asks his readers to give it time and prayer and reflection.
This Letter is not intended for a quick or partial reading, nor is it to be used as a text of political analysis. It is offered as one to be read slowly, as a tool for discernment and the promotion of conversation and reflection within our ecclesial contexts, our communities, monasteries, and families. Its purpose is not to propose immediate answers or technical solutions, but rather to help each person reflect on how to live our Christian faith in this land today in the light of the Gospel.
Jerusalem: Three reflections
Cardinal Pizzaballa's letter is in three parts. The first looks at the present situation of Jerusalem. The second explores the vision of the New Jerusalem from the Book of Revelation. And the third proposes how we might work to make that vision become more real, more practical, more possible.
In each of the three sections, Jerusalem is not just the city in the beleaguered Holy Land and the suffering people of the Latin Patriarchate, but the world in which we live and all of us Christians who live here.
Reading the reality
In the letter's first section, Cardinal Pizzaballa lays out the present circumstances of the Jerusalem Patriarchate: caught up in wars, torn by divisions, in economic distress and finding trust and hope scarce commodities. He names the attack on Israel of October 7, 2023, and the retaliatory actions of Israel in Gaza as the key point of fracture, which built on past conflicts and continues to send out ripples of destruction.
That climate of despair and distrust has spread to us, too, in our own cities and churches and nations. We recognize in ourselves a hardening of the spirit. "When the cry of the suffering seems to be unheard or go unanswered, there is the temptation to lose faith, even within communities of faith, which should serve as the voice of the weakest, faith even in God," the cardinal writes. He refuses to leave it there, however, acknowledging also the international support and the work of groups and individuals who daily witness, by their actions, the possibilities of repair. And he asks:
How can we speak a word of truth without creating new barriers and new victims? It is a question that haunts me every day, and one that is never easy to answer ...
This is our situation: a valley of tears, of resignation, of empty words… and yet also containing courageous experiences of life and fraternity. It is in this wilderness that we are invited to recognize once again the voice of God calling us.
"God's dream named Jerusalem"
In the second part of the letter, the cardinal offers a vision of the work to which we are called. It is a vision based on the prophecy of the New Jerusalem in Revelation 21-22. One particular passage speaks to the cardinal:
And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
“See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them and be their God;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:2-4)
In several eye-opening paragraphs, Cardinal Pizzaballa describes what is unique about the New Jerusalem John envisioned. It is a city not of buildings and real estate, but of close relationships -- between people, and between people and God.
It is a city whose gates are open to all -- though it takes pains to close out violence, oppression, and exploitation. It is a city with no need for power plants, or even the sun or moon, because the Lamb of God is its light.
This passage in Revelation takes us a step further, beyond the criterion of possession, asphyxiated spaces, closed boundaries, and idolized property that we have seen so far. Light is not owned; it is welcomed and spread. It thus becomes the criterion for interpreting reality and guiding choices. Through what eyes, with what spirit do we view others, especially those who are not “one of us”? With trust, with fear, or – worse still – with contempt?
To train one’s eyes to this light – which is life – becomes the first task of those who wish to belong to this City. It means recognizing each person – the poor, the stranger, and even the enemy – as a creature made in the image and likeness of God, looking at them as one looks at God.
Finally, the New Jerusalem is a city with a mission beyond its boundaries.
Jerusalem’s mission is not confined within its walls or closed within its gates. The spring of living water that flows from the heart of the Lamb irrigates the whole world. Jerusalem is an “outlooking” City, called to bear fruit for humanity. What it has received from on high is to be shared with all. It has a specific mission, which is uniquely its own: to “heal the nations.” Heal from what? The text does not specify, because it does not point to a single wound, but to the very root of wounded life. It does say, however, that what heals is its being alive, its participation in the life of God.
Our mission
Lest you think this letter is full of beautiful language but not a lot of practical advice, the cardinal's third section describes specific groups and actions whose work, even now, carries out Jerusalem's vocation of healing the world. And he calls on us to join with these actions and groups where we are and where we can.
Prayer and liturgy - These come first, and for reasons we might not expect:
There is a subtle temptation that we must recognize: that of considering liturgy and prayer as an instrument, a means to obtain something else – even if this be peace, the end of war, solutions to problems. Prayer is not a means. It is a moment of love and encounter with God, in which we seek to see Him and to be seen by Him, as we do when we visit those we love. It is the heart, the breath. It is what keeps our community alive when everything else falters. Those who pray find trust, even when it seems impossible, because prayer may not change everything or bring immediate and tangible results, but it transforms the way we see things.
The domestic Church of the family - Where peace and reconciliation are born and nurtured and carried out into the world.
Schools - "Our laboratories of the future."
Hospitals and social welfare - Make the realities of caring and healing known, instead of listening to the voices of hatred.
The living memories of the elderly - We must listen to and learn from them.
The courage and prophecy of young people - May they be at home in our parishes, not just as recipients but as doers.
Priests and religious - Be points of reference for the community and sentinels of a new dawn.
Ecumenical and interreligious dialogue - As Christians, we must speak with one voice. And with those of other faiths:
Dialogue must penetrate our parishes, our neighborhoods, our daily relationships. We must learn to speak with others, not just about others; to truly listen to their story, their suffering, their fears. Only in this way can we escape the mindset that values only our own torment.
Rejecting the culture of violence - In our words, in our actions, in our media.
Building trust - Because skepticism keeps us stymied.
In concrete terms, ... trust drives us to support and make visible all the initiatives, people, and organizations in our region that continue to believe in others and promote the art of encounter. But it is not enough to simply follow what others do: we are called to become promoters of this style of presence ourselves, personally embracing the courage of unity.
Welcoming - Because it is the breath of love. Welcoming turns "we" and "they" into "us."
"Return to Jerusalem with joy"
Cardinal Pizzaballa is not naive. He knows nothing can be accomplished -- in the earthly Jerusalem, in our own communities and nations -- by our efforts alone. But that is no reason to remain hopeless or refrain from acting. "Indeed," he writes, "it is precisely in these cases that our pastoral action must become more incisive: not aiming to be heroes, but to open up spaces for the work of God."
He closes the letter with a reminder of how the disciples who met Jesus on the road to Emmaus "returned to Jerusalem rejoicing." They, too, had given up hope, yet even in their despair they opened themselves to an encounter with a stranger. They listened to him. They offered him hospitality. And it made all the difference.
We, too, desire to return to our daily Jerusalem – our homes, our parishes, our communities, our daily commitments – with that same joy. Not a naïve joy that ignores hardships. But an Easter joy, that knows that light conquers darkness, that life defeats death, that love disarms hatred.
Let us return to Jerusalem with joy. Let us return to our lives with passion. Let us carry in our hearts God’s dream for God’s City, and let us allow that dream to become, step by step, day by day, our very lives.
Will you come along?
