Father Ferdinando Colombo: Burying the Dead

Not even this final corporal Opera of mercy is as simple and self-evident as one might be tempted to think. Victims of hatred and war, countless human beings remain as corpses on the earth. Perhaps we are not even moved. Interventions often respond more to hygienic or medical concerns than to genuine stirrings of compassion.

However, I have the impression that the most certain event of our existence—its conclusion—navigates troubled waters today, stripped of the mystery and solemnity that belong to it. In fact, our attitude toward «our sister death»—as Saint Francis called it—is one of dreadful fear. The very thought is suppressed and silenced. We say impersonally that «people die», but we do not seriously consider that one day we too will depart. It remains an issue that only concerns others, as Valentino Salvoldi once remarked.

A silent tragedy continues in the Mediterranean

This ongoing drama is strongly denounced by Monsignor Gian Carlo Perego, Director General of the Migrantes Foundation. It is an open wound that challenges our consciences and reaffirms the sacred dignity of every single human life.

Who is responsible? Everyone and no one!

During his historic homily in Lampedusa on July 8, 2013, Pope Francis raised radical questions that challenge our collective conscience: faced with the blood of so many brothers and sisters shed at sea, the widespread temptation is to evade responsibility, assuming the fault always lies elsewhere.

Yet the biblical question asked of Cain—where is your brother?—resounds perpetually. We frequently adopt the stance of those who pass by the injured without stopping, appeasing our conscience with the excuse that helping is not our duty. The relentless pursuit of personal comfort traps us inside fragile bubbles, fostering what the Pontiff described as the «globalization of indifference». Society grows accustomed to suffering, losing the capacity to weep alongside those who mourn. Like Herod, we risk sacrificing human dignity to protect our comfort; hence, we must implore the grace of tears to awaken our hearts from numbness and apathy.

You will not have my hatred

Love is stronger than hatred, and life is stronger than death. This profound reality is revealed with extraordinary grace in Antoine Leiris’s public letter following the loss of his wife at the Bataclan theatre in Paris: addressing those who sowed terror, he refused to grant them the gift of hatred and distrust, affirming that falling into anger would mean surrendering to the very ignorance that drove the violence.

Though deeply heartbroken, he affirmed that affection and memory cannot be extinguished by brutality. Alongside his young son Melvil, his daily commitment remains focused on living freely, happily, and serenely, countering cruelty with the invincible power of dignity and peace.

This seventh meditation concludes the corporal Opere of mercy

We can summarize them by stating that they are the works of charity, the first of which is to purify our love—to love authentically. True love always translates into tangible gestures: we are called to remember that we are love itself and that, by loving, we transform into Love.

For this reason, death will not have the final word over us. A grave is far too small to contain our love. We shall rise again.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, stay with us along the path, lest our journey falter in the darkness of the night. Lead us along the ways of enduring hope and sustain our spirits with the bread of your Word. Remain beside us until our final evening, when our eyes will open to behold your transfigured glory and find rest in the eternal embrace of the Father. Amen.

(Inspired by Sister Anna Maria Cànopi)

Illustration by Sister Marie-Anastasia Carré (Communauté des Béatitudes)