A vocation for goodness

Cardinal Matteo Maria Zuppi, Archbishop of Bologna and President of the Italian Episcopal Conference (CEI), is a person who always inspires hope in the future. His words and commitment to peace speak to today’s world, in which conflicts, inequalities, and wars strike and threaten so many people every day. For Cardinal Zuppi, “teaching peace is an act of revolutionary resistance,” and he’s right. Every human being’s reasoning should be based on goodness, because, essentially, the world can move ahead only if there’s peace.

You often speak of the culture of reconciliation. How can we achieve this in a society so full of conflicts?

Reconciliation doesn’t happen by accident: it’s a very delicate art that demands great determination and conviction, as well as awareness that if we don’t seek it, problems are bound to return. How can we eliminate hate, violence, prejudice, bitterness, all the consequences of these terrible wars? There’s a fascinating article by Domenico Quirico (Italian journalist, b. 1951) that says that all massacres are the same, and that even so-called decent people, who would never dream of killing someone, oppressing someone, seeking revenge, do terrible things when overwhelmed by war. With all that this entails in both the perpetrator and the victim, because it’s obvious that this generates terrible poisons of violence. One of the things that Pope Leo asked parishes was to be houses of peace and of non-violence, and to work to resolve conflicts. Sometimes even our cities look more like bunkers, places of hostility, than places of community, encounter, dialog, identity. So, there is a great need for reconciliation, and it has to begin with us. We have to be artisans of peace and reconciliation, starting from the little things. Apologize, take the first step, and don’t leave lifeless hate in the streets or in our hearts. We have to seek our brother. When all of the religions met in Rome, I was struck by the story of the Wolf of Gubbio. St. Francis’s brilliant idea was not to take the wolf to another city to start a new life, but instead to bring him back to Gubbio and ask its inhabitants to take care of him, explaining that the wolf behaved as he did because he was hungry. This is the brilliance of reconciliation, and thus when the wolf died two years later, the inhabitants of Gubbio cried. They were at war with the wolf because he had killed some people and, who knows, the first person to bring him food may have thought: a leopard can’t change its spots, he’ll bite me again. But instead, there was reconciliation and the genius of St. Francis. Of course, reconciliation isn’t easy, but it’s the only way to rebuild relationships that evil shatters, breaks, shreds.

How can society and each of us work to improve things?

Very often, we think these are someone else’s problems, and we act like bystanders, as if it doesn’t concern us. We’re poisoned by individualism, and when we have to take care of others, of public matters, of things that regard everyone, we act like bystanders, looking on as if it doesn’t concern us. We think: someone else will handle it, it’s not my problem. But the exact opposite is true: we have to remember that public and private are closely connected. To give an example, the porticos of Bologna are owned by the buildings, and if a piece of a portico breaks, the building located behind that piece of portico repairs it, not the City. This has always fascinated me, that something that is an extension of one’s home is also a place of encounter. I think we should learn to do this with many other things. Public space belongs to no one, or someone else will deal with it. But it’s also mine – we’re all co-owners, with volunteering, with teaching solidarity, supporting local organizations that work for the common good.

We can also ask ourselves how all of our choices – from voting to grocery shopping – affect the lives of others. Care of the most vulnerable is a collective responsibility: no one survives by themself.

In 2025 we celebrated the 800^th anniversary of the Canticle of the Creatures, and this year there will be other initiatives in memory of St. Francis. What does he teach today’s youth?

St. Francis dictated the Canticle of the Creatures when he was blind. But he could see and also make others see, with his enormous capacity to see profoundly, in both a human and spiritual way, and the two things are closely united. He also dictated the music, now lost, for the Canticle. He was a true poet and liked to sing. Of course, singing always adds something more, it’s not just reciting the verses, there’s always a melody that expresses them and touches the heart. It tells us that we have to be aware of gifts - not our property – but instead gifts that the giver does not take back, that are entrusted to us. The giver doesn’t say, “Oh well, now I’ll take it back because you were inept, I’ll give it to someone else.” A gift changes everything, because it means we’re not the result of chance, but the recipients of something extraordinarily beautiful. He sang knowing that he also showed us the most negative aspects of beauty, he sang about death, as if to say the force of love vanquishes the force of death. His great teaching is to be aware that these gifts are entrusted to us: what do we do with them? It’s no coincidence that even after ten years, Pope Francis’s Pontifical Document remains a reference point for us all, for conservation of the common home, of creation, full of directions that we hope will help us understand that we must not destroy creation. St. Francis’s eyes made him suffer enormously, and he underwent an operation, as may be seen in one of his oldest portraits (painted from life), located in Subiaco.

He is a blind man who sees and who helps us see, contemplate, and understand beauty.

He sings of beauty and makes us aware of it. This is his wonderful message.

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