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Pope Leo’s Mass and Homily at “Arena” sports field in Salina, Lampedusa on Saturday, 4 July 2026
Scripture Reading” Luke 10:25-37 –
25 And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?”26
He said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read?”27 And he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”28 And he said to him, “You have answered right; do this, and you will live.” 29 But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”30 Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him, and departed, leaving him half dead.31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him he passed by on the other side.
32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.33 But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was; and when he saw him, he had compassion,34 and went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine; then he set him on his own beast and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.35 And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’36 Which of these three, do you think, proved neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?”37 He said, “The one who showed mercy on him.”
And Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
Pope Leo’s Homily,
Dear Brothers and Sisters,
God always loves us first.
The beauty of the sea, of this island and of your faces reflects God’s unconditional love.
Love precedes us, surrounds us, and brings us together.
I am grateful to the Lord for the opportunity to visit you in the footsteps of Pope Francis. On July 8, 2013, he wished to come to Lampedusa on his first journey as the Successor of Peter.
As you know, the Apostles sailed in the Mediterranean and experienced the hospitality of its island and coastal inhabitants. For thousands of years, this area has been a crossroads of civilizations.
The Gospel resounds where peoples meet, where people welcome each other and their stories intertwine and different cultures enter into dialogue.
However, people become silent where everyone becomes an island unto themselves, avoiding contact and interrupting exchange.
In this sense, the parable of the Good Samaritan describes an ongoing history, and the encyclical Fratelli Tutti has helped us reread it in light of the current dramatic historical circumstances.
The Word of God is always relevant and leads us into a transformative conversation.
How, then, will we respond to the love of those who first loved us?
Dear friends,
Today, Lampedusa and Linosa are on a dangerous road similar to the one from Jerusalem to Jericho.
Here, you have seen not just one, but thousands of people who have fallen into the hands of robbers. These robbers take everything from their victims, beat them bloody, and leave them for dead.
The sea welcomed those who did not make it to their hoped-for destination.
However, we feel their presence, which challenges us as much as those who have landed and are in need of attention and rescue.
Before any intellectual consideration or ideological conviction, the sight of those lying before us, stripped of everything, calls for proximity.
The Letter to the Hebrews tells us: “Remember those who are ill-treated, for you also have bodies” (Heb. 13:3). This is the heart of the Gospel parable: We are neighbors; we become neighbors!
Brothers and sisters of Lampedusa, I have come to thank you for the closeness that many of you have chosen to demonstrate.
The miracle of compassion has taken place — “He saw and had compassion” (v. 33) — an internal revolution that reveals God’s presence within us and broadens our thoughts, hearts, and lives.
I thank the volunteers and associations gathered in the “Forum Lampedusa Solidale,” the civil institutions, the Coast Guard, the mayors, and the administrations that have come and gone; the deacons, priests, religious leaders, doctors, psychologists, and educators; and the security forces. I thank all those who, with or without the gift of faith, have chosen to love together.
Yes, because among you, love has been organized. This love, which sees the brother at sea, is like the first tremble, the profound call to dare what you would never have thought.
I greet the migrants who are here. They have not only received solidarity, but have also exercised it many times on their journey, helping the poorest among us.
Thank you, brothers and sisters, because your neighborliness is neither obvious nor automatic.
The parable tells us that love is always free, and freedom lies in making decisions.
Some choose not to be close to others, and some decide not to decide. The dead in this sea are victims of decisions made and decisions missed.
These include a lack of interest in the common good and corruption in places of origin; a world economic system that generates poverty and exclusion; fear that feeds prejudice and contempt; the idea that these problems do not concern us; criminal calculations by those who profit from others’ suffering; and the slow and difficult transition from merely managing emergencies to elaborating organic, shared policies.
All of this reproduces the haste to “pass on” in the Gospel account today.
In the parable, a priest and a Levite pass by “by chance” (v. 31).
Both see, yet they pass by.
Unfortunately, throughout history, there have always been people who are afraid of being contaminated by contact with others. They deny their common origin in God, the infinite dignity of every human being, and the call to limitless love, even in the face of suffering and death.
It is time to recognize and affirm that religious affiliation must never be a reason for discrimination, as if faith had boundaries when it is actually a universal call to salvation.
Christ has torn down the walls of separation (Ephesians 2:14).
There is no love of God without love of neighbor, and there is no neighbor if I do not draw near. Stopping, being moved, stooping down, and weeping before the pain of others — as Jesus did — means entering into the movement of love in which God revealed himself.
Dear friends,
Those who allow themselves to be carried away by this dynamic of compassion and mercy begin to live, work, and be citizens differently.
Then, the civilization of love envisioned by my holy predecessors, John XXIII, Paul VI, and John Paul II, can truly arise.
Along with many prophets and martyrs of the past century, they recognized that only mercy can respond to the depths of the human heart and the horrors of war with new beginnings.
Now, standing on the shoulders of these giants, we have entered a millennium in which we must give spiritual, cultural, legal, political, and economic form to the civilization of love.
The enormity of the pain we witness highlights the urgency of this call.
Like the Samaritan, we can change our plans and direction.
Unlike the Samaritan, we have the resources and opportunities to make hope a reality. The Samaritan “came close, bound up his wounds, poured oil and wine on them, put him on his own horse, took him to an inn, and took care of him” (Lk 10:34).
We must also recognize that the civilization of love does not arise from a single, spectacular gesture but from a sum of small, tenacious acts of fidelity that act as a barrier to dehumanization.
Friends of Lampedusa, you are witnesses to this! By confronting you, we better understand our time, and everyone can verify the direction of their lives. “Of course, not everyone has the same power to influence reality […]
Yet, no one is without responsibility.”
“Everyone has his or her own sphere of action, and it is there — nowhere else — that he or she is called to choose whether to feed the logic of force (even with indifference, cynicism, lies, and hatred) or to guard the logic of peace (with truth, sobriety, closeness, and care)” (ibid., 212).
Therefore, from this extreme strip of Europe in the Mediterranean Sea, we can better perceive the epochal call that the migratory phenomenon makes to European societies.
In this respect, as with the ecological transition and the promotion of peace, Europe has unique potential and responsibility derived from its history and culture. Due to its geographical position and institutional setup, Europe is able to address the crisis organically, providing first aid as part of a long-term strategic plan that can welcome, protect, promote, and integrate migrants while working to promote development so that no one is forced to emigrate.
All of this must be done while ensuring respect for the dignity of every person. This is a task not only for public institutions, but also for the entire civil society and the Church.
As I recently said in Tenerife during my apostolic journey to Spain, the culture of hospitality in Lampedusa has a tourist vocation that can unfortunately feel threatened by migratory routes, leading to indifference or even opposition to their dramatic aspects. For many, vacation is merely a distraction, a time for lightheartedness.
It seems as if an invisible wall must be erected between the sea of castaways and vacationers. Have the audacity to think otherwise.
Little by little, with creativity, you will succeed in ensuring that anyone who spends time on this island, even for rest, can become more human by measuring themselves against your charity, by learning from the sea, and by growing from your experiences.
Authentic rest is found where the meaning of life is rediscovered, and true well-being is found where the economy is just and fraternal.
In this economy, care for creation and social friendship are joined together in a way that today’s humanity is looking for.
The first reading reminded us that some people, without knowing it, received angels when they practiced hospitality (Hebrews 13:2).
Therefore, be a prophecy, however small, of what we can strive for together on a large scale.
You and your families will be the first to benefit by overcoming the divisions and differences that only charity can resolve.
May our parish be a community where we learn together, at the school of the Gospel, to welcome, accompany, and integrate in a style of communion.
Here, next to the altar, we have the image of Our Lady of Porto Salvo, the patron saint of Lampedusa.
As you may know, St. Augustine loved to describe human life as navigating a stormy sea, with the ultimate destination being a safe and secure harbor.
Let us not allow fear to overcome us, but rather, let us view our daily struggles as an opportunity to bear witness.
May your faith be intensified, dear friends, by these years of trial and generous commitment.
May this venerated image speak to you again with the strength of the past when people entrusted themselves to the Virgin’s intercession with radical sincerity. We all have a safe haven in God, and every Christian community is called to reflect this on earth.
May you, the community of Lampedusa and Linosa, never lack faith, hope, and charity.
