By: Sebastian Gomes

(CNS Photo: Pope Francis shakes hands with an inmate at the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility in Philadelphia, PA Sept. 27, 2015.)

“It is not that the Gospel has changed: it is that we have begun to understand it better,” ruminated Pope John XXIII on his deathbed in May 1963. That famous utterance lingered in my mind this past week as I read commentaries on Pope Francis’ recent statement that the death penalty is “inadmissible,” “contrary to the Gospel,” and must be given a “more adequate treatment” than is currently outlined in the official Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Francis was speaking at a meeting to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the promulgation of the Catechism at the Vatican.

“It must be clearly stated that the death penalty is an inhumane measure that, regardless of how it is carried out, abases human dignity,” the Pope declared, adding that, “doctrine cannot be preserved without allowing it to develop, nor can it be tied to an interpretation that is rigid and immutable without demeaning the working of the Holy Spirit.”

In the past, the Catholic Church has taught that recourse to the death penalty is admissible in certain cases to protect other human beings and the common good. Pope John Paul II tweaked the Catechism back in the 1990s to stress that such cases are today “very rare, if not practically non-existent.”

But Francis has taken a further step by declaring the death penalty inadmissible in all cases. As might be expected, the Pope’s words set off a debate in the Catholic world about what sort of “development” in official teaching this is.

Clearly, Francis wants the Church’s teaching on capital punishment to be updated in the Catechism. Yet in his address he confidently stated he was not, “in any way contradicting past teaching,” and that his request “in no way represents a change in doctrine.”

Here are a few critical points to consider on this possible development in Church teaching:

• Look beyond the particular teaching to the logic behind it. As important as the topic of capital punishment is, this address was more about how Francis understands development in the Catholic Church. For Francis, the Church is not a set of rules or static teachings, but rather a community on a journey. Catholics do not possess the fullness of the mystery of God, but over time we come to understand it better, as Pope John XXIII recognized. To be faithful to God, the Church’s teachings must reflect this growth or development in understanding. It seems like a paradox, but in Francis’s view development of doctrine is absolutely essential to its preservation. For example, today we think about human dignity (and all it entails) in a very different way than we did even a few centuries ago, when Popes sentenced heretics and criminals to death. But our comprehension of the demands of the Gospel relative to human dignity change over time, in light of our history, our reason, our prayer, our life experience, our historical circumstance, etc. Today it would be impossible to justify the execution of a heretic—or anyone for that matter—at the Vatican, not because our doctrine on human dignity has changed, but because we now understand it better in light of the Gospel.
• Development of doctrine requires admitting past deficiencies. Pope Francis is keenly aware that development implies progress, which implies the possibility of past and present deficiencies, or transgressions. He knows he cannot credibly propose an update to the Church’s teaching on the death penalty without admitting our historic complicity in its practice. In the past, “concern for preserving power and material wealth led to an over-estimation of the value of the law and prevented a deeper understanding of the Gospel,” he said. “Nowadays, however, were we to remain neutral before the new demands of upholding personal dignity, we would be even more guilty.” For Francis, greater than the risk of admitting a development in teaching, is the risk of compounded culpability from denying past sins for the sake of protecting a false image of institutional immutability. Francis is not the first Catholic to admit past transgressions. In its Declaration on Religious Freedom, the Second Vatican Council admitted that Catholics have not always advanced the principle of religious freedom in the spirit of the Gospel, and at times were even opposed to it. (Dignitatis Humanae 12)
• There are some odd irregularities in the Catechism. In the section that explains the Church’s teaching on capital punishment, you can also read its teachings on murder, abortion, euthanasia, and suicide—basically everything having to do with the fifth commandment, “You shall not kill.” Let’s examine how the Catechism addresses two particular forms of intentional murder: homicide and abortion. The Catechism states that homicide is “gravely sinful,” and “cries out to heaven for vengeance” (2268). The Catechism calls abortion a “grave offense,” and adds: “A person who procures a completed abortion incurs excommunication by the very commission of the offense” (2272). Whether or not abortion and murder warrant automatic excommunication is another matter. But a Catholic may legitimately ask why two forms of intentional murder carry vastly different consequences in the life of the Church? The Catechism offers no explanation for this seeming irregularity. But the Catechism was never intended to be a single, infallible source of all divine revelation for eternity. It is a pastoral document. As we move through history, and we grow in understanding of the unchanging truths of the Gospel, so too will expressions of those teachings need to develop. Pope John Paul II, who commissioned the Catechism back in 1985, wished for it to be a tool for catechesis—to help Catholics understand our faith better, that is, to grow. He even felt obligated to make a change to the Catechism regarding the death penalty himself, as I mentioned above.
• The greatest sin is against the Holy Spirit. The New Testament is very clear on this (see Mt 12:31-32, Mk 3:28-30, Lk 12:8-10, Eph 4:29-32). Francis never speaks about development in the Church without referencing the Holy Spirit. In fact, the Holy Spirit is the instigator of development; He is the developer. Francis’s genuine belief in the Holy Spirit opens him to new possibilities, even with regards to Catholic teaching: “Doctrine cannot be preserved without allowing it to develop, nor can it be tied to an interpretation that is rigid and immutable without demeaning the working of the Holy Spirit.” This is a very serious matter. We’re all guilty of many sins, but perhaps we don’t reflect honestly and frequently enough on how our rigidity and fear hinders the work of the Holy Spirit in the Church, who “blows where He wills” (Jn 3:8). A healthy dose of humility and docility to the Holy Spirit is needed in order to grasp the concept of “doctrinal development”, and Pope Francis’ whole ecclesial vision for that matter.

Having said relatively little about capital punishment up to this point, I’ll conclude by sharing some of my own thoughts on the topic in the life of the Church today:

I’ve always wondered why the obvious connection between Jesus’s death and capital punishment isn’t referenced more frequently in this discussion. Jesus did not leave behind a reference book with answers to every difficult moral question that would arise in future eras. We don’t know what he would have said about nuclear weapons, for example, or about the manner in which capital punishment is used in various countries today. It’s up to the Church to interpret the signs of the times in light the Gospel. But the connection here seems obvious. Capital punishment is as old as human civilization, and Christianity is in the rather curious position of worshiping a man who was sentenced to death by the state. It’s true that Jesus didn’t explicitly condemn capital punishment. It’s true that he was explicitly condemned by it.

The nature of Jesus’s death by capital punishment has always made me uncomfortable with its continued use. If there’s one thing that jumps off the pages of the passion narratives (especially in Luke’s Gospel), it is Jesus’s innocence, and by association, the guilt of the authorities who unjustly pursued and procured his state-sanctioned execution. There’s something enduring about that infamous injustice of putting an innocent man to death. Modern science and DNA testing have shown us how the trend continues. But I sometimes think the very fact that we are capable of putting an innocent person to death, as Jesus was, suggests that human beings should never use their power to do so. Jesus’s death teaches us, among so many other things, that we are not God; that when we pass our judgement or impose our will over another human being, we will probably get it wrong, and rather than achieve justice we destroy it.

The crucifixion scene with the penitent criminal at the end of Luke’s Gospel may be the most poignant pro-life statement in the New Testament. The self-admitted criminal asks Jesus to remember him when he enters his kingdom. Dying on the cross, Jesus promises him paradise that very day. What does this say about the death sentences procured by the authorities? They got it wrong twice; even when they got it right—in the case of the criminal—they got it wrong. In God’s eyes, neither the execution of the innocent man nor of the guilty man is justified. “The death penalty is contrary to the Gospel,” Francis says, “because it entails the willful suppression of a human life that never ceases to be sacred in the eyes of its Creator and of which—ultimately—only God is the true judge and guarantor.”

By: Matteo Ciofi

 

“I tell you what I see.” I say this sentence and keep walking quickly reflecting on what a middle aged man from Lampedusa told me in Italian and dialect. I do not know what he refers to, nor do I wonder what his problem is. I will just communicate the reality of what I see with my own eyes and without filters.

A few meters later the dock becomes a pier and the ships are ready to go. My colleague Peter, who is the cameraman, and I get on the Carabinieri boat, which in addition to the Coast Guard and others, will shortly navigate a few miles away from the port to the real commemoration.

It is October 3rd, shortly after 11 o’clock as Lampedusa prepares to live its most touching moment. The procession has reached the Door of Europe, a structure made by Domenico Palladino, and comes down again ready to go wide.

Although 4 years have passed, the memory of 368 deceased migrants is still alive, not just in words or through celebrations, but present in the most concrete sense of the word. A boat carrying authorities and a parish priest leaves the dock, with Carabinieri following them.

The sea is calm, despite the previous night’s wind and rain.  The only waves are the ones that rise as a result of the boat’s route.

After, fifteen minutes of journey and at the shipwreck point of October 3, 2013, all boats try to find an equilibrium in order to create a circle. The operation takes a few minutes to execute. After prayer and a brief speech, a wreath of flowers is thrown into the sea in memory of the victims.

Boat sirens begin to play at the same time, the whistle almost deafening in unison and undoubtedly this is the most touching moment of the commemoration.

In the sounds that grow louder and louder, I imagine the cries of pain of those who tried to save themselves or try to do so today.

The wreckage has never been recovered and a recent report from “La Stampa’s” website states that from January 1st, 2017 until the end of September of this year, there are 2,655 dead and missing in the Mediterranean.

In 2014 UNHCR, the UN refugee agency, defined the crossing of the Mediterranean Sea as the “deadliest road in the world”.

Water and blood. This is the picture that comes to mind most often during these five days in Lampedusa. It is a phrase I heard by chance a few days ago in reference to South America, and still remains in my mind. I think of how it perfectly suits Lampedusa as well. Water and blood travel uninterruptedly around Lampedusa. UNHCR and IOM confirm this combination, estimating that since October 3rd, 2013 until today, 15,696 migrants have died or are missing at sea.

It is not easy to speak about Lampedusa and its connection with the perpetual crisis of migrants. The biggest risk is to derail to rhetoric or to label good and bad people. The only way to gain a better understanding is to talk to locals and let them explain what it means to everyone in Lampedusa.

Francesco Tuccio is a carpenter, but simply defining him so is perhaps unjust. Artist-carpenter makes more sense, especially if you observe the works he produces along with his famous wooden crosses.

At the end of a little street, exiting the historical district, lies his laboratory. Numerous objects that have been ordered, are shipped out from the warehouse and sent to their destination in every corner of the world.

His crosses are obtained from the wood of boats that arrive in Lampedusa. They are  unique pieces of craftsmanship made with his hands which have brought to life the pastoral work used by Pope Francis in his historical visit to Lampedusa on July 8th, 2013.

Mr. Tuccio tells us about his activity and also about the popularity that has touched him unexpectedly.

“Everything started in April 2009, a few days after the terrible earthquake in L’Aquila, when many migrants lost their lives a few miles from Lampedusa. Newspapers and TV gave little attention to this disaster, talking only about the rubble in Abruzzo, while another tragedy in Lampedusa left lifeless bodies at sea”.

Tuccio describes those days and his pain. A feeling caught between two tragedies and accentuated by the little emphasis given to what happened in the Mediterranean.

“It was as if there were people who died from one league and people who died from another league. This was the feeling. His reflection stems from this point; the pain and consciousness of such an imbalance in reporting two disasters.

During those days, walking along a small beach not far from the airport, he started to collect what the sea had brought to shore. Among them were pieces of wood, remains of what once were a boat.

Creating a cross, the easiest object to assemble, became his way of dealing with the  torment. The cross is a symbol of death but also a symbol of the resurrection. Two pieces of wood, with not much work done to them, were criss crossed to convey what happens after this life.

His activity began to attract the attention of his fellow citizens. Moreover, Tuccio’s objects quickly became famous and were in demand all over the world. In fact, as of  December 2015, The British Museum in London has on display a 35cm tall cross created by Tuccio’s very own hands.

Yet, what I perceive of Lampedusa is an atmosphere of peace. Often quoted,  it is an island suspended between Sicily and Africa where life flows serenely. One can breathe in the air of the South, and the scent of the seafood that comes from the restaurants.  There are so many gelato shops that tourists are unable to resist.

I do not know what a foreigner can expect here, but I am tempted to imagine illegal immigrants around the town. It is such a trivial and easy thought, but is immediately dismissed because the reality is quite different. The only people we came across are few survivors or victim’s family members who came to Lampedusa for the commemoration. The rest are simply locals and many tourists who are taking advantage of the sun and beaches as if it was early August.

“Lampedusans have a different relationship with migrants, unlike other Italians”. I hear this phrase in different circumstances and I try to deepen my understanding of the differences that I suppose should not be so subtle.

Mr. Tuccio, and also Paola La Rosa, of the “Lampedusa Support Forum”, explain to me that seeing someone who arrives exhausted after days at sea, and touching hands  with survivors who endured an inhumane crossing, is an experience that inevitably changes one’s approach. Direct contact takes away barriers and creates empathy, while awakening humanity in each of us and gives life to a different relationship. This is a welcome that can not be denied to those who risked their lives for days escaping the persecution and drama.

This is the real difference: seing and touching. These are different perspectives versus  reading reports or watching news videos.

That is the reason why the Lampedusans emphasize diversity and explain their approach. Paola La Rosa, with her association, welcomes migrants at the pier.

Needs are met such as hot tea or blankets, but above all the welcome brings a physical presence and perception that someone is on the other side waiting to receive those who arrive.

Another aspect of the Support Forum is to give identity to lifeless bodies, a process that sometimes is long and almost impossible to accomplish due to lack of information and difficulty in finding them after time has passed.

Paola La Rosa, however, recounts the commitment to this work and the desire to give dignity and burial to those who failed to arrive or to save themselves. She reaffirms that: “An unnamed tomb does not even create empathy, nor can the pain can be felt”.

I reflect several times about this concept as I walk around the cemetery of Lampedusa, a few meters from the airport, where landings are of a different nature every day.

It’s a connection that comes to me almost automatically, as I think of this wonderful island, where all the shades of white and blue seem to be projected onto the sea.

This island is the southern most point of Italy, the gateway to Europe, and lies between welcome and despair. It is where hope sometimes collides with death and water mixes with blood. It is a place that is different from the rest of the country, where you can leave your car unlocked and the keys in the ignition because “Where do you think people can run away to?”

This is the island that in June 1943 was where the “Corkscrew Operation” took place, where the allies won Pantelleria and the Pelagies, as fundamental territories in view of the great landing in Sicily.

Lampedusa is its own small world, and a continental border where I saw with my own eyes what I often watch on TV and where once again I came to the conclusion  that journalism is something which has to be seen and felt.