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Christ embraced the full weight of human sin with a willingness that still unsettles anyone who looks at the cross honestly. Scripture tells us He became sin for our sake, absorbing into Himself the very darkness that separates us from God. Pope Benedict XVI once described this mystery as a moment in which God seems to “turn against Himself” — not out of contradiction, but out of a love so fierce it refuses to stand at a distance from human suffering. Instead of keeping His purity untouched, Christ steps directly into the mess, bearing what is ours so that we might share what is His. It is the heart of the paschal mystery: a love that does not retreat, does not negotiate, does not remain abstract, but chooses to walk straight into the fractured places of the human soul.

That kind of love feels almost unbelievable when held up against the noise of modern life. Our world is crowded with distractions, flooded with endless updates, trivia, outrage, and novelty. The Athenians of Paul’s time spent their days chasing new ideas for the sake of stimulation rather than transformation. Today, we are not so different. We scroll, we skim, we chase the next headline, and we mistake noise for meaning. Media, when misused, can dull the heart, scatter the mind, and drown out the still, persistent voice calling us inward. The Gospel, however, never settles for surface-level curiosity. It invites us to step out of our restlessness and into a deeper engagement — a dialogue capable of reshaping our lives rather than merely entertaining us.

Entering the paschal mystery means acknowledging not just Christ’s suffering but the suffering around us that mirrors His wounds. Every act of violence against the innocent, every forgotten person pushed to the margins, every broken system that crushes dignity — all of this reflects a world groaning for redemption. When we harm one another through selfishness or indifference, we widen the distance between ourselves and God. When we wound creation, treating the natural world as disposable, we reveal how carelessly we handle the gift we were meant to steward. These patterns expose what happens when hearts drift away from truth. The cross is not just a symbol of Christ’s agony; it is a mirror held up to humanity’s capacity for harm — and God’s capacity to heal it.

Real conversion pushes us away from self-preservation and toward generosity. Almsgiving becomes more than charity; it becomes a reorientation of the heart. Giving opens space for grace to move. It shifts the focus from fear to compassion and from scarcity to trust. Acts of generosity, no matter how small, reshape the interior landscape of a person. They remind us that we are responsible for one another and that justice is not an abstract ideal but a lived practice. In restoring what has been lacking, we learn again to see each person as someone worthy of dignity.

This coming Lent, from March 26 to 28, young economists, entrepreneurs, and innovators will gather in Assisi to imagine an economy rooted not in exploitation but in justice, inclusion, and care. Their goal is not simply to critique what is broken, but to construct a new vision in which human dignity sits at the center of economic life. Pope Francis has challenged the world repeatedly to rethink systems that privilege profit over people. These young leaders are stepping forward to answer that challenge — searching for practical ways to build structures that protect the vulnerable, honor the worker, and cultivate opportunities for those who have been left behind. Their work signals a growing awareness that economic choices are moral choices and that stewardship of resources must reflect the same love and responsibility Christ shows in the paschal mystery.

As believers prepare to enter a season of renewal, Mary stands as a companion and guide. She embodies the quiet courage of someone who listens deeply, trusts fully, and follows faithfully even when the path winds through darkness. Her presence encourages the faithful to let their hearts be purified, to let go of what weighs them down, and to open themselves to the transformation the Gospel demands. Lent is not a season of empty rituals; it is a time to return to what matters, to confront the parts of our lives that resist God’s call, and to choose again the path of mercy and reconciliation.

When the heart begins to change, the world around it changes as well. People become less inclined to bitterness and more inclined to repair what has been broken. Forgiveness becomes possible. Dialogue becomes sincere. Actions align more closely with the values preached but not always practiced. And slowly, piece by piece, the mission Christ entrusted to His disciples becomes visible again — the mission to be salt in a world losing flavor and light in a world surrounded by shadows. Salt preserves, restores, and gives depth. Light reveals what is hidden and makes the path clear. These are not passive identities; they are active tasks, requiring courage, generosity, and perseverance.

Christ’s sacrifice reveals a love that refuses to remain theoretical. It plunges into human brokenness and calls each of us to do the same — to enter the pain of others with compassion, to confront our own failings with honesty, and to embrace the world with the same hope that carried Him through the cross and into resurrection. The paschal mystery is not a moment locked in history. It is a living reality, unfolding in every act of justice, every work of mercy, every step taken toward reconciliation.

As Lent approaches and the world continues its frantic chase for novelty, the invitation remains the same: turn inward, listen, allow the heart to be reshaped. In doing so, we learn once again what it means to belong to Christ — not as spectators, but as participants in a story that continues to redeem the world one transformed heart at a time.