They asked the Lord to enter under our roofs so their souls might be healed; I begged healing for ill friends and wondered about the contrast with Lourdes - there were some there wanting healing, but the compassion of Lourdes was less evident to me, and I wondered if the extent of the priority for those in need had perhaps been demonstrated already. Yet it is so dangerous to draw conclusions from a little evidence. The word roof reminded me of the refugees I had met, and the homeless here, for whom I do so little. The Lord can even speak in this translation.
I wondered if that Mass indicated the future we might have if we respond with passivity to the Curia. The real prophets for me that day were a few miles away. They were the refugees living in asbestos roofed huts with no facilities; the children whose spirits soared above the surroundings as they played laughing in the street, and their parents who welcomed me with generosity.... the family living in one room, and offering me a drink for I was struggling with the heat. It was over 30 degrees, but 10 cooler than it had been in midsummer.
I wonder how quickly the money from the collections taken at each of the many daily Masses could have housed a family of refugees. I guessed that a tiny fraction of the money from the holy places would have housed them all over the last decades. I'd been told, in the pilgrims' information centre, that the camp I had visited was empty. Eyes, but not the camp, are closed.