The words of the jubilee: “Open to me the doors of justice!”

Riflessioni di Paolo Spina*

“Open the doors of justice to me!”. When the eyes of the world, on the evening of December 24, are focused on Pope Francis, with his now unsteady gait and his occasionally hoarse and tired voice, it will be this verse from Psalm 117 that will begin the jubilee year, with the opening of the holy door of the Vatican basilica.

Not other words, only those of the Scripture, which even the ancient rite, so faithful to the form and pomp of the structures, among masters of ceremonies who washed the door jambs, copes, triregni and silver hammers, made every voice stop before the threshold of a brings and above all a year different from the others, to return to listening to a special, uncommon Word among many.

As with every machine that is set in motion for a major event, in recent weeks opinions on the matter are varied: those who consider the rite a medieval anachronism, useful only for having set fire to the dust of the Western schism and the Protestant Reformation, those who invoke its original biblical meaning, rediscovering the forgiveness of debt and the cancellation of every form of slavery that still exists, and those who are amazed, with joy and admiration or with disapproval or disdain, which also those who live on the frontiers of the LGBT+ world may want to participate, setting off towards the holy door.

The doors of this door will open onto a basilica not different from that of December 23rd: the canopy perhaps less dusty, the statues of the doctors of the Church, the crowd mixing visitors, pilgrims, art enthusiasts, curious people. What the door will open will not even be a year so different from the others: it will not erase global conflicts - or even condominium ones - it will not guarantee the common sense of those who govern us, nor that of the parish priest or the neighbourhood. The year of the jubilee can, however, be a particular year. A year that does not begin with an official petition, or with a devout prayer, but with an imperative: Open the doors of justice to me! They are not those of the court, or those of the legislator's office, wide open where respect for rights is truly guaranteed for everyone. Those of which the psalmist speaks are the doors of the temple of Jerusalem, the holiest place for every believer.

We too feel the specific weight of this text, which for centuries has resonated in synagogues and churches, on the lines of the breviaries of country curates and on the lips of pontiffs in St. Peter's, and which today we pronounce and pray with joyful determination, marking well that exclamation point: Open the doors of justice to me!

Let not the threshold of a temple be closed, for us and for anyone, which is not only a place of worship, to which the perfect have access, but a house prepared by God himself: "I will grant in my house and within my walls a monument and a name more precious than sons and daughters [...] because my house will be called a house of prayer for all peoples" (Isaiah 56.5-7). A home, where you feel at home, free and free to be in the presence of your loved ones as you are, and to love who your heart commands.

May the threshold of a Church which, together with us, begs and offers hope, not only opening the doors of basilicas and cathedrals, but walking on roads not yet traced: not on a whim of novelty, but to break down contexts of loneliness and desperation. It is by walking that the path opens up, it is by sharing steps, trying on other people's shoes, even the most uncomfortable ones, that we discover treasures of grace hidden where we cannot imagine!

Why do these doors have to be opened wide? Because it's right. Justice is not a dogma, an axiom or a tautology but, for those who believe, it is one of the names of God, who equally likes to be called love and truth. The doors of the house of God do not open on revenge, on revenge, on abuse; by breaking prejudices, the doors of the house of God open wide like doors of justice, so that the prophecy that Jesus himself took up again when reading it in the synagogue in Nazareth is fulfilled again: "The Lord has sent me to bring the good news to the poor, to bind up the wounds of broken hearts, to proclaim the freedom of slaves, the release of prisoners, to promulgate the year of favor of the Lord" (Isaiah 61,1-2).

Once upon a time the Holy Door was opened with hammer blows: an initial tap by the Pope, with a graceful object in precious metal, followed by those who, with loud blows, cleared the access to the Holy Door from the bricks. I am deeply convinced that the Church is not a bulwark to be conquered but, as Scripture teaches, that the walls of Jericho do not fall with armies and grenades; the walls of Jericho fall at the sound of the trumpet - like the yobel, the ram's horn blown to indicate the beginning of the Jewish jubilee - they fall when the heart is in celebration and dancing, even when the dance is punctuated by notes of promise and prophecy , and not yet full of joy. A joy to run, to cross, that is, running to the end, without getting tired, to the goal, without cutting the rope, but wanting to cross the finish line.

Even when the door often seems closed, we know that there is someone who opens it, for us too: Open the doors of justice to me!

*Paolo Spina è un medico, appassionato di Sacra Scrittura e teologia femminista e queer, che collabora con il Progetto Cristiani LGBT+ e con La tenda di Gionata scrivendo su temi di attualità e cristianesimo.