On Sunday, July 13, 2025, at the Pontifical Parish of St. Thomas of Villanova in Castel Gandolfo, Pope Leo XIV delivered a stirring homily that echoed far beyond the walls of the church. Rooted in the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37), the Pope's message was a profound meditation on compassion, but also a sharp challenge to those in power—especially those who claim the Christian name but fail to live its demands. It was a moment that encapsulated what observers are now calling the Leo Code: a theological and pastoral style steeped in Augustinian tradition, but unafraid to confront political and social injustice head-on.
Compassion: Seeing with the Heart
At the center of Pope Leo's message was the idea that compassion is not just a feeling but a way of seeing—a vision rooted in love. The Gospel contrasts two types of vision: the priest and Levite see the wounded man and walk on by; the Samaritan sees and is moved with compassion. That difference, the Pope said, "lies in the gaze." One can look and not truly see; one can observe and remain unmoved. True Christian compassion begins when we allow ourselves to be disturbed, when we see others with the eyes of the heart.
This, Leo insists, is how God sees us. The Good Samaritan is not just a moral example—it is Christ Himself. Just as Jesus did not "pass by" fallen humanity, but came down into our suffering to bind our wounds, so too must Christians resist the temptation to remain distant or indifferent. "Go, and do likewise," Jesus commands—and Pope Leo repeats this as a clear call to action for our time.
A Gospel That Confronts Power
Pope Leo's preaching has become known for its Augustinian depth, but also for its clarity when speaking to the powerful. Without naming names, the final lines of his homily were unmistakably directed at political figures who use Christian symbols for political gain but fail to act with Gospel mercy.
"When we see politicians displaying crucifixes while advocating policies that reject or mistreat migrants and the poor," one Vatican analyst remarked, "Leo's words cut to the heart." The Pope warned against a "complacent faith"—one that follows religious rituals outwardly but lacks the compassion that defines true discipleship. The parable of the Good Samaritan is a mirror, he said, and many who claim to follow Christ resemble the priest and Levite more than they'd like to admit.
This is especially relevant in the context of immigration policies in countries like the United States. Pope Leo's homily came just weeks after a powerful pastoral response from the Diocese of San Bernardino, California—a diocese home to more than 1.5 million Catholics and rich in cultural and linguistic diversity.
San Bernardino: A Real-World Samaritan Story
In late June, Bishop Alberto Rojas—appointed by Pope Benedict XVI and himself a naturalized Mexican-American—issued a rare diocesan decree suspending the Sunday Mass obligation for anyone afraid of being detained by immigration authorities. The move followed mounting fear within the community after reports of indiscriminate arrests near homes, workplaces, and even church property.
"We carry the weight of this terrible cross with you," Bishop Rojas wrote, invoking Canon Law 87.1 to emphasize that diocesan bishops may dispense from universal disciplinary laws when necessary for the spiritual well-being of the faithful. The decree encouraged alternative spiritual practices such as private prayer, reading Scripture, praying the Rosary or Divine Mercy Chaplet, and watching Mass online. It was a pastoral move that put the dignity of the faithful before bureaucratic obligation—a real-life embodiment of the Gospel Leo XIV had just preached.
This wasn't the first such action. In May, the Diocese of Nashville clarified that no Catholic is morally obliged to attend Mass if doing so would endanger their safety. It's a telling pattern: American dioceses are beginning to respond with mercy, even when government policy does not.
A Revolution of Love
Pope Leo XIV calls this a revolution of love. Today, the road to Jericho is walked by millions—those beaten down by poverty, war, racism, and oppression. It's the road of refugees, of families torn apart by raids, of people trapped in systems that see them as threats, not persons. And the question for the Church is urgent: do we see and walk past, or do we stop and act?
The Pope warned against defining "neighbor" too narrowly—only those like us, who speak our language, share our culture, or hold our politics. Jesus, he reminded us, flips the question entirely. The Samaritan, a stranger and heretic in Jewish eyes, becomes the true neighbor not by asking who qualifies, but by acting with mercy.
Benedict XVI, whom Leo quoted, put it this way: "The Samaritan does not ask where the limits of solidarity lie… His heart is broken open." That is the essence of Christianity—not moralism or tribalism, but a heart broken for others.
The Leo Code: Gospel with Teeth
The Leo Code is not a formal doctrine, but it's becoming recognizable: it's Gospel truth applied fearlessly to the real world, deeply rooted in theology, and uncompromising in its demands for justice and compassion. It speaks with both gentleness and fire. It challenges easy religiosity and forces Catholics—especially leaders—to examine whether their lives match their symbols.
"Go, and do likewise" is not optional. It is the Gospel in five words. And for Leo XIV, it is the only authentic path forward—for the Church, for politics, and for humanity.
In an era when Christianity is too often used as a badge or a weapon, Pope Leo XIV's homily is a reminder that the Gospel demands more. It demands we see, stop, heal, and carry. It demands we be neighbors, not by identity, but by action.
And above all, it demands that we do not walk by.
Marco Baratto
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