… God’s heart has a special place for the poor – Pope Leo XIV
A message for our times
Pope Leo XIV’s first Apostolic Exhortation, Dilexi Te (“I Have Loved You”), arrives at a moment of deep social and moral testing for Nigeria. With growing poverty, unemployment, insecurity, and disillusionment, many Nigerians wonder where God is in their suffering. Chapter Two, “God Chooses the Poor,” offers an answer that is both consoling and challenging: God not only sees the poor — He chooses them. In this powerful reflection, the Pope reminds the Church that love for God cannot be separated from love for the poor, and that faith without compassion is hollow. In Nigeria’s struggling society, this is a wake-up call to rediscover what it means to be Christian — and to make the Church a true home for the broken, forgotten, and excluded.
God’s heart beats with mercy
Pope Leo XIV begins by revealing the nature of God’s love — merciful, compassionate, and descending. God’s plan of salvation, he writes, is not about domination but solidarity: “He became poor to share our poverty.” In Nigeria, where economic pressures crush ordinary families and where corruption widens the gap between rich and poor, this divine descent takes on flesh. Every hungry child, every unpaid worker, every displaced family in the North-East reminds us that God’s concern is not abstract. He takes sides — not out of favouritism, but out of love for justice. “God’s choice of the poor is not exclusionary — it is a demand for compassion.”
The poor messiah: God among the lowly
Jesus’ own life, the Pope notes, was marked by poverty from the start — born in a manger, raised by working-class parents, fleeing persecution, and dying as an outcast. His radical humility was not accidental but essential: the Gospel itself was born poor. In Nigeria, this image of the “poor Messiah” confronts a dangerous cultural trend — the prosperity gospel and the obsession with wealth as proof of God’s favour. Dilexi Te insists that Jesus’ poverty reveals the truth about God’s kingdom: it belongs first to those who have nothing to cling to but faith. “Blessed are you poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” (Lk 6:20) This truth challenges the Nigerian Church to move beyond comfort zones — to stand with those who suffer, not just to preach to them.
Faith without mercy is dead
Drawing from Scripture, Pope Leo recalls that love for God is meaningless without love for neighbour. As St. John bluntly puts it: “Those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen.” This teaching resonates deeply in Nigeria, where public religion is vibrant — churches filled, crusades broadcast, devotions flourishing — yet social injustice and indifference persist. The Pope’s words pierce through pious pretense: worship that ignores the poor is hypocrisy. True holiness, he writes, is measured not by titles or tithes, but by mercy — feeding the hungry, visiting prisoners, caring for widows, defending the oppressed. “If we seek the holiness pleasing to God, this text offers us one clear criterion on which we will be judged.”
The early Church: A model for today
The Pope recalls the first Christian communities, where believers shared their goods so that no one was in need. Their faith was practical, generous, and communal — a far cry from the individualism of today. In Nigeria, this example calls for a renewal of Catholic social action: parishes as centers of solidarity, dioceses as models of accountability, and lay faithful as witnesses of mercy in workplaces and politics. When some widows in the early Church were neglected, the Apostles acted — reorganising assistance and appointing helpers. This is what Nigerian Christianity must rediscover: not sentimental charity, but structured compassion. “Faith without works is dead.” (James 2:17)
The Cry of the poor is the voice of God
In one of the chapter’s strongest passages, the Pope cites the Letter of James: “The wages of the labourers you kept back by fraud cry out, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord.” These words echo loudly in Nigeria — among unpaid civil servants, exploited factory workers, and displaced farmers whose lands have been taken. Dilexi Te exposes not just personal sin but structural injustice: a society where the rich thrive at the expense of the voiceless betrays the Gospel. The Pope’s message to leaders, both civil and ecclesial, is unmistakable: God listens to the cry of the oppressed. Do we?
A call to Nigerian Catholics
Pope Leo XIV concludes this chapter by urging every believer to imitate the early Church — where love expressed itself in action, generosity, and equality. This is a direct appeal to Nigerian Catholics to rise above the culture of greed, tribalism, and apathy. As families struggle and youths lose hope, Dilexi Te becomes not just a papal document but a mirror for the Church in Nigeria. It challenges us to choose the poor — not merely to help them, but to stand with them, walk with them, and see in them the face of Christ.
Reflection: Where do we stand?
In our parishes, do the poor feel welcome? In our homes, do we teach children that sharing is strength? In our hearts, do we still hear the cry of the poor — or have we tuned it out? To live Dilexi Te in Nigeria is to make the Gospel visible in small, daily acts of love. It is to remember, as Pope Leo XIV says, that “no sign of affection, even the smallest, will ever be forgotten.”
“A Church poor and for the poor”
Just three days after his election, Pope Francis expressed a desire that still echoes through the life of the Church: “How I would like a Church which is poor and for the poor!” This longing is not new. It reflects the age-old conviction that the Church mirrors her Lord — poor, suffering, and merciful. In every generation, she is called to recognise Christ’s face in the least of His brothers and sisters. Indeed, there can be no true faith without love for the poor. From the earliest Christians to today’s disciples, countless witnesses have shown this inseparable bond between belief and service.
The true riches of the Church
From the beginning, the Church’s strength was not in wealth or prestige. Saint Paul reminded the Corinthians that few among them were wise or powerful by worldly standards — yet their hearts burned with love for one another, especially for those most in need. The Acts of the Apostles presents an early model: seven men chosen to serve the poor — the first deacons. Among them was Saint Stephen, the first martyr, who showed that service and sacrifice are woven together in Christian witness. A century later, Saint Lawrence, another deacon, would repeat that witness in Rome. Ordered to hand over the “treasures” of the Church, he gathered the poor before the imperial authorities and declared, “These are the treasures of the Church.” His courage and clarity continue to challenge every Christian conscience.
The fathers of the Church and the poor
From the earliest centuries, the Fathers of the Church saw the poor as the privileged path to God. To love the needy was not merely an ethical duty but an act of faith — a recognition that the Word made flesh lives among the suffering. Saint Ignatius of Antioch, on his way to martyrdom, warned against any Christian community that neglects widows, orphans, or the oppressed. His contemporary, Saint Polycarp, charged pastors to be “compassionate and merciful to all.” For the Fathers, the Church was not a refuge for the comfortable, but a mother of the poor — a home where charity, justice, and faith converged.
Saint John Chrysostom: The voice of the Poor
No one thundered more eloquently for justice than Saint John Chrysostom, Archbishop of Constantinople. His preaching pierced the conscience of the comfortable: “Do you wish to honor the Body of Christ? Do not adorn it here in church with silk, while outside you leave it naked and shivering.” For Chrysostom, true worship meant feeding the hungry before decorating the altar. He insisted that to ignore the poor is to rob them — for what we possess is already theirs by divine right. His sermons remain startlingly relevant in a world still marked by indifference and inequality.
Saint Augustine: Charity as Communion
Formed by Saint Ambrose, who taught that giving to the poor is an act of justice, not generosity, Saint Augustine deepened this theology of love. For him, the poor are not mere recipients of aid — they are the sacramental presence of Christ. “What you give to the poor is not yours,” Ambrose had said. “It belongs to them.” Augustine taught that almsgiving purifies the heart and leads to conversion. It is not a substitute for repentance but its fruit. True communion in the Church, he said, is measured not only by unity of belief but by sharing of goods. The love of Christ cannot be contained by words — it demands concrete action.
Care for the sick: Touching the suffering flesh of Christ
From the plagues of antiquity to today’s pandemics, Christians have been recognised by their compassion for the sick. Saint Cyprian of Carthage reminded his people that times of pestilence reveal true faith — when the healthy care for the ill, and love triumphs over fear. In every century, the Church’s hospitals, hospices, and homes for the dying have continued that same tenderness. Saint John of God, Saint Camillus de Lellis, Saint Louise de Marillac — and countless unnamed religious sisters — turned care for the sick into a living liturgy of mercy. Their touch, their presence, their smile proclaimed that salvation is not abstract: it begins with compassion.
Monastic life: Prayer and service united
From the deserts of Egypt to the hills of Europe, monasticism has always been a school of solidarity. Saint Basil the Great taught that monks, though poor, must still work to help those poorer still. In Caesarea, he built the Basiliad — a city of mercy with hospitals, lodgings, and schools for the poor. Saint Benedict’s Rule placed hospitality at the heart of holiness: “Let all guests who arrive be received as Christ.” Benedictine monasteries became places of refuge, education, and healing. Through prayer and labor, monks cultivated both the soil and the soul — creating an “economy of sharing” that quietly shaped Western civilisation.
Freeing prisoners: Love that liberates
The Church’s mission has always included the liberation of captives — physical and spiritual alike. In the Middle Ages, when thousands were enslaved, new orders arose: the Trinitarians and Mercedarians, who vowed even to exchange their own lives for those in bondage. Their motto, “Glory to the Trinity and liberty to the captives,” proclaimed that redemption is not theory but selfgift. That same spirit continues wherever Christians fight modern slavery, human trafficking, or unjust imprisonment. As Pope Francis has reminded us, to enter a prison is to encounter humanity wounded yet yearning for redemption. To serve those bound is to serve Christ the Liberator.
Witnesses of evangelical poverty
The thirteenth century saw a new flowering of poverty as prophecy. The mendicant orders — Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustinians, Carmelites — renounced possessions to live among the poor. Saint Francis of Assisi, embracing Lady Poverty, saw in every beggar the face of Christ. Saint Clare made poverty her privilege, trusting only in divine providence. Saint Dominic preached the Gospel with the authority of a poor man — one whose life matched his message. Their simplicity was revolutionary: they did not reform society through laws, but through witness. They became what they preached — living sacraments of God’s mercy in a world of wealth and want.
Educating the poor: Teaching as charity
Education, said Pope Francis, is “a mission of love — for you cannot teach without loving.” From the first Christian schools to today’s classrooms, this conviction has driven countless saints and religious communities. Saint Joseph Calasanz opened the first free school in Europe; Saint John Baptist de La Salle brought learning to the children of laborers; Saint John Bosco, Saint Marcellin Champagnat, and countless sisters of the Ursuline and Marist congregations made knowledge a gift for all. For them, education was not a privilege but a right rooted in dignity. To teach the poor was to heal ignorance, restore justice, and reveal the image of God within every child.
Accompanying migrants: A Church without borders
From Abraham to Mary and Joseph, the story of salvation is a story of migration. In every stranger and refugee, the Church recognizes the pilgrim Christ who once fled to Egypt. In the modern era, saints like John Baptist Scalabrini and Frances Cabrini dedicated their lives to migrants — defending their dignity, faith, and family life. Cabrini, crossing oceans and borders, became the mother of the displaced, earning the title Patroness of Migrants. Her life reminds us that charity has no passport. A Church “for the poor” must always be a Church “without frontiers” — a home for all who seek welcome.
