Homily for Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception

The following is reprinted with author permission. Fr. Diego Puricelli is a professor of moral theology and a priest of the Diocese of Belluno-Feltre.

"Where are you?" It is a question as old as humanity. A discreet question, almost whispered, and yet capable of opening up abysses. A question that resurfaces when we finally slow down, when the noise that dwells within us fades, and by grace, we truly become capable of listening to ourselves.

"I heard your voice in the garden: I was afraid, because I am naked, and I hid myself." We often cannot even formulate a similar answer. We do not possess the lucidity of Adam, whose sentence is truly a distillate of self-knowledge. What had happened? Adam discovered he had been deceived. He experienced his own fragility, his own vulnerability: he felt naked. And the fear of being wounded again pushed him to hide, to shut himself off, to distance himself even from his dearest affections, the first of which is his own God.

How similar we are to him! How many times do we also hide, not because we truly want to disappear, but because we are afraid of being seen for who we are: incomplete, contradictory, exposed. We hide behind efficiency, behind the quick wit, behind the roles we hold; we even hide behind spirituality, when we transform it into an alibi for not facing our deepest fears.

"Where are you?". Not: "Why did you make a mistake?", not: "Why aren't you better?". Simply: "Where are you?". Where do you find yourself in your life today? A question that does not condemn, but invites us to step out of the shadows.

This, however, is not the only one. Another question reaches our progenitor: "Who told you that you were naked?". It is an interrogation that inevitably resonates within us too. "Who deceived you? Who made you feel wrong? Who broke your heart?"

At first glance, it seems like a cruel question, one that puts a finger on the wound. And yet, paradoxically, it is an offer of salvation. Moreover, I would say: it is the only question that truly makes sense to try and answer.

This time, however, Adam cannot delve deep. And, in fact, he behaves as we often behave: he passes the buck. He blames Eve, who in turn blames the serpent. No one takes the part that belongs to them: no one has the courage to say: "It was me."

After all, this is a mechanism as ancient as it is current: when the truth burns, we always look for an easier target than ourselves. Thus, pretending that words and gestures do not leave wounds, we end up judging, accusing ourselves, and hurting each other.

In the chain of passing the buck, however, the last reference point is missing. The blame slides from Adam to Eve, and from Eve to the serpent. But is the serpent really the last link in the chain? The biblical text here is extremely subtle. Yes, because who created the serpent and placed it in the garden? God. Exactly. The fault is His. Or at least in the distorted logic of our wounded heart, we end up thinking it is His.

Here is the paradox: the one who had nothing to do with it, the one who is actually the only one who truly loves us, ultimately becomes the "monster" of the situation.

Mary is exempt from these "human, all too human" logics, in the derogatory sense of the term. In her, there is no shadow of that instinctive reflex that leads us to suspect, to defend ourselves, and to accuse. She is Immaculate precisely because she possesses an original, clear, total trust in God: she does not doubt His benevolence, she does not interpret His word as a threat, she does not experience His presence as judgment.

Mary often does not understand, she is gripped by doubt, like each of us, but she trusts. Radically. Even arriving at hoping against all hope.

How much we need her example and her intercession in our lives! Looking to her, in fact, we learn to return to the essential: "God is on our side, not against us." He is the only one who does not betray us, the only one who does not tire of starting over, the only one who continues to believe in us even when we no longer believe in ourselves. And this—precisely this—is what matters, what can truly heal our hearts.