Lawrence is the most famous martyr of the fierce persecution of the powerful Emperor Valerius.

It is very impressive, it is striking, that ancient Rome, which had been the mother of lavish idolatrous temples, came to become a city consecrated to the poor man with lily eyes, Jesus.

The rich idolatrous images were thrown into the pasture for the bats. Jupiter, the adulterous idol, was banished from Rome—exiled! Christ, the Sun, succeeded the dark night.

Such a colossal transformation was not achieved by the resounding, galloping, powerful troops of the imperial eagle, but by the poor, purple blood of martyrs like Saint Lawrence.

This deacon of Pope Sixtus II administered the Church’s temporal affairs. Thus, the avaricious Prefect of Rome, in order to steal the Church’s riches, ordered him: “Give them to me!”

If he thought the Church was very rich, he hit the bullseye, since its wonderful and stupendous treasures are worth much more than all the gold hidden in the bowels of Mother Earth.

Lorenzo promised to deliver to him the fantastic treasures of the king of kings, the king of the universe, the infinitely rich king. He was granted three days to gather them.

The prefect would already be mad with joy, dreaming of dazzling and lightning-like golden goblets, he would have already gained a lot of weight, savoring and caressing the jewels with his imagination.

Lorenzo, therefore, made the turn towards Rome. He crossed the opulent city, the great one, the one that had the world at its feet.

She, the conqueror of armies, the one who toppled thrones and enslaved kings, the usurper of nations’ treasures. She who, like Midas, transformed everything into gold.

City, lady, bejeweled with gold, diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds, abode of the repugnant pus of the disgusting rats of the pestilent and fetid sewers of vices.

Lorenzo sought out only the wretched and the sick in Rome. Those who had only one foot because their leg was broken; those whose ulcerated limbs emanated putrefaction.

He gathered all the wretches and brought them to the prefect, who, greedily, awaited the promised riches. He said to him: THOSE ARE THE RICHES OF THE CHURCH.

But is misery truly wealth? Those are worth far more than the finest, highest-karat gold.

There are broken bodies with their souls in heaven. There are those so detached from material possessions that these neither weigh them down nor pull them back to earth, and they draw closer to God.

With such precious pearls Mother Church adorns her beautiful and lovely hair. So beautiful and lovely, she greatly pleases Jesus, the Beloved, whose cherished and beloved spouse she is.

If the prefect takes charge of those mountains of glittering coins and those rivers of gold, he will receive an immense benefit; he will be much richer than the Roman emperor.

Indeed: spiritual goods are far superior to material goods! Thus, I could do good to those who need it most, and therefore to the greatest of kings, Christ!

However, not everything glitters in the mineral gold. Carried by the mighty river, it has become full of earth, dirty, in need of purifying fire.

Furthermore, the most shameful things are done for gold, such as losing one’s modesty and promoting war.

The wealthy prefect, a man of high standing, was given not gold, but miserable things. He would look at them as despicable and disgusting disposable refuse. He was very irritated!

He had Lorenzo placed on the burning grills. The saint, while his flesh was being burned, said: you can turn me over now, for I am cooked enough on this side to be eaten.

The martyr of the grills! The tears of Saint Lawrence! Poor man! But, in the eyes of truth, the eyes of God, Lawrence shines as most fortunate, most rich, with a heart of gold.

He possesses the immense richness of the hero and the saint, the sweet fragrance of Christ. It is preferable, with a beautiful soul, to feel one’s limbs disintegrate agonizingly, than to sin.

In contrast, in the soul of the rich prefect, the man who has his head above all others, nest the repugnant, purulent, and gangrenous ulcers of wickedness.

Nothing is more wretched, leprous, and festering than the sinner! Nothing is more horrendous! Horrible is the fetid scar of sin, which infects everything with a most vile plague!

In short, we have seen a poor man who is rich and a rich man who is poor, or rather two simple brushstrokes of this beautiful idea of ​​Pope Leo XIV: the richness of poverty.