Solemnity of All Saints [1 November 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us. The Solemnity of All Saints is an important occasion to reflect on our Christian vocation: through Baptism, we are all called to be 'blessed', that is, on the path towards the joy of eternal Love.

First Reading from the Book of Revelation of Saint John the Apostle (7:2-4, 9-14)

In Revelation, John recounts a mystical vision he received in Patmos, which is to be interpreted symbolically rather than literally. He sees an angel and an immense crowd, composed of two distinct groups: The 144,000 baptised, marked with the seal of the living God, represent the faithful believers, contemporaries of John, persecuted by the emperor Domitian. They are the servants of God, protected and consecrated, the baptised people who bear witness to their faith despite persecution. The innumerable crowd, from every nation, tribe, people and language, dressed in white, with palm branches in their hands and standing before the Throne and the Lamb, represents humanity saved thanks to the faith and sufferings of the baptised. Their standing position symbolises resurrection, their white robes purification, and their palm branches victory. The central message is that the suffering of the faithful brings about the salvation of others: the trials of the persecuted become a means of redemption for humanity, in continuity with the theme of the suffering servant of Isaiah and Zechariah. John uses symbolic and coded language, typical of the Apocalypse, to secretly communicate with persecuted believers and encourage them to persevere in their faith without being discovered by the Roman authorities. The text therefore invites perseverance: even if evil seems to triumph, the heavenly Father and Christ have already won, and the faithful, though small and oppressed, share in this victory. Baptism is thus perceived as a protective seal, comparable to the mark of Roman soldiers. This text, with its mystical and prophetic language, reveals that the victory of the poor and the little ones is not revenge, but a manifestation of God's triumph over the forces of evil, bringing salvation and hope to all humanity, thanks to the faithful perseverance of the righteous.

Responsorial Psalm (23/24)

This psalm takes us to the Temple of Jerusalem, a holy place built on high. A gigantic procession arrives at the gates of the Temple. Two alternating choirs sing in dialogue: 'Who shall ascend the mountain of the Lord? Who can stand in his holy place?" The biblical references in this psalm are Isaiah (chapter 33), which compares God to a consuming fire, asking who can bear to look upon him. The question is rhetorical: we cannot bear God on our own, but he draws near to man, and the psalm celebrates the discovery of the chosen people: God is holy and transcendent, but also always close to man. Today, this psalm resounds on All Saints' Day with the song of the angels inviting us to join in this symphony of praise to God: 'with all the angels of heaven, we want to sing to you'. The necessary condition for standing before God is well expressed here: only those with a pure heart, innocent hands, who do not offer their souls to idols. It is not a question of moral merit: the people are admitted when they have faith, that is, total trust in the one God, and decisively reject all forms of idolatry. Literally, 'he has not lifted his soul to empty gods', that is, he does not pray to idols, while raising one's eyes corresponds to praying and recognising God. The psalm insists on a pure heart and innocent hands. The heart is pure when it is totally turned towards God, without impurity, that is, without mixing the true and the false, God and idols. Hands are innocent when they have not offered sacrifices or prayed to false gods. The parallelism between heart and hands emphasises that inner purity and concrete physical action must go together. The psalm recalls the struggle of the prophets because Israel had to fight idolatry from the exodus from Egypt (golden calf) to the Exile and beyond, and the psalm reaffirms fidelity to the one God as a condition for standing before Him. "Behold, this is the generation that seeks your face, God of Jacob." Seeking God's face is an expression used for courtiers admitted into the king's presence and indicates that God is the only true King and that faithfulness to Him allows one to receive the blessing promised to the patriarchs. From this flow the concrete consequences of faithfulness: the man with a pure heart knows no hatred; the man with innocent hands does no evil; on the contrary, he obtains justice from God by living in accordance with the divine plan because every life has a mission and every true child of God has a positive impact on society. Also evident in this psalm is the connection to the Beatitudes of the Gospel: "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness... Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."  "Behold, this is the generation that seeks him, that seeks your face, God of Jacob": is this not a simple definition of poverty of heart, a fundamental condition for entering the Kingdom of Heaven?

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint John the Apostle (3:1-3)

 "Beloved, see what great love the Father has given us": the urgency of opening our eyes. St John invites believers to "see", that is, to contemplate with the eyes of the heart, because the gaze of the heart is the key to faith. Indeed, the whole of human history is an education of the gaze. According to the prophets, the tragedy of man is precisely "having eyes and not seeing". What we need to learn to see is God’s love and “his plan of salvation” (cf. Eph 1:3-10) for humanity. The entire Bible insists on this: to see well is to recognise the face of God, while a distorted gaze leads to falsehood. The example of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden shows how sin arises from a distorted gaze. Humanity, listening to the serpent, loses sight of the tree of life and focuses its gaze on the forbidden tree: this is the beginning of inner disorder. The gaze becomes seduced, deceived, and when "their eyes were opened," humans did not see the promised divinity, but their nakedness, their poverty and fragility. In opposition to this deceived gaze, John invites us to look with our hearts into the truth: 'Beloved, see what great love the Father has given us'. God is not jealous of man — as the serpent had insinuated — but loves him and wants him as his son. John's entire message is summed up in this revelation: 'God is love'. True life consists in never doubting this love; knowing God, as Jesus says in John's Gospel (17:3), is eternal life. God's plan, revealed by John and Paul, is a "benevolent plan, a plan of salvation": to make humanity in Christ, the Son par excellence, of whom we are the members, one body. Through Baptism, we are grafted onto Christ and are truly children of God, clothed in Him. The Holy Spirit makes us recognise God as Father, placing in our hearts the filial prayer: 'Abba, Father!'. However, the world does not yet know God because it has not opened its eyes. Only those who believe can understand the truth of divine love; for others, it seems incomprehensible or even scandalous. It is up to believers to bear witness to this love with their words and their lives, so that non-believers may, in turn, open their eyes and recognise God as Father. At the end of time, when the Son of God appears, humanity will be transformed in his image: man will rediscover the pure gaze he had lost at the beginning. Thus resounds Christ's desire to the Samaritan woman (4:1-42): "If you knew the gift of God!" An ever-present invitation to open our eyes to recognise the love that saves.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (5:1-12a)

Jesus proclaims: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted": it is the gift of tears. This beatitude, seemingly paradoxical, does not exalt pain but transforms it into a path of grace and hope. Jesus, who always sought to heal and console, does not invite us to take pleasure in suffering, but encourages us not to be discouraged in trials and to remain faithful in our tears, because those who suffer are already on the way to the Kingdom. The term "blessed" in the original biblical text does not indicate good fortune, but a call to persevere: it means "on the march", "take courage, keep pace, walk". Tears, then, are not an evil to be endured, but can become a place of encounter with God. There are beneficial tears, such as those of Peter's repentance, where God's mercy is experienced, or those that arise from compassion for the suffering of others, a sign that the heart of stone is becoming a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26). Even tears shed in the face of the harshness of the world participate in divine compassion: they announce that the messianic time has come, when the promised consolation becomes reality. The first beatitude, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven', encompasses all the others and reveals their secret. Evangelical poverty is not material poverty, but openness of heart: the poor (anawim) are those who are not self-sufficient, who are neither proud nor self-reliant, but expect everything from God. They are the humble, the little ones, those who have "bent backs" before the Lord. As in the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, only those who recognise their own poverty can receive salvation. The poor in spirit live in total trust in God, receive everything as a gift, and pray with simplicity: "Lord, have mercy." From this inner attitude spring all the other beatitudes: mercy, meekness, peace, thirst for justice — all are fruits of the Spirit, received and not conquered. To be poor in spirit means to believe that only God fills, and that true riches are not possessions, power or knowledge, but the presence of God in a humble heart. This is why Jesus proclaims a future and paradoxical happiness: "Blessed are the poor," that is, soon you will be envied, because God will fill your emptiness with his divine riches. The beatitudes, therefore, are not moral rules but good news: they announce that God's gaze is different from that of men. Where the world sees failure — poverty, tears, persecution — God sees the raw material of his Kingdom. Jesus teaches us to look at ourselves and others with the eyes of God, to discover the presence of the Kingdom where we would never have suspected it. True happiness therefore comes from a purified gaze and from accepted weakness, which become places of grace. Those who weep, those who are poor in spirit, those who seek justice and peace, already experience the promised consolation: the joy of children who know and feel loved by the Father. As Ezekiel reminds us, on the day of judgement, those who have wept over the evil in the world will be recognised (Ezekiel 9:4): their tears are therefore already a sign of the Kingdom to come.

• +Giovanni D'Ercole

Commemoration of All Souls [2 November 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. After contemplating the glory of Heaven, today we commemorate the destiny of light that awaits us on the day of our earthly death. 

1. The commemoration of All Souls' Day was set on 2 November only at the beginning of the 11th century, linking it to the solemnity of All Saints' Day. After all, the feast of 1 November could not fail to bring to mind the faithful departed, whom the Church remembers in her prayers every day. At every Mass, we pray first of all 'for all those who rest in Christ' (Eucharistic Prayer I), then the prayer is extended to 'all the departed, whose faith you alone know' (Eucharistic Prayer IV), to 'all those who have left this life' (Eucharistic Prayer II) and 'whose righteousness you alone know' (Eucharistic Prayer III). And to make this commemoration even more participatory, today three Holy Masses can be celebrated with a wide range of readings, which I will limit myself to indicating here: A. First Mass  First Reading Job 19:1, 23-27; Psalm 26/27; Second Reading St Paul to the Romans  5:5-11; From the Gospel according to John 6:37-40; B. Second Mass: First Reading Isaiah 25:6-7-9; Psalm 24/25; Second Reading Romans 8:14-23; From the Gospel according to Matthew 25:31-46); C. Third Mass: First Reading Book of Wisdom 3:1-9; Psalm 41/42 2 $2/43; Second Reading  Revelation  21:1-5, 6b-7; Gospel according to Matthew 5:1-12). Given the number of biblical readings, instead of providing a commentary on each biblical passage as I do every Sunday, I prefer to offer a reflection on the meaning and value of today's celebration, which has its origins in the long history of the Catholic Church.  One need only read the biblical readings to begin to doubt that the term "dead" is the most appropriate for today's Commemoration. In fact, it is in the light of Easter and in the mercy of the Lord that we are invited to meditate and pray on this day for all those who have gone before us. They have already been called to live in the light of divine life, and we too, marked with the seal of faith, will one day follow them. The Apostle Paul writes, 'We do not want you, brothers and sisters, to be ignorant about those who sleep in the Lord, so that you may not grieve as those who have no hope' (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14). Saints, when possible, are not remembered on the anniversary of their birth but are celebrated on the day of their death, which Christian tradition calls in Latin "dies natalis", meaning the day of birth into the Kingdom. For all the deceased, whether Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or of other faiths, this is their dies natalis, as we repeat in Holy Mass: "Remember all those who have left this world and whose righteousness you know; welcome them into your Kingdom, where we hope to be filled with your glory together for eternity" (Eucharistic Prayer III). The liturgy refuses to use the popular expression 'day of the dead', since this day opens onto divine life. The Church calls it: Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed. 'Dead' and 'departed' are not synonyms: the term 'departed' comes from the Latin functus, which means 'he who has accomplished', 'he who has completed'. The deceased is therefore "he who has brought to completion the life" received from God. This liturgical feast is both a day of remembrance and intercession: we remember the deceased and pray for them. In the light of the solemnity of All Saints' Day, this day offers Christians an opportunity to renew and live the hope of eternal life, the gift of Christ's resurrection. For this reason, during these celebrations, many people visit cemeteries to honour their deceased loved ones and decorate their graves with flowers. We think of all those who have left us, but whom we have not forgotten. We pray for them because, according to the Christian faith, they need purification in order to be fully with God. Our prayer can help them on this path of purification, by virtue of what is called the 'communion of saints', a communion of life that exists between us and those who have gone before us: in Christ there is a real bond and solidarity between the living and the dead.

2. A little history. In order for the feast of All Saints (established in France in 835) to retain its proper character, and so that it would not become a day dedicated to the dead, St Odilon, abbot of Cluny, around the year 1000, imposed on all his monasteries the commemoration of the dead through a solemn Mass on 2 November. This day was not called a 'day of prayer for the dead', but a 'commemoration of the dead'. At that time, the doctrine of purgatory had not yet been clearly formulated (it would only be so towards the end of the 12th century): it was mainly a matter of remembering the dead rather than praying for them. In the 15th century, the Dominicans in Spain introduced the practice of celebrating three Masses on this day. Pope Benedict XV (+1922) then extended to the whole Church the possibility of celebrating three Masses on 2 November, inviting people to pray in particular for the victims of war. On the occasion of the millennium of the institution of the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed (13 September 1998), St John Paul II wrote: "In fact, on the day after the feast of All Saints, when the Church joyfully celebrates the communion of saints and the salvation of mankind, St. Odilon wanted to exhort his monks to pray in a special way for the dead, thus contributing mysteriously to their entry into bliss. From the Abbey of Cluny, this practice gradually spread, becoming a solemn celebration in suffrage of the dead, which St Odilon called the Feast of the Dead, now universally observed throughout the Church." "In praying for the dead, the Church first of all contemplates the mystery of Christ's Resurrection, who through his Cross gives us salvation and eternal life. With St Odilon, we can repeat: 'The Cross is my refuge, the Cross is my way and my life... The Cross is my invincible weapon. It repels all evil and dispels darkness'. The Cross of the Lord reminds us that every life is inhabited by the light of Easter: no situation is lost, because Christ has conquered death and opens the way to true life for us. "Redemption is accomplished through the sacrifice of Christ, through which man is freed from sin and reconciled with God" (Tertio millennio adveniente, n. 7). "While waiting for death to be definitively conquered, some men "continue their pilgrimage on earth; others, after having ended their lives, are still being purified; and still others finally enjoy the glory of heaven and contemplate the Trinity in full light" (Lumen Gentium, n. 49). United with the merits of the saints, our fraternal prayer comes to the aid of those who are still awaiting the beatific vision. Intercession for the dead is an act of fraternal charity, proper to the one family of God, through which "we respond to the deepest vocation of the Church" (Lumen Gentium, n. 51), that is, "to save souls who will love God for eternity" (St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Prayers, 6). For the souls in purgatory, the expectation of eternal joy and the encounter with the Beloved is a source of suffering, because of the punishment due to sin that keeps them away from God; but they have the certainty that, once the time of purification is over, they will meet the One they desire (Ps 42; 62). On several occasions, various popes throughout history have urged us to pray fervently for the deceased, for our family members and for all our deceased brothers and sisters, so that they may obtain remission of the punishment due to their sins and hear the voice of the Lord calling them.

3. Why this day is important: By instituting a Mass for the commemoration of the faithful departed, the Church reminds us of the place that the deceased occupy in family and social life and recognises the painful reality of mourning: the absence of a loved one is a constant wound. This celebration can also be seen as a response to the plea of the good thief who, on the cross, turned to Jesus and said: "Remember me." In remembering our deceased, we symbolically respond to that same plea: "Remember us." It is an invitation not to forget them, to continue to pray for them, keeping their memory alive and active, a sign of our hope in eternal life. Today is therefore a day for everyone: it is not only for bereaved families, but for everyone. It helps to sensitise the faithful to the mystery of death and mourning, but also to the hope and promise of eternal life. For Christians, death is not the end, but a passage. Through the trial of mourning, we understand that our earthly life is not eternal: our deceased precede us on the path to eternity. The 2nd of November thus also becomes a lesson on the 'last things' (eschatological realities), preparing us for this passage with serenity, without fear or sadness, because it is a step towards eternal life. The Church never feels exempt from prayer: it constantly intercedes for the salvation of the world, entrusting every soul to God's mercy and judgement, so that He may grant forgiveness and the peace of the Kingdom. We know well that "fulfilling life" only makes sense in fidelity to the Lord. The Church's prayer recognises our fragility and prays that none of her children will be lost. Thus, 2 November becomes a day of faith and hope, beyond the separation that marks the end of earthly life — in peace or suffering, in solitude or in family, in martyrdom or in the goodness of loving care. Death is the hour of encounter and always remains a place of struggle. The word "agony" derives from Greek and means "struggle." For Christians, death is the encounter with the Risen One, the hope in the faith professed: I believe in the resurrection of the dead and in the life of the world to come. The believer enters death with faith, rejects despair and repeats with Jesus: 'Father, into your hands I commend my spirit' (Lk 23:46). For Christians, even the hardest death is a passage into the Risen Jesus, exalted by the Father. Very often, modern Western civilisation tends to hide death: it fears it, disguises it, distances itself from it. Even in prayer, we say distractedly: Now and at the hour of our death. Yet every year, without knowing it, we pass the date that will one day be that of our death. In the past, Christian preaching often reminded us of this, although sometimes in very emphatic tones. Today, however, the fear of death seems to want to extinguish the reality of dying, which is part of every life on earth. Today's Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed is a useful opportunity to pause and reflect and, above all, to pray, renewing our fidelity to our baptism and our vocation: Together we invoke Mary, who, raised to heaven, watches over our life and our death. Mary, icon of God's goodness and sure sign of our hope, You spent your life in love and with your own assumption into Heaven you announce to us that the Lord is not the God of the dead, but of the living. Support us on our daily journey and grant that we may live in such a way that we are ready at every moment to meet the Lord of Life in the last moment of our earthly pilgrimage when, having closed our eyes to the realities of this world, they will open to the eternal vision of God.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

On the occasion of the recent passing of my parents, to the torment of the illness and the loss of both (soon) was added the annoyance of an environment that continued to give me "condolences".

As for good manners, of course, but who has assimilated the language of the Faith does not mourn anyone, nor does he speak of "dead" but of Deceased ones. They live.

Not as survivors of the blows that life holds, but as ‘dilated’, authentic, adorned ones - and finally fully realized.

Women and men… ‘blossomed’ in everything, experiencing a new kind of being in their own essence; a different existence.

As in an atmosphere of pure love, where like Jesus we no longer live for ourselves, but one with the other and one for the other.

With no pressing chronometers, nor abandonments.

The term comes from the Latin verb «defungor» [infinitive «defungi»] which indicates the partial term of a story, not a total fulfillment.

Not a definitive border that would open on the nullifying and cavernous abyss of lost shadows or larvae without momentum, devoid of identity and future - after the transit in time.

The condolences [from the Latin «cum-dolēre»] turned willingly within a purely pagan mentality or linked to an archetypal sense of religiosity.

That kind of conviction led relatives and friends to grieve - a hopeless cry - which Jesus openly rebukes [Jn 11:33 Greek text; some translations are uncertain].

To believe that with death everything ends means to imagine that existence is a progressive decay into the void.

This conviction makes any path of growth, even spiritual, consider absurd. And it postulates the senselessness of getting involved, of committing oneself to the ideal of the lasting Good - for a Beautiful that continues beyond our earthly life and in favor of our neighbour.

“Condolences” therefore indicate in themselves that everything is over.

In the epigraph on the portal of a cemetery of a town not too far from me we read an inscription in large letters: «here over the centuries lay affections vanity hopes».

The cold of the end of all beautiful things, and the "ice" of the neoclassical revisited in early twentieth century style... perfectly matched on whitewashed travertine coating.

Instead, Hope attracts us and refreshes the spirit, overcomes outrage, gives meaning to our going.

Already the believers of the first centuries had supplanted the pagan idea of the appointment of our sister death as «dies infaustus», replacing it in its opposite: «dies Natalis».

Day of true Birth, within the same Life now complete, healed.

Life, which precisely proceeds - beyond the temporal or locality parameters. 

Without the fatigue of existing that we experience. Immersed in the vastness of being.

Life without the struggles against oneself, and which continues in the satisfying, blessing Embrace of a Father who does not depersonalize but expands the character existence, the qualities of his sons.

In this blossoming full of light and warmth we are as if we were refounded on the prototype-Project of the authentic Son.

Alliance Trait that we should and perhaps could have been.

Overwhelmed ones with blissful Happiness, for our shadow-part is now included; devoid of judgments and comments.

[Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed,  November 2]

(Commemoration of All the Faithful Deceased)

"I see these fearful spaces of the universe surrounding me, and I find myself attached to a corner of this immensity, without knowing why I am placed in this place rather than in another, nor why the little time that is given to me to live is assigned to me at this point rather than in another from all the eternity that has preceded me and from all the eternity that succeeds me. I see nothing but infinite extensions on all sides, enclosing me like an atom and like a shadow that lasts but an instant without return. All I know is that I must soon die; but what I most ignore is this death itself, from which I cannot escape" [Pascal, Pensées, 194].

On the occasion of my parents' recent passing, the heartbreak of illness and the loss of both of them (soon) was compounded by the annoyance of an environment that kept on giving me 'condolences'.

As out of good manners, of course, but those who have assimilated the language of the Faith do not offer condolences, nor do they speak of 'the dead' but of the departed. They live.

Not as survivors of the blows that life has in store, but as fully realised, authentic, adorned gods.

Women and men blossomed into everything, who have experienced a new kind of being in their essence, a different kind of existence.

As in an atmosphere of pure love, where (like Jesus) one no longer lives for oneself, but one with the other and one for the other.

Without the pressing chronometers, nor the abandonments.

The term defunct comes from the Latin verb 'defungor' [infinitive 'defungi'] which indicates the partial end of an event, not a total fulfilment.

Not a definitive boundary that would open on the nullifying and cavernous abyss of lost shadows or larvae without momentum, devoid of identity and future - after transit through time.

Condolences' [from the Latin 'cum-dolēre'] were willingly offered within a purely pagan mentality or linked to an archetypal sense of religiosity.

That kind of conviction induced in relatives and friends an affliction - a hopeless weeping - that Jesus openly reproaches [John 11,33 Greek text; the Italian translation is uncertain].

To believe that with death everything ends is to imagine that existence is a progressive decay into emptiness.

Such a belief makes any path of growth, even spiritual growth, seem absurd. And it postulates the absurdity of involving oneself, of committing oneself to the ideal of lasting Good - to a Good that continues beyond our earthly vicissitude (and in favour of our neighbour).

The condolences thus stand for themselves to indicate that all is over.

An epigraph on the portal of a cemetery in a town not too far from me reads in large letters: 'here in the centuries lay affections vanities hopes'.

The cold of the end of all beautiful things, and the 'ice' of the neoclassical revisited in early 20th century style... perfectly matched on whitewashed travertine cladding.

Instead, Hope attracts us and refreshes the spirit, overcomes outrage, gives meaning to our going.

Already the believers of the first centuries had supplanted the pagan idea of the appointment of our sister death as 'dies infaustus', replacing it with its opposite: 'dies Natalis'.

Day of the true Birth, within the same Life; now complete, restored.

Life, which indeed continues - beyond the parameters of time or location. 

Without the fatigue of existing that we experience. Immersed in the vastness of being.

Life without the struggles against self, and which continues in the satisfying, blessing embrace of a Father who does not depersonalise but dilates the character existence, the qualities of his children.

In such a blossoming full of light and warmth we are as if refounded on the prototype-Project of the authentic Son.

Covenant trait that we were meant to be and perhaps could be.

Overwhelmed with blissful Happiness, because our shadow-part is now included; free of judgement and commentary.

In "Hope of the Mustard Wheat" we read a gem by Joseph Ratzinger, who had the guts to write words to be seriously carved on the friezes of entablatures (in place of other superficialities for effect - unfortunately widespread):

"Today it seems clear that the fire of Judgement of which the Bible speaks does not indicate some kind of prison of the afterlife, but rather the Lord Himself who at the moment of judgement meets with man [...]".

"In the man who presents himself to the gaze of the Lord, everything in his life that is 'straw and hay' burns away and only that which can really have substance remains. And it means that through the encounter with Christ, man is recast and reshaped according to what he was meant to be and could properly be. The fundamental option of such a man is the Yes that makes him capable of accepting God's mercy; but this fundamental decision is many times numbed and shrivelled, it only peeps out with difficulty from the shackles of selfishness from which man has never been able to free himself. The encounter with the Lord is this transformation, the fire that burns and melts him, making him become that figure, that form without dross that can become the vessel of eternal Joy.

The fire that burns: Christ himself

Some recent theologians are of the opinion that the fire that both burns and saves is Christ Himself, the Judge and Saviour. The encounter with Him is the decisive act of Judgement. Before His gaze all falsehood melts away. It is the encounter with Him that, by burning us, transforms us and frees us to become truly ourselves. The things built up during life can then turn out to be dry straw, empty boasting and collapse. But in the pain of this encounter, in which the impure and unhealthy in our being become evident to us, lies salvation. His gaze, the touch of his heart heals us through a transformation that is certainly painful 'as through fire'. It is, however, a blessed sorrow, in which the holy power of his love penetrates us like a flame, enabling us in the end to be totally ourselves and thereby totally of God. Thus the interpenetration of righteousness and grace is also made evident: our way of life is not irrelevant, but our filthiness does not stain us eternally, if at least we have remained inclined towards Christ, towards truth and towards love. After all, this filth has already been burnt away in the Passion of Christ. At the moment of Judgement we experience and embrace this prevailing of his love over all evil in the world and in us. The pain of love becomes our salvation and our joy. It is clear that the "duration" of this transforming burning cannot be calculated by the chronometric measures of this world. The transforming "moment" of this encounter eludes earthly timing - it is time of the heart, time of the "passage" to communion with God in the Body of Christ. The Judgement of God is hope both because it is justice and because it is grace. If it were merely grace that renders all that is earthly irrelevant, God would remain indebted to us for the answer to the question of justice - a question that is decisive for us before history and God himself. If it were pure justice, it could in the end only be a cause for fear for all of us. The incarnation of God in Christ has so linked the one with the other - judgement and grace - that justice is firmly established: we all await our salvation "with fear and trembling" (Phil 2:12). Nevertheless, grace enables us all to hope and to go full of confidence towards the Judge whom we know as our "advocate", parakletos (cf. 1 Jn 2:1).

[Pope Benedict, Encyclical Spe Salvi no.47]

12. I think that in this very precise and permanently valid way, Augustine is describing man's essential situation, the situation that gives rise to all his contradictions and hopes. In some way we want life itself, true life, untouched even by death; yet at the same time we do not know the thing towards which we feel driven. We cannot stop reaching out for it, and yet we know that all we can experience or accomplish is not what we yearn for. This unknown “thing” is the true “hope” which drives us, and at the same time the fact that it is unknown is the cause of all forms of despair and also of all efforts, whether positive or destructive, directed towards worldly authenticity and human authenticity. The term “eternal life” is intended to give a name to this known “unknown”. Inevitably it is an inadequate term that creates confusion. “Eternal”, in fact, suggests to us the idea of something interminable, and this frightens us; “life” makes us think of the life that we know and love and do not want to lose, even though very often it brings more toil than satisfaction, so that while on the one hand we desire it, on the other hand we do not want it. To imagine ourselves outside the temporality that imprisons us and in some way to sense that eternity is not an unending succession of days in the calendar, but something more like the supreme moment of satisfaction, in which totality embraces us and we embrace totality—this we can only attempt. It would be like plunging into the ocean of infinite love, a moment in which time—the before and after—no longer exists. We can only attempt to grasp the idea that such a moment is life in the full sense, a plunging ever anew into the vastness of being, in which we are simply overwhelmed with joy. This is how Jesus expresses it in Saint John's Gospel: “I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you” (16:22). We must think along these lines if we want to understand the object of Christian hope, to understand what it is that our faith, our being with Christ, leads us to expect.

[Pope Benedict, Spe salvi]

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

1. After having celebrated yesterday the Solemnity of All Saints, today, 2 November, our prayerful gaze is directed toward those who have departed from this world and are awaiting arrival into the Heavenly City. The Church has always strongly advised that we pray for the dead. She invites believers to regard the mystery of death not as the "last word" of human destiny but rather as a passage to eternal life. As we read in the Preface of today's Mass:  "When the body of our earthly dwelling lies in death we gain an everlasting dwelling place in heaven". 

2. It is an important obligation to pray for the dead, because even if they have died in grace and in God's friendship, they may still need final purification in order to enter the joy of Heaven (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 1030). Prayer for the dead is expressed in various ways, one of which is also visiting the cemeteries. Pausing in these sacred places becomes an ideal occasion to reflect on the meaning of earthly life and at the same time to nourish hope in the blessed eternity of Paradise. 

May Mary, Gate of Heaven, help us never to forget and never to lose sight of the Heavenly Homeland, the final destination of our pilgrimage here on earth.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 2 November 2003]

Job, defeated, or rather, at the end of his life due to illness, with his skin stripped away, nearly at the point of death, almost without flesh, Job has a certitude and he states it: “I know that my Redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the earth” (Jb 19:25). At the moment in which Job is at his very lowest, there is that embrace of light and warmth that reassures him: I will see the Redeemer. I will see him with these eyes. “I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold, and not another” (19:26-27).

This certainty, precisely at nearly the final moment of life, is Christian hope. It is a hope that is a dream: we cannot have it. It is a gift we must ask for: ‘Lord, give me hope’. There are many bad things that lead us to despair, to believe that all will be a definitive loss, that after death there will be nothing... And Job’s voice returns; it returns: “I know that my Redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the earth... I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side”, with these eyes.

“Hope does not disappoint” (Rom 5:5), Paul told us. Hope draws us and gives meaning to our life. I do not see the afterlife, but hope is God’s gift that draws us toward life, toward eternal joy. Hope is an anchor that we have from the other side, and we, grasping the rope, sustain ourselves (cf. Heb 6:18-19). ‘I know that my Redeemer lives, and I shall see him’. And repeat this in times of joy and in bad times, in times of death, let us say this.

This certitude is a gift of God, because we can never have hope by our own efforts. We must ask for it. Hope is a freely given gift that we never deserve: it is given; it is offered. It is grace.

And then, the Lord confirms this, this hope that does not disappoint. “All that the Father gives me will come to me” (Jn 6:37). This is the aim of hope: to go to Jesus. And “him who comes to me I will not cast out. For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me” (Jn 6:37-38). The Lord who welcomes us there, where the anchor lies. Life in hope is to live like this: grasping, with the rope in hand, strong, knowing that the anchor is below. And this anchor does not disappoint; it does not disappoint.

Today, in the thoughts of many brothers and sisters who have passed on, it will do us good to look at the cemeteries and to look heavenward. And to repeat, like Job: ‘I know that my Redeemer lives, and I myself will see him. My eyes shall behold him, and not another’. And this is the strength that hope gives us, this freely given gift that is the virtue of hope. May the Lord give it to all of us.

[Pope Francis, homily 2 November 2020]

All Saints, between religious sense and Faith

(Mt 5:1-12)

Embodying the spirit of the Beatitudes, we wonder what is the difference between common ‘religious feeling’ and ‘living by Faith’.

In ancient devotions the Saint is the composed man, perfect and detached [but predictable]; and the opposite of Saint is «sinner».

In the proposal of a full life in the Lord, the «holy» is a person of communicative understanding, and whoever lives for conviviality, creating it where there is not.

In the path of the sons the Saint is indeed the excellent man, but in his complete sense - full and dynamic, multifaceted; even eccentric. Not in a one-sided meaning.

In Christ, true man is a «detached» [‘saint’] from the common mentality, as faithful to himself, to his own Fire that does not become extinct - to the passions, to his unrepeatable uniqueness and Vocation.

And together, «separated» from external competitive criteria: of having, of power, of appearing. Self-destructive powers.

To the latter, it concretely replaces the fraternity of giving, of serving and of diminishing oneself [from the "role"]. Fruitful energies.

In this way, the «holy» lives the essential Beatitude of the persecuted (Mt 5:11-12; Lk 6:22-23) because he has the freedom to ‘descend’ to be in tune with his own essence; coexisting in his originality.

In terms of Faith, the Saint is therefore no longer a physically «separate», but «United» to Christ - and banished like Him, in the weak brothers.

In short, the Divine Plan is to compose a Family of small ones and shaky, not to carve out a group of strong and ‘better’ friends than the others.

The Appeal that the Word addresses is to undertake an itinerary; this is the point. And we have always been «those of the Way» and they who don’t pass beyond, do not look the other way [cf. Lk 10,31-33; FT, 56ff].

For the classical pagan mentality, woman and man are essentially ‘nature’, so their being in the world is conditioned, even determined by birth (lucky or not).

According to the Bible, woman and man are creatures, splendid and adequate in themselves for their mission, but pilgrims and lacking.

God is the One who «calls» them to complete themselves, recovering the different aspects.

Person’s holiness is therefore combined with many of dissatisfaction‘ states, border, and even of partial failure - but always thinking and feeling the reality.

For a New Alliance.

With Jesus, Perfection does not concern ‘thought’, nor respect for an abstract Code of Observance. Completion refers to a quality of Exodus and Relationship.

In Scripture the Saints know the problems, weaknesses, joys and sorrows of daily life, the search for their own identity-character, or deep inclination.

And the apostolate; the family, the education of children, work. Even the seduction force of evil.

Well, opposed to God are not ‘sins’, but «the» Sin [singular, theological term, not moralistic].

‘Sin’ is the inability to correspond to an indicative Call, which acts as a spring to complete us, to regenerate us as not-partial people.

This by harmonizing opposite sides - in being ourselves and being-With.

Here it is the Faith that «saves», at the point where we find ourselves - because it annihilates «the sin of the world» (Jn 1:29), that is, the disrespect and sense of guilt; the humiliation of unbridgeable distances.

In the Gospels, to no one Christ says «made yourself holy», but with Him, like Him and in Him - «be United», to meet unceasingly own deep states.

Recognizing them better, also thanks to the You and We: «coming to experience others as our “own flesh”» (FT n.84).

[All Saint’s Day, November 1st]

They brought the Light through

Embodying the spirit of the Beatitudes, we ask ourselves what is the difference between common 'religious feeling', and 'living by Faith'.

In ancient devotions, the saint is the composite man sui, perfect and detached [but predictable]; and the opposite of saint is 'sinner'.

In the proposal of full life in the Lord, the 'saint' is a person of communicative understanding and who lives for conviviality, creating it where there is none.

In the path of the sons, the saint is indeed the excellent man, but in its full sense - full and dynamic, multifaceted; even eccentric. Not in a one-sided, moralistic or sentimental sense.

In the Latin language perfìcere means to complete, to go to the end.

In such a complete and integral meaning, 'perfect' becomes an authentic embodied value: a possible attribute - of every person who is aware of his or her own condition of vulnerability, and does not despise it.

The woman and man of Faith value every occasion or emotion that exposes the condition of nakedness [not guilt] in order to open new paths and renew themselves.

From the point of view of life in the Spirit, the saint [in Hebrew Qadosh, a divine attribute] is indeed the 'detached' man, but not in a partial or physical sense, but ideal.

He is not the person who at a certain point in life distances himself from the human family to embark on a path of purification that would elevate him. Deluding himself that he is getting better.

As the encyclical Fratelli Tutti emphasises: 'A human being [...] does not realise himself, does not develop, cannot find his own fullness [... and] does not come to fully recognise his own truth except in the encounter with others' (No.87).

The authentic witness is not animated by contempt for existential chaos - nor eager to outsource the difficulties of managing one's own freedom by handing it over to an alienating agency with a secluded mentality (which solves the drama of personal choices).

In Christ, man is "disjointed" from the common mentality, insofar as he is faithful to himself, to his own Fire that is not extinguished - to the passions, to his own unrepeatable uniqueness and Vocation.

And at the same time, "separated" from external competitive criteria: of having, of power, of appearance. Self-destructive powers.

To the latter, he concretely substitutes the fraternity of giving, of serving and of diminishing [from "character"]. Fruitful energies.

All for the global Communion, and in Truth also with one's own intimate character seed - avoiding proselytising and being noticed in the catwalks.

The true believer knows his redeemed limit, sees the possibilities of imperfection.... Thus he replaces the presuppositions of keeping for oneself, of climbing over others and dominating them, with a fundamental humanising triptych: giving, freedom to 'come down', collaboration.

This is the authentic Detachment, which does not flee one's own and others' inclinations, nor does it despise the complex trait of the human condition.

In this way, the "saint" lives the essential Bliss of the persecuted (Mt 5:11-12; Lk 6:22-23) because he has the freedom to "lower himself" in order to be in tune with his own essence; co-existing in his originality.

In terms of Faith, the saint is thus no longer a physically "separate", but rather "united" to Christ - and banished like Him, into the weak brothers and sisters.

In short, the divine Design is to compose Families of the small and shaky, not to carve out a group of "strong" friends, and "better" than the others.

Only this horizon of the Hearth drives us on.

Consequently, the opposite of Saint is not "sinful", but rather unrealised or unfinished.

Let us see again why (vocational and personal paths).

Jesus was a friend of publicans and public sinners not because they were better than the good, but because in religion the 'righteous' are often not very spontaneous; making themselves impermeable, closed, refractory to the action of the Spirit.

Surprisingly, the Lord Himself repeatedly experienced that it was precisely the devoutly deficient people who were prone to questioning, realising, reworking, deviating from habit - for the building up of new paths, even groping.

Not being able to enjoy the respectable cloak of social screens, after an awareness of one's own situation (and over time) - compared to those who considered themselves 'arrived' and friends of God - from 'distant' they became people more than the 'impecunious' willing to love.

Questioning is fundamental in a biblical perspective.

At every turn, Scripture proposes a spirituality of the Exodus, that is, a road of liberation from fetters and walked as if on foot, step by step. Hence one that values paths of seeking, exploring, self-discovery and the Newness of a God who does not repeat, but creates.

The call that the Word makes is to embark on an itinerary; that is the point. And we have always been "those of the Way" and who do not pass by, do not look the other way [cf. Lk 10:31-33; FT, 56ff].For the classical pagan mentality, woman and man are essentially 'nature', therefore their being in the world is conditioned [I remember my professor of theological anthropology Ignazio Sanna even used to say 'de-centred'], even determined by birth (fortunate or not).

According to the Bible, woman and man are creatures, splendid and adequate in themselves for their mission, but pilgrim and lacking.

God is the One who 'calls' them to complete themselves, making up for their deficient aspects.

To come to be the image and likeness of the Lord, we must develop the capacity to respond to a Vocation that makes us not phenomena, nor exceptional 'perfect' ones, but particular Witnesses.

Chosen by Name, just as we are; who embrace their deep being - even unexpressed - to the point of recognising it in the You, and unfolding it in the We.

A person's holiness is thus combined with many states of dissatisfaction, boundary, and even partial failure - but always thinking and feeling reality.

For a New Covenant.

In the Old Testament, the believer came into contact with divine purity by frequenting sacred places, fulfilling prescriptions, reciting prayers, respecting times and spaces, avoiding embarrassing situations; and so on.

Our experience and conscience infallibly attest that strict observance is too rare, or mannered: within, it often does not correspond to us - nor does it humanise us.

It sooner or later becomes a house of cards, shaky the more it points 'upwards'. All it takes is to lay one of them out clumsily, and the artificial construction collapses.

We realise our natural inability to meet such high sterilisations, (other people's) maps and standards.

With Jesus, Perfection is not about 'thinking', nor is it about adherence to an abstract code of observances. Perfection is about a quality of Exodus and Relationship.

In ancient contexts, the path of the sons has been cloaked with a mystical or renunciatory proposal of abstinence, fasting, retreats, secluded living, obsessive cultic observances... which in many situations formed the backbone of pre-Conciliar spirituality.

But in Scripture, saints do not have a halo or wings.

They are not such because they performed incomparable and astounding miracles of healing: they are women and men embedded in the ordinary world and in the most ordinary aspects. 

They know the problems, weaknesses, joys and sorrows of everyday life; the search for their own identity-character, or deep inclination.

And the apostolate; the family, raising children, work. The seductive power of evil, even.

In the First Testament, 'Qadosh' exclusively designated an attribute of the Eternal [the only non-intermittent Person] - and its separateness from the entanglement of often confused earthly ambitions.

Despite the flaws, however, in Christ we become capable of listening, of perception; thus enabled to seize every opportunity to bear witness to the innate, vital Gratuity of divine and real initiative.

Unceasingly, providential life proposes itself and comes to open unthinkable, breaching gaps.

Its unprecedented journeys of growth renew the existence all linked and conforming.

This also makes us marvel at intimate resources, previously unconscious or unconfessed and concealed, or unforeseeably hidden behind dark sides.

That which is insignificant is no longer moved behind clouds and placed in fortified enclosures.

Therefore, God's adversary will not be transgression: instead, it becomes the lack of a spirit of communion, in differences.

The enemy of the Salvation story is not religious incompleteness, but the gap from the Beatitudes - and from the unfolding spirit of the 'wayfarer' for whom 'wandering' is also synonymous [not paradoxical] with 'wandering'.

God's counterpart is thus not 'sins', but 'the' Sin [in the singular, a theological term, not a moralistic one].

"Sin" is the inability to correspond to an indicative Calling, which acts as a spring to complete us, to regenerate us not to be partial. This by harmonising opposite sides - in being ourselves and being-With.

Here it is the Faith that 'saves', where we are - because it annihilates 'the sin of the world' (Jn 1:29), that is, the disbelief and guilt; the humiliation of unbridgeable distances.

In fact, Jesus does not recommend doctrines, nor does he recommend parcelling out one's life with punctual ethylisms. Nor does he envisage any religious ascent [in terms of progressiveness] peppered with effort.

To no one in the Gospels does Christ say 'become holy', but with Him, like Him and in Him - united, to encounter one's deepest states unceasingly.

Recognising them better, also through the You and the We.

The Saint is the little one, not the all-in-one, uniform, predictable hero.The saint is he who, walking his own path in the wake of the Risen One, has learnt to "identify himself with the other, regardless of where [or] from where [...] ultimately experiencing that others are his own flesh" (cf. FT 84).

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

Our Eucharistic celebration began with the exhortation: "Let us all rejoice in the Lord". The liturgy invites us to share in the heavenly jubilation of the Saints, to taste their joy. The Saints are not a small caste of chosen souls but an innumerable crowd to which the liturgy urges us to raise our eyes. This multitude not only includes the officially recognized Saints, but the baptized of every epoch and nation who sought to carry out the divine will faithfully and lovingly. We are unacquainted with the faces and even the names of many of them, but with the eyes of faith we see them shine in God's firmament like glorious stars. 

Today, the Church is celebrating her dignity as "Mother of the Saints, an image of the Eternal City" (A. Manzoni), and displays her beauty as the immaculate Bride of Christ, source and model of all holiness. She certainly does not lack contentious or even rebellious children, but it is in the Saints that she recognizes her characteristic features and precisely in them savours her deepest joy. 

In the first reading, the author of the Book of Revelation describes them as "a great multitude which no man could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and tongues" (Rv 7: 9). 

This people includes the Saints of the Old Testament, starting with the righteous Abel and the faithful Patriarch, Abraham, those of the New Testament, the numerous early Christian Martyrs and the Blesseds and Saints of later centuries, to the witnesses of Christ in this epoch of ours. 

They are all brought together by the common desire to incarnate the Gospel in their lives under the impulse of the Holy Spirit, the life-giving spirit of the People of God. 

But "why should our praise and glorification, or even the celebration of this Solemnity, mean anything to the Saints?". A famous homily of St Bernard for All Saints' Day begins with this question. It could equally well be asked today. And the response the Saint offers us is also timely: "The Saints", he says, "have no need of honour from us; neither does our devotion add the slightest thing to what is theirs.... But I tell you, when I think of them, I feel myself inflamed by a tremendous yearning" (Disc. 2, Opera Omnia Cisterc. 5, 364ff.). 

This, then, is the meaning of today's Solemnity: looking at the shining example of the Saints to reawaken within us the great longing to be like them; happy to live near God, in his light, in the great family of God's friends. Being a Saint means living close to God, to live in his family. And this is the vocation of us all, vigorously reaffirmed by the Second Vatican Council and solemnly proposed today for our attention. 

But how can we become holy, friends of God? We can first give a negative answer to this question: to be a Saint requires neither extraordinary actions or works nor the possession of exceptional charisms. Then comes the positive reply: it is necessary first of all to listen to Jesus and then to follow him without losing heart when faced by difficulties. "If anyone serves me", he warns us, "he must follow me; and where I am, there shall my servant be also; if any one serves me, the Father will honour him" (Jn 12: 26). 

Like the grain of wheat buried in the earth, those who trust him and love him sincerely accept dying to themselves. Indeed, he knows that whoever seeks to keep his life for himself loses it, and whoever gives himself, loses himself, and in this very way finds life (cf. Jn 12: 24-25). 

The Church's experience shows that every form of holiness, even if it follows different paths, always passes through the Way of the Cross, the way of self-denial. The Saints' biographies describe men and women who, docile to the divine plan, sometimes faced unspeakable trials and suffering, persecution and martyrdom. They persevered in their commitment: "they... have come out of the great tribulation", one reads in Revelation, "they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb" (Rv 7: 14). Their names are written in the book of life (cf. Rv 20: 12) and Heaven is their eternal dwelling-place. 

The example of the Saints encourages us to follow in their same footsteps and to experience the joy of those who trust in God, for the one true cause of sorrow and unhappiness for men and women is to live far from him. 

Holiness demands a constant effort, but it is possible for everyone because, rather than a human effort, it is first and foremost a gift of God, thrice Holy (cf. Is 6: 3). In the second reading, the Apostle John remarks: "See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are" (I Jn 3: 1). 

It is God, therefore, who loved us first and made us his adoptive sons in Jesus. Everything in our lives is a gift of his love: how can we be indifferent before such a great mystery? How can we not respond to the Heavenly Father's love by living as grateful children? In Christ, he gave us the gift of his entire self and calls us to a personal and profound relationship with him. 

Consequently, the more we imitate Jesus and remain united to him the more we enter into the mystery of his divine holiness. We discover that he loves us infinitely, and this prompts us in turn to love our brethren. Loving always entails an act of self-denial, "losing ourselves", and it is precisely this that makes us happy. 

Thus, we have come to the Gospel of this feast, the proclamation of the Beatitudes which we have just heard resound in this Basilica. 

Jesus says: Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed those who mourn, the meek; blessed those who hunger and thirst for justice, the merciful; blessed the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted for the sake of justice (cf. Mt 5: 3-10). 

In truth, the blessed par excellence is only Jesus. He is, in fact, the true poor in spirit, the one afflicted, the meek one, the one hungering and thirsting for justice, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemaker. He is the one persecuted for the sake of justice. 

The Beatitudes show us the spiritual features of Jesus and thus express his mystery, the mystery of his death and Resurrection, of his passion and of the joy of his Resurrection. This mystery, which is the mystery of true blessedness, invites us to follow Jesus and thus to walk toward it. 

To the extent that we accept his proposal and set out to follow him - each one in his own circumstances - we too can participate in his blessedness. With him, the impossible becomes possible and even a camel can pass through the eye of a needle (cf. Mk 10: 25); with his help, only with his help, can we become perfect as the Heavenly Father is perfect (cf. Mt 5: 48). 

Dear brothers and sisters, we are now entering the heart of the Eucharistic celebration that encourages and nourishes holiness. In a little while, Christ will make himself present in the most exalted way, Christ the true Vine to whom the faithful on earth and the Saints in Heaven are united like branches. 

Thus, the communion of the pilgrim Church in the world with the Church triumphant in glory will increase. 

In the Preface we will proclaim that the Saints are friends and models of life for us. Let us invoke them so that they may help us to imitate them and strive to respond generously, as they did, to the divine call. 

In particular, let us invoke Mary, Mother of the Lord and mirror of all holiness. May she, the All Holy, make us faithful disciples of her Son Jesus Christ! Amen.

[Pope Benedict, homily 1 November 2006]