Our gaze goes to Giulio Romano's painting above the high altar of this church: it shows the Holy Family, with John the Baptist still a child, the Apostle James and the Evangelist Mark, the latter already adults.

The Baptist briskly points with his left hand to the Child Jesus, depicted in his infantile weakness. To the question of the relatives and neighbours of Elizabeth and Zechariah: "What is to become of this child?" the painting seems to give us this answer: John the Baptist points with all his attitude to Jesus to the visitor James who is close to him; he bows deeply in the awareness of his littleness: I am not worthy to untie the strap of the sandal to him who comes after me, but who is before me. This word has nothing to do with false humility. The Baptist is too upright, too sober for that. He certainly recognised human helplessness better than most men.

The preacher of penitence who questions men in their innermost being, who shakes them out of their certainties and transforms them, who snatches them from the superficiality of a purely earthly materialistic attitude, still belongs to the Old Covenant, he is just the one who points the way to the Kingdom of God; and this Kingdom of God is near, one hears the voice of the one who calls in the wilderness. The Baptist's humility is authentic. But God exalted the littleness of the Baptist with the greatness of the task entrusted to him; indeed, he had already exalted him in his mother's womb: before he was even born, he was in fact already 'reborn' by the Spirit of Christ. Human greatness is nothing compared to the smallness that is called to participate in the greatness and holiness of God.

For us priests, John is a model. He seeks nothing for himself, but everything for the one he now points to. The child already represents in a certain way the word transmitted to us in the fourth Gospel: "He must increase and I must decrease" (John 3: 30). John was to lead men to Jesus and bear witness [...].

John and the story of his life are like a slide on which a name and a truth are indicated. It remains dark until a source of light is lit behind it. Thus says the Gospel of John: 'He was not the light, but he was to bear witness to the light' (John 1: 8). The light of God is decisive in his life and mission. By its light we become seers, to recognise God's will. This is often contrary to our desires and our own will. When it came to naming the newborn John at his circumcision, tradition was decisive: he would receive his father's name. But Elisabeth decided otherwise. She knew God's will and gave the child the name 'John', which means 'God is merciful'.

Why should it have been so only then?

We can all experience the power and goodness of God in our lives when we trust in him and strive earnestly to do his will. But this requires from us humility and the realisation that man does not possess the measure of all things. We cannot see ourselves as the yardstick of every thought, every morality and every right. We too easily succumb to the belief that everything can be made, heaven as well as earth, indeed man himself, according to our own image and likeness.

[Pope John Paul II, S. Maria dell'Anima homily 24 June 1990].

A Church inspired by the figure of John the Baptist: who "exists to proclaim, to be the voice of a word, of his bridegroom who is the word" and "to proclaim this word to the point of martyrdom" at the hands of "the proudest of the earth". Pope Francis proposed it during the Mass celebrated in the chapel of the Domus Sanctae Marthae.

The Holy Father's entire reflection was centred on this parallelism, because "the Church has something of John", although - he warned immediately - it is difficult to delineate his figure. After all, "Jesus says that he is the greatest man who was born"; but if we then "see what he does" and "think about his life", Pope Francis noted, we realise that "he is a prophet who passed away, a man who was great", before ending tragically.

Here then is the invitation to ask ourselves who John really is, leaving the word to the protagonist himself. In fact, when "the scribes, the Pharisees, go to ask him to explain better who he was", he replies clearly: "I am not the Messiah. I am a voice, a voice in the wilderness'. Consequently, the first thing one understands is that 'the desert' are his interlocutors; people with 'such a heart, with nothing', the Pontiff called them. While he is 'the voice, a voice without a word, because the word is not him, it is another. He is the one who speaks, but does not say; the one who preaches about another who will come later'. In all this - the Pope explained - there is "the mystery of John" who "never takes possession of the word; the word is another. And John is the one who indicates, the one who teaches", using the words "behind me... I am not what you think; behold there comes after me one to whom I am not worthy to fasten my sandals". So 'the word is not there', there is instead 'a voice pointing to another'. The whole meaning of his life "is to point to another".

Continuing in his homily, Pope Francis then highlighted how the Church chooses for the feast of Saint John "the longest days of the year; the days that have the most light, because in the darkness of that time John was the man of light: not a light of his own, but a reflected light. Like a moon. And when Jesus began to preach", John's light began to fade, "to diminish, to go down". He himself says this clearly when speaking of his own mission: 'It is necessary that he grow and I diminish'.

Summing up, then: 'Voice, not word; light, but not his own, John seems to be nothing'. Here is unveiled 'the vocation' of the Baptist, the Pontiff affirmed: 'To annihilate oneself. And when we contemplate the life of this man so great, so powerful - everyone believed he was the Messiah - when we contemplate how this life annihilates itself to the darkness of a prison, we contemplate an enormous mystery". Indeed, he continued, 'we do not know what his last days were like'. It is only known that he was killed and that his head ended up 'on a tray as a great gift from a dancer to an adulteress. I think that more than that one cannot go down, annihilate oneself'.

But we know what happened before that, during his time in prison: we know "those doubts, that anguish that he had"; to the point of calling his disciples and sending them "to ask the question to the word: is it you or shall we wait for another?". For he was not even spared 'the darkness, the pain over his life': does my life make sense or have I made a mistake?

In short, said the Pope, the Baptist could boast, feel important, but he did not: he 'only indicated, he felt himself to be a voice and not a word'. This is for Pope Francis 'the secret of John'. He "did not want to be an ideologue". He was a 'man who denied himself, so that the word' might grow. Here then is the relevance of his teaching: "We as Church can ask today for the grace," the Holy Father hoped, "not to become an ideologised Church," to be instead "only the Dei Verbum religiose audiens et fidenter proclamans," he said, quoting the incipit of the conciliar constitution on divine revelation. A "Church that listens religiously to the word of Jesus and proclaims it with courage"; a "Church without ideologies, without a life of its own"; a "Church that is mysterium lunae, that has light from its bridegroom" and that must dim its own light so that the light of Christ may shine. Pope Francis has no doubts: "The model John offers us today" is that of "a Church always at the service of the Word; a Church that never takes anything for itself". And since in the Collect and in the prayer of the faithful "the grace of joy" had been invoked, and "the Lord had been asked to cheer this Church in its service to the word, to be the voice of this word, to preach this word", the Pontiff urged to invoke "the grace of imitating John: without ideas of one's own, without a gospel taken as property"; to be "only a Church that is a voice that points to the word, even to martyrdom".

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano 25/06/2013].

Personal Love: from spent religiosity to Faith

(Lk 1:39-45)

‘Incarnation’: if the gaze mildly begins to rest on the human condition, here is the beginning of a reign of peace.

The hesitant crowd can rejoice, for that slight Presence comes that frees life and makes us feel adequate.

Unusual opportunity, not lacerating; to measure for amiable church and in person, even of children.

To the many prescriptions on cold stone slabs, Mary replaces the caress of a heart of flesh.

And the feast is a sign that the Lord has come to His family.

The young woman spontaneously ranks among normal people.

She did not pursue projects, nor attributed his being in the world and happiness to ways of doing things, to the judgments - passengers - of time.

She didn’t misunderst God by exchanging Him with the common places. She did not hinder his intimacy, thinking she was wrong because “different”.

With a silent mind and detachment from opinions, she allowed the vocational instinct to transmute her, conceive, and convey life.

In the events - even of others - and inside herself, she grasped the insecurity moments to remember herself of the Pearl to be sifted.

She didn’t think, didn’t speak, didn’t act like she was "infinite"; but firmly, yes.

She didn’t ask for permission to embark on a risky journey.

Passionate research that kept her alive, knowing that the things of the soul are different.

She recognizes herself in Elizabeth. She, too, a forgotten, who cultivates the promise [«Eli-shébet»: My-Personal Lord has ‘sworn’; how to say ‘God is faithful to Me’].

Zechariah instead [«zachar-Ja» the Lord (not “mine” but) of Israel, ‘remembers’] fails to move from regular devotion to unforeseen trust - which involves his founding Eros.

Mary didn’t want to be fake, she didn’t want to become artificial.

She gave no space to the toxins of the mind created by the habit without dream, by the paradigms of her place and time.

She chooses not to lay down the evolutionary side: she understands that it could be stimulated precisely by bitterness, abandonment, impacts, wounds.

Ark of the Covenant with visionary and feasible intimacy, without (inside) icy tablets of legalism.

She understands, poor in Spirit: God does not express Himself by emanating codes and minutiae, but in Love - which doesn’t demolish.

She had with Heaven a ‘uniqueness’ relationship, not of "stone" and brake, like as for an intimidated obedience.

In her marrow: Resembling - from Equal to Equal. She imposes herself on the rule hopes, moving from detted religiosity to Faith.

Trajectory of the soul, of Mary, of the waiting People: new consciousness and different orientation of humanity.

[4th Sunday in Advent (year C), 21-22 December 2024]

(Lk 1:39-45)

'Incarnation': if our gaze does not fixate on a few ideas but lightly begins to rest on the human condition, then a reign of peace begins.

The hesitant crowd in the ancient coat of arms can rejoice, because that faint but decisive Presence arrives that liberates and gives us breath.

Unusual opportunity for redemption on the scale of women and men, even children.

The people have a Dream: to grasp their identity and mission, despite the religion of mediocrity, of abuse - sullen looks and fears.

Mary helps each one to understand how to substitute the caress of a heart of flesh for so many extraneous prescriptions on cold stone slabs.

Her peace-shalom is not wished on the practitioner of the sacred. He omits the oneness of the Call, the Surprise, the Person.

Zechariah does not live Beatitudes: he is already identified, therefore radically unbelieving.

The great reminiscences and his typical role make him refractory to the Newness of the Spirit.

It is useless even to speak to him, although he is master of the House in which the Promises are 'remembered'. A habit of remembrance that now waits for nothing.

The decisive Encounter? Perhaps there will be... but who knows when.

Mythical waiting distracts, it does not involve. Idolatrous re-actualisation does not cheer; it stares, it does not make one dance.

The feast is a sign that the Lord has come to the family; not on the set, really. [It is not easy to understand this in the time of externality].

Mary does not aspire to be and show herself to be a 'VIP'; she places herself spontaneously among ordinary people, who suffer a painful condition.

She does not chase after projects, her previous ideas, some constrained tic that bounces around in her thinking. This is the purity of Mary.

Those who resemble her have no need to beg or display recognition, achievements, credentials, titles, merits. This is her purity.

She did not misunderstand God by exchanging him for appearances. She did not allow herself to be caged by clichés, because she did not hinder her unrepeatable identity by thinking she was wrong.

With a silent mind and detachment from judgement she allowed her vocational instinct to regenerate, conceive, give life.

She did not pursue an ideal, weightless (and meaningless) image, as if she were cast in a character - and conformist.

If she corrected herself, she did not do so by folding in on herself, but by overtaking and pulling straight; thus she discovered how to adjust, but to fly.

Everything did not go well for him, as if he already had the film of his life in his head. He had hiding places and doubts, travails to overcome.

He didn't think, he didn't speak, he didn't act as if he were 'infinite'; but decisively, yes.

She was not always successful, and yet she did not retract just veraciously.

She faced conflicts, yet without those mental burdens that bridle us with fixations [even sacred ones] that God does not care about, and block the way.

In events and within herself she seized moments of insecurity to remind herself of the Pearl to be sifted.

A passionate search that kept her alive, knowing that things of the soul are different.

She was not a do-gooder saint, she waged battles - and with spiritual denunciation.

In fact, she did not ask for permission to embark on a daring journey.

Nor does she 'see' the man of the official institution: the priest with his rituals punctuated in minute detail.

Instead, he recognises himself in Elizabeth. She too is a forgotten one, but one who cultivates the promise ("Eli-shébet": the Lord My-Personal has 'sworn'; as in "God is faithful to Me").

Zechariah, on the other hand ("zachar-Ja" the Lord yes but not 'My' but of Israel, 'remember') fails to move from regular religiosity to Faith involving his founding Eros.

Mary did not want to be fake, she did not wish to become artificial - therefore useless, and in time shattered.

She aspired to plant herself further and better on her own Roots.

If she couldn't understand something, she used these suspensions to project herself forward, in search of the precious treasure chest of her destination.

He gave no space to the toxins of the mind created by dreamless habit, by the paradigms of his place and time. She did not imagine that she would always remain the same.

She chose not to lay down the evolutionary side: she understood that she could be stimulated precisely by the bitterness, the abandonments, the impacts, the wounds.

Ark of the Covenant with visionary and viable intimacy, without (inside) icy tables of legalisms; because God does not express Himself by issuing rules, but in Love - which does not demolish.

He had with Heaven a relationship of Incarnation; not external and without Oneness [of stone as in intimidated obedience]. In its marrow: Resembling - from Equal to Equal.

From the religion of the many subordinates to the Faith?

Not a Church of the wedges: Mary is the new consciousness and the different orientation of humanity.

Magnificat: religious kinship, and the outburst of Faith

(Lk 1:46-55)

Although the Greek-language context of the earliest codices alludes to a canticle proper to Elisabeth (vv.42-46), later tradition placed the hymn on Mary's lips.

Their song-together summarises and celebrates the history of salvation. It reflects a Judeo-Christian liturgical lauda characteristic of the first communities of 'anawim.

[Today, as then, the small and faithful experience the ideal outline of history, of which they paradoxically become the engine].

Mary and Elizabeth give voice to the poor and minority 'churches', often challenged by the forces of imperial power in dramatic duels.

Fraternities that experienced a God who does not remain impassive to the cry of the persecuted least.

In a framework of family visitation and (indeed) praise, the whole destination of the new People is reflected.

The difference between the two women emphasises the outburst of Faith in Mary, as opposed to the expectations of religious 'kinship'.

In Elizabeth, the First Covenant has already run its full course, and would not go much further.

The history of men is barren, but the Eternal makes it fruitful with newness and joy, which finally changes the boundaries.

The planned ways have come to an end; still blind and subservient to the powers of the earth - self-divining...

But here it is revealed that the security of the great is vain, non-existent; seeking only profit.

And despite the millennia, there are still too many who clothe their positions with seemingly pious proclamations - insubstantial proclamations of love that helps and enriches the little ones, that make the weak strong.

Faith entirely transmutes the foundations of anti-divine history, because it allows the Spirit to take possession of personal life and fertilise it, making it capable of blessing action.

In Mary's way of believing we know what we do not know - because we have a guiding Vision, an Image that acts within like an innate instinct.

And we already possess what we hope for - because Faith is a stroke of the hand, an action that is appropriated, an act-calm (cf. Heb 11:1).

Its apex will be to discover impossible recovery stupors, starting from the shadowy and detested sides of us [the very discarded].

The hymn thus expresses the trajectory of the believer's life in Christ and the direction of our existence that little by little or suddenly recomposes the shaky being in the new harmony of the divine plan.

A classical thesis already from the First Testament: God lifts the wretched from the dust and raises the poor - the marginalised (with indifference) - from the rubbish.

He does not address himself to those who are full of themselves and with identified roles, but to those who know how to turn to the depths, and like Mary he extends them to others.

Within such a story of losing oneself in order to find oneself again - a logic embodied both by the disciples and the churches - is to be found the experience of Easter morning, whose Gospels 'describe' the Resurrection as the ability to see the tombs open and to discern life even amidst signs of absence, and in the place of death.

Lk evangelist of the poor celebrates this reversal of situations in many episodes: Pharisee and publican, prodigal son and firstborn, Samaritan and Levite priest, Lazarus and rich Epulon, first and last place, Beatitudes and 'troubles'...

The Magnificat also reiterates: the Lord's choices are truly whimsical for the religious nomenclature mentality.

Freely He passes for the defeated, the mocked, deemed stupid, ignoble; the weak, marginalised by cliques, rejected by the club of the acclaimed.

The canticle is a perfect 'type' of this predilection, which finds gain in loss and life from death, in people and events on the margins.

Mary in particular becomes an expressive figure of lowliness [ταπείνωσις (tapeínōsis, "lowering"), from ταπεινός (tapeinós, "low"); v.48 Greek text] as the 'root' of the transformation of being - in God's Unpredictable.

In Mary and Elizabeth the 'anawim contemplated the feast of the triumph of the children, of the creatures who repeat in themselves the Passover of Christ.

Happening and proposal that even in times of emergency makes life flourish again from the failure of the mythologies of power and force.

In the Risen One who always shows the wounds, believers everywhere have realised: the poverty of heart and life lived by Christ and the (Church) Mother is the true disruptive force of history.

God is faithful.

"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit exults in God my Saviour, because he has turned his face to the lowliness of his handmaid" (Lk 1:46b-48a).

To internalise and live the message

Do you consider divine munificence a property?

How do you proclaim your personal and ecclesial awareness - of fulfilment in Christ - of the Covenant Promises?

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

On this Fourth Sunday of Advent that comes just before the Nativity of the Lord, the Gospel speaks of Mary’s visit to her kinswoman Elizabeth. This event is not merely a courteous gesture but portrays with great simplicity the encounter of the Old Testament with the New. Indeed the two women, both of them then pregnant, embody expectation and the Expected One. The elderly Elizabeth symbolizes Israel which is awaiting the Messiah, whereas the young Mary bears within her the fulfilment of this expectation for the benefit of the whole of humanity.

First of all in the two women the fruit of their wombs, John and Christ, meet and recognize each other. The Christian poet Prudentius comments: “the child imprisoned in the aged womb greets by his mother’s lips his Lord, the maiden’s son” (Apotheosis, 590: pl 59, 970). John’s exultation in Elizabeth’s womb is a sign of the fulfilment of the expectation: God is about to visit his People. In the Annunciation the Archangel Gabriel spoke to Mary of Elizabeth’s pregnancy (cf. 1:36) as proof of God’s power; in spite of her old age her barren state was made fecund.

In her greeting to Mary Elizabeth recognizes that God’s promise to humanity is being fulfilled and exclaims: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” (Lk 1:42-43). In the Old Testament, the phrase “blessed are you among women” refers both to Jael (Judg 5:24), and to Judith (Jud 13:18), two women warriors who do their utmost to save Israel. 

Instead it is used here to describe Mary, a peaceful young woman who is about to bring the Saviour into the world. Thus John’s leap of joy (cf. Lk 1:44) also calls to mind King David’s dancing when he accompanied the entry of the Ark of the Covenant into Jerusalem (cf. 1 Chron 15:29. The Ark that contained the Tablets of the Law, the manna and Aaron’s rod (cf. Heb 9:4) was the sign of God’s presence among his People. The unborn John exults with joy before Mary, the Ark of the New Covenant, who in her womb is carrying Jesus, the Son of God made man. 

The scene of the Visitation also expresses the beauty of the greeting. Wherever there is reciprocal acceptance, listening, making room for another, God is there, as well as the joy that comes from him. At Christmas time let us emulate Mary, visiting all those who are living in hardship, especially the sick, prisoners, the elderly and children. And let us also imitate Elizabeth who welcomes the guest as God himself: without wishing it, we shall never know the Lord, without expecting him we shall not meet him, without looking for him we shall not find him. Let us too go to meet the Lord who comes with the same joy as Mary, who went with haste to Elizabeth (Lk 1:39). 

Let us pray that all men and women may seek God, discovering that it is God himself who comes to visit us first. Let us entrust our heart to Mary, Ark of the New and Eternal Covenant, so that she may make it worthy to receive God’s visit in the mystery of his Birth.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 23 December 2012]

The words of the Evangelist Luke echo in our hearts, "When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary ... [she] was filled with the Holy Spirit" (1,41)

The meeting between Our Lady and her cousin, Elizabeth, is like a sort of "small Pentecost". This is what I would like to stress this evening, on the eve of the great solemnity of the Holy Spirit.
In the Gospel account, the Visitation immediately follows the Annunciation:  the Virgin, who carries the Son conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit in her womb, radiates grace and spiritual joy around her. It is the presence of the Spirit within her that causes Elizabeth's son, John, destined to prepare the way for the Son of God made man, to leap with joy.

Wherever Mary is, Christ is; and wherever Christ is, there is his Holy Spirit, who proceeds from the Father and from him in the most sacred mystery of the Trinitarian life. The Acts of the Apostles rightly places emphasis on Mary's prayerful presence in the Upper Room, together with the Apostles gathered in expectation to receive the "power from on high". The "yes" of the Virgin, "fiat", draws down the Gift of God upon humanity:  as in the Annunciation, so in Pentecost. So it continues to happen throughout the Church's journey.

Gathered in prayer with Mary, let us implore an abundant outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon the whole Church, so that she may put out into the deep in the new millennium with her sails unfurled. In a special way, let us call down the Spirit upon all who work everyday at the service of the Holy See, so that the work of each one may always be enlivened by a spirit of faith and apostolic enthusiasm.

It is very significant that the last day of May brings us the feast of the Visitation. With this conclusion, it is as if we wanted to say that every day of this month has been a sort of visitation for us. We have lived a continuous visitation during the month of May, just like Mary and Elizabeth. We are grateful to God that this biblical event is presented to us once again by today's liturgy.
I hope for you all, who have gathered here in such a numerous group, that the grace of the Marian visitation you have experienced during the month of May and especially on this last evening, will be extended in the days to come.

[Pope John Paul II, celebration 31 May 2001]

The liturgy of this Fourth Sunday of Advent focuses on the figure of Mary, the Virgin Mother, expecting the birth of Jesus, the Saviour of the world. Let us fix our gaze upon her, a model of faith and of charity; and we can ask ourselves: what were her thoughts in the months while she was expecting? The answer comes precisely from today’s Gospel passage, the narrative of Mary’s visit to her elderly relative Elizabeth (cf. Lk 1:39-45). The Angel Gabriel had revealed that Elizabeth was expecting a son and was already in her sixth month (cf. Lk 1:26, 36). So the Virgin, who had just conceived Jesus by the power of God, set out with haste for Nazareth, in Galilee, to reach the mountains of Judea, and visit her cousin.

The Gospel states: “she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth” (v. 40). Surely she congratulated her on her maternity, as in turn Elizabeth congratulated Mary, saying: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” (vv. 42-43). And she immediately lauds Mary’s faith: “And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what was spoken to her from the Lord” (v. 45). The contrast is obvious between Mary, who had faith, and Zechariah, Elizabeth’s husband, who doubted, and did not believe the angel’s promise and therefore is left dumb until John’s birth. It is a contrast.

This episode helps us to interpret the mystery of man’s encounter with God in a very special light. An encounter that is not characterized by astonishing miracles, but rather, is characterized by faith and charity. Indeed, Mary is blessed because she believed: the encounter with God is the fruit of faith. Zechariah, however, who doubted and did not believe, was left deaf and dumb. To grow in faith during the long silence: without faith one remains inevitably deaf to the consoling voice of God; and incapable of speaking words of consolation and hope to our brothers and sisters. We see it every day: when people who have no faith, or who have very little faith, have to approach a person who is suffering, they speak words suited to the occasion, but they do not manage to touch the heart because they have no strength. They have no strength because they have no faith, and if they have no faith they do not find the words that can touch others’ hearts. Faith, in its turn, is nourished by charity. The Evangelist recounts that “Mary arose and went with haste” (v. 39) to Elizabeth: with haste, not with distress, not anxiously, but with haste, in peace. “She arose”: a gesture full of concern. She could have stayed at home to prepare for the birth of her son, but instead she takes care of others before herself, showing through her deeds that she is already a disciple of that Lord whom she carries in her womb. The event of Jesus’ birth began in this way, with a simple gesture of charity; after all, authentic charity is always the fruit of God’s love.

The Gospel passage about Mary’s visit to Elizabeth, which we heard at Mass today, prepares us to experience Christmas properly, by communicating to us the dynamism of faith and charity. This dynamism is the work of the Holy Spirit: the Spirit of Love who made Mary’s virginal womb fruitful and who spurred her to hasten to the service of her elderly relative. A dynamism full of joy, as seen in the encounter between the two mothers, which is entirely a hymn of joyful exultation in the Lord, who does great things with the little ones who trust in him.

May the Virgin Mary obtain for us the grace to experience an ‘extroverted’ Christmas, but not a scattered one: extroverted. May our ‘I’ not be at the centre, but rather the ‘You’ of Jesus and the ‘you’ of brothers and sisters, especially of those who need a hand. Then we will leave room for the Love that, even today, seeks to become flesh and to come to dwell in our midst.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 23 December 2018]

From religion to Faith, from barren to Beloved one

(Lk 1:26-38)

The solemnity of the moment that restores the soul to the Mystery invites a passage wave upon wave: from the Temple religion to domestic and personal Faith.

From outside to inside ourselves. From patterns to innate prophecy. Unique Promise, more subtle condition.

Faith-surrender - that of Mother - which shows the freedom and beauty of the new orientations, in the progress of the inner guiding images.

Alliance no longer for what is already known.

His Pact is all in the Opening to the Inexplicable that lives inside us. 

Intimate Eternal, which can now concretize the hope and the journey of the peoples. A turning point of authenticity, growing.

If the heart’s virgins do not impose demands, the Call by Name (from our own fibers) opens the incapable and sterile breath.

Ad coeli Reginam: silent Echo... this invisible core-Vocation is startling. And with spontaneous virtue introduces the spirit into the fruitful synergy of God himself.

Spousal Trust that re-annotate the threads of the history of salvation: and is opposed to the broad road of alliances with people "who matter".

In the intertwining between fruitfuling Initiative and welcome into the bosom, the Handmaiden is icon of the expectation and the way of each one - where what remains decisive is not the usual, predictable desire.

Vibrant Appeal that is prolonged through history, in a sort of unfolded and continuous Incarnation, thanks to the collaboration of “distant”, unstable and insignificant servants, like Mary.

Ours too, despite us still being filled of normal expectations.

To internalize and live the message:

Which Words open us to life in the Spirit and question the foreseen path?

What is our still intermediate zone, without Encounter?

How to make the invisible Seed bloom

The Tao Tê Ching (Lxi) says: «The great kingdom which held itself below is the confluence of the world; is the female of the world. The female always overcomes the male with the quiet, since she is modestly submissive. For this reason, the great kingdom which places below the small kingdom attracts the small kingdom; the small kingdom that is below the great kingdom attracts the great kingdom: one lowers to attract, the other attracts because below. […] In order for each one to obtain what he craves, it’s better for the great to keep down».

[Weekday liturgy of December 20]

He was conceived by the Holy Spirit

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Once again the Nativity of the Lord illuminates the gloom that often envelops our world and our hearts and with its light brings hope and joy. Where does this light come from? From the Bethlehem Grotto where the shepherds found “Mary and Joseph, and the babe, lying in a manger” (Lk 2:16). Another, deeper question arises before this Holy Family: how can that tiny, frail Child have brought into the world a newness so radical that it changed the course of history? Is there not perhaps something mysterious about his origins which goes beyond that grotto?

The question of Jesus’ origins recurs over and over again. It is the same question that the Procurator Pontius Pilate asked during the trial: “where are you from?” (Jn 19:9). Yet his origins were quite clear. In John’s Gospel when the Lord says: “I am the bread which came down from heaven”, the Jews reacted, murmuring: “is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How does he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” (Jn 6:41, 42).

Moreover, a little later the citizens of Jerusalem strongly opposed Jesus’ messianic claim, asserting that “where this man comes from” was well known; and that “when the Christ appears, no one will know where he comes from” (Jn 7:27). Jesus himself points out how inadequate their claim to know his origins is and by so doing he already offers a clue to knowing where he came from: “I have not come of my own accord; he who sent me is true, and him you do not know” (Jn 7:28). Jesus was of course a native of Nazareth, he was born in Bethlehem; but what is known of his true origins?

In the four Gospels, the answer is clear as to where Jesus “comes from”. His true origins are in the Father, God; he comes totally from him [God], but in a different way from that of any of God’s prophets or messengers who preceded him. This origin in the mystery of God, “whom no one knows” is already contained in the infancy narratives in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke that we are reading during this Christmastide. The Angel Gabriel proclaimed: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God” (Lk 1:35).

We repeat these words every time we recite the Creed, the Profession of Faith: “Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto, ex Maria Virgine”, “and by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary”. At this sentence we kneel, for the veil that concealed God is lifted, as it were, and his unfathomable and inaccessible mystery touches us: God becomes the Emmanuel, “God-with-us”. When we hear the Masses written by the great composers of sacred music — I am thinking, for example, of Mozart’s Coronation Mass — we immediately notice how they pause on this phrase in a special way, as if they were trying to express in the universal language of music what words cannot convey: the great mystery of God who took flesh, who was made man.

If we consider carefully the words: “by the Holy Spirit [he] was incarnate of the Virgin Mary”, we notice that they include four active subjects. The Holy Spirit and Mary are mentioned explicitly, but “he”, namely, the Son, who took flesh in the Virgin’s womb, is implicit. In the Profession of Faith, the Creed, Jesus is described with several epithets: “Lord... Christ, Only-Begotten Son of God... God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God... consubstantial with the Father” (Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed). We can therefore see that “he” refers to another person, the Father. Consequently the first subject of this sentence is the Father who, with the Son and the Holy Spirit, is the one God.

This affirmation of the Creed does not concern God’s eternal being but, rather, speaks to us of an action in which the three divine Persons take part and which is brought about “ex Maria Virgine”. Without Mary God’s entry into the history of humanity would not have achieved its purpose, and what is central to our Profession of Faith would not have taken place: God is a “God-with-us”. Thus Mary belongs irrevocably to our faith in God who acts, who enters history. She makes her whole person available, she “agrees” to become God’s dwelling place.

Sometimes, on our journey and in our life of faith, we can sense our poverty, our inadequacy in the face of the witness we must offer to the world. However God chose, precisely, a humble woman, in an unknown village, in one of the most distant provinces of the great Roman Empire. We must always trust in God, even in the face of the most gruelling difficulties, renewing our faith in his presence and action in our history, just as in Mary’s. Nothing is impossible to God! With him our existence always journeys on safe ground and is open to a future of firm hope.

In professing in the Creed: “by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary”, we affirm that the Holy Spirit, as the power of the Most High God, mysteriously brought about in the Virgin Mary the conception of the Son of God. The Evangelist Luke recorded the Archangel Gabriel’s words: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you” (1:35).

Two references are obvious: the first is to the moment of the Creation. At the beginning of the Book of Genesis we read that “the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters” (1:2); this is the Creator Spirit who gave life to all things and to the human being. What is brought about in Mary, through the action of this same divine Spirit, is a new creation: God, who called forth being from nothing, by the Incarnation gives life to a new beginning of humanity. The Fathers of the Church sometimes speak of Christ as the new Adam in order to emphasize that the new creation began with the birth of the Son of God in the Virgin Mary’s womb. This makes us think about how faith also brings us a newness so strong that it produces a second birth. Indeed, at the beginning of our life as Christians there is Baptism, which causes us to be reborn as children of God and makes us share in the filial relationship that Jesus has with the Father. And I would like to point out that Baptism is received, we “are baptized” — it is passive — because no one can become a son of God on his own. It is a gift that is freely given. St Paul recalls this adoptive sonship of Christians in a central passage of his Letter to the Romans, where he writes: “all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the spirit of sonship. When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is the Spirit himself bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God” (Rom 8:14-16), not slaves. Only if we open ourselves to God’s action, like Mary, only if we entrust our life to the Lord as to a friend whom we totally trust, will everything change, will our whole life acquire a new meaning, a new aspect: that of children with a father who loves us and never deserts us.

We have spoken of two elements: the first was the Spirit moving on the surface of the waters, the Creator Spirit: there is another element in the words of the Annunciation. The Angel said to Mary: “The power of the Most High will overshadow you”. This is an re-evocation of the holy cloud that, during the Exodus, halted over the tent of meeting, over the Ark of the Covenant that the People of Israel were carrying with them and that indicated God’s presence (cf. Ex 40:34-38).

Mary, therefore, is the new holy tent, the new ark of the covenant: with her “yes” to the Archangel’s words, God received a dwelling place in this world, the One whom the universe cannot contain took up his abode in a Virgin’s womb.

Let us therefore return to the initial question, the one about Jesus’ origins that is summed up by Pilate’s question: “where are you from?”. What Jesus’ true origins are is clear from our reflections, from the very beginning of the  Gospels: he is the Only-Begotten Son of the Father, he comes from God. We have before us the great and overwhelming mystery which we are celebrating in this Christmas season. The Son of God, through the work of the Holy Spirit, was incarnate in the womb of the Virgin Mary. This is an announcement that rings out ever new and in itself brings hope and joy to our hearts because, every time, it gives us the certainty that even though we often feel weak, poor and incapable in the face of the difficulties and evil in the world, God’s power is always active and works miracles through weakness itself. His grace is our strength (cf. 2 Cor 12:9-10). Many thanks.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 2 January 2013].

1. I have longed to come back to the town of Jesus, to feel once again, in contact with this place, the presence of the woman of whom Saint Augustine wrote: “He chose the mother he had created; he created the mother he had chosen” (Sermo 69, 3, 4). Here it is especially easy to understand why all generations call Mary blessed (cf. Lk 2:48).

I warmly greet Your Beatitude Patriarch Michel Sabbah, and thank you for your kind words of presentation. With Archbishop Boutros Mouallem and all of you – Bishops, priests, religious women and men, and members of the laity – I rejoice in the grace of this solemn celebration. I am happy to have this opportunity to greet the Franciscan Minister General, Father Giacomo Bini, who welcomed me on my arrival, and to express to the Custos, Father Giovanni Battistelli, and the Friars of the Custody the admiration of the whole Church for the devotion with which you carry out your unique vocation. With gratitude I pay tribute to your faithfulness to the charge given to you by Saint Francis himself and confirmed by the Popes down the centuries.

2. We are gathered to celebrate the great mystery accomplished here two thousand years ago. The Evangelist Luke situates the event clearly in time and place: “In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph. . . The virgin’s name was Mary” (1:26-27). But in order to understand what took place in Nazareth two thousand years ago, we must return to the Reading from the Letter to the Hebrews. That text enables us, as it were, to listen to a conversation between the Father and the Son concerning God’s purpose from all eternity. “You who wanted no sacrifice or oblation prepared a body for me. You took no pleasure in holocausts or sacrifices for sin. Then I said. . . ?God, here I am! I am coming to obey your will’” (10:5-7). The Letter to the Hebrews is telling us that, in obedience to the Father’s will, the Eternal Word comes among us to offer the sacrifice which surpasses all the sacrifices offered under the former Covenant. His is the eternal and perfect sacrifice which redeems the world.

The divine plan is gradually revealed in the Old Testament, particularly in the words of the Prophet Isaiah which we have just heard: “The Lord himself will give you a sign. It is this: the virgin is with child and will soon give birth to a child whom she will call Emmanuel” (7:14). Emmanuel - God with us. In these words, the unique event that was to take place in Nazareth in the fullness of time is foretold, and it is this event that we are celebrating here with intense joy and happiness.

3. Our Jubilee Pilgrimage has been a journey in spirit, which began in the footsteps of Abraham, “our father in faith” (Roman Canon; cf. Rom 4:11-12). That journey has brought us today to Nazareth, where we meet Mary, the truest daughter of Abraham. It is Mary above all others who can teach us what it means to live the faith of “our father”. In many ways, Mary is clearly different from Abraham; but in deeper ways “the friend of God” (cf. Is 41:8) and the young woman of Nazareth are very alike.

Both receive a wonderful promise from God. Abraham was to be the father of a son, from whom there would come a great nation. Mary is to be the Mother of a Son who would be the Messiah, the Anointed One. “Listen!”, Gabriel says, “ You are to conceive and bear a son. . . The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David. . . and his reign will have no end” (Lk 1:31-33).

For both Abraham and Mary, the divine promise comes as something completely unexpected. God disrupts the daily course of their lives, overturning its settled rhythms and conventional expectations. For both Abraham and Mary, the promise seems impossible. Abraham’s wife Sarah was barren, and Mary is not yet married: “How can this come about”, she asks, “since I am a virgin?” (Lk 1:34).

4. Like Abraham, Mary is asked to say yes to something that has never happened before. Sarah is the first in the line of barren wives in the Bible who conceive by God’s power, just as Elizabeth will be the last. Gabriel speaks of Elizabeth to reassure Mary: “Know this too: your kinswoman Elizabeth has, in her old age, herself conceived a son” (Lk 1:36).

Like Abraham, Mary must walk through darkness, in which she must simply trust the One who called her. Yet even her question, “How can this come about?”, suggests that Mary is ready to say yes, despite her fears and uncertainties. Mary asks not whether the promise is possible, but only how it will be fulfilled. It comes as no surprise, therefore, when finally she utters her fiat: “I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let what you have said be done to me” (Lk 1:38). With these words, Mary shows herself the true daughter of Abraham, and she becomes the Mother of Christ and Mother of all believers.

5. In order to penetrate further into the mystery, let us look back to the moment of Abraham’s journey when he received the promise. It was when he welcomed to his home three mysterious guests (cf. Gen 18:1-15), and offered them the adoration due to God: tres vidit et unum adoravit. That mysterious encounter foreshadows the Annunciation, when Mary is powerfully drawn into communion with the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Through the fiat that Mary uttered in Nazareth, the Incarnation became the wondrous fulfilment of Abraham’s encounter with God. So, following in the footsteps of Abraham, we have come to Nazareth to sing the praises of the woman “through whom the light rose over the earth” (Hymn Ave Regina Caelorum).

6. But we have also come to plead with her. What do we, pilgrims on our way into the Third Christian Millennium, ask of the Mother of God? Here in the town which Pope Paul VI, when he visited Nazareth, called “the school of the Gospel”, where “we learn to look at and to listen to, to ponder and to penetrate the deep and mysterious meaning of the very simple, very humble and very beautiful appearing of the Son of God” (Address in Nazareth, 5 January 1964), I pray, first, for a great renewal of faith in all the children of the Church. A deep renewal of faith: not just as a general attitude of life, but as a conscious and courageous profession of the Creed: “Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine, et homo factus est.”

In Nazareth, where Jesus “grew in wisdom and age and grace before God and men” (Lk 2:52), I ask the Holy Family to inspire all Christians to defend the family against so many present-day threats to its nature, its stability and its mission. To the Holy Family I entrust the efforts of Christians and of all people of good will to defend life and to promote respect for the dignity of every human being.

To Mary, the Theotókos, the great Mother of God, I consecrate the families of the Holy Land, the families of the world.

In Nazareth where Jesus began his public ministry, I ask Mary to help the Church everywhere to preach the “good news” to the poor, as he did (cf. Lk 4:18). In this “year of the Lord’s favour”, I ask her to teach us the way of humble and joyful obedience to the Gospel in the service of our brothers and sisters, without preferences and without prejudices.

“O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in your mercy hear and answer me. Amen”

[Pope John Paul II, homily in Nazareth, 25 March 2000].