“My hand shall ever abide with him, my arms also shall strengthen him” (Ps 89:21).

This is what the Lord means when he says: “I have found David, my servant; with my holy oil I have anointed him” (v. 20). It is also what our Father thinks whenever he “encounters” a priest. And he goes on to say: “My faithfulness and my steadfast love shall be with him… He shall cry to me, ‘You are my Father, my God and the rock of my salvation”’ (vv. 24, 26).

It is good to enter with the Psalmist into this monologue of our God. He is talking about us, his priests, his pastors. But it is not really a monologue, since he is not the only one speaking. The Father says to Jesus: “Your friends, those who love you, can say to me in a particular way: ‘You are my Father’” (cf. Jn 14:21). If the Lord is so concerned about helping us, it is because he knows that the task of anointing his faithful people is not easy, it is demanding; it can tire us. We experience this in so many ways: from the ordinary fatigue brought on by our daily apostolate to the weariness of sickness, death and even martyrdom.

The tiredness of priests! Do you know how often I think about this weariness which all of you experience? I think about it and I pray about it, often, especially when I am tired myself. I pray for you as you labour amid the people of God entrusted to your care, many of you in lonely and dangerous places. Our weariness, dear priests, is like incense which silently rises up to heaven (cf. Ps 141:2; Rev 8:3-4). Our weariness goes straight to the heart of the Father.

Know that the Blessed Virgin Mary is well aware of this tiredness and she brings it straight to the Lord. As our Mother, she knows when her children are weary, and this is her greatest concern. “Welcome! Rest, my child. We will speak afterwards…”. “Whenever we draw near to her, she says to us: “Am I not here with you, I who am your Mother?” (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 286). And to her Son she will say, as she did at Cana, “They have no wine” (Jn 2:3).

It can also happen that, whenever we feel weighed down by pastoral work, we can be tempted to rest however we please, as if rest were not itself a gift of God. We must not fall into this temptation. Our weariness is precious in the eyes of Jesus who embraces us and lifts us up. “Come to me, all who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28). Whenever a priest feels dead tired, yet is able to bow down in adoration and say: “Enough for today Lord”, and entrust himself to the Father, he knows that he will not fall but be renewed. The one who anoints God’s faithful people with oil is also himself anointed by the Lord: “He gives you a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit” (cf. Is 61:3).

Let us never forget that a key to fruitful priestly ministry lies in how we rest and in how we look at the way the Lord deals with our weariness. How difficult it is to learn how to rest! This says much about our trust and our ability to realize that that we too are sheep: we need the help of the Shepherd. A few questions can help us in this regard.

Do I know how to rest by accepting the love, gratitude and affection which I receive from God’s faithful people? Or, once my pastoral work is done, do I seek more refined relaxations, not those of the poor but those provided by a consumerist society? Is the Holy Spirit truly “rest in times of weariness” for me, or is he just someone who keeps me busy? Do I know how to seek help from a wise priest? Do I know how to take a break from myself, from the demands I make on myself, from my self-seeking and from my self-absorption? Do I know how to spend time with Jesus, with the Father, with the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph, with my patron saints, and to find rest in their demands, which are easy and light, and in their pleasures, for they delight to be in my company, and in their concerns and standards, which have only to do with the greater glory of God? Do I know how to rest from my enemies under the Lord’s protection? Am I preoccupied with how I should speak and act, or do I entrust myself to the Holy Spirit, who will teach me what I need to say in every situation? Do I worry needlessly, or, like Paul, do I find repose by saying: “I know him in whom I have placed my trust” (2 Tim 1:12)?

Let us return for a moment to what today’s liturgy describes as the work of the priest: to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim freedom to prisoners and healing to the blind, to offer liberation to the downtrodden and to announce the year of the Lord’s favour. Isaiah also mentions consoling the broken-hearted and comforting the afflicted.

These are not easy or purely mechanical jobs, like running an office, building a parish hall or laying out a soccer field for the young of the parish… The tasks of which Jesus speaks call for the ability to show compassion; our hearts are to be “moved” and fully engaged in carrying them out. We are to rejoice with couples who marry; we are to laugh with the children brought to the baptismal font; we are to accompany young fiancés and families; we are to suffer with those who receive the anointing of the sick in their hospital beds; we are to mourn with those burying a loved one… All these emotions…if we do not have an open heart, can exhaust the heart of a shepherd. For us priests, what happens in the lives of our people is not like a news bulletin: we know our people, we sense what is going on in their hearts. Our own heart, sharing in their suffering, feels “com-passion”, is exhausted, broken into a thousand pieces, moved and even “consumed” by the people. Take this, eat this… These are the words the priest of Jesus whispers repeatedly while caring for his faithful people: Take this, eat this; take this, drink this… In this way our priestly life is given over in service, in closeness to the People of God… and this always leaves us weary.

I wish to share with you some forms of weariness on which I have meditated.

There is what we can call “the weariness of people, the weariness of the crowd”. For the Lord, and for us, this can be exhausting – so the Gospel tells us – yet it is a good weariness, a fruitful and joyful exhaustion. The people who followed Jesus, the families which brought their children to him to be blessed, those who had been cured, those who came with their friends, the young people who were so excited about the Master… they did not even leave him time to eat. But the Lord never tired of being with people. On the contrary, he seemed renewed by their presence (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 11). This weariness in the midst of activity is a grace on which all priests can draw (cf. ibid., 279). And how beautiful it is! People love their priests, they want and need their shepherds! The faithful never leave us without something to do, unless we hide in our offices or go out in our cars wearing sun glasses. There is a good and healthy tiredness. It is the exhaustion of the priest who wears the smell of the sheep… but also smiles the smile of a father rejoicing in his children or grandchildren. It has nothing to do with those who wear expensive cologne and who look at others from afar and from above (cf. ibid., 97). We are the friends of the Bridegroom: this is our joy. If Jesus is shepherding the flock in our midst, we cannot be shepherds who are glum, plaintive or, even worse, bored. The smell of the sheep and the smile of a father…. Weary, yes, but with the joy of those who hear the Lord saying: “Come, O blessed of my Father” (Mt 25:34).

There is also the kind of weariness which we can call “the weariness of enemies”. The devil and his minions never sleep and, since their ears cannot bear to hear the word of God, they work tirelessly to silence that word and to distort it. Confronting them is more wearying. It involves not only doing good, with all the exertion this entails, but also defending the flock and oneself from evil (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 83). The evil one is far more astute than we are, and he is able to demolish in a moment what it took us years of patience to build up. Here we need to implore the grace to learn how to “offset” (and it is an important habit to acquire): to thwart evil without pulling up the good wheat, or presuming to protect like supermen what the Lord alone can protect. All this helps us not to let our guard down before the depths of iniquity, before the mockery of the wicked. In these situations of weariness, the Lord says to us: “Have courage! I have overcome the world!” (Jn 16:33). The word of God gives us strength.

And finally – I say finally lest you be too wearied by this homily itself! – there is also “weariness of ourselves” (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 277). This may be the most dangerous weariness of all. That is because the other two kinds come from being exposed, from going out of ourselves to anoint and to do battle (for our job is to care for others). But this third kind of weariness is more “self-referential”: it is dissatisfaction with oneself, but not the dissatisfaction of someone who directly confronts himself and serenely acknowledges his sinfulness and his need for God’s mercy, his help; such people ask for help and then move forward. Here we are speaking of a weariness associated with “wanting yet not wanting”, having given up everything but continuing to yearn for the fleshpots of Egypt, toying with the illusion of being something different. I like to call this kind of weariness “flirting with spiritual worldliness”. When we are alone, we realize how many areas of our life are steeped in this worldliness, so much so that we may feel that it can never be completely washed away. This can be a dangerous kind of weariness. The Book of Revelation shows us the reason for this weariness: “You have borne up for my sake and you have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first” (Rev 2:3-4). Only love gives true rest. What is not loved becomes tiresome, and in time, brings about a harmful weariness.

The most profound and mysterious image of how the Lord deals with our pastoral tiredness is that, “having loved his own, he loved them to the end” (Jn 13:1): the scene of his washing the feet of his disciples. I like to think of this as the cleansing of discipleship. The Lord purifies the path of discipleship itself. He “gets involved” with us (Evangelii Gaudium, 24), becomes personally responsible for removing every stain, all that grimy, worldly smog which clings to us from the journey we make in his name.

From our feet, we can tell how the rest of our body is doing. The way we follow the Lord reveals how our heart is faring. The wounds on our feet, our sprains and our weariness, are signs of how we have followed him, of the paths we have taken in seeking the lost sheep and in leading the flock to green pastures and still waters (cf. ibid., 270). The Lord washes us and cleanses us of all the dirt our feet have accumulated in following him. This is something holy. Do not let your feet remain dirty. Like battle wounds, the Lord kisses them and washes away the grime of our labours.

Our discipleship itself is cleansed by Jesus, so that we can rightly feel “joyful”, “fulfilled”, “free of fear and guilt”, and impelled to go out “even to the ends of the earth, to every periphery”. In this way we can bring the good news to the most abandoned, knowing that “he is with us always, even to the end of the world”. And please, let us ask for the grace to learn how to be weary, but weary in the best of ways!

[Pope Francis, Chrism homily 2 April 2015]

Easter, Ascension. (There is evidence that He is Alive)

What is the fate, the trajectory of a life spent in faithfulness to a prophetic calling? The earthly outcome of Jesus - the faithful Son - would seem to be that of the failures of all times.

So is it worth being yourself? Wouldn’t it be more constructive to regulate oneself on the basis of personal convenience and group opportunism? 

In short, with the Easter and Ascension of Jesus, what has changed?

People continue as before to travel or stay still, to buy and sell, to work or party, to rejoice or weep...

But as in a landscape characterized by fog, suddenly the sun rises and we see clean profiles, enjoying the brilliance of colors, even shades.

A sharper Vision, in the experience of Faith.

Easter celebrates precisely a joy: it is the feast of those who realize that defeats do not remain dark sides. They hide disproportionate Gems.

A full flowering remains of our passage. And it’s not true that a destroyed or harassed existence is wasted or ends badly, leaving us orphans.

Rather, it sharpens listening and all perception. Thus we learn to welcome the reality of others and their-our unrepeatability.

We learn to dialogue with the raw reality and first of all with ourselves; so finally to honor God by respecting us in an integral way.

In Eastern icons, Passover is depicted as Descent to the Underworld: victory of the common woman and man [brought back to life].

Again in the icons, the Mystery of the Ascension is represented with two angels in white robes pointing out to the apostles the glorious nimbus of the Lord, seated on a throne.

As if to say: let’s contemplate where a life wasted according to men, but fulfilled according to the Father, has come.

Obeying our vocation uncompromisingly and wholly may seem imprudent, reckless. Instead, it is full self-respect, and leads us to our Homeland.

The nature of our fibres animated by the Inner Friend appeals not to social goals to be achieved, but to who we really are - and our profound Name unfolded in the path of Faith unfailingly accompanies us to the Cradle.

To allow oneself to be influenced and become external is to miss oneself and lose the Guide, ruining the completeness of being.

In spite of the apparent failure and reproaches that the personal and social unprecedented arouses, by listening to that unquenchable Fire that dwells within us, we realize life in an integral way.

If our attention is not on the scenery of what is happening around us, we can wince at the new awareness of an ongoing genesis of our personality and mission: a prototype and mode of ourselves that is mysteriously blossoming, and has value.

Unless we allow ourselves to be conditioned and overwhelmed by external interferences or calculations and circumstances around us, we sense that there is already a characterising track calling from the inside.

We intuit that we can be with ourselves and grow without foreclosures of unexpected, nor already commonly paradigmatic codes, because God expresses himself by creating renewed heavens within us and on earth.

Heaven: taking off without leaving. We are not alone. And the best is yet to Come.

P.S. Today, more than ever before, we are in the era of social showcases, which expose every aspect of history and news, even private ones.

When we value the aspect of the soul that communicates with the rinds of the achievements, we cut our heart off, or unbalance the mind with dominant thoughts, letting they be plagiarised by manipulators - even spiritual ones.

But the person who misplaces the Whole no longer follows the path that his Seed sings. It claims to express itself. Otherwise, we would proceed haphazardly or resort to clichés.

In short, we are not a judgement, an opinion, a crisis, a memory, but rather inventors of roads that tap into an ever springing Water.

Not to a well, nor to a swamp, where everything has already happened, but to a Source.

[Ascension of the Lord, June 1st, 2025]

Ascension of the Lord: We are not orphans

(Acts 1:1-11)

At the end of his Gospel, Lk places the Ascension of Jesus on the same day as Easter, in Bethany and in the perennial act of blessing (Lk 24:50-51) - with a form of presentation understandable according to the cosmological knowledge of the time.

The same is said in Acts 1, where the same editor situates the event after forty days [symbolising continuity with the teaching of Jesus: v.3] and on the Mount of Olives (cf. v.12).

Certainly, on Calvary Jesus had promised the unfortunate man who calls him by name: "Today with me you will be in Paradise" (Lk 23:43).

The evangelist and author of the Acts of the Apostles does not want to convey information, but rather a teaching in favour of the missionary fortunes of his churches - physically deprived of the Master.

Luke wishes to shake up and dissolve the doubts that had arisen in the communities, first of all about the meaning of the handover to the disciples, then about his Presence operating in the Spirit (vv.8.16).

He enlightens the third-generation followers about the mystery of the Lord's Passover, using images and a literary genre understandable to his contemporaries, mostly from the pagan world.

In a climate of living expectation, the apocalyptic writers announced the imminent coming of the Kingdom of God. And in the common mindset, the outpouring of the Spirit brought with it the inauguration of the last time.

From this conviction arose the hope of an immediate Manifestation (limited to Israel).

The Coming One and his new order of things would come amid cosmic upheavals: floods, earthquakes, purifying fire from heaven, the resurrection of the just and the beginning of a finally fulfilling world.

A climate of exaltation was also being created among some of the faithful, which, however, conflicted with the death of the Master and the delay of his expected glorious appearance.

Any speculation on the proximity of the end of the ancient world resulted in a fiasco.

This went so far as to expose itself to easy ironies [2 Peter 3:4: "They will say: Where is his coming, which he promised? From the day our fathers closed their eyes, all things remain as at the beginning of creation"].

But in the meantime, "Come Lord!" (Marana tha) was repeated in all the communities. But the years passed and events flowed on as before.

Daily life - like that of the empire - did not seem to change much.

In this disappointing situation, which questioned the members of the community about the depth of the Faith, Lk realised the misunderstanding: the Resurrection marked the beginning of the Kingdom, not the conclusion of history.

The new world is not built through shortcuts, sudden events, immediate situations, or by proxy - nor does it arise by imagining particularisms, which on the contrary had to be crumbled.

The times were and are always long, and the endeavour starts from scratch every day: no easy golden age; no definitively resolving character, guarantor of order and well-being - like the expected Messiah.

To correct false expectations (the colourful accounts of the apocrypha are decidedly fanciful) At describes the event of royal enthronement [Eph 1:20-22; Eph 4:8-10; Heb 9:24-28.10:19-21; cf. Ps 110, messianic par excellence] in a sober manner, and introduces it with the dialogue between the Risen Jesus and the Apostles.

Their question was the one that resounded on the lips of the disciples at the turn of the first century: "When?" (v.6).

The meaning of the text: this is not important, we just need not lose sight of the divine condition of the one judged by men but taken up to himself by the Father.

God is not interested in debates and curiosities: all that matters is the universal mission entrusted (vv.7-8).

The exact opposite of what was happening in some Christian realities, where some had even begun to neglect their daily duties.

Note that the Risen One addresses His own during the breaking of the Bread (cf. v.4) - while the Ascension scene moves to the Mount of Olives (vv.9-11.12).

Luke uses the biblical icon of Elijah's rapture (2 Kings 2:9-15) as a narrative backdrop to indicate that Christ pours out his Spirit and empowers his brethren to continue his mission in the world.

In fact, the book of Kings narrates of the works of the pupil Elisha: they were modelled on those of the master, Elijah.

The grandiose scenography used by the author of Acts should not be confusing: it is to clarify the meaning of the handover and the sending forth.

The victory of the Risen One is his people coming forth: such remains the access to the glory of the Father.

In the First Testament, the Cloud (v.9) indicated the divine presence in a certain place.

Luke employs such an image to indicate that Jesus' life was not a failure, but was accepted by God.

God's world [the two in white robes, the same ones at the tomb on Easter Day: Lk 24:4-6] proclaims him in truth Lord - although condemned by the authorities as an evildoer, a sinner, a curse.The "two men" (Lk 24:4) are probably Moses and Elijah - as in the Transfiguration (Lk 9:30) - i.e. the Law and the Prophets, fundamental witnesses that Christ is the Messenger from God.

The gaze turned towards heaven (vv.10-11) is instead that of the disciples who are still perhaps hoping for a "return" [a term never used in the Gospels] of Jesus, so that he may resume his work violently interrupted.

But the message "from heaven" (v.11) makes it clear that it will not be He who will bring His own Dream to fulfilment.

After the forty days [v.3: in the language of Judaism, a symbolic time necessary for the disciple's preparation] the followers have received the Spirit, the inner strength enriched by discernment.

This is on one condition, well understood by the Eastern icons, which in the mystery of the Ascension depict precisely two white-clothed angels pointing to the apostles the glorious nimbus of the Lord.

As in the story of Elijah's rapture, it is necessary for the disciples to "see" where a life given - even despised by men, yet blessed by the Father - has ended.

So it is worth it.

In this way, it is necessary for everyone to stop turning their little nose upwards, alienating themselves from the world: whatever it takes.

Indeed, possible only... "If you see me" (2 Kings 2:10).

In the Spirit, Vision-Faith fills our eyes with Heaven: it detaches us from the judgments of banal religiosity; it gives the intelligence of the folds of history, the impulse to face life face to face, the understanding of the astonishing fruitfulness of the Cross; the ability to grasp, activate and anticipate the future.

Hence the "great joy" (Lk 24:52) of the apostles, otherwise incomprehensible after a farewell.

«Dear brothers and sisters, the Lord, by opening the way to Heaven, gives us a foretaste of divine life already on this earth. A 20th century Russian author wrote in his spiritual testament: 'Look at the stars more often. When you have a burden on your soul, look at the stars or the blue of the sky. When you feel sad, when you are offended, ... entertain yourself ... with the sky. Then your soul will find stillness' (N. Valentini - L. Žák [ed.], Pavel A. Florensky. Do not forget me. Le lettere dal gulag del grande matematico, filosofo e sacerdote russo, Milano 2000, p. 418)».

[Pope Benedict, Regina Coeli 16 May 2010]

Ascension of the Lord

(Lk 24:46-53)

Lk interprets the Resurrection as the fulfilment of the First Covenant (vv.44-45): the whole history of Israel [like the stages of a journey] receives meaning and culmination in Christ, the key to the Scriptures.

Now the Passover expands in the sending of the Spirit (v.49) and is attested in the ecclesial Mission (vv.47-48).

The coming of the Spirit condenses and expands the Way of the Lord. By "ascending" to the Father, the Son gives us the strength to walk it, and it becomes ours.

In particular, the Mission is a testimony of the Christ's story; and of a change of mindset and forgiveness that is possible, open to the world.

All receive the grace of paths leading to reconciliation with men and communion with God. In fact, the emphasis falls on the figure of the blessing Jesus (vv.50-51).

"Ascension" stands for the depth of Easter, the goal of the development of history: the message of the Lord and the truth of his story are not a moment in the past.

From the height of the heavens (which precisely does not take us out of history) to the daily journey: Christ's experience becomes deep root and judgement, foundation and humus, truth and goal of our vicissitude.

The Ascension (not from the world, but with the world) glorifies humanity. It depicts the cosmic and universal dimension of the Resurrection - a new way of Heaven coming into human space, a perennial event.

What then is the destiny of a life spent in faithfulness to a prophetic vocation? The earthly outcome of Jesus - the faithful Son - would seem to be that of the failures of all times and of any culture, philosophy or religion.

Is it then worth it to be oneself? Wouldn't it be more constructive to regulate oneself on the basis of personal convenience and circle opportunism?

Easter celebrates a joy: it is the feast of those who realise that defeats do not remain dark, useless sides. They hide disproportionate gems.

Of our passing there remains a full bloom. And it is not true that a life vilified by bullies is wasted or ends badly.

In Eastern icons, Easter is depicted as Christ's Descent to the Underworld: victory of the common woman and man (Adam and Eve pulled up from their respective tombs).

Again in icons, the Mystery of the Ascension is depicted with two angels in white robes pointing out to the apostles the glorious nimbus of the Lord, seated on a throne.

As if to say: contemplate where a life wasted according to men but fulfilled according to the Father has come.

Obeying our Vocation uncompromisingly and wholly may seem imprudent and reckless. Instead, it is full self-respect and instinctive evaluation that leads us to our Fatherland.

The nature of our fibres animated by the Inner Friend appeals not to social goals to be achieved, but to who we really are - and the profound naturalness unfolded in the journey of Faith leads infallibly to the Cradle that corresponds to us.

To allow oneself to be influenced and become external is to lose one's bearings, ruining the wholeness of being in all those aspects that conformist thinking considers wrong and instead will sooner or later have to come into play to face real life and complete us - even in an unprecedented way.

In spite of the apparent failure and reproaches that the personal (and social or ecclesial) unusual arouses, by listening to our Calling by Name and that unquenchable Fire that dwells within us, we fulfil ourselves and others.

If our attention is not on the scenario of what once was or is happening around us, we recoil from the new awareness of an ongoing genesis of our personality and mission: a prototype and modality of ourselves that is mysteriously blossoming and having value.

Unless we allow ourselves to be conditioned by interference, overwhelmed by the plagiarism of established realities - or calculation of circumstances - we sense that there is a characterising track calling.

We realise that we can be with ourselves and grow without preclusions of the unexpected or already commonly paradigmatic criteria, because God does not express Himself by issuing saccharine regulations, but by creating renewed heavens within us and already on earth.

His language is unrepeatable for each person: life in the Spirit is not a matter of being retrograde or scapegoat - infecund fans.

In short, with Jesus' Easter and Ascension, what has changed? Apparently nothing, because people continue as before to travel or stand still, to buy and sell, to work or party, to rejoice or weep. That is the reality.

But as in a landscape characterised by fog... suddenly the sun rises and we see sharp contours, we enjoy the brilliance of colours, even shades. Personal isolation and the isolation of the steeple is shattered.

In fact [take for example the ending of Lk (which appears disconsolate)]: after Jesus has attempted to lead his own to the Exodus of Bethany (the community without pretended masters of the things of God; composed of only brothers and sisters - even coordinated by a woman, Martha) they willingly return to the ancient, Temple cult.

Spontaneously, the apostles would have found a compromise with the stagnant institution on which the Lord had pronounced himself with harsh expressions - and which had done him in with satisfaction.

This is why Easter Time does not end as one would perhaps expect with Ascension, but at Pentecost: the discovery of a Treasure and a vital Flame to be not withheld, but universal.

But in the meantime, this oscillation between an in and an out - a sitting (Lk 24:49: Greek text) and a leaving - conveys to us the right rhythm of Heaven.

Heaven that helps us come back into ourselves and avoid the homologising illusion of fashions or any club - they do not belong to us.

In short, in these Easter solemnities we are called to discover peripheries, distant realms, other ways of being in the field... but perhaps first to unveil a root of mystery, in those hidden sides of us - or hidden by the shadows - that must emerge to complete the personality.

Let us emancipate ourselves from the poverty of thought of the usual (ratified) era around: it also applies to spiritual conformism, which from the swampy energy of reassuring identification wants at all costs to leap into the full experience of personal Faith.

Even today in a world that shrinks young people into chat rooms and is increasingly distant from reality and nature, we want to sharpen listening and all perception (which develop character, the desire to coexist, the joy of living). 

We learn to broaden our spheres, to welcome the objectification of others, but in their-our unrepeatability, accentuating the codes of the inner world: we cannot stake our lives on a hypothetical mission, but on a strong identity yes - and one that does not crumble at the first landslide.

The soul orients itself towards its utopia (no longer narrow) and allows itself to be fertilised by that imagination that first feeds on the total real and then dives into the great ideals, even heroic ones - or pin-pointed ones.

We learn to dialogue with the concrete and integral human: our neighbour and ourselves. Thus finally honouring God by respecting ourselves in the round; accepting frailties, insecurities and fears: entirely our own.

To ascend is to find Heaven in us and in humanity: to take off without straying.

Easter, Ascension. Taking off without straying

There is evidence that He is Living

What is the fate of a life spent in faithfulness to a prophetic calling?

The earthly outcome of Jesus - the faithful Son - would seem to be that of failures of all times and of any culture, philosophy or religion.

Is it then worth it to be oneself?

Would it not be more constructive to regulate oneself on the basis of personal convenience and group opportunism?

Easter celebrates a joy: it is the feast of those who realise that defeats do not remain dark sides. They hide disproportionate gems.

Of our passing there remains a full flowering. And it is not true that a broken life is wasted or ends badly.

In Eastern icons, Easter is depicted as Descent to the Underworld: victory of the common woman and man.

Again in icons, the Mystery of the Ascension is usually depicted with two angels in white robes pointing out to the Apostles the glorious nimbus of the Lord, seated on a throne.

As if to say: contemplate where a life wasted according to men but fulfilled according to the Father has come.

Obeying our Call without compromise and in an integral manner may seem imprudent and reckless. Instead, it is full self-respect, and leads us to our Fatherland.

The nature of our fibres animated by the Inner Friend appeals not to social goals to be achieved, but to who we really are.

And our deep identity unfolded in the path of Faith leads infallibly to the Cradle of Being.

To allow oneself to be influenced and become external is to lose the guidance, ruining the completeness of innate abilities.

In spite of the apparent failure and reproaches that the personal and social unseen arouses, by heeding our Calling by Name and that unquenchable Fire that dwells within us, we realise life.

Today, more than ever before, we are in the age of social showcases, which expose every aspect of even personal history and news.

But the trunk, branches, flowers, buds and fruits are born from the roots. They live well hidden.

Our Heaven is intertwined with our earth and our dust: it is inside and below, not behind the clouds.

If there is no time for accurate perception and intimate reflection, there is no way to be reborn to the Newness of God.

In all the folds of going, even spiritual, we become more and more sensitive to the comments and judgements that come in real time.

Having become full members of the society of the epidermis, we lose the meridian, often the ability to evolve and grow others.

Not discovering the secret side that inhabits us, we become discouraged.

Losing our gaze in the meanderings of diffuse and all-out judgment, we lose the capacity to gestate the personal Jesus, and we no longer give birth to him.

At most, one will make him resemble a paradigmatic semblance of him; perhaps convincing that he is indeed the one, all exterior.

In this way, the Lord becomes a Jesus in the opinion of others, around him; of the group, of the patronal banners; or that of the 'live' [the opinion of those who make the audience].

If we value the aspect of the soul that communicates with the rinds of the targets, we cut it off or unbalance it with dominant thoughts, allowing it to be plagiarised by manipulators - even spiritual ones.

But the heart that loses the whole no longer guides the soul in what characterises the Vocation and our Seed.

The inward pretends to express itself. We proceed in vain, or in cliché.

We are not a judgement, an opinion, a crisis, a memory, but rather inventors of paths that draw from ever springing water.

Not from a well, nor from a swamp, where everything has already happened - but from a Source.

If our attention is not on the conformist scenery of what once was or around is happening, we wince at the new awareness of a genesis in action.

A re-birth of our personality and mission: a prototype and mode of ourselves that is mysteriously blossoming and having value.

Unless we allow ourselves to be conditioned and overwhelmed by cultural interference or calculation of circumstances, we sense that there is a characterising track calling us.

We realise that we can be with ourselves and grow without preclusions of the unexpected, or already commonly paradigmatic codes.

Because God does not express Himself by issuing all-encompassing regulations, but by creating renewed heavens within us and already on earth.

In short, with Jesus' Easter and Ascension, what has changed?

Apparently nothing, because people continue as before to travel or stay put, to buy and sell, to work or party, to rejoice or weep...

And yet, as in a landscape of fog, suddenly the sun rises and we see sharp profiles, we enjoy the brilliance of colours, even shades.

We sharpen our hearing and all perception.

We learn to accept the objectification of others and their-our unrepeatability.

We learn to dialogue with reality and first of all with ourselves; thus finally honouring the Eternal, respecting ourselves integrally.

Heaven: taking off without straying. We are not alone. And the best is yet to come.

In the Liturgy it narrates of the episode of the final departure of Jesus from his disciples (cf. Lk 24: 50-51; Acts 1: 2, 9); but it is not an abandonment, because he remains always with them with us but under a new form. St Bernard of Clairvaux explains that Jesus' Ascension into Heaven is accomplished in three steps: "The first is the glory of the Resurrection; the second is the power to judge; and the third is sitting at the right hand of the Father" (Sermo de Ascensione Domini 60, 2: Sancti Bernardi Opera, t. vi 1, 291, 20-21). Such an event is preceded by the blessing of the disciples, whom he prepares to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, in order that salvation is proclaimed everywhere. Jesus himself says to them: "You are witnesses of these things. And behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you" (cf. Lk 24: 47, 49). 

The Lord draws the gaze of the Apostles our gaze toward Heaven to show how to travel the road of good during earthly life. Nevertheless, he remains within the framework of human history, he is near to each of us and guides our Christian journey: he is the companion of the those persecuted for the faith, he is in the heart of those who are marginalized, he is present in those whom the right to life is denied. We can hear, see and touch our Lord Jesus in the Church, especially through the word and the sacraments. In this regard, I call on children and young people who during this Easter Season are receiving the Sacrament of Confirmation, to remain faithful to the Word of God and to the doctrine learnt, and also to assiduously approach Confession and the Eucharist, conscious of having been chosen and constituted to witness to the Truth. I renew my particular invitation to my Brothers in the Episcopate, that "in their life and actions they distinguish themselves by a powerful evangelical witness" (Letter proclaiming the Year for Priests) and know also how to use the means of communication wisely to make known the life of the Church and help the men of today to discover the Face of Christ (cf. Message for the 44th World Day of Social Communications, 24 January 2010). 

Dear Brothers and Sisters, the Lord opening the way to Heaven, gives us a foretaste of divine life already on this earth. A 19th-century Russian author wrote in his spiritual testament: "Observe the stars more often. When you have a burden in your soul, look at the stars or the azure of the sky. When you feel sad, when they offend you... converse... with Heaven. Then your soul will find rest" (N. Valentini L. Zák [editor], Pavel A. Florenskij. "Non dimenticatemi. Le lettere dal gulag del grande matematico, filosofo e sacerdote russo, Milan 2000, p. 418).

[Pope Benedict, Regina Coeli 16 May 2010]

1. In many countries, including Italy, the Solemnity of Christ's Ascension has been moved back to Sunday. With this feast we remember that after his Resurrection, Jesus presented himself alive to the disciples for 40 days (Acts 1,3), at the end of which, having led them to the Mount of Olives, "he was lifted up before their eyes and a cloud took him from their sight" (Acts 1,9). Risen and ascended into heaven, our Redeemer is the anchor of salvation and support for believers in their daily dedication to serve truth, peace, justice and freedom. In ascending to heaven, he reopens for us the way to our blessed homeland, not to alienate us from history but to give the greatest hope to our journey.

2. Indeed, every day we have to deal with the realities of this world. The World Day of Social Communications that we celebrate today reminds us of this fact.

The most recent breakthroughs in communications and information have placed the Church before unheard-of possibilities for evangelization. Keeping this fact in mind, I thought this year the relevant theme to propose should be: "Internet:  a New Forum for Proposing the Gospel".

With realism and confidence we must deal with this modern and ever denser network of communcations, convinced that if used competently and with a sense of responsibility, it can offer valid opportunities for the spread of the Gospel message.

So do not be afraid to "put out into the deep" into the vast ocean of information technology. By using it we can make the Good News reach the hearts of the men and women of the new millennium.

3. We must never forget that the secret of every apostolic action is above all prayer. Indeed, given to intense prayer after the Ascension, the disciples lived in the Upper Room as they awaited the Holy Spirit promised by Christ. In their midst was Mary, the Mother of Jesus (Acts 1,14). As we prepare to celebrate the solemn Feast of Pentecost next Sunday, with Mary let us call upon the Holy Spirit promised by Christ so that he may imbue Christians with fresh missionary zeal and guide humanity's steps on the paths of solidarity and peace.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 12 May 2002]

Today, in Italy and other countries, we celebrate Jesus' Ascension into heaven, which took place forty days after Easter. We contemplate the mystery of Jesus leaving our earthly space to enter the fullness of God's glory, taking our humanity with him. That is, we, our humanity, enter heaven for the first time. Luke's Gospel shows us the reaction of the disciples before the Lord who "parted from them and was taken up into heaven" (24:51). There was no pain or bewilderment in them, but "they prostrated themselves before him; then they returned to Jerusalem with great joy" (v. 52). It is the return of those who no longer fear the city that had rejected the Master, that had seen the betrayal of Judas and the denial of Peter, had seen the dispersion of the disciples and the violence of a power that felt threatened.
Since that day, it has been possible for the Apostles and for every disciple of Christ to dwell in Jerusalem and in all the cities of the world, even in those most troubled by injustice and violence, because above every city there is the same sky and every inhabitant can look up with hope. Jesus, God, is a real man, with his human body is in heaven! And this is our hope, this is our anchor, and we are firm in this hope if we look up to heaven.
In this heaven dwells that God who revealed himself so close that he took on the face of a man, Jesus of Nazareth. He remains forever the God-with-us - let us remember this: Emmanuel, God-with-us - and he does not leave us alone! We can look up to recognise our future before us. In the Ascension of Jesus, the Crucified Risen One, there is the promise of our participation in the fullness of life with God.
Before parting from his friends, Jesus, referring to the event of his death and resurrection, had said to them: "Of this you are witnesses" (v. 48). That is, the disciples, the apostles are witnesses of Christ's death and resurrection, on that day, also of Christ's Ascension. And indeed, after seeing their Lord ascend to heaven, the disciples returned to the city as witnesses joyfully proclaiming to all the new life that comes from the Risen Crucified One, in whose name "conversion and the forgiveness of sins will be preached to all peoples" (v. 47). This is the witness - given not only in words but also in daily life - the witness that every Sunday should leave our churches to enter during the week into homes, offices, schools, meeting places and places of entertainment, hospitals, prisons, homes for the elderly, crowded places for immigrants, the outskirts of the city... This is the witness we must bear every week: Christ is with us; Jesus has ascended into heaven, he is with us; Christ is alive!
Jesus has assured us that in this proclamation and testimony we will be "clothed with power from on high" (v. 49), that is, with the power of the Holy Spirit. Herein lies the secret of this mission: the presence among us of the risen Lord, who with the gift of the Spirit continues to open our minds and hearts, to proclaim his love and mercy even in the most refractory environments of our cities. It is the Holy Spirit who is the true architect of the multiform witness that the Church and every baptised person gives in the world. Therefore, we can never neglect recollection in prayer to praise God and invoke the gift of the Spirit. In this week, which leads us to the feast of Pentecost, let us remain spiritually in the Upper Room, together with the Virgin Mary, to receive the Holy Spirit.
[Pope Francis, Regina Coeli 8 May 2016].

Lk 1:39-56 (46-56)

The hymn-song-ensemble of Mary and Elizabeth summarizes and celebrates the history of salvation. It reflects a Judeo-Christian liturgical lauda characteristic of the first communities of 'anawim.

The small and faithful experience the ideal outline of history, of which they paradoxically become the engine.

The two Women give voice to the poor and minority churches, often challenged by the forces of imperial power in dramatic duels.

They depict early assemblies, tiny fraternities; hearths of cohabitation and intimate life.

In them, believing souls experienced a God who does not remain impassive to the cry of the lowly, persecuted.

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

The difference between the two figures emphasizes the leap of Faith in Mary, compared to the expectations of religious kinship.

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

Human history is barren, but God makes it fruitful with newness and joy, which finally changes the boundaries.

The foreseen ways have come to an end; still blind and submissive to the powers of the earth... They do not 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 permeate it, making it capable of blessing action.

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

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

[Its pinnacle is discovering impossible recovery stupors, starting with the shadowy sides and even that we hate of ourselves - very affair of the discarded].

The Hymn thus expresses the trajectory of the believer's life and the direction of our existence, which 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 from the rubbish.

He does not address those who are full of themselves, but to whoever  knows how to turn to the depths, and like Mary how to extend them to others.

Within this event of losing oneself in order to find oneself - a logic embodied by both the disciples and the churches - we find the experience of Easter morning.

Lk evangelist of the poor celebrates this reversal of situations in many episodes of people and events at the margins.

The Magnificat also reiterates: the Lord's choices are truly eccentric. Freely He passes for the defeated and the mocked, who find gain in loss and life from death.

Mary in particular becomes an expressive figure of baseness [ταπείνωσις (tapeínōsis, “lowering”), from ταπεινός (tapeinós, “low”); v.48] as the ‘root’ of the transformation of being - into the Unpredictable of God.

He is Faithful.

[Visitation B.V. Mary, 31 May]

(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?

[...] Meditating on the Holy Rosary's Mysteries of Light, you have climbed this hill where you spiritually relived, as the Evangelist Luke recounts, the experience of Mary from Nazareth in Galilee, who "went with haste into the hill country" (Lk 1: 39) to reach the village in Judea where Elizabeth lived with her husband Zechariah. What drove Mary, a young woman, to undertake that journey? What, above all, led her to forget herself, to spend the first three months of her pregnancy at the service of her cousin in need of help?

The response is written in a Psalm: "I will run in the way of your commands when you enlarged my understanding" (Ps 119[118]: 32). The Holy Spirit, who makes the Son of God present in Mary's flesh, enlarged her heart to God's dimensions and urged her along the way of charity.

The Visitation of Mary is understood in light of the event that immediately preceded it in Luke's account in the Gospel: the Annunciation of the Angel and the conception of Jesus by the work of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit descended upon the Virgin, the power of the Most High overshadowed her (cf. Lk 1: 35).

That same Spirit impelled her to "rise" and depart without hesitation (cf. Lk 1: 39) in order to help her aged relative. Jesus had just begun to form himself in the womb of Mary, but his Spirit had already filled her heart so that the Mother was already beginning to follow her divine Son. On the way that leads from Galilee to Judea it was Jesus himself who "urged" Mary on, instilling in her a generous desire to go to the aid of her neighbour in need, the courage not to put her own legitimate needs, difficulties, worries, the dangers to her own life first. It is Jesus who helped her to overcome everything, allowing her to be guided by faith that works through charity (cf. Gal 5: 6).

Meditating on this mystery we see why Christian charity is a "theological" virtue. We see that the heart of Mary is visited by the grace of the Father, is permeated by the power of the Spirit and interiorly compelled by the Son; that is, we see a perfectly human heart inserted into the dynamism of the Most Holy Trinity.

This movement is charity, which is perfect in Mary and becomes the model of the Church's charity, a manifestation of Trinitarian love (cf. Deus Caritas Est, n. 19).

Every gesture of genuine love, even the smallest, contains within it a spark of the infinite mystery of God: the attentive concern for a brother, drawing near to him, sharing his need, caring for his wounds, taking responsibility for his future, everything to the last detail becomes "theological" when it is animated by the Spirit of Christ.

May Mary obtain for us the gift to know how to love as she knew how to love. To Mary we entrust this singular portion of the Church that lives and works in the Vatican; we entrust to her the Roman Curia and the institutions connected to it, so that the Spirit of Christ may animate every task and service.

From this hill we extend our glance to Rome and to the entire world, and we pray for all Christians, so that they may say with St Paul: "the love of Christ urges us on", and with the help of Mary may they be able to spread the dynamism of charity in the world.

Again, I thank you for your dedication and warm participation. Take my greetings to the sick, the aged and everyone dear to you. To all I heartily impart my Blessing.

[Pope Benedict, 31 May 2007]