Triduum: Thursday, Friday, Easter Vigil

MAUNDY THURSDAY [17 April 2025]

Dearly beloved I am sending a text to meditate on the mystery of Holy Thursday, one to contemplate the gift of the Cross, mystery of passion and glory for Good Friday, and a note that may be of interest on the Easter Vigil of which it would be important to recover the theological and pastoral sense and value.

Rather than provide as usual a commentary for each biblical reading, I prefer to propose a meditation on Jesus washing the disciples' feet because it is a gesture that introduces us into the heart of the mystery of Holy Thursday. 

1. Eucharist gift and service of love

The starting point is this text by St Augustine: "Surge et ambula: homo Christus tua vita est, Deus Christus patria tua est. Arise and walk: the man Christ is your life, Christ God is your homeland (St Augustine, Discourse 375c)

The fourth gospel does not report the institution of the Eucharist, but deepens the testimony of the synoptics by specifying what Christ wanted to give us in the Eucharistic mystery-sacrament. Instead of the words of the institution the evangelist places the account of the washing of the feet to indicate the meaning and purpose of the Eucharistic mystery which is to live in mutual love following the example of Jesus. The washing of the feet therefore does not replace the account of the institution of the Eucharist given by Matthew, Mark and Luke, but intends to present it as a gift and service of love. Benedict XVI invites us not to stop at the differences in the Gospels when they narrate the Last Supper: "for John, it is the Farewell Supper while for the Synoptics it is the Paschal Supper". Indeed, he writes that one thing is evident in the entire tradition: the essence of this farewell supper was not the ancient Passover, but Jesus revealed the newness of his Passover in this context. Although the banquet with the apostles was not a Passover dinner according to the ritual prescriptions of Judaism, in retrospect the close connection with Christ's death and resurrection became evident. It was Jesus' Passover in which he gave himself and thus truly celebrated the Passover with them. In this way he did not deny the old, but brought it to its full fulfilment (cf. Jesus of Nazareth, II, p. 130). The essential thing is to constantly remember that on that evening Jesus celebrated his, the true Passover. The liturgy with the sequence "Lauda Sion" composed by St Thomas Aquinas on the occasion of the feast of Corpus Christi in 1264 helps us to focus on this truth: "Novae cenae novus rex, novae paschae novus lex, vetus transit observantia. The first Holy Supper is the banquet of the new King, new Easter, new law, and the old has come to an end'. Then the sequence continues: "Quod in cena Christus gessit - faciendum hoc espressit - in sui memoriam. Christ leaves in his memory what he did in the supper - we renew it'.

2. The disruptive power of the new Easter

The washing of the feet helps us precisely to understand the disruptive force of the 'new Easter'. "Before the feast of Easter Jesus, knowing that his hour had come to pass from this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end" (Jn 13:1).  Having ended his public life, Jesus leaves the "Passover of the Jews" to his adversaries and prepares to celebrate "his" Passover with a chosen few, and among the apostles is the betrayer. What a time of great suffering! And yet John presents this hour filled with pain and tragedy as the moment awaited by Christ, as 'the hour of glory'. Benedict XVI again writes that what constitutes the content of this hour, John describes with two words: passage (metàbasis) and love (agàpe). Two words that interpret and explain each other; both describe together the Easter of Jesus: cross and resurrection, crucifixion as elevation, as a "passage" to the glory of God, as a "passing" from the world to the Father. The passage is a transformation because Christ brings with him his flesh, his being as a man. By giving himself on the cross he transforms it, he transforms killing into a gift of love to the full, to the end. With this expression "to the end" John refers in advance to Jesus' last word on the cross: everything has been brought to an end, "it is finished" (Jn 19:30). Through his love, the cross, the instrument of death, becomes metabasis, the transformation of the human being into a sharer in the glory of God. In this transformation we are all involved and our life also becomes "passage", transformation.

While they were eating dinner, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, son of Simon, to betray him, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given him everything in his hands and that he had come from God and was returning to God, got up from the table, laid down his clothes and, taking a towel, wrapped it around his waist. Then he poured water into the basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and dry them with the towel with which he had girded himself (cf. Jn 13:2-5). With full awareness the Lord is about to perform the great and humble act of foot-washing. On the Last Supper John does not give many details, he only notes while they were dining, which can also be translated as "when the supper was ready", or: "when the supper was finished". The evangelist is not very interested in the details of that meal and prefers to surprise us with Jesus' unexpected choice. The interruption of the supper to wash his feet is disturbing and stimulates us to reflect in order to seek the reasons for such a choice. 

2. Eight verbs to understand this unusual and unexpected rite

Our attention is provoked to understand this gesture of his by meditating on its meticulous description made up of no less than eight verbs: "he got up from the table, laid down his clothes, took a towel, wrapped it around his waist, poured water into the basin, began to wash his feet, dried them, took off his clothes again" after which he sits down again ready to explain its meaning. St John accumulates verbs without repeating himself so that Jesus' gesture remains impressed in the reader's mind as he intends to show that true love always translates into concrete actions of free service. Here then is Jesus undressing and putting on an apron, reminding us of what we read in St Luke: "Behold, I stand among you as one who serves" (22:27). The laying aside of clothes also symbolically expresses the imminent gift of life. In doing so, he wants to involve, starting with Peter, all the disciples and also each believer: therefore also us.

At first glance, this unusual and unexpected rite appears as an invitation to allow ourselves to be purified again and again by the fresh and salutary water of his word and love. It is an authoritative 'sign' because the gesture and words are substantiated by the gift of himself even beyond death. In fact, a few hours later, while he was lying lifeless on the cross, a soldier's lance blow would cause blood to flow from his side along with water (cf. Jn 19:34) showing his pierced body as a total gift beyond death. Christ's words are much more than mere communication; they are rather flesh and blood for the life of the world since Jesus himself is the Word made flesh (Jn 1:14) and his word is life that gives itself, real presence, bread that makes life. In every sacrament celebrated in faithfulness to his word, Christ kneels down and purifies our lives.

3. God's work for man starts from below

In the washing of the feet, Jesus presents mutual service, inspired by love, as the indispensable means to keep his presence alive in the new Community in which the disciples will have the task of creating conditions of freedom and equality, placing themselves each at the service of the other. God's work in favour of man does not come from above like a handout, but starts from below to raise man to the divine level. This is what Jesus does, the undisputed leader, who abandons his role to place himself below his disciples: "Christ Jesus, though he was in the condition of God, did not consider it a privilege to be like God, but emptied himself by assuming the condition of a servant, becoming like men" (Phil 2:6-7). He emptied himself (ekenosen): Christ voluntarily emptied himself of his divine glory to become a servant, to enter the human condition with humility, weakness and vulnerability, "obedient unto death". 

We have no trouble understanding Peter who is bewildered, unable to accept what the Lord is accomplishing, indeed rejecting it altogether. "So he came to Simon Peter and said to him, "Lord, do you wash my feet?" Jesus answered, "What I do, you do not understand now; you will understand later." Simon Peter said to him, "You will never wash my feet for ever!" Jesus answered him, "If I do not wash you, you will have no part with me." Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not only your feet, but also your hands and your head!" (Jn 13:6-9). Peter perfectly expresses the attitude of the Eleven who, after being with him for years, think they know everything about Jesus. Peter, however, probably interpreting the thinking of the others, does not yet know where the Master wants to go by loving "to the end" and this is why Jesus reiterates to him the importance of the gesture so that all may understand: "If I do not wash you, you will have no part with me". In his educational action, the divine Master first teaches with deeds, then explains in words. In truth, he does not explain or explains very little by proceeding by affirmations; he does not condemn, but he makes it clear how much of a loser he is who thinks and acts like Peter who does not want to let his feet be washed and therefore will have no part with him.  What a drama to be separated from the One who loves you "to the end"!

Jesus, however, is patient in his waiting, he knows that it can be a long time to understand and put his gospel into practice. By observing how he educates Peter, we can learn to act as he wishes, remaining in his school as humble and faithful disciples.

4. The example of Christ founds and accompanies our educational action

The washing of the feet is the model for us to understand and put into practice. This is because we are in the presence of a sacramentum that is at the same time exemplum. Sacramentum i.e. mystery of Christ and power that transforms us into a new form of being, invigorating us with energy of new life. Exemplum because Christ remains the one who gives himself and always continually precedes us. The root of Christian ethics does not lie primarily in our moral capacity, but in God's gift to us. It is in the free gift of God that the reason why the central act of our being Christians is the Eucharist: that is, infinite gratitude for the new life that the Holy Trinity communicates to us through Christ's death and resurrection. It follows that the Mandatum Novum consists in loving together with the one who first loved us, and never prescinding from this truth. As with Peter, it is up to each one of us to learn that God's greatness is different from our image of greatness and that it consists precisely in descending, in the humility of service, in the radicality of love to the point of the total spoliation of one's self. And this must always be stressed again because we are constantly tempted to seek the God of power and success, or even of compromises, and not the God of the Passion. It is always tiring and difficult, as Benedict XVI observed, to realise that the Shepherd comes as a sacrificial Lamb who gives himself and, in this style, leads us to the right pasture.

Giovanni Papini, a 20th century convert writer, in his brilliant and visceral 'Life of Christ' highlights a connection between the washing of the feet and the mission of the apostles. He writes: "The Eleven, beyond deaf nature, had some claim to the benefit of the washing. For weeks of months those feet had walked the dusty, the muddy, the shitty roads of Judea to follow him who gave life. And after his death they will have to walk, years and years, on longer, shabbier roads, in countries whose name they do not even know today. And the foreign mota will lord, through their shoes, the feet of those who will go, as pilgrims and strangers to repeat the call of the Crucified". Papini probably links up with Augustine who, in a more elegant and calm manner, had presented the washing of the feet as a right and a necessity for all evangelisers. For Augustine, foot-washing is not only an exemplary gesture for educating the disciples, but also an aid for the apostles in their task as evangelisers. He writes in this regard: 'When we, the church, proclaim the gospel, O Christ, we walk the earth and dirty our feet to come and open the door to you [to let you into the hearts of the people you have entrusted to us]. When we preach to you, we walk with our feet on the earth to come and open the door for you. Wash our feet that...have become dirty walking on the earth to come and open the door to you" (Homily 57 on Jn).

5. Holy Thursday as an occasion to purify priestly service

Ultimately for us priests, Holy Thursday is a most auspicious occasion to ask Jesus to purify our priestly service. At the end of tiring days of apostolic work, we realise that we have "dirtied our feet" by giving too much importance to ourselves so as to make it more difficult to encounter Christ with people. We hear his words resounding in us: "I have given you an example so that as (kathos) I have done, you also may do" (John 13:13). Kathòs can be translated as, but here it has a special meaning: it indicates an action that produces a desired effect and it is as if Jesus were saying: by doing this I make it possible for you also to act as I do in serving your brothers and sisters. While the synoptics conveyed his command "Do this in remembrance of me", referring to the gesture of "consecration" (Lk22:19; Mt26:26; Mk14:22), John reminds us that the new community of his disciples will also have to make their Lord present in mutual service as well as in Eucharistic worship: "Knowing these things, you are blessed if you put them into practice" (Jn 13:17). In the fourth gospel we find only two beatitudes written: the first is directly addressed to the apostles present; the other will be proclaimed eight days after the resurrection and concerns especially the future disciples: "Blessed are those who, though they have not seen, will believe" (Jn 20:29). Both are especially necessary for us, priests, chosen by him to continue his mission: we will only be blessed if we unite the practice of charity with the steadfastness of faith.In summary, Christ's gesture of washing the feet shows in a visible manner that love must translate into fraternal welcome, hospitality and forgiveness, always preserving the style and spirit of the service he entrusted to the apostles, a ministry of humble, gratuitous love always based on him. Ultimately, it is a vocation to 'wash feet' in the heart of the world. 

Origen, who lived between 185 and 253/254, Father of the Greek-speaking Church, master of spiritual and allegorical theology wrote in one of his homilies: 'Jesus, come, my feet are dirty. For me make yourself my servant, pour water into the basin; come, wash my feet. I know, it is reckless what I say to you, but I fear the threat of your words: If I do not wash you, you will have no part with me. Wash my feet therefore, that I may have part with thee' (Homily 5 on Isaiah). And Saint Ambrose, bishop of Milan (339-397) and one of the most important Fathers of the Latin Church, a theologian with a pastoral and spiritual slant, teaches us to pray like this: 'O my Lord Jesus, let me wash your holy feet; you have soiled them since you walked in my soul... But where shall I get water from the spring to wash your feet? In the absence of it I have eyes to weep: by wetting your feet with my tears, let me myself be cleansed" (Penance, II, ch. 7). Finally, Jacques Dupont, Carthusian monk, Prior of the Carthusian monastery of Serra San Bruno and Procurator General of the Carthusian Order (1993-2014), who died on 13 January 2019 observes: 'Only he who accepts to have his feet washed can do so to another without an attitude of superiority'.

GOOD FRIDAY [18 April 2025].

For today here is a reflection on "The cross, the only hope of the world" 

1. Chronicle of a violent death

Every Good Friday, the liturgy repeats the proclamation of the Passion of Christ according to Saint John. In the final analysis, it is the chronicle of a violent death, and such episodes, then as now, are part of the daily news. Killings of criminals, people victims of attacks, innocent people struck down by misfortune, car or work accidents with loss of life, disasters created by natural disasters such as the recent devastating earthquake in Myanmar, one of the strongest recorded in the country in over a century, people killed because of their faith. These are all news items that follow one another quickly and last for a short time in the fast-paced daily panorama of public opinion. On the contrary, the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth, which took place more than two millennia ago, continues to be an event as vivid as if it were happening today, and this is because his death changed the face of death forever; indeed, it gave new meaning and significance to death. It is worth pausing, then, to meditate on this death that has conquered death forever.

2. Blood and water flow from the destroyed temple

One day in Jerusalem, answering those who asked by what authority he was driving the merchants out of the temple, Jesus replied: 'Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up. "He spoke of the temple of his body" (Jn 2:19. 21), comments the evangelist John, but his interlocutors did not understand. It was in truth an anticipatory sign of another event that is fully understood in John's passion narrative. When the crucifixion was completed, seeing that he was already dead, they did not break Jesus' legs as they had done to the other two crucified men, but "one of the soldiers with a spear struck his side and immediately blood and water came out" (John 19: 32-34). One catches here the reference to Ezekiel's prophecy that spoke of the future temple of God, from the side of which a trickle of water gushes out and becomes a stream, then a navigable river around which all life flourishes (cf. Ez 47:1 ff.). That "destroyed" temple from which gushes forth water and blood is the pierced heart of Christ, source of a "river of living water" (Jn 7:38). The heart of Christ already dead is alive because he conquered death; Christ risen from the dead is alive and his heart also lives in a new dimension that is not physical but mystical. The reference to the Lamb who lives in heaven "immolated, but standing" of which Revelation speaks (5, 6) is also easy. Christ is the Lamb of God who sacrificed himself, but now lives risen and glorified "standing as if immolated". His pierced heart is living, indeed "eternally pierced, precisely because eternally living". On each Good Friday, at the conclusion of the celebration of Christ's Passion, after his "consummatum est - it is fulfilled" Jesus bows his head and hands over his spirit (Jn 19:30). The expression "Consummatum est" (from the Greek Τετέλεσται, Tetélestai) is full of meaning: it is the total fulfilment of the mission of Jesus who has completed the work entrusted to him by the Father, realising the Scriptures and the plan of salvation.

3. Christ delivers the spirit 

The Latin expression "tradidit spiritum" (Jn19:30) in the original New Testament Greek koinè version "παρέδωκεν τὸ πνεῦμα" (parédōken tò pneûma) means "he delivered", "he entrusted". It is the verb παραδίδωμι, which implies a voluntary act of handing over, while τὸ πνεῦμα (tò pneûma) = "the spirit" can mean either the life-breath or, in a deeper sense, the Holy Spirit. All this is fulfilled because Jesus freely offers his life for the salvation of all mankind. This is the origin of the steadfastness of the Christians' hope, which fears no obstacle and resists all opposition from then on until the end of the world: despite the fact that a growing mass of evil is amassing in the hearts of men and in the structures of the world, making humanity seem inhabited by a "heart of darkness", Christ's sacrifice makes a living heart of light beat in the universe: his Heart. "Now the Father's plan is fulfilled," says an antiphon of the Liturgy of the Hours, "to make Christ the heart of the world": it is precisely from this certainty that the optimism of us Christians takes vigour. Illuminated by the word of God we scrutinise reality with the yardstick of the Spirit's wisdom and, certain of Christ's victory, we can proclaim with the blessed Juliana of Norwich: "Sin is inevitable, but all will be well and all things will be well" (Juliana of Norwich).

4. Stat crux dum volvitur orbis. "The Cross stands firm while the world turns".

Carthusian monks have adopted a coat of arms that appears at the entrance to their monasteries, as in their official documents. In this coat of arms, the globe is drawn, surmounted by a cross and surrounded by this phrase: "Stat crux dum volvitur orbis": the cross stands firm amidst the upheavals of the world. The statement "Stat crux dum volvitur orbis" contains a comforting spiritual truth: in the midst of the whirlwind of time, of chaos, of the instability of the world, the Cross remains the only still point, the axis around which everything revolves. The Cross is truly like the mast of the ship in the storm of the world, and several Christian authors used naval imagery precisely when speaking of the Cross: St. Columbanus (6th-7th cent.) wrote: "The world is like a stormy sea: if you want to reach port, attach your gaze to the wood of the Cross." Origen (3rd cent.) commenting on Noah's Ark, sees in it an image of salvation and the Church, and in the wood a reference to the Cross. He who clings to it does not sink in the flood of the world. St Ambrose in his exegesis of the story of Noah and the crossing of the Red Sea, speaks of the Cross as the rudder and sail of the Church: it is the Cross that guides, orients. Indeed, the mast, the central structure that supports the sail of a ship, is a perfect figure of the Cross because it holds the ship of life together: it allows orientation even in a storm; being vertical, it unites earth and sky and carries the sail of the Spirit, which blows where it will (cf. Jn 3:8). "Stat Crux, dum volvitur orbis" reminds us that the Cross is not a symbol of defeat, but of stability, direction and hope. Even if everything turns, even if life is rocked by waves, the Cross is the still centre of the world, the axis of meaning of all history. The Japanese writer Shusaku Endõ, in his novel 'Silence' (Chinmoku, 1966), set in the context of the persecutions of the 16th century, shows the cross as a living paradox: an instrument of death, but also an emblem of salvation and peace. The Cross of Christ is God's definitive and irreversible 'No' to violence, injustice, hatred, lies, to everything we call 'evil'. At the same time it is the total and irreversible "Yes" to love, truth, goodness. "A clear 'No' to sin and 'Yes' to the sinner: this is the style of Jesus' life and action throughout his life and which he now consecrates definitively with his death. A living demonstration of this is the good thief, to whom the dying Jesus promises paradise. One must always be clear about this distinction: the sinner is God's creature and retains his dignity, despite all his or her own misdeeds, while sin is the fruit of the passions and instincts and of the "envy of the devil" (Wis 2:24) and for this reason, by becoming incarnate, the Word took on everything of man, except sin. In front of the crucified Christ, everyone, but truly everyone, even the most desperate, can recover their trust and no one can say like Cain: "Too great is my guilt to obtain forgiveness" (Gen 4:13). The cross of Christ does not "stand" against the world, but for the world: it gives meaning and even value to every kind of human suffering. To the elderly Nicodemus, Jesus confides that "God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him" (Jn 3:17), and the cross vividly proclaims the final victory of Love. Not he who dominates others wins, but he who triumphs over himself, not he who hurts and makes others suffer, but he who suffers even unjustly and forgives.

5. The Cross certain hope in the digital and volatile age

The Cross of Christ remains a sign of certain hope "dum volvitur orbis". The world, since its origin, is marked by constant and changing upheavals. From the primitive stone age we are now in the digital and numerical age, where numerical data have become the heart of communication, knowledge, economy and even culture. Thus, massive digitisation dominates: all information (texts, images, sounds, actions) is converted into numerical data (bits), automation and algorithms. From finance to health, everything is managed by numerical systems and artificial intelligences, for which numerical data is the new 'oil', used to profile, predict, influence, many indeed almost all activities: communication, work, relationships. We move everywhere in non-physical digital environments and global interconnection, thanks to digital networks, creates a world that is instantly connected, but unfortunately extremely fragile. Man risks being reduced to data, to measurable behaviour. Truth is what can be quantified, calculated and controlled. Freedom is under threat from algorithmic surveillance and the idea of transition is no longer sufficient to describe the reality at hand. The idea of mutation today is associated with that of shattering in a 'liquid' society with which the acronym VUCA (volatility, uncertainty, complexity, ambiguity) is associated, where there are no fixed points, no undisputed values. The result is that, unfortunately, there is nothing stable to cling to: we are lost in the 'nothingness' that is not just absence, but an existential void that is often filled with anxiety, disorientation, or with frenetic activity that only serves to mask it. The digital ocean remains a complex reality, in some ways fascinating but dangerous: it offers unforeseen possibilities and risks, and therefore requires attention, prudence and responsibility. Father Cantalamessa, in one of his sermons on Good Friday in St. Peter's, described our era as follows: "Everything is fluctuating, even the distinction of the sexes. The worst hypothesis that the philosopher predicted as the effect of God's death, the one that the advent of the super-man should have prevented, but did not: "What did we ever do, to loosen this earth from the chain of its sun? Where does it move now? Where is it that we move? Away from all suns? Is not ours an eternal plummet? And backwards, sideways, forwards, on all sides? Is there still a high and a low? Are we not wandering as through an infinite nothingness?" (F. Nietzsche, The Gaiety of Science, aphorism 125).  And the former preacher of the Papal Household added: "It has been said that 'to kill God is the most hideous of suicides', and that is what we are partly seeing. It is not true that 'where God is born, man dies' (J.-P. Sartre); the opposite is true: where God dies, man dies. Salvador Dali painted a crucifix that seems a prophecy of this situation. An immense, cosmic cross, with an equally monumental Christ on top, seen from above, with his head reclined downwards. Below him, however, is not dry land, but water. The crucified Christ is not suspended between heaven and earth, but between heaven and the liquid element of the world. However, this tragic image also contains a consoling certainty: there is hope even for a liquid society like ours because above it 'stands the cross of Christ'.

6. O crux, ave spes unica 

On every Good Friday, the Church proclaims its consciously certain hope in the words of the poet Venantius Fortunatus: 'O crux, ave spes unica', Hail, O cross, world's only hope. The Son of God who became man has died but is no longer in the grave: he has risen. On the day of Pentecost Peter proclaims emphatically to the crowd: "You crucified him, but God raised him up!" (Acts 2:23-24), He who "was dead, now lives for ever" (Rev 1:18). The cross does not "stand" motionless amidst the upheavals of the world as a memory of a past event or as a mere symbol, but remains firmly planted in history as an event of today, indeed of every moment because Christ lives with us. We all have something of that heart of stone of which the prophet Ezekiel speaks: "I will tear out from them the heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh" (Ez 36:26). Yes, a heart is stony when it closes itself off from the love of God and becomes insensitive to the needs and suffering of its brothers and sisters; when it allows itself to be seduced by greed for material goods and is deaf to the cries of those who do not even have a penny to live on. Heart of stone is mine when I let myself be dominated by passions and live by compromise, falsehood, violence and impurity. Hardened is my heart, when folded in on myself, it prevents me from living for Christ, who loved me by dying for me. My heart trembles before the sudden storms that invade me and threaten to plunge me into the darkness of fear and discouragement. In these situations, what happened at the same time as Christ's death can happen: "the veil of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom, the earth shook, the rocks were broken, the tombs were opened, and many bodies of dead saints were raised" (Mt 27:51f.). Even in complex situations like this, an invitation to the courage of hope emerges. In a Good Friday liturgy, Pope Saint Leo the Great exhorted the faithful thus: "Let human nature tremble before the torment of the Redeemer, let the rocks of faithless hearts be broken, and let those who were shut up in the sepulchres of their mortality come forth, lifting up the stone that was upon them" (Sermo 66, 3; PL 54, 366).  The heart of flesh foretold by the prophets is the Heart of Christ pierced on the cross, 'the Sacred Heart' that continues to live in our hearts when we receive it in the Eucharist. Archbishop Fulton Sheen notes: "By the most extraordinary paradox in the history of the world, by crucifying Christ they proved that He was right and they were wrong, and by defeating Him they lost. By killing Him they transformed Him: by the power of God they changed mortality into immortality...They humiliated Him on Calvary, and He was exalted and raised above an empty tomb. They sowed His body in dishonour and He rose again in glory; They sowed Him in weakness and He rose again in power. In taking away His life, they gave Him new life...remake man and you will remake the world! (Fulton J. Sheen, from "Justice and Charity")

EASTER VIGIL [19 April 2025]

I hope you may find this brief study of the Easter Vigil helpful, as it is in danger of losing its meaning and becoming almost like the early Mass on Saturday evening. But this should not be the case at least for the Easter Vigil.  

The Easter Vigil in history 

The Easter Vigil has a two thousand year history, albeit with alternating events in the three periods of its life. Here is a quick historical overview of it in order to understand its value and importance. Its history in the secular tradition of the Church, on the one hand expresses a constant celebratory continuity, never failing, and on the other hand undergoes a wide oscillation in its timetable, which for many centuries made it inconsistent between its symbolism and the time when it should have been celebrated. 

1. First period: the great night of Vigil

Here are the main stages: - First period (2nd - 4th century): the Easter Vigil is the basic celebration of the Church, the great night of Vigil in honour of the Lord. From it, the entire Liturgical Year will later develop, as from its source and watershed. The ancient Vigil occupies the whole extent of the night: from the evening light of Vespers to the first light of dawn, when with the Eucharist the Mystery will be fulfilled and the sacramental encounter with the Risen One, who appeared to the first witnesses at that hour, will be realised. It is the paschal pannukia, in which the main scriptural pages are proclaimed, thus outlining a broad overview of salvation history, which will have in Christ dead and risen its summit and its fulfilment. It also concludes the baptismal instruction of the catechumens with the proclamation of the great biblical events, which recall the mystery of regeneration. It is thus that Baptism finds its most suitable place in the Vigil: it is about dying and rising with Christ in the mystery of the sacramental signs. In this way, the Easter of the Lord also becomes the Easter of Christians, who pass from the death of sin to the life of grace. From the earliest times, therefore, the Easter Vigil hosts the three fundamental elements, which will be a permanent constant throughout the centuries: the prophetic Word, the Sacraments of Initiation, and the Eucharistic Sacrifice. The following Sunday would be without liturgy, as everything was concentrated in the night celebration, so solemn and prolonged. Moreover, before the 4th century, such a day is working and does not allow for celebrations. 

2. Second period: the Easter Vigil slips to the afternoon

Second period (4th - 16th century). With religious freedom the Easter Vigil tends to move more and more out of the night and gradually slip into the afternoon of Holy Saturday. On the opposite side, the solemn Easter Eucharist enters into the middle of the day on Sunday, now recognised as a feast day, giving rise to a second and more solemn Mass, the 'Mass of the Day', while the ancient Vigil Mass merges with the night rites and descends with them towards the eve. Initially, the Fathers tended to ensure that the people were not dismissed before midnight, understood as the discriminating hour for the authenticity and truth of the Easter Vigil itself. However, in the concrete celebration, the time shifts more and more to the afternoon of Holy Saturday, even if the recommendation remains that the people not be dismissed before midnight and that the Gloria in excelsis not be intoned before the first stars appear. Gradually, the Vigil is fixed between the sixth hour and Vespers, and in this way it is legally incorporated into the Missal of Pius V, which stipulates that the Vigil begins after the sixth hour and ends with Vespers. However, ever since St Pius V in practice, even after the abolition of Vespers Masses (1566), the Vigil is in fact celebrated on Holy Saturday morning. The practice is taken over by the Bishops' Ceremonial and is defined in the 1917 Code of Canon Law, which fixes the end of the Easter fast with midday on Holy Saturday. With these indications, the Vigil reaches its great reform with Pius XII in 1951. "It cannot be denied that these successive anticipations had created, if not a crack in the unitary structure of the Holy Triduum, at least a jarring contrast between the mystery of the day and the liturgical formulas expressing it and superimposed on it. Despite this, the Church maintained its rites, which always preserve for the faithful their historical-commemorative reason and all their value as symbol and mystery" (Righetti, vol. II, p. 252). As long as the three holy days (Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday) were civilly festive - even though the rites had for centuries been celebrated in the morning hours and were incompatible with the Hours relating to the Mysteries recalled - they continued to be attended by the faithful, but when in 1642 Pope Urban VIII had to recognise these days as working days, the participation of the Christian people in the rites of the Easter Triduum was no longer possible, and they ended up being celebrated solely by the clergy, with an absolution that was more juridical than pastoral. - Third period (1955 to the present). 

3. The Easter Vigil returns to its time

With the reform of Pius XII the Easter Vigil returns to its proper time with precise indications, which guarantee its celebratory coherence. In fact, the Decree for the Restoration of the Easter Vigil, Dominicae Resurrectionis vigiliam (9 February 1951) states in no. 9: "The solemn Easter Vigil must be held at the appropriate hour, that is, such that it allows the solemn mass of the same vigil to begin around midnight between Holy Saturday and Resurrection Sunday". The firmness of this disposition, which would have ensured a sure success in terms of the time of the celebration of the solemn rite, was unfortunately diluted, from the very beginning, in the same decree, by a concession, which would later prove to be reductive of the nocturnal character of the Vigil, allowing it to be celebrated on the evening of Holy Saturday. "But where, given the conditions of the place and of the faithful, in the judgement of the Ordinary, it is appropriate to bring forward the time of the Easter Vigil, this is not to begin before dusk, but never before sunset" (Idem n. 9). This provision still adversely affects an Easter Vigil that has in fact never been nocturnal, but simply evening. In fact, the celebration practice shows that already in the early years (1951-1955) the parishes made use of the faculty to anticipate the Vigil in the evening. With the reform of Vatican II and in particular with the Instruction Paschalis Sollemnitatis of 16 January 1988, there is a greater insistence on a Vigil that is truly nocturnal and it is stated: 'The entire celebration of the Easter Vigil takes place at night; it must therefore either begin after the beginning of the night or end before dawn on Sunday'. Abuses and customs to the contrary, which sometimes occur, so as to bring forward the time of the celebration of the Easter Vigil to the hours when the Sunday prefestival masses are usually celebrated, cannot be admitted. The reasons given by some for anticipating the Easter Vigil, e.g. public insecurity, are not invoked in the case of Christmas Eve or other conferences held at night. However, the midnight hour is not determined as a discriminating factor. Thus in this further uncertainty, the Easter Vigil today tends not to take off from the convenient evening time. As with the Midnight Mass at Christmas, the extension of the festive precept to early vespers has had a great influence on the Easter Vigil, so that the Easter Vigil is considered legitimate from sundown on Holy Saturday, as a 'pre-holiday' Mass. This was not the case before this provision, when those who anticipated the Vigil in the evening also knew that the night Mass only fulfilled the precept if celebrated after midnight. For an effective take-off of the Vigil as a nocturnal celebration, it would be desirable today to have a precise indication of a discriminating time by the authority of the Church, going back to unequivocally establishing midnight as the hour of the Eucharistic liturgy of the Vigil itself into which one enters with the solemn singing of the Gloria. No exceptions should be allowed, as the Vigil is only celebrated in parishes or communities assimilated to them, as a choral, unique, and therefore unrepeatable act on the holy night. We have seen how concessions to this effect have become the rule, effectively losing the night celebration. 

4. Resurrection Sunday begins at midnight

What is more, the third day of the Easter Triduum, Resurrection Sunday, does not begin at the hour of Vespers on Holy Saturday, as if it were the first Vespers of Sunday, as is the norm for ordinary Saturdays and vigils. Resurrection Sunday begins at midnight, since Holy Saturday is a day of the same solemnity, as is also Good Friday. The three holy days, in fact, have the same degree of solemnity. One understands then that, in the Roman rite, it is not possible to treat the evening hour of Holy Saturday as a time already belonging to Resurrection Sunday.

Midnight is taken as the reference hour to unite the two parts of the Easter Vigil: the liturgy of the Word and the sacramental liturgy. The hour of the resurrection is not referred to us by Sacred Scripture. It belongs to the mystery of God. The Church expresses this awareness when it sings in the Exultet: "O blessed night, you alone have deserved to know the time and hour when Christ rose from the underworld". This is why liturgical tradition urges the Church to spend the nocturnal hours of the holy night in the vigil. Indeed, the Easter night has, since antiquity, been a night of complete vigil, until dawn, the hour when the tomb is found open and empty. Among the various nocturnal hours, however, the midnight hour finds very special consideration. It is linked to precise biblical events, which form the basis of the nocturnal celebration of Easter. 

5. The importance of midnight, the hour of Easter 

Midnight is the great Hour long prepared by God to save his people: "At midnight the Lord smote every firstborn in the land of Egypt... This was a night of watchfulness for the Lord to bring them out of the land of Egypt. This will be a night of watchfulness in honour of the Lord for all the Israelites, from generation to generation" (Ex 12:29. 42). The crossing of the Red Sea also took place at night and ended at the crack of dawn: "...The Lord throughout the night stirred up the sea with a strong east wind...But at the vigil of the morning the Lord from the pillar of fire and cloud cast a glance over the camp of the Egyptians...the sea, at the crack of dawn, returned to its usual level..." (Ex 14:21-27). (Ex 14:21-27). Perhaps the whole thing was accomplished in those three days of walking in the desert that Moses requested of Pharaoh to celebrate the worship of the Lord: "It is granted to us, therefore, to set out on a journey of three days in the desert and to celebrate a sacrifice to the Lord our God..." (Ex 5:3). (Ex 5:3). Those three days are prophecy of the true Passover Triduum in which the Lord worked, in the fullness of time, our redemption. The Passover event is thus fulfilled in the context of at least two nights: that of the Passover banquet with the passing of the Exterminating Angel, and that of the miraculous crossing of the Red Sea. The paschal liberation, then, in its salient phases, takes place in the night. But midnight is the hour marked out by God to bring about the decisive and decisive event: the Angel strikes and the people depart: it is the hour of the Passover. The morning vigil, which is spoken of on the night of the Red Sea crossing, is that of the consummation of the people's deliverance "In the early morning the sea returned to its usual level..." (Ex 14:27) and of the consummation of the Passover. (Ex 14:27) and of the joyful contemplation of God's great works: in that hour the song of victory is born (Ex 15:1). The prophecy of the Passover of the Lord Jesus is all too evident, when in the middle of the night, at the hour that He alone knows, He rose from the dead and at the crack of dawn showed Himself alive to His disciples: this is the hour of the Church's Alleluia. The book of Wisdom takes up the event of Easter in a celebratory tone and offers the Church's liturgy a further element to indicate the suitability of the midnight hour to implement in time the memorial and sacramental celebration of the Mystery in its two constitutive phases, Christmas and Easter. "While a profound silence enveloped all things, and the night was in the midst of its course, your almighty word from heaven, from your royal throne, implacable warrior, launched itself into the midst of that land of extermination, bearing as a sharp sword, your inexorable order" (Wis 18:14-15). The psalm also alludes to the unique Midnight Hour: "In the middle of the night I rise up to give you praise" (Sl 118:62). Truly, on Easter night, the new Man, the Lord Jesus, wakes up and rises from the sleep of death and, risen to new life, gives glory to the Father; just as already on Christmas night, the wailing of the divine Child began the new and perfect praise to the Father. Finally, in the Gospel parable of the ten virgins, the stroke of midnight marks the hour of the great event: "At midnight a cry went up: Behold the bridegroom, go out to meet him!" (Mt 25). The same hour is recalled by the Lord himself when he says: "And if he comes in the middle of the night or before dawn, he finds them so, blessed are they!" (Lk 12:38). The midnight hour foreshadowed in the parable of the virgins becomes, in the mystical interpretation of the Church, a hint of the possible return of the Lord, not only in the eschatological hour, but also in his first hour, when he was born among us and also when, awakening from the sleep of death, he returned glorious among the living. In this perspective, midnight became the discriminating hour and the most eloquent reference for both the Christmas and Easter night liturgy. A Jewish tradition says that Christ will come at midnight, as in the time of Egypt, when the Passover was celebrated and the exterminating angel came and the Lord passed over the houses and the doorposts of our foreheads were consecrated with blood. Hence, I believe, that apostolic tradition preserved to this day, according to which during the Easter Vigil it is not permissible to dismiss the crowds before midnight, when they are still awaiting the coming of Christ, while after that time everyone celebrates the feast day in a newfound security". S. GIROLAMO (cf. CANTALAMESSA, R., La Pasqua nella Chiesa antica, ed Internazionale, Torino, 1978, p. 113) 

6. Pastoral care and the "dogma" of comfort 

When the Vigil is celebrated in the evening, it is deprived of an essential component: offering God the time of sleep, sanctifying the night through the asceticism of 'waking'. We ask ourselves: does pastoral care really have to espouse the 'dogma' of comfort at all costs, giving up Easter night and Christmas night, as is currently happening? That at least on the two holy nights, of Easter and Christmas, the entire people of God, in normal parishes, should prepare themselves for the solemn celebration, keeping vigil in the night and generously offering God the night time, is this really pastorally impossible and impractical in our times? The most singular passage of the Easter Vigil, when the Gloria in excelsis is sung and the jubilus of the Alleluia is resumed, is often downplayed: after a rather brief liturgy of the Word, without having reached a congruous atmosphere of anxious anticipation and, without any ritual break, the angelic Hymn is sung and the bells are rung. We are far from that mystical and moved awe of which the ancient sources tell us. It is more eloquent on Christmas night when, at midnight, the solemn Eucharist 'in nocte' begins. Why then deprive the Easter proclamation on the holy night of the experience of fervent expectation, which gives vigour and spiritual joy to the proclamation of the resurrection, at the very beginning of the day on which the resurrection took place, the eighth day that will never set? This is not sentimentality, but celebratory richness, cohesive force and effective witness. 

7. Restore the sense of joy to the Easter Vigil 

If the Easter Vigil is to be given back the joyful and moving sense of expectation, it must be allowed time to set a progressive course towards a precise end, which in ancient times was the first dawning of the day of resurrection and which today should necessarily be the stroke of midnight at the threshold of the great and holy Easter Sunday. Since the liturgy has been irreversibly enriched by the solemn Easter Mass, and since this day is now clothed with royal and great solemnity, it is no longer desirable to propose to all the people a Vigil that extends into the morning, as in ancient times, and then necessarily reduce Easter Sunday to a liturgically 'vacant' day. In this context, midnight should once again become the Hour accepted by all as the discriminating factor between the two parts of the Vigil. Otherwise what happens is what can currently be seen in the various evening hours of Holy Saturday: one already returns from the Easter Vigil in one church, while the other leaves for the Vigil in another church. Poor Easter! Thus it is reduced to a private affair, lost in the Saturday evening routine. The celebration of the Vigil, done in unison by all Christian communities on the crest of midnight, offers an excellent opportunity for a choral witness: the Church, summoned in the middle of the holy night, awaits and announces the resurrection of the Lord. The Church, celebrating the Easter Vigil in unison, almost physically perceives its being one heart and one soul, especially when, at midnight, it acclaims the risen Christ and proclaims him to the world. To express this symphony concretely, midnight becomes a necessary and discriminating criterion. In this context, it will also be possible to give in unison the Easter proclamation to the outside world with the sound of bells.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

FIRST MEDITATION

With increasing insistence one hears in our time about the death of God. For the first time, in Jean Paul, it is only a nightmarish dream: the dead Jesus announces to the dead, from the roof of the world, that on his journey into the afterlife he has found nothing, neither heaven nor merciful God, but only infinite nothingness, the silence of the gaping void. It is still a horrible dream that is put aside, groaning in awakening, like a dream, even though one will never be able to erase the anguish suffered, which was always lurking, gloomy, in the depths of the soul. A century later, in Nietzsche, it is a deadly seriousness that expresses itself in a shrill cry of terror: 'God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him!" Fifty years later, it is spoken of with academic detachment and preparations are made for a 'theology after the death of God', we look around to see how we can continue, and we encourage people to prepare to take God's place. The terrible mystery of Holy Saturday, its abyss of silence, has thus acquired an overwhelming reality in our time. For this is Holy Saturday: the day of God's concealment, the day of that unprecedented paradox that we express in the Creed with the words 'descended into hell', descended into the mystery of death. On Good Friday we could still look upon the pierced. Holy Saturday is empty, the heavy stone of the new tomb covers the deceased, all is past, faith seems to be definitively unmasked as fanaticism. No God saved this Jesus posing as his Son. One can be reassured: the cautious who had previously been a little hesitant in their hearts as to whether perhaps it might be different, were instead right.

Holy Saturday: day of God's burial; is not this in a striking way our day? Does not our century begin to be one big Holy Saturday, the day of God's absence, in which even the disciples have a chilling emptiness in their hearts that grows wider and wider, and therefore prepare themselves full of shame and anguish to return home and set off gloomy and broken in their despair towards Emmaus, not realising at all that he who was believed dead is in their midst?

God is dead and we have killed him: did we really realise that this phrase is taken almost literally by Christian tradition and that we often repeated something similar in our viae crucis without realising the tremendous gravity of what we were saying? We have killed him, enclosing him in the stale shell of habitual thoughts, exiling him in a form of piety without the content of reality and lost in the round of catchphrases or archaeological preciosities; we have killed him through the ambiguity of our lives, which has spread a veil of darkness over him as well: for what could have made God more problematic in this world if not the problematic nature of his believers' faith and love?

The divine darkness of this day, of this century that is increasingly becoming a Holy Saturday, speaks to our conscience. We too have to deal with it. But in spite of everything it has something consoling about it. The death of God in Jesus Christ is at the same time an expression of his radical solidarity with us. The darkest mystery of faith is at the same time the clearest sign of a hope that has no boundaries. And one more thing: only through the failure of Good Friday, only through the silence of death on Holy Saturday, could the disciples be brought to an understanding of what Jesus really was and what his message really meant. God had to die for them so that he could truly live in them. The image they had formed of God, in which they had tried to force him, had to be destroyed so that through the rubble of the ruined house they could see heaven, he himself, who always remains the infinitely greater. We need God's silence in order to experience anew the abyss of his greatness and the abyss of our nothingness that would open up if he were not there.

There is a scene in the Gospel that anticipates in an extraordinary way the silence of Holy Saturday and thus appears once again as the portrait of our historical moment. Christ sleeps in a boat that, battered by the storm, is about to sink. The prophet Elijah had once mocked the priests of Baal, who in vain cried out for their god to let fire descend on the sacrifice, urging them to cry out louder, just in case their god was asleep. But is God not really asleep? Does not the prophet's mockery ultimately also touch the believers of the God of Israel who travel with him in a sinking boat? God is sleeping while his things are about to sink, is this not the experience of our life? Does not the Church, the faith, resemble a small boat about to sink, struggling futilely against the waves and the wind, while God is absent? The disciples cry out in extreme despair and shake the Lord to wake him up, but he is astonished and rebukes their little faith. Is it any different for us? When the storm has passed, we will realise how much our little faith was laden with foolishness. And yet, O Lord, we cannot help but shake you, God who is silent and asleep, and cry out to you: wake up, do you not see that we are sinking? Awaken us, do not let the darkness of Holy Saturday last for ever, let a ray of Easter fall on our days too, accompany us as we set out in despair towards Emmaus so that our hearts may light up at your nearness. Thou who hast led in hidden ways the ways of Israel to be at last a man with men, do not leave us in the dark, do not let thy word be lost in the great waste of words of these times. Lord, give us your help, for without you we will sink.

Amen.

SECOND MEDITATION

God's hiding in this world constitutes the true mystery of Holy Saturday, a mystery already hinted at in the enigmatic words that Jesus "descended into hell". At the same time, the experience of our time has offered us a completely new approach to Holy Saturday, for the concealment of God in the world that belongs to him and that should with a thousand tongues proclaim his name, the experience of the powerlessness of God who is nevertheless the Almighty - this is the experience and misery of our time.

But even if Holy Saturday in this way has come closer to us, even if we understand the God of Holy Saturday more than the powerful manifestation of God amid thunder and lightning, of which the Old Testament speaks, the question of knowing what is really meant when it is said mysteriously that Jesus "descended into hell" remains unsolved. Let us say it with all clarity: no one can really explain it. Nor does it become any clearer by saying that here hell is a mistranslation of the Hebrew word shêol, which simply means the whole realm of the dead, and thus the formula would originally only mean that Jesus descended into the depths of death, really died and participated in the abyss of our destiny of death. For the question then arises: what really is death and what actually happens when we descend into the depths of death? We must pay attention here to the fact that death is no longer the same thing after Christ has undergone it, after he has accepted and penetrated it, just as life, the human being, are no longer the same thing after in Christ human nature was able to come into contact, and indeed did come into contact, with God's own being. Before, death was only death, separation from the land of the living and, albeit with different depths, something like 'hell', the nocturnal side of existence, impenetrable darkness. Now, however, death is also life, and when we cross the glacial solitude of death's threshold, we always meet again with the One who is life, who wanted to become the companion of our ultimate solitude and who, in the mortal loneliness of his anguish in the Garden of Olives and his cry on the cross "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?", became a sharer in our solitudes.

If a child were to venture alone into the dark night through a forest, he would be afraid even if he were shown hundreds of times that there is no danger. He is not afraid of something definite, to which a name can be given, but in the darkness he experiences insecurity, the orphan condition, the sinister character of existence itself. Only a human voice could console him; only the hand of a loved one could drive away the anguish like a bad dream. There is an anguish - the real anguish, lurking in the depths of our loneliness - that cannot be overcome through reason, but only through the presence of a person who loves us. For this anguish has no object to which we can give a name, but is only the terrible expression of our ultimate loneliness. Who has not felt the frightening sensation of this condition of abandonment? Who would not feel the holy and consoling miracle that a word of affection arouses in these circumstances? Where, however, there is such loneliness that can no longer be reached by the transforming word of love, then we speak of hell. And we know that not a few men of our time, apparently so optimistic, are of the opinion that every encounter remains on the surface, that no man has access to the ultimate and true depth of the other and that therefore in the ultimate depth of every existence lies despair, indeed hell. Jean-Paul Sartre expressed this poetically in one of his dramas and at the same time expounded the core of his doctrine on man. One thing is certain: there is a night in whose dark abandonment no word of comfort penetrates, a door that we must pass through in absolute solitude: the door of death. All the anguish of this world is ultimately the anguish caused by this loneliness. That is why in the Old Testament the term for the realm of the dead was identical to the term for hell: shêol. Death in fact is absolute solitude. But that solitude that can no longer be illuminated by love, that is so deep that love can no longer access it, is hell.

"Descended into hell": this Holy Saturday confession means that Christ has passed through the door of solitude, that he has descended into the unreachable and insuperable depths of our condition of loneliness. This means, however, that even in the extreme night in which no words penetrate, in which we are all like children cast out, weeping, there is a voice that calls to us, a hand that takes us and leads us. Man's insuperable loneliness was overcome from the moment he found himself in it. Hell has been conquered from the moment that love has also entered the region of death and the no-man's-land of solitude has been inhabited by him. In its depths man does not live by bread, but in the authenticity of his being he lives by the fact that he is loved and allowed to love. From the moment when the presence of love is given in the space of death, then life penetrates death: to your faithful, O Lord, life is not taken away, but transformed - the Church prays in the funeral liturgy.

No one can ultimately measure the extent of these words: 'descended into hell'. But if we are once given to approach the hour of our ultimate solitude, we will be allowed to understand something of the great clarity of this dark mystery. In the certain hope that in that hour of extreme loneliness we will not be alone, we can already now presage something of what is to come. And in the midst of our protest against the darkness of God's death we begin to become grateful for the light that comes to us from this very darkness.

THIRD MEDITATION

In the Roman breviary, the liturgy of the sacred triduum is structured with special care; the Church in its prayer wants, so to speak, to transfer us into the reality of the Lord's passion and, beyond words, into the spiritual centre of what happened. If one were to attempt to mark the prayerful liturgy of Holy Saturday in a few lines, then one would have to speak above all of the effect of profound peace that transpires from it. Christ has penetrated into concealment (Verborgenheit), but at the same time, in the very heart of impenetrable darkness, he has penetrated into security (Geborgenheit), indeed he has become the ultimate security. By now the psalmist's bold word has become true: and even if I wanted to hide in hell, you are there too. And the more one goes through this liturgy, the more one sees shining in it, like a morning dawn, the first lights of Easter. If Good Friday places before our eyes the disfigured figure of the pierced man, the liturgy of Holy Saturday draws rather on the image of the cross dear to the ancient Church: the cross surrounded by rays of light, a sign, in the same way, of death and resurrection.

Holy Saturday thus reminds us of an aspect of Christian piety that has perhaps been lost in the course of time. When we look at the cross in prayer, we often see in it only a sign of the Lord's historical passion on Golgotha. The origin of the devotion to the cross, however, is different: Christians prayed to the East to express their hope that Christ, the true sun, would rise over history, to express therefore their faith in the return of the Lord. The cross is at first closely linked with this orientation of prayer, it is represented as a banner, so to speak, that the king will raise in his coming; in the image of the cross, the advanced point of the procession has already arrived in the midst of those who pray. For early Christianity, the cross is thus above all a sign of hope. It implies not so much a reference to the Lord past, as to the Lord who is to come. Certainly it was impossible to escape the intrinsic necessity that, with the passage of time, our gaze should also turn to the event that took place: against every flight into the spiritual, against every misrecognition of the incarnation of God, it was necessary to defend the unimaginable prodigality of God's love who, out of love for the wretched human creature, became a man himself, and what a man! It was necessary to defend the holy foolishness of God's love, who chose not to utter a word of power, but to tread the path of powerlessness in order to pillory our dream of power and overcome it from within.

But then have we not forgotten a little too much about the connection between cross and hope, the unity between the East and the direction of the cross, between past and future that exists in Christianity? The spirit of hope that hovers over the prayers of Holy Saturday should once again penetrate our entire being as Christians. Christianity is not only a religion of the past, but, to no lesser extent, of the future; its faith is at the same time hope, since Christ is not only the dead and the risen, but also the one who is to come.

O Lord, enlighten our souls with this mystery of hope so that we may recognise the light that is radiated by your cross, grant us that as Christians we may go forward into the future, towards the day of your coming.

Amen.

PRAYER

Lord Jesus Christ, in the darkness of death Thou hast made light; in the abyss of deepest loneliness dwells now forever the mighty protection of Thy love; in the midst of Thy hiddenness we can now sing the hallelujah of the saved. Grant us the humble simplicity of faith, which does not allow itself to be misled when Thou callest us in the hours of darkness, of abandonment, when everything seems to appear problematic; grant us, in this time in which a mortal struggle is being fought around Thee, sufficient light so that we may not lose Thee; sufficient light so that we may give it to those who need it even more. Let the mystery of Thy paschal joy, as the dawn of the morning, shine in our days; grant that we may be truly paschal men in the midst of the Holy Saturday of history. Grant that through the bright and dark days of this time we may always with glad hearts find ourselves on the way to Thy future glory.

Amen.

[Pope Benedict, excerpt from "The Sabbath of History"; https://www.sabinopaciolla.com/benedetto-xvi-il-mistero-terribile-del-sabato-santo/]

Today we have an impression of oblivion, of the Lord.

The pit seems to be able to hide and silence Him, so much so that there is no need to contest him - it would be enough to neglect or pity him.

Instead, we want to meditate again on the revolution of Christ and his new Light, to recognize it as ours, assimilate and live it - right from the roots of being and on our journey.

God's Silence is part of Revelation: Glory and Life which correspond to us; in a democratic, multifaceted, not one-sided way.

Silence that respects our ‘flower’.

Thus, amidst the ups and downs of our lives as well, here is the laying and the mysterious plotting of ‘seeds’ - a whole series of alternatives:

A different Face of God, creator and redeemer of our intelligence and freedom; educator never sullen - nor dominator ready to unleash reprisals.

Not sovereign who governs by enacting laws, but Parent who transmits his own Life.

We do not meet Him by rising and forcing, for it is He who ceaselessly proposes, reveales Himself, and Comes.

He does not stand “at the head” and you at the back; he does not place himself above while you remain below.

It does not put itself “in front” so that someone is destined to fall behind [with the strongest, quickest and most organised ones always close, with no possibility of turnover and replacement].

An activity of denunciation of false religion: that of repetitive fulfilments - and of fixed or too sophisticated, disembodied ideas - beneath a cloak of plagiarism, fear, intimidation.

The Lord is righteous, for He understands us. Let's banish empty, futile, dissipative manners.

Whoever finds himself socially constrained is never himself and cannot love, as he’s conditioned; overwhelmed one by comparisons and external needs.

A new authenticity of woman and man, no longer identified in roles and characters to be played and compared, but autonomous and realized by a personal Call.

Not attracted ones by the combination of culture-devotion-power-interest, but fascinated by the Wisdom that dwells in every slight and small Uniqueness.

So free and unambitious, they can willingly stoop to the less fortunate. Without intimate dissociation.

A new face of society, one that is neither competitive nor the prerogative of the cunning, interest groups, or circles, but characterised by the exchange of ‘gifts’.

Conviviality of the differences that accentuates and lets life flourish, of each and every one.

In short, we are not a typology of eternal failures.

The Father  wants people who travel towards themselves, and dreams a humanizing Family.

Lovable, because He doesn’t absorb our energies, but rather transmits them.

Holy Saturday, Burial of the Lord [April 19, 2025]

Do you seek Jesus the Crucified? (Mt 28:5).

This is the question the women will hear when, "at dawn on the first day of the week" (Mt 28:1), they come to the tomb.

Crucified!

Before the Sabbath he was condemned to death and expired on the cross crying: "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" (Lk 23:46).

So they laid Jesus in a tomb, in which no one had yet been laid, in a tomb lent by a friend, and they went away. They all departed, in haste, to fulfil the rule of the religious Law. For they were to begin the feast, the Passover of the Jews, the memory of the exodus from the slavery of Egypt: the night before the Sabbath.

Then the Easter Sabbath passed and the second night began.

2. And behold, we have all come to this temple, as have so many of our brothers and sisters in the faith to the various temples throughout the globe, that holy night may descend upon our souls and hearts: the night after the Sabbath.

You are here, sons and daughters of the Church that is in Rome, sons and daughters of the Church that is spread across countries and continents, guests and pilgrims. Together we experienced Good Friday: the Stations of the Cross among the remains of the Colosseum - and the adoration of the Cross until the moment when a large stone was rolled over the door of the tomb - and a seal was put on it.

Why have you come now?

Do you seek Jesus Crucified?

Yes. We seek Jesus Crucified. We look for him on this night after the Sabbath, which preceded the arrival of the women at the tomb, when they with great astonishment saw and heard: "He is not here..." (Mt 28:6).

We have therefore come early, already late in the evening, to keep vigil at his tomb. To celebrate the Easter Vigil.

And we proclaim our praise on this wonderful night, pronouncing with the deacon's lips the "Exsultet" of the vigil. And we listen to the sacred readings, which compare this one night to the day of Creation and especially to the night of the exodus, during which the blood of the lamb saved the first-born sons of Israel from death and brought them out of slavery in Egypt. And then in the moment of renewed threat the Lord led them out to dry in the midst of the sea.

Let us therefore keep vigil on this unique night at the sealed tomb of Jesus of Nazareth, knowing that all that has been foretold by the Word of God throughout the generations will be fulfilled on this night, and that the work of man's redemption will reach its zenith on this night.

Let us therefore keep vigil, and though the night is deep, and the tomb sealed, let us confess that the Light has already been kindled in it, and it walks through the darkness of the night and the darkness of death. It is the light of Christ: "Lumen Christi".

3. We have come to immerse ourselves in his death; both we who long ago received the Baptism that immerses in Christ, and also those who will receive Baptism on this night. They are our new brothers and sisters in the faith; hitherto they were catechumens, and this night we can welcome them into the community of the Church of Christ, which is one, holy, catholic and apostolic. They are our new brothers and sisters in the faith and in the community of the Church, and they come from different countries and continents: Korea, Japan, Italy, Nigeria, Holland, Rwanda, Senegal and Togo.

We greet them cordially and joyfully proclaim the "Exsultet" in honour of the Church, our Mother, which sees them gathered here in the full light of Christ: "Lumen Christi".

And let us proclaim with them the praise of the baptismal water, into which, through Christ's death, the power of the Holy Spirit has descended: the power of the new life that gushes forth for eternity, for eternal life (cf. Jn 4:14).

4. So even before dawn breaks and the women arrive at the tomb from Jerusalem, we have come here to seek Jesus Crucified,

for: "Our old man was crucified with him, so that... we would no longer be slaves to sin..." (Rom 6:6);

for: we do not consider ourselves "dead to sin, but living for God, in Christ Jesus" (Rom 6:11): "As for his death, he died to sin once for all; but now by the fact that he lives, he lives for God" (Rom 6:10);

for: "Through Baptism we ... have been buried together with him in death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too may walk in a new life (Rom 6:4);

for: "If we have been completely united with him by a death like his, we shall also be completely united with him by his resurrection" (Rom 6:5);

for we believe: that "if we have died with Christ... we shall also live with him" (Rom 6:8);

and because we believe that "Christ risen from the dead, he no longer dies; death no longer has power over him" (Rom 6:9).

5. That is precisely why we are here. That is why we keep vigil at his tomb.

Let the Church keep vigil. And watch over the world. The hour of Christ's victory over death is the greatest hour in history.

[Pope John Paul II, homily at the Easter Vigil 18 April 1981]

1. In the Gospel of this radiant night of the Easter Vigil, we first meet the women who go the tomb of Jesus with spices to anoint his body (cf. Lk 24:1-3). They go to perform an act of compassion, a traditional act of affection and love for a dear departed person, just as we would. They had followed Jesus, they had listened to his words, they had felt understood by him in their dignity and they had accompanied him to the very end, to Calvary and to the moment when he was taken down from the cross. We can imagine their feelings as they make their way to the tomb: a certain sadness, sorrow that Jesus had left them, he had died, his life had come to an end. Life would now go on as before. Yet the women continued to feel love, the love for Jesus which now led them to his tomb. But at this point, something completely new and unexpected happens, something which upsets their hearts and their plans, something which will upset their whole life: they see the stone removed from before the tomb, they draw near and they do not find the Lord’s body. It is an event which leaves them perplexed, hesitant, full of questions: “What happened?”, “What is the meaning of all this?” (cf. Lk 24:4). Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us. We are like the Apostles in the Gospel: often we would prefer to hold on to our own security, to stand in front of a tomb, to think about someone who has died, someone who ultimately lives on only as a memory, like the great historical figures from the past. We are afraid of God’s surprises. Dear brothers and sisters, we are afraid of God’s surprises! He always surprises us! The Lord is like that.

Dear brothers and sisters, let us not be closed to the newness that God wants to bring into our lives! Are we often weary, disheartened and sad? Do we feel weighed down by our sins? Do we think that we won’t be able to cope? Let us not close our hearts, let us not lose confidence, let us never give up: there are no situations which God cannot change, there is no sin which he cannot forgive if only we open ourselves to him.

[Pope Francis, homily at the Easter Vigil 30 March 2013]

Palm Sunday (year C) [13 April 2025].

God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. Let us enter Holy Week with Jesus welcomed in Jerusalem and let us prepare ourselves in the Easter Triduum to follow him on the path of passion death and resurrection. 

*First reading from the book of the prophet Isaiah (50:4-7)

This text is taken from the part of the book of Isaiah that collects the so-called 'Servant Songs', which are particularly important for two reasons: first, because of the message Isaiah wanted to convey to his contemporaries, and because they were applied by the early Christians to Christ, although Isaiah was certainly not thinking of Jesus when he wrote this text probably in the 6th century BC during his exile in Babylon. To the people exiled under very harsh conditions, who were in danger of succumbing to great discouragement, he reminds them that Israel is the servant of God sustained and nourished every morning by the Word, but persecuted because of their faith and, in spite of everything, able to withstand every trial. He clearly describes the extraordinary relationship that unites with his God the Servant (Israel) whose main characteristic is listening to the Word, 'the open ear', as Isaiah writes. Listening to the Word, letting oneself be instructed by it, means living in trust. Listening is a word that in the Bible means trusting, because there are two attitudes between which our existence continually oscillates: trust in God, serene abandonment to His will because we know from experience that His will is only good; or mistrust, suspicion of divine intentions and rebellion in the face of trials, a rebellion that can lead us to believe that He has abandoned us or, worse, that He can find satisfaction in our suffering. All the prophets repeat this invitation: 'Listen, Israel' or 'listen today to the Word of God'. On their lips, the exhortation 'listen' is an invitation to trust in God, whatever happens. In this regard, St Paul will explain that God makes everything contribute to the good of those who love and trust him (cf. Rom 8:28) because out of every evil, difficulty, trial, he knows how to draw good; out of every hatred, he opposes an even stronger love; in every persecution, he gives the strength of forgiveness; out of every death, he gives birth to life. The whole Bible is the narration of the story of a mutual trust: God trusts his servant and entrusts him with a mission; in return, Israel accepts the mission with trust. And it is this trust that gives him the strength to resist all the opposition he will inevitably encounter. In this text, the mission consists in being able to "address a word to the challenged" by testifying to the faithfulness of the Lord who gives the necessary strength and the appropriate language. Indeed, it is the Lord himself who nourishes this trust, the source of all boldness in the service of others: "The Lord God opened his ear to me and I did not resist, I did not draw back".  Everything then becomes a gift: the mission, the strength and the trust that makes one unwavering. This is the characteristic of the believer: recognising that everything is a gift from God. When he then makes the permanent gift of the Lord's strength bear fruit, the believer is able to face everything, even persecution, which is never absent, and indeed every authentic prophet who speaks on behalf of God is rarely recognised and appreciated in life.Isaiah invites his contemporaries to resist: the Lord has not forsaken you, on the contrary, he has entrusted you with his mission and do not be surprised if you are mistreated because the Servant who listens to the Word of God and puts it into practice, certainly becomes uncomfortable and with his conversion provokes others: some listen to his call, others reject him and, in the name of their good reasons, persecute him. This is why the Servant draws strength only from the One who enables him to face everything: "I have presented my back to the scourgers, my cheeks to those who plucked out my beard ... the Lord God assists me so I will not be shamed". Isaiah then uses a common expression in Hebrew: 'for this I make my face hard as stone' which expresses determination and courage; not pride or conceit, but pure confidence because he knows where his strength comes from.  Jesus is a perfect portrait of the Servant of God at the heart of persecution and also at the moment when the acclamations of the Palm Sunday crowd marked and accelerated his condemnation. St Luke takes up exactly this expression when he writes 'Jesus hardened his face to go to Jerusalem' (Lk 9:51), which in our translations becomes 'Jesus resolutely took the road to Jerusalem'.

*Responsorial Psalm from Psalm 21(22) (2:8-9,17-20,22b-24)

Psalm 21/22 holds some surprises, starting with the opening words: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?", much quoted, which, taken out of context, is misinterpreted. To understand its true meaning, one must read the entire psalm, composed of thirty-two verses, which closes with a thanksgiving: "I will proclaim your name to my brothers, I will praise you in the midst of the assembly". He who in the first verse cries out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" thanks God in the end for the salvation he has received. Not only has he not died, but he gives thanks precisely because God has not forsaken him. At first glance, this psalm seems to be written for Jesus: "They have dug out my hands and my feet. I can count all my bones," a clear allusion to the crucifixion he experienced under the cruel eyes of the executioners and the crowd: "A pack of dogs surrounds me, a band of evildoers encircles me...they mock me who see me...they divide my garments, on my tunic they cast lots." Actually, it was not written for Jesus Christ, but composed for the exiles who had returned from Babylon, and it compares their deliverance to the resurrection of a condemned man, since the exile was a real death sentence for Israel who ran the risk of being erased from history. Now he is compared here to a condemned man who risked death on the cross, a torture that was very common at the time: he suffered outrages, humiliation, the nails, abandonment in the hands of the executioners, but miraculously emerges unharmed. In other words: having returned from exile, Israel indulges in the joy he proclaims to all, shouting louder than when he wept in his anguish. The reference to the crucifixion is thus not the focus of the psalm, but serves to emphasise the thanksgiving of Israel, which in the midst of its anguish never ceased to cry out for help and never doubted for a moment. The great cry "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" is certainly a cry of anguish in the face of God's silence, but it is not a cry of despair, nor does it express doubt; rather, it is the prayer of one who suffers and dares to cry out his pain. How much light this psalm sheds on our prayer in times of suffering of any kind: we have the right to cry out, and the Bible encourages us to do so. Returning from exile, Israel remembers the past pain, the anguish, the apparent silence of God when he felt abandoned in the hands of his enemies, yet he continued to pray. Prayer is clear evidence of his constant trust; he kept remembering the Covenant and the benefits he had received from God. In its entirety, this psalm resembles an 'ex-voto' as when one is in grave danger, one prays and makes a vow and, when grace is obtained, fulfils the promise by taking the ex-voto to a church or shrine.  Psalm 21/22 describes the horror of the exile, the anguish of Israel and Jerusalem besieged by Nebuchadnezzar, the sense of helplessness in the face of men's hatred that provokes an ardent supplication: 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' and finally gratitude to God for one's salvation: 'I will proclaim your name to my brothers, I will praise you in the midst of the assembly. Praise the Lord you his faithful".  Palm Sunday does not include the last verses, but we hear them often in the liturgy: "The poor shall eat and be satisfied, they shall praise the Lord who seek him; your hearts shall live forever! All the ends of the earth shall remember and return to the Lord; all the families of the peoples shall bow down before you ... They shall proclaim his righteousness; to the people that are born they shall say, 'Behold the work of the Lord'."

*Second Reading from the Second Letter of St Paul to the Philippians (2:6-11)

This text is often called the Hymn of the Letter to the Philippians, because one gets the impression that Paul did not write it in his own hand, but quoted a hymn in use in the liturgy. First of all, note the insistence on the theme of the Servant: "he emptied himself by assuming the condition of a servant": the first Christians, faced with the scandal of the cross, often meditated on the Servant Songs contained in the book of Isaiah, because they offered food for thought for understanding the mystery of the person of Christ. "Christ Jesus, though he was in the condition of God, did not consider it a privilege to be like God". It is tempting to read: although he was in the condition of God, although in reality, it is the other way around, and one must therefore read: 'precisely because he was in the condition of God, he did not consider it a privilege to be like God'. One of the dangers of this text is the temptation to read it in terms of reward, as if the reasoning were: Jesus behaved admirably and therefore received an extraordinary reward. Grace, as its very name suggests, is gratuitous, but we are always tempted to speak of merits. The wonder of God's love is that He does not wait for our merits to fill us; this is the discovery that the men of the Bible made through Revelation. Therefore, to be faithful to the text, we must read it in terms of gratuitousness. We risk misunderstanding it if we forget that everything is God's gift, everything is grace, as Teresa of the Child Jesus used to say. The gratuitous gift of God is for St Paul an obvious truth, a conviction that permeates all his letters, so obvious that he does not even feel the need to reiterate it explicitly, so that we can summarise his thought in this way: God's plan, the design of his mercy is to make us enter into his intimacy, his joy and his love, an absolutely gratuitous plan. There is nothing surprising in this, since it is a project of love, a gift to be accepted: it is participation in the divine life, indeed with God, everything is a gift. One excludes oneself from this gift when one assumes an attitude of pretension, if one behaves like the progenitors in the Garden of Eden who appropriated the forbidden fruit. Jesus, on the contrary, did nothing more - "becoming obedient" - than welcome God's gift without demanding it. "Although he was in the condition of God, he did not consider it a privilege to be like God" and it is precisely because he is of divine condition that he does not claim anything. He knows what gratuitous love is, he knows that it is not right to claim, he does not consider it good to claim the right to be like God. It is the same situation as in the episode of the temptations (see the gospel of the first Sunday of Lent): Satan proposes to Jesus only things that are part of God's plan, but Jesus refuses to appropriate them by his own strength. because he wants to entrust himself to the Father so that He can give them to him. The tempter provokes him: "If you are the Son of God, you can afford everything, your Father cannot refuse you anything: turn stones into bread when you are hungry... throw yourself down from the temple, he will protect you... worship me, and I will give you dominion over the whole world". Jesus, however, expects everything from God alone: he has received the Name that is above every other name, the Name of God. For to say that Jesus is Lord is to affirm that he is God. In the Old Testament, the title 'Lord' was reserved for God and so was genuflection 'that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend'. Here is an allusion to a passage from the prophet Isaiah: "Before me every knee shall bow, let every tongue proclaim, 'Jesus Christ is Lord!' shall swear an oath" (Is 45:23). Jesus lived in humility and trust; trust that St Paul calls obedience. To obey, in Latin 'ob-audire', literally means to put the ear (audire) before (ob) the word: it is the attitude of perfect dialogue, without shadows, it is total trust.  The hymn concludes: 'Let every tongue proclaim that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Glory is the revelation of infinite love made person. In other words, we too, like the centurion, seeing Christ love us supremely, accepting to die to reveal to us how far God's love goes, proclaim, 'Yes, indeed, this was the Son of God'... because God is love.

* Gospel. Passion of Jesus Christ according to St Luke (22.14 - 23.56)

Every year, for Palm Sunday, the account of the Passion returns in one of the three synoptic gospels; this year, it is that of Luke and I confine myself to commenting on the episodes proper to this gospel. While it is true that the four Passion narratives are similar, when one takes a closer look, one realises that each evangelist has particular accents, and this is because they are all witnesses to the same event and they each recount the events from their own point of view, and the Passion of Christ is recounted in four different ways: they do not all choose the same episodes and phrases. Here, then, are the episodes and words that we find only in Saint Luke. 1.After the Last Supper, before going to Gethsemane, Jesus had foretold to Peter his triple denial. In truth, all the gospels narrate this, but only Luke records this sentence of Jesus: "Simon, Simon, behold, Satan has sought you out to sift you like wheat; but I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail. And thou, when thou art converted, confirm thy brethren" (22:32). A gentleness of Jesus, which will help Peter after his betrayal to get up again instead of despairing. Again only Luke notes the gaze Jesus casts on Peter after his denial: three times in succession, Peter states that he does not know him in the high priest's house. Immediately afterwards Jesus, turning around, fixed his gaze on Peter and here we hear the echo of the first reading where Isaiah writes: 'The Lord God has given me a disciple's tongue, that I may speak a word to the distrustful'. This is what Jesus wants to do with Peter, to comfort him in advance so that when he denies him he does not fall into despair. Another episode in this gospel is Jesus before Herod Antipas. At Jesus' birth, Herod the Great reigned over the whole territory under the authority of Rome, but at his death (in 4 BC.), the territory was divided into several provinces, and at the time of Jesus' death (in the year 30 AD), Judea, i.e. the province of Jerusalem, was ruled by a Roman procurator, while Galilee was under the authority of a king recognised by Rome, who was a son of Herod the Great: his name was Herod Antipas, who had long wanted to meet Jesus and hoped to see him perform a miracle. Now he asks him many questions, but Jesus remains silent. Herod insults and taunts him by having him clothed in a shining mantle and sends him back to Pilate, strengthening the friendship between Herod and Pilate that day. 

2.There are then three sentences that we find only in Luke's Passion narrative. Two words of Jesus and, if Luke notes them, it is because they reveal what is important to him: the first is his prayer while the Roman soldiers are crucifying him: 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do'. But what are they doing? They have expelled the Holy One par excellence from the Holy City; they have cast out their God, putting the Master of life to death; the Sanhedrin, the court of Jerusalem, has condemned God in the name of God. And what does Jesus do instead? He forgives his enemies by showing how far God's love goes. He who has seen me has seen the Father, Jesus had said the day before. The second sentence: 'Today with me you will be in Paradise'. If you are the Messiah, he is mocked by the leaders... If you are the king of the Jews, he is mocked by the Roman soldiers... If you are the Messiah, he is insulted by one of the two evildoers crucified with him. The other crucified with him begins to tell the truth: we deserve this punishment but not Jesus, and turns to Jesus: 'remember me when you enter your kingdom'. He recognises Jesus as the Saviour, he invokes him with a humble and trusting prayer: he seems to have understood everything. Finally, only Luke reports this last sentence: "Already the Sabbath lights were shining" (23:54) thus concludes the Passion narrative with an insistent evocation of the Sabbath. He speaks of the women who had followed Jesus all the way from Galilee and now went to the tomb to observe how he had been buried, bringing aromas and perfumes for the burial rites. The lights of the Sabbath were already shining: everything ends on a note of light and peace: the Sabbath is a foreshadowing of the world to come, the day on which God had rested from all the work of creation (cf. Genesis); the day on which, out of fidelity to the Covenant, the Scriptures were scrutinised in anticipation of the new creation. Luke makes us understand that in the labour of Christ's Passion the new humanity was born, which is the beginning of the kingdom of grace. The risen crucified one shows the way forward: the way of love and forgiveness at any cost.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

(Jn 18:1-19,42)

The core of the Gospels do not dwell on the horror and sadism of torments, because they were not written for the purpose of impressing, but to introduce us into an understanding of the boundless intensity of divine Love.

In Jn there is no hint to the suffering mysticism and divine abandonment: the evangelist wants to accompany us on the same journey as the Son towards the Father's Glory.

Jesus is master of himself, doesn’t allow events to overwhelmed him.

He comes forward, he is still able to protect the disciples, and protagonist of the conversation with Pilate, a figure of the power of this world - who seems to be the accused.

Christ is not killed by the soldiers.

He’s Alive, despite the gendarmes placed to protect the ancient world which remains hostile to the Lord, in order to perpetuate itself.

The short passage in Jn 19:25-27 is perhaps the artistic apex of the Passion narrative.

In the fourth Gospel the Mother appears twice, at the wedding feast of Cana and at the foot of the Cross - episodes present only in Jn.

Both at Cana and beneath the Cross, the Mother is a figure of the «Remnant of Israel», that is, of the honestly sensitive and faithful people.

The 'bride-nation' of the First Testament is as if waiting for genuine Revelation: it perceives all the limitation of the ancient idea of God, which reduced the joy of the wedding feast between the Father and his sons.

Life that flows as an essential and vital lymph in the authentic Church depicted in Mary, adoring in every event; standing upright (19:25). Present to herself.

The Israel vibrant with truth originated the Passage from religiosity to spousal Faith, from ancient law to the New Testament.

In the presence of the Cross, an alternative Kingdom is generated.

Fathers and mothers of a different, non-belligerent humanity are being formed: proclaiming the Good News of God this time for the exclusive benefit of every woman and man - in whatever condition.

To those who already wanted to disregard the teaching of the ancient “fathers”, Jesus proposes to make past and newness walk together.

And the beloved disciple is icon of the authentic son of God, Word-event spread, and New Pact.

The son himself must receive the Mother [the presence and culture of the covenant people] at his Home: in the nascent Community.

Thus new family relationships flourish: then the Church is born.

«I thirst»: quotes Psalm 69 - «They put poison in my food and when I was thirsty they gave me vinegar».

It is the disappointment and giddy sense of emptiness for a humanity that is still in dire need of being torn from the wild condition…

And the intense desire to make, of that pre-human abyss, people who tend to recover divine Gold within themselves.

Therefore Jesus pours out his Spirit without any delay (v.30).

And as from the side of the man God drew the woman, so from the side of the pierced Son comes forth the ‘community-spouse’, related to the two signs of the first sacraments.

It is our essential and vital lymph: because immersed and assimilated in such familiar gestures, we overcome the discomfort of feeling like objects, things.

We become Sons.

[Good Friday, April 18, 2025]

(Jn 18:1-19:42)

The core of the Gospels do not dwell on the horror and sadism of the torments, because they were not written with the aim of impressing, but to introduce us into an understanding of the boundless intensity of divine Love.

The Father does not neglect or retreat, for there is no inclusive purpose in making us suffer; rather, in welcoming and sharing. Neither are we in the world for scars, but for fulfilment.

In Jn there is no hint of the mysticism of suffering and abandonment: the evangelist wants to accompany us on the same journey as the Son towards the Father's Glory.

And the Eternal One does not delay in incorporating him into Himself: it is the Crucified One who delivers the Spirit (19:30).

Jesus, master of himself, does not allow himself to be overwhelmed by events.

He steps forward; he is still able to protect his own and is the protagonist of the conversation with Pilate, a figure of the power of this world [who seems to be the accused].

Neither is he finished by soldiers.

He is Alive, despite the gendarmes placed to protect the ancient world that remains hostile to the Lord, in order to perpetuate itself. Twilight zone - still and where you do not expect it.

The beloved disciple [each of us, genuine in Christ] is present to his own fate as a complete Gift: he reflects a single indestructible life, albeit humiliated.

It flows as essential and vital lymph into the authentic Church portrayed in Mary adoring in every event; standing upright (19:25) and well present to herself.

Able to unfold the meaning of Jesus' proposal through brand new rays of light - in a spirit of condescension and tenderness, but subversive.

Arrest (vv.1-19). In the Passion according to John, the voluntary offering of life by the Lord Jesus stands for the divine condition and the authentic prospect - of freedom and success - for us: the vocation, the call of the Father.

Judas' kiss is missing, for the Master presents himself directly, identifying himself in the revelation 'I Am'.

By coming forward, she asks that the disciples be left at liberty. It means: He does not lose any of us; he does not leave us as hostages.

But his arrest is attended by the leaders of official religion - and he is immediately seized at the home of the occult leader, Ananus [Hannas], although already deposed, but still the political puppeteer of the situation. 

Renegade, together with Peter.

The memory of the prophecy of the high priest who acts as his screen (v.14) projects us into the drama of the Passion of love of the Forsaken One. 

Rejected by the religious people. Betrayed, disowned, killed by all.

Peter's triple "I am not" contrasts with the dignity of Christ, who calls the 'head' of the church to another kind of testimony than the one he had in mind, desired, dreamed of.

While in the Synoptics He is shown as the Lamb led to slaughter without opening His mouth, the Fourth Gospel emphasises His Kingship.

Before Pilate, it becomes clear that Jesus' solemnity has no political character, so his disciples could not be considered disloyal citizens.

Facing Rome, Jn highlights the innocence of Jesus and of the Christians accused in the courts of the Empire.

The figure of the Roman governor is interesting, caught between instances of conscience and external pressures - while repeatedly seeking intermediate positions.

The Fourth Gospel frees 'diplomats' from direct responsibility, but admonishes them about respecting the Truth.

Those who do not accept him as he is and do not declare themselves in his favour by exposing themselves, remain caught in his own trap.

The 'Judge' looks like Jesus.

And its paradoxes question: who is the king of the Jews? Caesar or Christ?

The Jews deny themselves by claiming they have no king but the emperor; the officials acclaim him as king.

Third section (19:17-42). The executed had to be seen by as many people as possible, so they were displayed in a place near the city. 

But here and in the episode of the inscription [in the three ecumenical languages of the time, like the one on the first inner wall of the Temple, which forbade on pain of death further entry to the pagans] the theological theme of kingship comes in again: the result was a reminder to the Jews that they had a defeated king.

Jn distinguishes between the partitioning of the clothes and the drawing of the robe, because he understands the latter as the sacred robe of the true high priest, whose mantle could not be torn (Lev 21:10).

Without dwelling on the two condemned men at the side of the Crucified One, the evangelist notes that Jesus' legs were not broken.

This alludes to the Paschal Lamb, whose bones were not to be broken.

The short passage in Joh 19:25-27 is perhaps the artistic apex of the Passion narrative.

In the fourth Gospel the Mother appears twice, at the wedding feast of Cana and at the foot of the Cross - both episodes present only in Jn.Both at Cana and beneath the Cross, the Mother is a figure of the 'Remnant of Israel', that is, of the authentically sensitive and faithful people.

The 'bride-nation' of the First Testament is as if waiting for the genuine Revelation: it perceives all the limitation of the ancient idea of God, which has reduced the joy of the wedding feast between the Father and his children.

The Israel vibrant with truth originated the Passage from religiosity to spousal Faith, from the Old Law to the New Testament.

In the presence of the Cross, an alternative kingdom is generated.

The fathers and mothers of a different, non-belligerent humanity are formed; they proclaim the Good News of God this time in favour exclusively of every man - in whatever condition he finds himself.

In the theological intentions of John, the Words of Jesus "Woman, behold your son" and "Behold, your mother" were intended to help settle and harmonise the strong tensions that at the end of the first century were already opposing the different currents of thought on Christ [Judaizers; supporters of the primacy of faith over works; laxists who now considered Jesus anathema - intending to supplant him with a generic freedom of spirit without history].

At the beginning of the second century (e.g.) Marcion rejected the entire First Testament and seems to have appreciated only part of the New.

To those who wanted to disregard the teaching of the "fathers", Jesus proposes to make the past and the new walk together.

The beloved disciple is the icon of the authentic son of God, the Word-event spread, and the New Covenant.

The son himself must receive the Mother - the presence and culture of the covenant people - at home, i.e. in the nascent Community.

Even if it is in the Christian assembly that the full meaning of the whole of Scripture is discovered, the Person, the story and the Word itself cannot be grasped nor will it bear fruit with forward dreams alone, without the ancient root that generated it.

Thus new family relationships flourish: then the Church is born.

"I thirst": he quotes Psalm 69 - "They put poison in my food and when I was thirsty they gave me vinegar".

It is the disappointment and the giddy sense of emptiness for a humanity still in dire need of being wrenched out of the wilderness...

And the intense desire to make, of that pre-human abyss, people who tend to recover the divine Gold in themselves.

But disciples, crowd, soldiers, still do not understand.

It is clarified with recourse to the other psalm [63: "O God, you are my God, from dawn I seek you, my soul thirsts for you"] which in Hebrew begins with the invocation "Elohim, Eli [...]".

So Jesus pours out his Spirit without any delay (v.30).

And just as from the side of the man God drew forth the woman, so from the side of the pierced Son comes forth the 'community-bride', related to the two signs of the first Sacraments.

Precisely, our essential and vital lymph: because immersed and assimilated in such familiar gestures, we overcome the discomfort of feeling like objects, things.

We become Sons.

Sons, not things

God placed on the Cross of Jesus all the weight of our sins, all the injustice perpetrated by every Cain against his brother, all the bitterness of the betrayal of Judas and Peter, all the vanity of bullies, all the arrogance of false friends. It was a heavy Cross, like the night of the abandoned, heavy like the death of loved ones, heavy because it sums up all the ugliness of evil. However, it is also a glorious Cross like the dawn of a long night, because it depicts in all things the love of God that is greater than our iniquities and betrayals. In the Cross we see the monstrosity of man, when he allows himself to be led by evil; but we also see the immensity of God's mercy, who does not treat us according to our sins, but according to his mercy.

In front of the Cross of Jesus, we see almost to the point of touching with our hands how much we are eternally loved; in front of the Cross, we feel like "children" and not "things" or "objects", as St Gregory of Nazianzus said when addressing Christ with this prayer: "If I were not You, O my Christ, I would feel like a finite creature. I am born and I am dissolved. I eat, I sleep, I rest and walk, I fall ill and heal. Cravings and torments assail me without number, I enjoy the sun and all that the earth bears fruit. Then, I die and the flesh becomes dust like that of animals, which have no sins. But I, what more do I have than they? Nothing but God. If I were not You, O my Christ, I would feel like a finite creature. O our Jesus, lead us from the cross to the resurrection and teach us that evil will not have the last word, but love, mercy and forgiveness. O Christ, help us to exclaim again: "Yesterday I was crucified with Christ; today I am glorified with Him. Yesterday I was dead with Him, today I am alive with Him. Yesterday I was buried with Him, today I am risen with Him'".Finally, all together, let us remember the sick, let us remember all those abandoned under the weight of the Cross, that they may find in the trial of the Cross the strength of hope, of the hope of the resurrection and of God's love.

[Pope Francis, Way of the Cross at the Colosseum 18 April 2014].

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

This evening, in faith, we have accompanied Jesus as he takes the final steps of his earthly journey, the most painful steps, the steps that lead to Calvary. We have heard the cries of the crowd, the words of condemnation, the insults of the soldiers, the lamentation of the Virgin Mary and of the women. Now we are immersed in the silence of this night, in the silence of the cross, the silence of death. It is a silence pregnant with the burden of pain borne by a man rejected, oppressed, downtrodden, the burden of sin which mars his face, the burden of evil. Tonight we have re-lived, deep within our hearts, the drama of Jesus, weighed down by pain, by evil, by human sin.

What remains now before our eyes? It is a crucified man, a cross raised on Golgotha, a cross which seems a sign of the final defeat of the One who brought light to those immersed in darkness, the One who spoke of the power of forgiveness and of mercy, the One who asked us to believe in God’s infinite love for each human person. Despised and rejected by men, there stands before us “a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity, one from whom others hide their faces” (Is 53:3).

But let us look more closely at that man crucified between earth and heaven. Let us contemplate him more intently, and we will realize that the cross is not the banner of the victory of death, sin and evil, but rather the luminous sign of love, of God’s immense love, of something that we could never have asked, imagined or expected: God bent down over us, he lowered himself, even to the darkest corner of our lives, in order to stretch out his hand and draw us to himself, to bring us all the way to himself. The cross speaks to us of the supreme love of God and invites, today, to renew our faith in the power of that love, and to believe that in every situation of our lives, our history and our world, God is able to vanquish death, sin and evil, and to give us new, risen life. In the Son of God’s death on the cross, we find the seed of new hope for life, like the seed which dies within the earth.

This night full of silence, full of hope, echoes God’s call to us as found in the words of Saint Augustine: “Have faith! You will come to me and you will taste the good things of my table, even as I did not disdain to taste the evil things of your table... I have promised you my own life. As a pledge of this, I have given you my death, as if to say: Look! I am inviting you to share in my life. It is a life where no one dies, a life which is truly blessed, which offers an incorruptible food, the food which refreshes and never fails. The goal to which I invite you … is friendship with the Father and the Holy Spirit, it is the eternal supper, it is communion with me … It is a share in my own life (cf. Sermo 231, 5).

Let us gaze on the crucified Jesus, and let us ask in prayer: Enlighten our hearts, Lord, that we may follow you along the way of the cross. Put to death in us the “old man” bound by selfishness, evil and sin. Make us “new men”, men and women of holiness, transformed and enlivened by your love.

[Pope Benedict, Way of the Cross at the Colosseum 22 April 2011]