All Saints, between religious sense and Faith

(Mt 5:1-12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a New Alliance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[All Saint’s Day, November 1st]

They brought the Light through

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only this horizon of the Hearth drives us on.

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

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

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

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

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

Questioning is fundamental in a biblical perspective.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a New Covenant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pope Benedict, homily 1 November 2006]

1. At the end of this solemn celebration in honour of All Saints, our gaze turns upwards. Today's feast reminds us that we were made for heaven, where Our Lady has already gone and now awaits us.

The Christian life means journeying here below with our hearts turned upwards, towards our heavenly Father's House. This was how the saints journeyed, as the Virgin Mother of the Lord did first of all. The Jubilee reminds us of this essential dimension of holiness: our state as pilgrims who each day seek the kingdom of God while trusting in divine Providence. This is genuine Christian hope, which has nothing to do with fatalism or an escape from history. On the contrary, it spurs us to concrete commitment, as we look to Christ, God made man, who opens for us the way to heaven.

2. In this perspective we are preparing to celebrate All Souls Day tomorrow. We go in spirit to the graves of our loved ones, who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith and now await the support of our prayer. I promise to remember those who lost their lives this year; I am thinking especially of the victims of human violence: in God's heart may they all find the peace for which they long.

3. In this light, Mary appears even more as the Queen of saints and the Mother of our hope. It is to her that we turn, so that she will guide us on the way of holiness and assist us at every moment of our life, now and at the hour of our death.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 1 November 2000]

The Solemnity of All Saints is “our” celebration: not because we are good, but because the sanctity of God has touched our life. The Saints are not perfect models, but people through whom God has passed. We can compare them to the Church windows which allow light to enter in different shades of colour. The saints are our brothers and sisters who have welcomed the light of God in their heart and have passed it on to the world, each according to his or her own “hue”. But they were all transparent; they fought to remove the stains and the darkness of sin, so as to enable the gentle light of God to pass through. This is life’s purpose: to enable God’s light to pass through; it is the purpose of our life too.

Indeed, today in the Gospel, Jesus addresses his followers, all of us, telling us we are “Blessed” (Mt 5:3). It is the word with which he begins his sermon, which is the “Gospel”, Good News, because it is the path of happiness. Those who are with Jesus are blessed; they are happy. Happiness is not in having something or in becoming someone, no. True happiness is being with the Lord and living for love. Do you believe this? True happiness is not in having something or in becoming someone; true happiness is being with the Lord and living for love. Do you believe this? We must go forth, believing in this. So, the ingredients for a happy life are called Beatitudes: blessed are the simple, the humble who make room for God, who are able to weep for others and for their own mistakes, who remain meek, fight for justice, are merciful to all, safeguard purity of heart, always work for peace and abide in joy, do not hate and, even when suffering, respond to evil with good.

These are the Beatitudes. They do not require conspicuous gestures; they are not for supermen, but for those who live the trials and toils of every day, for us. This is how the saints are: like everyone, they breathe air polluted by the evil there is in the world, but on the journey they never lose sight of Jesus’ roadmap, that indicated in the Beatitudes, which is like the map of Christian life.

Today is the celebration of those who have reached the destination indicated by this map: not only the saints on the calendar, but many brothers and sisters “next door”, whom we may have met and known. Today is a family celebration, of many simple, hidden people who in reality help God to move the world forward. And there are so many of them today! There are so many of them! Thanks to these unknown brothers and sisters who help God to move the world forward, who live among us; let us salute them all with a nice round of applause!

First of all — the first Beatitude says — they are “poor in spirit” (Mt 5:3). What does this mean? That they do not live for success, power and money; they know that those who set aside treasure for themselves are not rich toward God (cf. Lk 12:21). Rather, they believe that the Lord is life’s treasure, and love for neighbour the only true source of gain. At times we are dissatisfied due to something we lack, or worried if we are not considered as we would like; let us remember that our Beatitude is not here but in the Lord and in love: only with him, only by loving do we live as blessed.

Lastly I would like to quote another beatitude, which is not found in the Gospel but at the end of the Bible, and it speaks of the end of life: “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord” (Rev 14:13). Tomorrow we will be called to accompany with prayer our deceased, so they may be forever joyful in the Lord. Let us remember our loved ones with gratitude and let us pray for them. May the Mother of God, Queen of the Saints and Gate of Heaven, intercede for our journey of holiness and for our loved ones who have gone before us and who have already departed for the heavenly Homeland.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 1 November 2017]

XXX Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [26 October 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. Another lesson on prayer from Jesus in the Gospel, and what a lesson! 

   First Reading from the Book of Sirach (35:15b-17, 20-22a)

 'God does not judge by appearances' (Sir 35) The book of Sirach, written by Ben Sira around 180 BC in Jerusalem, was born in a time of peace and cultural openness under Greek rule. However, this apparent serenity hides a risk: contact between Jewish and Greek culture threatens the purity of the faith, and Ben Sira intends to transmit the religious heritage of Israel in its integrity. The Jewish faith, in fact, is not a theory, but an experience of covenant with the living God, discovered progressively through his works. God is not a human idea, but a surprising revelation, because 'God is God and not a man' (Hos 11:9). The central text affirms that God does not judge according to appearances: while men look at the outside, God looks at the heart. He hears the prayer of the poor, the oppressed, the orphan and the widow, and – in a wonderful image – 'the widow's tears run down God's cheeks', a sign of his mercy that vibrates with compassion. Ben Sira teaches that true prayer arises from precariousness: when man discovers himself to be poor and without support, his heart truly opens to God. Precarity and prayer are of the same family: only those who recognise their weakness pray sincerely. Finally, the sage warns that it is not outward sacrifices that please God, but a pure heart disposed to do good: What pleases the Lord above all is that we keep away from evil. The Lord is a just judge, who does not show partiality, but looks at the truth of the heart. In summary, Ben Sira reminds us that God does not judge by appearances but by the heart, that authentic prayer arises from poverty, and that divine mercy is manifested in his compassionate closeness to the little ones and the humble.

Responsorial Psalm (33/34:2-3, 16, 18, 19, 23)

 Here is another alphabetical psalm, i.e., each verse follows the order of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. This indicates that true wisdom consists in trusting in God in everything, from A to Z. The text echoes the first reading from Sirach, which encouraged the Jews of the second century to maintain the purity of their faith in the face of the seductions of Greek culture. The central theme is the discovery of a God who is close to human beings, especially those who suffer: "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted." This is one of the greatest revelations of the Bible: God is not a distant or jealous being, but a Father who loves and shares in human suffering. Ben Sira poetically said that "our tears flow down God's cheeks": an image of his tender and compassionate mercy. This revelation is rooted in the journey of Israel. In the time of Moses, pagan peoples imagined rival and envious gods. Genesis corrects this view, showing that suspicion of God is a poison, symbolised by the serpent. Through the prophets, Israel gradually came to understand that God is a Father who accompanies, liberates and consoles, the 'God-with-us' (Emmanuel). The burning bush (Ex 3) is the foundation of this faith: 'I have seen the misery of my people, I have heard their cry, I know their sufferings'. Here God reveals himself as the One who sees, listens and acts. He does not remain a spectator, but inspires Moses and his children with the strength to liberate, transforming suffering into hope and commitment. The psalm reflects this experience: after undergoing trials, the people proclaim their praise: "I will bless the Lord at all times" because they have experienced a God who listens, liberates, watches over, saves and redeems. The name "YHWH," the "Lord," indicates precisely the constant presence of God alongside his people. Finally, the text teaches that in times of trial it is not only permissible but necessary to cry out to God: He is attentive to our cry and responds, not always by eliminating suffering, but by making himself present, reawakening trust, and giving us the strength to face evil. In summary, the psalm and the reflection that accompanies it give us three certainties: God is close to those who suffer and hears the cry of the poor. His presence does not take away the pain, but illuminates it and transforms it into hope. True faith comes from trust in this God who sees, hears, frees and accompanies man at all times.

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to Timothy (4:6-8, 16-18)

 "The good fight" (2 Tim 4:6-18). The text presents St Paul's last spiritual testament, written while he was in prison in Rome, aware that he would soon be executed. The letters to Timothy, although perhaps composed or completed by a disciple, contain his authentic words of farewell, imbued with faith and serenity. Paul describes his imminent death with the Greek verb analuein, which means 'to untie the ropes', 'to weigh anchor', 'to dismantle the tent': images that evoke the departure for a new journey, the one towards eternity. Looking back, the apostle takes stock of his life using the sporting metaphor of running and fighting: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." Like an athlete who never gives up, Paul has reached the finish line and knows that he will receive the "crown of righteousness," the reward promised to all the faithful. He does not boast about himself, because this crown is not a personal privilege, but a gift offered to all those who have lovingly desired the manifestation of Christ. The 'just judge', God, does not look at appearances but at the heart — as Sirach taught — and will give glory not only to Paul, but to all those who live in the hope of the Lord's coming. The apostle's life was a constant race towards the glorious manifestation of Christ, the horizon of his faith and his service. He recognises that the strength to persevere does not come from him, but from God himself: 'The Lord gave me strength, so that I might fulfil the proclamation of the gospel and all nations might hear it'. This divine strength sustained his mission, enabling him to proclaim Christ until the end. Paul explains that Christian life is not a competition, but a shared race, in which each person is called to run at their own pace, with the same ardent desire for the coming of Christ. In his letter to Titus, he defined Christians as those who “wait for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Saviour Jesus Christ” — words that the liturgy repeats every day at Mass. In his hour of trial, Paul also confesses the loneliness of the apostle: The first time I made my defence, no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be held against them (v. 16) . Like Jesus on the cross and Stephen at the moment of his stoning, he forgives and transforms abandonment into an experience of intimate communion with the Lord, who becomes his only strength and consolation. Paul is the poor man of whom Ben Sira speaks, the one whom God listens to and consoles, the one whose tears flow down God's cheeks. His final words reveal the hope that overcomes death: "So I was delivered from the lion's mouth. The Lord will deliver me from all evil and bring me safely into heaven, and save me in his kingdom" (vv. 17-18). He does not speak of physical deliverance - he knows that death is imminent - but of spiritual deliverance from the greatest danger: losing faith, ceasing to fight. The Lord has kept him faithful and given him perseverance until the end. For Paul, death is not defeat, but a passage to glory. It is the birth into true life, the entrance into the Kingdom where he will sing forever: 'To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.'

In summary: The text presents Paul as a model of the believer who is faithful to the end. He experiences death as a departure towards God, not as an end. He looks at life as a race sustained by grace. He recognises that strength and perseverance come from the Lord. He understands that the reward is promised to all who desire the coming of Christ. He forgives those who abandon him and finds God's presence in solitude and weakness. He sees death as a passage into the glory of the Kingdom. Paul's "good fight" thus becomes the struggle of every Christian: to remain faithful in trials, to the point of running the last stretch with our gaze fixed on Christ, the source of strength, peace and hope.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (18:9-14)

A small preliminary observation before entering into the text: Luke clearly tells us that this is a parable... so we must not imagine that all the Pharisees or all the tax collectors of Jesus' time were like those described here. No Pharisee or tax collector perfectly matched this portrait: Jesus actually presents us with two very typical and simplified inner attitudes to highlight the moral of the story. He wants us to reflect on our own attitude, because we will probably recognise ourselves now in one, now in the other, depending on the day. Let us move on to the parable: last Sunday, Luke already offered us a teaching on prayer; the parable of the widow and the unjust judge taught us to pray without ever becoming discouraged. Today, however, it is a tax collector who is offered as an example. What relationship, one might ask, can there be between a poor widow and a rich tax collector? It is certainly not the bank account that is at issue, but the disposition of the heart. The widow is poor and forced to humble herself before a judge who ignores her; the tax collector, perhaps wealthy, bears the burden of a bad reputation, which is another form of poverty. Tax collectors were unpopular, and often not without reason: they lived in a period of Roman occupation and worked in the service of the occupiers. They were considered 'collaborators'. In addition, they dealt with a sensitive issue in every age: taxes. Rome set the amount due, and the tax collectors advanced it, then received full powers to recover it from their fellow citizens... often with a large profit margin. When Zacchaeus promises Jesus to repay four times as much to those he has defrauded, the suspicion is confirmed. Therefore, when the tax collector in the parable does not dare to raise his eyes to heaven and beats his breast saying, 'O God, have mercy on me, a sinner', perhaps he is only telling the plain truth. Being true before God, recognising one's own fragility: this is true prayer. It is this sincerity that makes him 'righteous' on his return home, says Jesus. The Pharisees, on the other hand, enjoyed an excellent reputation: their scrupulous fidelity to the Law, fasting twice a week (more than the Law required!), regular almsgiving, all expressed their desire to please God. And everything the Pharisee says in his prayer is true: he invents nothing. But, in reality, he does not pray. He contemplates himself. He looks at himself with complacency: he needs nothing, asks for nothing. He takes stock of his merits — and he has many! — but God does not think in terms of merit: his love is free, and all he asks is that we trust him. Let us imagine a journalist at the exit of the Temple interviewing the two men: Sir, what did you expect from God when you entered the Temple? Yes, I expected something. And did you receive it? Yes, and even more. And you, Mr Pharisee? No, I received nothing... A moment of silence, then he adds: But I didn't expect anything, after all. The concluding sentence of the parable sums it all up: "Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted." Jesus does not want to present God as a moral accountant who distributes rewards and punishments. He states a profound truth: those who exalt themselves, that is, those who believe themselves to be greater than they are, like the Pharisee, close their hearts and look down on others. But those who believe themselves to be superior lose the richness of others and isolate themselves from God, who never forces the door of the heart. We remain as we were, with our human 'righteousness', so different from the divine. On the contrary, those who humble themselves, who recognise themselves as small and poor, see superiority in others and can draw on their wealth. As St Paul says: 'Consider others superior to yourselves.' And this is true: every person we meet has something we do not have. This perspective opens the heart and allows God to fill us with his gift. It is not a question of an inferiority complex, but of the truth of the heart. It is precisely when we recognise that we are not 'brilliant' that the great adventure with God can begin. Ultimately, this parable is a magnificent illustration of the first beatitude: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven'.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [19 October 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us. Once again, a strong reminder of how to live our faith in every situation in life.

First Reading from the Book of Exodus (17:8-13)

 The test of faith. On Israel's journey through the desert, the encounter with the Amalekites marks a decisive stage: it is the first battle of the people freed from Egypt, but also the first great test of their faith. The Amalekites, descendants of Esau, represent in biblical tradition the hereditary enemy, a figure of evil who tries to prevent God's people from reaching the promised land. Their sudden attack on the rear of the caravan — the weakest and most tired — reveals the logic of evil: to strike where faith falters, where fatigue and fear open the door to doubt. This episode takes place at Rephidim, the same place as Massah and Meribah, where Israel had already murmured against God because of the lack of water. There the people had experienced the trial of thirst, now they experience the trial of combat: in both cases, the temptation is the same — to think that God is no longer with them. But once again God intervenes, showing that faith is purified through struggle and that trust must remain firm even in danger. While Joshua fights in the plain, Moses climbs the mountain with God's staff in his hand — a sign of his presence and power. The story does not focus on the movements of the troops, but on Moses' gesture: his hands raised towards the sky. It is not a magical gesture: it is prayer that sustains the battle, faith that becomes strength for the whole people. When Moses' arms fall, Israel loses; when they remain raised, Israel wins. Victory therefore depends not only on the strength of weapons, but on communion with God and persevering prayer. Moses grows tired, Aaron and Hur support his hands: this is the image of spiritual brotherhood, of the community that bears the weight of faith together. Thus, prayer is not isolation, but solidarity: those who pray support others, and those who fight draw strength from the prayers of their brothers and sisters. This episode thus becomes a paradigm of spiritual life: Israel, fragile and still on its journey, learns that victory does not come from human strength, but from trust in God. Prayer, represented by Moses' raised hands, does not replace action but accompanies and transfigures it. The person who prays and the person who fights are two faces of the same believer: one fights in the world, the other intercedes before God, and both participate in the one work of salvation. Finally, the praying community becomes the living sign of God's presence at work in his people, and when a believer no longer has the strength to pray, the faith of his brothers and sisters sustains him. The story of Amalek at Rephidim is not just a page in history, but an icon of Christian life: we all live our battles knowing that victory belongs to God and that prayer is the source of all strength and the guarantee of God's presence.

Responsorial Psalm (120/121) 

Psalm 120/121 belongs to the group of 'Psalms of Ascents' (Ps 120-134), composed to accompany the pilgrimages of the people of Israel to Jerusalem, the holy city situated on high, symbol of the place where God dwells among his people. The verb 'to ascend' indicates not only geographical ascent but also and above all a spiritual movement, a conversion of the heart that brings the believer closer to God. Each pilgrimage was a sign of the Covenant and an act of faith for Israel: the people, travelling from all parts of the country, renewed their trust in the Lord. When the psalm speaks in the first person — "I lift up my eyes to the mountains" — it actually gives voice to the collective "we" of all Israel, the people marching towards God. This journey is an image of the entire history of Israel, a long march in which fatigue, waiting, danger and trust are intertwined. The roads that lead to Jerusalem, in addition to being stone roads, are spiritual paths marked by trials and risks. Fatigue, loneliness, external threats — robbers, animals, scorching sun, cold nights — become symbols of the difficulties of faith. In this situation, the words of the psalm are a profession of absolute trust: "My help comes from the Lord: he   made heaven and earth." These words affirm that true help comes not from human powers or mute idols, but from the living God, Creator of the universe, who never sleeps and never abandons his people. He is called "the Guardian of Israel": the one who watches over us constantly, who accompanies us, who is close to us like a shadow that protects us from the sun and the moon. The Hebrew expression "at your right hand" indicates an intimate and faithful presence, like that of an inseparable companion. The people who pray this psalm thus remember the pillar of cloud and fire that guided Israel in the desert, a sign of God who protects day and night, accompanying them on their journey and guarding their lives. Therefore, the psalmist can say: 'The Lord will guard you from all evil; he will guard your life. The Lord will guard you when you go out and when you come in, from now on and forever." The pilgrim who "goes up" to Jerusalem becomes the image of the believer who entrusts himself to God alone, renouncing idols and false securities. This movement is conversion: turning away from what is vain to turn towards the God who saves. In the New Testament, Jesus himself was able to pray this psalm as he "went up to Jerusalem" (Lk 9:51). He walks the path of Israel and of every human being, entrusting his life to the Father. The words "The Lord will guard your life" find their full fulfilment at Easter, when the pilgrim's return becomes resurrection because it is a return to new and definitive life. Thus, Psalm 121 is much more than a prayer for travel: it is the confession of faith of a people on a journey, the proclamation that God is faithful and that his presence accompanies every step of existence. In it, historical memory, theological trust and eschatological hope come together. Israel, the believer and Christ himself share the same certainty: God guards life and every ascent, even the most difficult, leads to communion with Him.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul to Timothy (3:14-4:2)

In this passage from the second letter to Timothy (3:14-4:2), Paul entrusts his disciple with the most precious legacy: fidelity to the Word of God. It is a text written at a difficult time, marked by doctrinal confusion and tensions in the community of Ephesus. Timothy is called to be a 'guardian of the Word' in the midst of a world that risks losing the truth it has received. The first words, 'Remain faithful to what you have learned', make it clear that others have abandoned the apostolic teaching: fidelity then becomes an act of spiritual resistance, a remaining anchored to the source. Paul speaks of 'dwelling' in the Word: faith is not an object to be possessed, but an environment in which to live. Timothy entered into it as a child thanks to his mother Eunice and his grandmother Lois, women of faith who passed on to him a love for the Scriptures. Here we have a reference to the communal and traditional character of faith: no one discovers the Word on their own, but always in the Church. Access to Scripture takes place within the living Tradition, that 'chain' that starts with Christ, passes through the apostles and continues in believers. 'Tradere' in Latin means 'to transmit': what is received is given. In this fidelity, Scripture is a source of living water that regenerates the believer and roots him in the truth. Paul affirms that the Holy Scriptures can instruct for the salvation that is obtained through faith in Christ Jesus (v. 15). The Old Testament is the path that leads to Christ: the entire history of Israel prepares for the fulfilment of the Paschal mystery. 'All Scripture is inspired by God': even before it became dogma, it was the deep conviction of the people of Israel, from which arose respect for the holy books kept in the synagogues. Divine inspiration does not cancel out the human word, but transfigures it, making it an instrument of the Spirit. Scripture, therefore, is not just another book, but a living presence of God that forms, educates, corrects and sanctifies: thanks to it, the man of God will be perfect, equipped for every good work (vv. 16-17). From this source springs the mission, and Paul entrusts Timothy with the decisive command: "Proclaim the Word, insist on it at the opportune and inopportune moment" (v. 4:2) because the proclamation of the Gospel is a necessity, not an optional task. The solemn reference to Christ's judgement of the living and the dead shows the gravity of apostolic responsibility. Proclaiming the Word means making present the Logos, that is, Christ himself, the living Word of the Father. It is He who communicates himself through the voice of the preacher and the life of the witness. But proclamation requires courage and patience: it is necessary to speak when it is convenient and when it is not, to admonish, correct, encourage, always with a spirit of charity and a desire to build up the community. Truth without love hurts; love without truth empties the Word. For Paul, Scripture is not only memory, but the dynamism of the Spirit. It shapes the mind and heart, forms judgement, inspires choices. Those who dwell in it become "men of God," that is, persons shaped by the Word and made capable of serving. Timothy is invited not only to guard the doctrine, but to make it a source of life for himself and for others. Thus, the Word, accepted and lived, becomes a place of encounter with Christ and a source of renewal for the Church. The apostle does not found anything of his own, but transmits what he has received; in the same way, every believer is called to become a link in this living chain, so that the Word may continue to flow in the world like water that quenches, purifies and fertilises. In summary: Scripture is the source of faith, Tradition is the river that transmits it, and proclamation is the fruit that nourishes the life of the Church. To remain in the Word means to remain in Christ; to proclaim it means to let Him act and speak through us. Only in this way does the man of God become fully formed and the community grow in truth and charity.

From the Gospel according to Luke (18:1-8)

The context of this parable is that of the 'end times': Jesus is walking towards Jerusalem, towards His Passion, death and Resurrection. The disciples perceive the tragic and mysterious epilogue, feel the need for greater faith ('Increase our faith') and are anxious to understand the coming of the Kingdom of God. The term 'Son of Man', already present in Daniel (7), indicates the one who comes on the clouds, receives universal and eternal kingship, and also represents, in the original sense, a collective being, the people of the Saints of the Most High. Jesus uses it to refer to himself, reassuring his disciples about God's ultimate victory, even in a context of imminent difficulties. The reference to judgement and the Kingdom emphasises the eschatological perspective: God will do justice to his chosen ones, the Kingdom has already begun, but it will be fully realised at the end. The parable of the persistent widow is at the heart of the message: before an unjust judge, the widow is not discouraged because her cause is just. This example combines two virtues essential to Christians: humility, recognising one's poverty (first beatitude: 'Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God'), and perseverance, confident insistence in prayer and justice. The widow's persistence becomes a paradigm for faith in waiting for the Kingdom: our cause, too, based on God's will, requires tenacity. The text also recalls the connection with the episode in the Old Testament: during the battle against the Amalekites, Moses prays persistently on the hill while Joshua fights on the plain. The victory of the people depends on the presence and intervention of God, supported by Moses' persevering prayer. The parable of the widow has the same function: to remind believers, of all times, that faith is a continuous struggle, a test of endurance in the face of difficulties, opposition and doubts. Jesus' concluding question, "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?", is a universal warning: faith should never be taken for granted; it must be guarded, nurtured and protected. From the early morning of the Resurrection until the final coming of the Son of Man, faith is a struggle of constancy and trust, even when the Kingdom seems far away. The widow teaches us how to face the wait: humble, stubborn, confident, aware of our weakness but certain of God's justice and saving will, which never disappoints those who trust in him totally. Luke seems to be writing to a community threatened by discouragement, as suggested by the final sentence: 'When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?'. This phrase, while appearing pessimistic, is actually a warning to be vigilant: faith must be guarded and nurtured, not taken for granted. The text forms an inclusion: the first sentence teaches what faith is — 'We must always pray without losing heart' — and the final sentence calls for perseverance. Between the two, the example of the stubborn widow, treated unjustly but who does not give up, shows concretely how to practise this faith. The overall teaching is clear: faith is a constant commitment, an active resistance, which requires stubbornness, humility and trust in God's justice, even in the face of difficulties and the apparent absence of a response.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole