23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [7 September 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us! In this Sunday's Gospel, Jesus develops the 'precautionary principle', which is also enshrined in Article 191 of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union (TFEU). This proves that the Word of God is divine wisdom which, as we understand in the first reading and in the responsorial psalm, illuminates every human choice and decision.  Wisdom that is always the secret of true happiness.

*First Reading from the Book of Wisdom (9:13-18)

Wisdom, in the biblical sense, is in some ways the art of living. Israel, like all neighbouring peoples, developed extensive reflection on this theme beginning with the reign of Solomon, and its contribution in this field is entirely original. It can be summarised in two points: first of all, according to the Bible, only God knows the secrets of happiness, and if man claims to discover them on his own, he follows false paths, as is clear from the lesson of the Garden of Eden. Secondly, God alone reveals the secret of happiness to his people and to all humanity: this is the message of this text, which is above all a lesson in humility. Isaiah had already stated that God's thoughts and ways are different from ours (cf. Is 55:8), and the book of Wisdom, written much later in a very different style, repeats: 'Who can discover the will of God? Who can imagine what the Lord wants?" (v. 13). We cannot have the slightest idea of what God thinks, and we know only what He has communicated through His prophets. Job had asked where to seek wisdom, because it does not exist on the earth of the living, and only God knows where it is (cf. Job 28:12-13, 23); shortly afterwards, God reminds Job of his limitations (chapters 38–41) and, at the end of the demonstration, Job bows down and admits that he spoke without understanding  the wonders that "are beyond me and that I did not know" (Job 42:3). In the Book of Wisdom, the discussion on human knowledge develops among the most intellectual minds that existed in Alexandria, when scientific and philosophical disciplines were highly developed and the Library of Alexandria was famous. The author reminds these scholars of the limits of human knowledge: 'The reasoning of mortals is timid, and our reflections are uncertain' (v. 14). And again: 'We can scarcely imagine the things of the earth, we discover with difficulty those within our reach; but who has investigated the things of heaven? (v. 16). The author does not mean that if we can discover the earth, we will be able to understand heavenly things, but he affirms that it is not only a question of the level of knowledge, as if man could discover the mysteries of God through reasoning and research, but it is a question of nature: we are only human, and there is an abyss between God and us, God being the Totally Other and his thoughts being beyond our reach. Herein lies the second lesson of the text: if we recognise our powerlessness, God himself reveals to us what we cannot discover on our own, giving us the gift of his Spirit (cf. 1:9). The other readings for this Sunday indicate the new behaviours inspired by the Spirit who dwells in us. One more observation: in verse 14, 'a corruptible body weighs down the soul, and the clay tent oppresses a mind full of worries', we see a conception of man that is unusual in the Bible, which usually insists on the unity of the human being, whereas here he is described as a being composed of an immaterial spirit and a material shell that contains it. The Book of Wisdom, written in a Greek context, uses this vocabulary so as not to scandalise its Greek readers, but it certainly does not want to describe a dualism of the human being: rather, it presents the inner struggle that takes place in each of us and which St Paul describes as follows: 'I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want' (Rom 7:19). Ultimately, this text makes an original contribution to a great dual biblical discovery: God is both Totally Other and Totally Near. God is Totally Other: 'Who can know the will of God? Who can imagine what the Lord wants?' (v. 13). At the same time, He makes Himself Totally Near by giving man wisdom and His Holy Spirit (v. 17). And so men were instructed in what is pleasing to God and were saved through wisdom (cf. v. 18).

*Responsorial Psalm (89/90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14, 17)

The first reading, taken from the book of Wisdom, is echoed in this psalm, which offers a magnificent definition of wisdom: 'Teach us to count our days, and we will gain a wise heart' (v. 12). These verses give an idea of the general atmosphere, and one expression sounds quite unusual: 'Return, Lord, how long? Have mercy on your servants' (v. 13). It is as if to say: 'We are unhappy at this moment, we are being punished for our sins; forgive us and take away the punishment', a typical formula of a penitential liturgy in the context of a penitential ceremony in the temple of Jerusalem. Why does Israel ask for forgiveness? The first verses suggest the answer: 'You turn man back to dust, when you say: Return, children of man' (v. 3).  The problem is that our condition as sinners is linked to Adam, and the entire psalm meditates on the account of Adam's sin in the book of Genesis. In the beginning, God and man stood face to face: God, the creator, and man, his creature made from dust. The second verse (absent here) of the psalm says precisely: 'Before the mountains were born and the earth and the world were created, from everlasting to everlasting, you are God'. Before Him, we are but a handful of dust in His hands. Yet man dared to challenge God and can only meditate on his true condition: "The years of our life are seventy, eighty for the strongest, and their bustling is toil and disappointment; they pass quickly and we fly away" (v. 10).  And we are truly small: "A thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, like a watch in the night" (v. 4), as St Peter comments: "Do not ignore this one fact, beloved: with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day" (2 Pet 3:8). After this realisation comes the plea: “Teach us to count our days, that we may gain a wise heart. Return, Lord, how long? Have mercy on your servants. Satisfy us in the morning with your love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days” (vv. 12-14). True wisdom is to remain small before God, and the psalm compares human life to grass that “in the morning it flourishes and sprouts, in the evening it is mown and withers” (v. 6). How often, when faced with sudden death, do we say that we are nothing! It is not a matter of humbling ourselves, but of being realistic and remaining serene in God’s hands. 'Satisfy us in the morning with your love: we will exult and rejoice all our days' (v. 14): this is the experience of the believer, aware of his own smallness and trusting in the hands of God, to whom we can ask that 'you make known to your servants your work and your splendour to their children. May the goodness of the Lord our God be upon us" (vv. 16-17a). Even more daring is the last verse of the psalm, which repeats twice, "Make firm the work of our hands" (v. 17). Perhaps the psalmist was referring to the reconstruction of the temple in Jerusalem after the Babylonian exile, amid all kinds of opposition. More generally, however, it expresses the common work of God and man in the fulfilment of creation: man works in creation, but it is God who gives human work stability and effectiveness. 

*Second Reading from the letter of St Paul the Apostle to Philemon (9b-10.12-17)

On previous Sundays, we read passages from Paul's letter to the Colossians; today, however, Paul, while in prison, writes to Philemon, a Christian from Colossae (in Turkey), and it is a personal letter, full of diplomacy, on a very delicate subject. Philemon probably had several slaves, although history does not specify this, and one of them was called Onesimus. One fine day, Onesimus ran away, which was totally forbidden and severely punished by Roman law because slaves belonged to their masters as objects and were not free to dispose of themselves. During his escape, Onesimus met Paul, converted and entered the apostle's service. It was a complicated situation: if Paul kept Onesimus, he would be complicit in his abandonment of his post, and Philemon would not like that. If, on the other hand, Paul sent him back, the slave would be at serious risk, as Paul acknowledges later in the letter that Onesimus was indebted to his master. However, he decided to send Onesimus back with a request for forgiveness, in which he used all his powers of persuasion to convince Philemon: 'I, Paul, as I am, an old man and now also a prisoner for Christ Jesus, appeal to you for my child Onesimus' (vv. 9-10). He points out that he would like to keep him, but he knows that the final decision rests with Philemon (vv. 12-14), so he does not intend to force Philemon's hand. However, he knows exactly what he wants to achieve and reveals it gradually. First of all, he asks Philemon to forgive Onesimus for running away, and more than simple forgiveness, Paul suggests a true conversion: Onesimus is baptised and is now a brother to Philemon, a Christian and his former master: "For this reason he was separated from you for a while, so that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave, but much more than a slave, as a beloved brother" (vv. 15-16). Paul goes even further: "If you consider me a friend, welcome him as you would welcome me" (v. 17).

*From the Gospel according to Luke (14:25-33)

The ending illuminates the whole discourse: emphasising totality (the renunciation of all his possessions, v. 33), Luke re-proposes his theology of poverty as radical discipleship of Christ. Let us begin with the phrase concerning family ties (v. 26): Jesus does not say to consider them as nothing, because that would be contrary to all his teaching on love and to the commandment "Honour your father and your mother". Rather, he means that these ties are good, but they must not become obstacles that prevent us from following Christ because the bond that unites us to Christ through Baptism is stronger than any other earthly bond. The difficulty of this Gospel lies elsewhere: at first glance, the connection between the different parts is not clear. Jesus says: "If anyone comes to me and does not love me (in Eastern Semitic language, 'to hate' also means 'to love less') more than his father, his mother... he cannot be my disciple" (v. 26), a phrase that we find echoed (included) in the last one: "Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple". Between these two statements there are two short parables: that of the man who wants to build a tower and that of the king who goes to war. Their lesson is similar: whoever wants to build a tower must first calculate the cost so as not to embark on a senseless undertaking; in the same way, the king who plans to go to war must first assess his forces. Wisdom consists in adapting one's ambitions to one's possibilities: a truth that applies in every area. How many projects fail because they are started too hastily without reflection, foresight and calculation of the risks? This is elementary wisdom, the secret of success. In fact, to govern is to foresee, and perhaps one becomes an adult on the day one finally learns to calculate the consequences of one's actions. But does this not seem to contradict the message of the phrases that open and close Jesus' discourse? These seem to speak a language that is anything but prudent and measured: first of all, to be a disciple of Christ, one must prefer him to anyone else and follow him with all one's heart, yet wisdom and even justice require respect for natural ties with family and environment. The second requirement is to carry one's cross decisively, accepting the risk of persecution, and the third condition is to renounce all one's possessions. In short, to leave behind all emotional and material security for Christ. But is all this prudent? Does it not seem far removed from the arithmetic calculations of the two short parables? Yet it is clear that Jesus does not enjoy cultivating paradoxes and does not contradict himself. It is therefore up to us to understand his message and how the two short parables shed light on the choices we must make in order to follow him. On closer inspection, Jesus always says the same thing: before embarking on an undertaking, whether it be following him, building a tower or going to war, he invites us to do our sums carefully and not to make mistakes. Those who build a tower calculate the cost; those who go to war assess the number of men and weapons; and those who follow Christ must also do their calculations, but of a different kind: they must renounce anything that might hinder them and thus place all their riches, both emotional and material, at the service of the Kingdom. Above all, they must rely on the power of the Spirit who 'continues his work in the world and brings every sanctification to completion', as the fourth Eucharistic prayer says. Here too, it is a calculated risk: in order to follow Jesus, he points out the risks to us — knowing how to leave everything behind, accepting misunderstanding and sometimes persecution, renouncing immediate gratification. To be Christians, the true calculation, the true wisdom, is not to rely on any of our earthly securities; it is as if he were saying to us: Accept that you have no securities: my grace is enough for you! Already the first reading, taken from the book of Wisdom, clearly stated this: the wisdom of God is not that of men; what appears to be folly in the eyes of men is the only true wisdom before God. With him, we are always in the logic of the grain of wheat: accept to die underground, but only in this way can it sprout and bear fruit. Blessed are those who know how to free themselves from false precautions in order to prepare themselves to pass through the narrow gate mentioned in the Gospel of the twenty-first Sunday (Lk 13:24). 

NOTE Jesus develops here the 'precautionary principle' which is also enshrined in Article 191 of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union (TFEU). In the two parables, it is clear that we must sit down to calculate risks and costs, taking preventive measures - even in the absence of complete scientific evidence. In the case of the disciple, the data for the calculation are completely different: Jesus wants us to evaluate well that our only wealth is in him and our only strength is his grace. And even the assessment of risks and objectives eludes us: as the Book of Wisdom says in the first reading: 'Who can know the will of God? Who can imagine what the Lord wants? The reasoning of mortals is timid and our reflections uncertain'.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole