23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time  (year A)  [6 September 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel (33:7–9)

The prophet Ezekiel, a priest in Jerusalem in the 6th century BC, was exiled to Babylon in 597 BC during the first exile ordered by Nebuchadnezzar. He lived by the River Chebar, in the village of Tel Aviv, where he learnt the tragic news of the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple in 587 BC. Despite these catastrophes, Ezekiel did not lose hope. During the approximately twenty years of his ministry whilst in exile, he dedicated his life to supporting the people and keeping alive the hope of return. The name of the modern city of Tel Aviv refers precisely to the village where he lived, as a tribute to the prophet who contributed to the spiritual survival of Israel. His mission unfolded on two fronts: helping the exiles to settle and survive; and keeping alive the hope of returning to the Promised Land. God entrusted him with the task of being a watchman for Israel (Ezekiel 3:17). Like a watchman who warns the city of danger, Ezekiel was to convey God’s warnings and call the people to repentance. Had he remained silent, he would have been responsible for their downfall. However, the people often listened without putting God’s Word into practice. People appreciated the beauty of his preaching, but did not change their ways (Ezekiel 33:31–32). For this reason, the prophet experienced discouragement, feeling as though he were ‘preaching in the wilderness’. Despite this, he remained faithful to his mission. Ezekiel was a watchman in two senses: attentive to the Word of God and vigilant in awaiting the dawn of salvation. With powerful imagery and great courage, he proclaimed the hope of rebirth, declaring God’s promise: ‘I will bring you out of your graves, O my people, and bring you back to the land of Israel’ (Ezekiel 37:12). Even when it seemed that all was lost, following the fall of Jerusalem, Ezekiel continued to proclaim that restoration was possible if the people returned to God. For God does not desire the death of the sinner, but his conversion: ‘Why should you die, O house of Israel? Turn back, and you will live’ (Ezek 33:11). This text ties in with today’s Gospel reading, in which Jesus entrusts the disciples with a similar mission: to watch over one another with brotherly love, correcting those who err because, as Leviticus (19:17–18) also teaches, correcting with charity is a genuine act of love, for it helps one’s brother to avoid evil and to find the path of life once more. Just as a watchman keeps watch over the city, so the prophet and every disciple must watch over the welfare of others.

Responsorial Psalm (94/95) 

The final verse of Psalm 95/94 recalls the episode of Massah and Meribah (Ex 17:1–7), when the people of Israel, in the wilderness, ran out of water and doubted God. After accusing Moses, thinking that God wanted to let them die of thirst, the Lord caused abundant water to gush forth from the rock. Since then, Massah and Meribah have symbolised a lack of trust in God. The Psalm urges: ‘Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts’. This is the life of faith, and the real question is: ‘Can we trust God, who is present in our lives?’ Faith is trust, and to believe means to trust. The Hebrew word for faith means to lean on God, and ‘Amen’ derives from the same root, meaning ‘firm’ or ‘stable’: it is like saying, ‘I entrust myself completely to God.’ This is why the prophet Isaiah declares: ‘Unless you believe, you will not stand firm’ (Isaiah 7:9). To listen is to trust. The invitation in the Psalm: ‘Will you listen to his Word today?’, asks not merely to hear, but to receive it with trust. Those who trust truly listen. This is why the Shema Israel prayer (Deut 6:4) begins with: ‘Hear, O Israel’, and to love God with all one’s heart means to entrust oneself entirely to Him. Even the verb ‘to obey’ derives from the idea of listening: biblical obedience is not blind submission, but trusting listening to the Word. Trust arises from experience. Israel bases its faith on the concrete experience of deliverance from Egypt. If God has delivered his people from slavery, he cannot abandon them in the wilderness. This is why the Psalm proclaims: ‘Let us acclaim the Rock of our salvation.’ The rock is not merely a poetic image: it recalls the rock from which God brought forth water at Massah and Meribah. God is a secure rock upon which to rely, and this choice must be renewed every day. The word ‘today’ is fundamental: every day is a new beginning; every day we can return to listening to God and trusting in Him. It is the same message proclaimed by Ezekiel to the discouraged exiles: do not lose hope and continue to trust in the Lord. Faith is not an individual matter, but belongs to a people walking together towards God, and this is why the Psalm is always in the plural: ‘We are the people whom God leads’. This communal dimension is a fundamental characteristic of the Bible and also represents a challenge for the Church today. The text concludes by reminding us that the very question of trust runs through the entire Bible: when Saint Paul calls on us to be reconciled with God, he asks us to stop doubting His intentions; when Jesus calls on us to be converted and to believe in the Gospel, He asks us to believe in the Good News – that is, that God loves us and wants what is best for us. Even the story of Adam and Eve can be read in this light: the fundamental test is not outward obedience, but the trust that God always desires our freedom, our life and our happiness. Faith consists in believing that, even in trials, limitations and defeats, God can bring forth new life, freedom and resurrection.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (13:8–10)

If we are to find a central theme in this text, it is ‘dual loyalty: as a good citizen and as a disciple’. In other words, how to live as Christians in a non-Christian world. To understand this, we must place the text in its context. From chapter 12 of the Letter to the Romans, Paul offers advice to Christians on how to live as Christians in a world that is not our own. To live as a Christian is to make one’s life a ‘holy sacrifice’ (Paul’s text from last Sunday, in which he adds: ‘Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may discern what is the will of God’ (Rom 12:2)). Today we are in Chapter 13, and Paul delves into the practicalities of social life: our relationship with the authorities. When one reads the whole chapter, one is struck by the specific details he gives regarding the obligations of citizens: respect for the courts, the payment of taxes and duties, and submission to all authorities. In short: a good Christian must be a good citizen: ‘Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities’ (Romans 13:1). Let us be frank: this instruction must have surprised more than a few, because the Jews and the Romans held two very different conceptions of power. In the Jewish world of the Old Testament, such words would not have surprised anyone, because political power lay in the hands of the religious authorities; civil law was not distinguished from the Law of God. From this perspective, Jesus had been able to say to the crowd and his disciples: ‘The scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. Do and observe whatever they tell you’ (Mt 23:1–2). But the same could not be said of the Roman world; the authorities in question were the Roman emperors and the entire hierarchy of their governors, magistrates and soldiers, for whom God’s will was obviously the very last thing on their minds! And if Paul writes about not conforming to this world, it is because the ideal of Roman society was often diametrically opposed to the Christian ideal. So, is it possible to obey an authority steeped in paganism? This question lies at the heart of our text. Paul responds in two points:

First point: do not use faith as an excuse to shirk civil responsibilities, and he reasons as follows:  ‘There is no authority except that which God has established; the authorities that exist have been established by God’ (Romans 13:1), and here we hear an echo of Jesus’ words to Pilate: ‘You would have no power over me at all unless it had been given to you from above’ (John 19:11). Another argument: since in all countries the law is normally at the service of justice and the defence of the weak, Paul says: ‘The authorities are God’s servants for your good… for they are God’s agents of retribution, administering punishment to those who do wrong’ (Rom 13:4). The Jews, like the early Christians – the Romans made no distinction between them – were exempt from Roman laws that offended their conscience: for example, burning incense before the emperor’s statue, or performing military service. Therefore, says Saint Paul, obey the Roman laws, for one is not exempt from laws that are contrary to religion.

Second point: simply being in compliance is not enough; what is needed is the ‘debt of love’. One is not a good Jew or a good Christian merely by being in compliance with civil authority, for this does not take charity to its fullest extent. This is what the first sentence of today’s reading says: ‘Owe no one anything, except to love one another’ (Rom 13:8). ‘Owe no one anything’ – that is to say, it is not enough simply to be in good standing with everyone; one must go further. The ultimate meaning of the Torah is to love one’s brothers and sisters; in other words, it is not enough merely to refrain from murder, theft or adultery, because, as St Paul observes, all this is summed up in this: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ (Rom 13:9), and this means being in accordance with the Law of Moses. Paul adds that a profound conversion is required, which he describes in these words: “Be transformed by the renewal of your mind, so that you may discern the will of God—what is good, pleasing and perfect” (Romans 12:2). The true novelty is revealed when Christ asks the rich young man, an observer of the Torah, to give up everything and follow him: ‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you possess, give it to the poor… then come and follow me’ (Mt 19:21). A choice that can take one a long way!

From the Gospel according to Matthew (18:15–20)

Jesus teaches that fraternal correction is about saving the person, not condemning them. In the second reading, Saint Paul reminds us not to be in debt to anyone, except for the debt of mutual love, since love is the perfect fulfilment of the Law (Rom 13:8, 10). The whole of chapter 18 of the Gospel of Matthew deals, from various angles, with the fulfilment of this love in relationships within the Christian community. In particular, it addresses two themes: the priority given to the little ones and the weak, and mutual forgiveness. To introduce these recommendations, Jesus tells the parable of the lost sheep – an image well known to his listeners – and compares the leaders of the community to shepherds appointed by the supreme Shepherd, who is God; the heavenly Father does not want any of these little ones to be lost (Mt 18:14). This concerns the duty of mutual watchfulness, following the model already set out by Ezekiel: ‘Woe to the shepherds of Israel…’ (Ezek 34:2). Jesus entrusts the disciples with the task of watching over one another, ensuring that their brothers and sisters do not go astray; and this duty falls first and foremost to those in charge of the community—the shepherds. But the duty of mutual care also exists within the flock; not only do the shepherds bear responsibility for the well-being of the flock, but the sheep too are responsible for one another, as Ezekiel further writes: ‘Thus says the Lord God: I myself will judge between the fat sheep and the lean… (Ezek 34:20–22). Ezekiel thus proclaimed that God himself would take charge of his flock once more through his Messiah: ‘I will raise up for them a single shepherd, who will tend them—my servant David. He will tend them; he will be their shepherd’ (Ezek 34:23). Jesus is the Good Shepherd who knows his sheep and by whom the sheep are known (cf. Jn 10), and he gives guidance for the life of the flock, particularly regarding fraternal support and help so that no one ‘is lost’. To bring back those who have gone astray requires a demanding love, for if you truly love someone, you are willing to do anything to rescue them if they are in danger. God is Love, and we are called to be like him, which is an incredibly demanding task. And if any Christian goes astray, Jesus shows the way forward: first, seek dialogue personally and do everything possible to help them rejoin the flock; and if, in the end, you are unable to do so, regard them as a pagan or a tax collector – which does not imply permanent exclusion. How, then, are we to interpret the phrase: ‘If they will not even listen to the community, let them be to you as a pagan and a tax collector’? In the light of all we know about Jesus and his constant welcome of tax collectors and sinners, this cannot be a definitive rejection but rather a respect for each person’s freedom… whilst waiting for Zacchaeus or the tax collector Matthew to be converted. What emerges from the approach recommended by Christ is the absolute necessity of respect for everyone, and in particular for those who call themselves sinners; and every step taken to restore communion must be marked by delicate discretion. These are the basic rules of life in the Church, and respecting them is the seed of eternal life: “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven” (Mt 18:18). Let us consider the final sentence: “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them” (Mt 18:20). In the sayings of the Jewish Fathers (the Pirkei Avot), we read: “When two sit together and engage in the words of the Torah, the Shekinah—that is, the presence of God—is amongst them” (Avot 3:2).

+Giovanni D’Ercole

I read in the newspaper that some peacocks have invaded a small town.

The news was published some time ago – except that a few days ago the newspaper reported that a man had run some of them over in his car. 

And so here is a starting point for reflection.

The peacock is one of the most fascinating animals; it has long been a symbol of beauty. 

It generally represents self-indulgence. And everything centres on outward appearance.

The female peacock is less showy than the male; she is smaller, and unlike the male, when she displays her tail in a fan-shaped spread, she does not have the colourful feathers. 

There is also the well-known Aesop’s fable in which a crow adorns itself with a peacock’s feathers to look beautiful.

In Greek mythology, the peacock was the symbol of the goddess Juno: the plumage of its tail is said to derive from the giant Argus Panoptes, who had a hundred eyes.

Upon his death, the goddess placed his eyes on the peacock’s tail.

According to more ancient traditions, the peacock, with its eyes and the splendid colours of its tail, evokes the starry sky, and was often associated with the idea of immortality.

Peacock-like behaviour also exists amongst human beings.

Men, too, spread their ‘tail’.

And here, too, it is all a question of degree.

It is one thing to show one’s ‘tail’ now and then or when asked; it is quite another to go through life with one’s tail constantly spread, perpetually on display.

I think it must also be tiring – first of all for oneself, and then for others as well.

Just as the peacock spreads its tail to be noticed and to attract female peacocks, the ‘peacock-like’ individual flaunts all their ‘talents’ to attract admiration and win public approval.

Here too, I should clarify: the normal desire to show one’s best side is not the same as the psychopathological condition characterised by a lack of empathy and an incessant, destructive sense of grandeur. 

Such attitudes do not concern only individuals: often, such behaviours also affect people when they become parents.

They prioritise their own image above all else, even before the child’s needs and emotional requirements, seeking the admiration of their children and craving the approval of those around them.

With parents like this, children do not thrive; they must constantly seek the affection of adults, which should instead be given freely. 

These parents want to appear perfect and expect their children to mirror them: their children, too, must be better than others, through academic success, physical fitness or stylish clothing. 

But this façade, this beautiful ‘peacock’s tail’, conceals some serious issues.

Such parents rarely take responsibility for their own behaviour. When they do something inappropriate, they almost never apologise.

They put on an air of superiority to conceal their own weaknesses.

We sometimes behave inappropriately towards our children – but we must not always give the impression that we have acted correctly.

The child’s reaction may well be justified.

If we insist on always being right, we risk confusing our children about how to perceive reality.

The ‘peacock’ parent then perceives every request from their child for personal growth and autonomy as an offence.

And in adulthood, establishing healthy boundaries or emotional distance becomes a difficult struggle.

Often, this type of parent also demands their children’s constant attention, and every relationship their children form becomes a source of suspicion or jealousy.

These parents become manipulative and often undermine the foundations of independence and autonomy.

Growing up with such individuals or parents can give rise to insecure behaviour, with a likelihood of developing anxious, doubtful attitudes, as the child unconsciously feels compelled to satisfy the demands of others.

I have touched upon the subject of ‘peacock parents’ because, having worked in the field of child development, I have frequently observed such attitudes more prominently in parental figures and only secondarily in children.

I would like to mention or recall a concept from Jung: the child’s unconscious stems from the parental unconscious.

I have also noticed that showing off was more common amongst professional parents – people with a high level of education.

In these cases, due to their behaviour, resolving the situation became complicated.

Very often, these parents decided for themselves when to end psychotherapy, either because they grew tired of accompanying their child to sessions, or because they felt personally implicated – and so they distanced themselves from the process.

Looking back at the last short article – entitled «the histrionic» [«l’istrione»] – it occurs to me that it rhymes with «peacock» [«pavone»].

As always, these reflections are drawn from my specialist training and from my practical experience in my professional work – primarily in the field of child and adolescent psychology. 

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi – psychologist – psychotherapist

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [30 August 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah (20:7–9).

The central theme here is Jeremiah’s inner struggle: the fire of the Word.  His is an experience of persecution and inner turmoil that he endured throughout his life. And he is not alone: many other prophets and, later, Jesus himself faced similar situations. Jeremiah carried out his ministry during the 40 years leading up to the disaster in Jerusalem in 587 BC and the deportation to Babylon. Forty years of spiritual decline. His task was to foretell the catastrophe, not to be a harbinger of doom, but on the contrary in the hope of securing, at the very last moment, the conversion of the king and the people. He spared no effort to warn his contemporaries, whilst there was still time, but they, in turn, spared no effort to silence this spoilsport. It is in this contentious and distressing context that the private reflections from which we have read an excerpt arise: his ‘confessions’. Unfortunately, the word ‘lamentations’, which derives from this, has taken on a pejorative connotation, and this is unjust: Jeremiah’s confessions are magnificent, full of sorrow, yes, but even more so full of faith and passion for the cause of his God. In today’s text, he reveals to us the inner struggle taking place deep within him: torn between God’s call, which urges him to speak, and human wisdom, which urges him to remain silent: ‘I said, “I will think no more of him; I will speak no more in his name!” But in my heart there was like a burning fire, shut up in my bones; I tried to hold it back, but I could not’ (Jer 20:9). To give up would mean abandoning his fellow citizens to their sad fate and betraying God’s trust. It is clear why this text is set before us on the Sunday when we hear the Gospel following Peter’s confession at Caesarea. When Jesus asked the disciples, ‘Who do you say that I am?’, Peter replied that Jesus was the expected Messiah. But immediately afterwards, Jesus reveals to the disciples the fate that awaits him: Passion, the cross, death and resurrection (Mt 16:21). Peter protests: ‘God forbid, Lord; this shall never happen to you.’ But Jesus calls him ‘Satan’ and warns the disciples that they will not be treated any better than their Master: ‘If anyone wishes to come after me… (Mt 16:24–25). This proves that every true prophet is inevitably a thorn in the side of the prevailing ideas of the moment. The consuming fire of the Word of God, which calls for conversion, is not meant to please: ‘I have become a byword all day long; everyone mocks me,’ confesses Jeremiah, and he does not hide the fact that at times he is afraid. He hears people talking behind his back and plotting to get rid of him: ‘I hear the slander of many’ (Jer 20:10). The prophet is all the more troublesome because, as the Lord’s messenger, the Lord gives him the strength to carry on despite all the persecution, so that there is no way to silence him. It is clear why persecution is inevitable. The verses preceding today’s reading describe a particularly harrowing episode: Jeremiah had so exasperated everyone in the Temple with his rebukes that the priest Pashur had him tied to a pillory, hanging upside down in the public square. The next day, when Pashur himself came to untie him, thinking that such punishment had calmed him down, Jeremiah spoke out even more forcefully and took his anger out on Pashur himself. Yet these confessions of Jeremiah’s, steeped in sorrow, are at the same time an admission of the all-consuming passion that burns within him and, ultimately, illuminates his life: ‘You have seduced me, Lord, and I let myself be seduced’ (Jer 20:7). He complains, yes, but he would not give his place to anyone else. The Word was a burning fire in my heart, a consuming fire that brings to mind Psalm 68/69: ‘Zelo for your house has consumed me’, which aptly expresses the persecution suffered by all the prophets. To begin with, this was the case with the people of Israel, entrusted with a prophetic mission in the service of the nations. Throughout their history, they sought to remain faithful to that mission, and this earned them terrible persecution at times. Then it was the case for all the prophets, one after another, and subsequently for the early Christians, who imitated Jesus, who was ultimately silenced. But nothing can silence the Word of God: Christ is risen; and now we know that a day will come when people will hear the Word and finally find their light in it. 

Responsorial Psalm (62/63) 

This psalm echoes the experience of Jeremiah, whom we encounter in the first reading, who endured inner turmoil and constant attacks, even though his passion for God—stronger than anything else—helped him to endure every threat and humiliation. However, this psalm was not composed to speak of Jeremiah; rather, it is like a prayer that King David might have composed whilst being hunted down by his enemies. The Old Testament recounts at least three episodes in which David had to take refuge in the Judean desert: the first two times to escape the murderous rage of King Saul, who had become so jealous of David that he wanted to kill him. The third time was even more dramatic: the one pursuing and seeking to kill David was his own son Absalom, who was too eager to seize the throne and hasten his father’s death, and who had already eliminated his elder brother. David did not immediately realise the danger, and by the time he did, it was too late: Absalom was on the verge of conquering Jerusalem; there was only one solution left: flight. And all of Jerusalem saw their king, humiliated, fleeing on foot from the holy city and climbing the Mount of Olives in tears (cf. 2 Sam 15:23–28). The words of this psalm are attributed to David: ‘Your love is better than life’ (v. 4). As is well known, the title of the psalms does not designate the author—in this case, King David. This psalm in particular contains several clear allusions to the Temple in Jerusalem, which David certainly did not know, as the Temple was only built by his son Solomon. ‘A psalm of David’ here means ‘in the manner of David, the one who thirsts for God’. The prayer ‘O God, you are my God; at dawn I seek you; my soul thirsts for you’ may have been David’s, but it is also that of all generations of the chosen people, from Abraham right up to the Day of Salvation. In the most dramatic periods, this prayer took on even greater force, as during the Exile in Babylon. Upon their return from the Exile, the people give thanks: ‘Yes, you have been my help; I rejoice in the shelter of your wings.’ These are the wings of the cherubim that cover the Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies; but they also recall the wings of the great desert eagle that protects its brood whilst teaching them to fly: and Moses had taken up this image to express the care with which God had surrounded his people: ‘I carried you on eagle’s wings,’ God had said (cf. Ex 19:4; Dt 32:10–11). Then came the even more terrible periods of persecution in the 2nd century BC under the Greek king Antiochus Epiphanes, when many Jews died for their faith, proclaiming: ‘Your love, Lord, is worth more than life.’ This verse resonates particularly on this Sunday, when we shall hear Jesus say to his disciples: ‘Whoever loses their life for my sake will save it’ (Mt 16:25). This is the struggle of all the prophets.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (12:1–2)

‘I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the tenderness of God’: this is the theme of the Letter to the Romans. The first eleven chapters deal with the major themes of Paul’s theology, which are set out at length and in depth: the universality of sin, justification by faith, the Paschal Mystery, the work of the Holy Spirit, and the salvation promised and granted to all. But all of this always returns to a single subject: the tenderness of God. Now, as in all his letters, Paul draws out for his readers the implications of his teaching: the discovery of God’s immense tenderness cannot fail to shake us to the core, or rather, to permeate our whole life from now on. ‘I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the tenderness of God…’. What he is about to say is closely linked to everything he has written so far, particularly in the final lines of the previous chapter: ‘God wishes to show mercy to all’, which are followed by the hymn of thanksgiving we read last Sunday: ‘Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgements, and his ways beyond our understanding!’ (Rom 11:32–33).  The logical response is to offer ourselves as a ‘living, holy sacrifice’. Therefore, says Saint Paul, there is no room for hesitation: to this God, so astonishing in his tenderness and his desire to save all humanity, there is but one possible response: that of trusting surrender, offering ourselves to him as a sacrifice so that he may accomplish his work within us. The verb ‘to sacrifice’ means ‘to make sacred’, and St Paul invites us to make our lives sacred—that is, divine. Paul devotes the remainder of his Letter to the Romans to setting out the nature of the Christian commitment: each person, according to their gifts and qualities, is invited to take their place in the Church’s mission, which is the service of all people. This commitment is an active participation in ‘God’s will’. This undoubtedly requires us to accept, day by day, to be transformed—that is, to ‘renew our minds’—which for us is, at times, a true conversion because, all too often, our thoughts are not God’s thoughts but those of men, as Jesus rebuked Peter at Caesarea Philippi, as we read in this Sunday’s Gospel. But the Spirit has been given to us to bring about this renewal within us, which requires us to refuse to conform to the mindset of this age (Rom 12:2). True freedom lies in charting our own course, whatever the siren calls of fashion may be; in loving the world without being enslaved by the world’s ways; and in remaining constantly immersed in God’s tenderness, even though we know full well that it is not easy.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (16:21–27)

From ‘You are the Christ’ to the rejection of the cross. This account follows Peter’s memorable profession of faith which we heard last Sunday: ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God’, a statement which earned him this reply from Jesus: ‘Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah: it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you (that is, you did not guess it on your own), but my Father in heaven. Like any blessing, this ‘Blessed are you’ sounds like a compliment – and what a compliment! – but also like encouragement. And indeed, it will take a great deal of courage for Peter to remain faithful to this first profession of faith. For he does not yet fully grasp its significance, and Jesus has not finished surprising him. In fact, Jesus accepts, at least implicitly, Peter’s recognition of his title as the Messiah: ‘My Father has revealed this to you’. And immediately afterwards, he sets out his plan, which does not fit at all with the common idea people had of the Messiah: ‘From that time on, Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer greatly…’ (Mt 16:21). It was a world turned upside down: a king without weapons or privileges… Worse still, a king who was mistreated and seemingly consenting… . He speaks of suffering greatly and even of being put to death! Peter has some reason to protest because, like many of his contemporaries, he was expecting a triumphant, glorious, powerful Messiah-King who would drive the Roman occupiers out of Jerusalem. What Jesus announces is therefore unacceptable: the almighty God cannot allow such things to happen! One might almost entitle this text: ‘Peter’s first denial’, his first refusal to follow the Messiah in his suffering. Jesus faces this spontaneous refusal on Peter’s part as a real temptation for himself and tells him so vehemently: ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me’ (Mt 16:23). We must allow the Spirit to transform—and at times completely overturn—our plans and ideas if we are to remain faithful to God’s plan. As Paul says in the second reading, we must allow the Spirit of God to transform our ways of seeing (cf. Rom 12:2) and we will experience wonderful surprises, for God’s ways are entirely different from our own. We must never lose sight of Isaiah’s famous words: ‘God says: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord’ (Isaiah 55:8–9). ‘If I understood God, he would not be God,’ said Saint Augustine. We must therefore accept being taken by surprise: the apostles and all the Jews of their time were, Peter foremost among them. With rare exceptions, they had anticipated a powerful, triumphant Messiah; instead, Jesus is the very antithesis of these grand expectations. God’s plan is nothing other than the salvation of the world, that is, the birth of a new humanity, one that will live solely by tenderness and mercy, in the image of God Himself. The logic of the cross is required to save humankind, and the salvation of humankind—that is, our total and definitive conversion to love and forgiveness, to brotherhood and peace, to sharing and justice—cannot happen with a wave of a magic wand. The salvation of humankind inevitably involves a slow transformation of humankind, but how can we transform humankind without showing them the way? Therefore, it was absolutely necessary for Jesus to walk the path of gentleness, goodness and forgiveness to the very end, in order to give us some chance of walking it ourselves. This is why Jesus, when explaining his passion and death to the disciples on the road to Emmaus, said ‘it had to be’, in the sense of ‘unfortunately, it had to be’. God’s plan of salvation is not compatible with a triumphant Messiah. For people to come to a full knowledge of the truth (1 Tim 2:4), they must discover the God of tenderness and forgiveness, of mercy and compassion, and this is not achieved through power but through the supreme gift of the Son’s life. We can then better understand this saying of Jesus: ‘No one has greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends’ (John 15:13). Only this supreme proof of love can lead us, too, to walk the path of love.

NOTE. ‘You are a stumbling block to me’ – the Greek word skandalon means ‘stumbling block’ – and our frailties and doubts can become stumbling blocks for ourselves or for others.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Jesus in the synagogue: Deliverance from quietism

(Lk 4:31-37)

In third Gospel, first ‘signs’ of the Lord are the quiet escape from death threats [agitated by his people!] and the healing of the possessed.

In this way of narrating the Jesus story, Lk indicates the priorities that his communities lived: first of all, it was necessary to suspend the intimate struggles, inculcated by the Judaizing tradition and by his "knowing how to stay in the world".

In the stubborn and conformist village of Nazareth, the Master is unable to communicate his novelty, and is forced to change residence.

He does not resign himself, on the contrary: Capernaum was at the intersection of important roads, which facilitated contacts and dissemination.

Among people of all walks of life, the Son of God wished to create a consciousness strongly critical towards the approved doctrines of religious leaders.

He did not mechanically mention the teachings - modest - of the authorities, but started from his life experience and from the living relationship with the Father.

Thus he created clear minds and in each one an unusual, non-reductive shudder; which aimed to make reach a higher level to souls harassed by the automatic mentality of quiet living.

The Master still faces the power that reduces people to a condition without originality, allergic to differences.

In the Gospel, the person who suddenly makes sparks has always been a quiet visitor to the assembly, who tirelessly dragged his spiritual life into small areas without color, lacking in breath and rhythm.

But the Word of the Lord has in itself a real charge: the power of the bliss of living, of creating, of loving in truth - which does not hate eccentric characteristics.

Where this Appeal comes, all the demons you do not expect are exposed and jump out of the burrows.

Whoever meets Christ is overthrown; he sees his certainties thrown into the air.

Upheaval that allows the hidden or repressed facets to do their part - even if they are not "as they should be".

In short, the Gospel invites us to welcome all that is in us, as it is, not attenuated; by multiplying our energies - because inside lurks the best of our Call to the personal Mission.

In Christ, our multifaceted faces [albeit contradictory] can take to the field together, without repressing the precious territories of the soul, of the essence, of the character; of another persuasion - even distant or unrepeatablely singular.

The habitué of the assemblies is indeed troubled and questioned, but he does not remain abulic; on the contrary, he makes a showy progress from the dormant and ritual existence - bent, repetitive, off, and fake.

He is freed face to face from all the clichés that used to keep him good, subjugated and on a leash.

Even through a protest that breaks apathy, the divine Call forces us to a life as saved sons, of new witness that seemed impossible.

Now no longer on the sidelines, but in the midst of the people (v.35), in the wonder of a deep, personal and unexpected Happiness.

Difference between common religiosity and living Faith.

[Tuesday 22th wk. in O.T.  September 1st, 2026]

Freed from automatic mentality

(Lk 4:31-37)

In the third Gospel, the first signs of the Lord are the quiet escape from the threats of death [waved by his people!] and the healing of the possessed.

In this way of narrating the story of Jesus, Lk indicates the priorities that his communities were living: first of all, there was a need to suspend the intimate struggles, inculcated by the Judaizing tradition and its 'knowing how to be in the world'.

In the stubborn and conformist village of Nazareth, the Master is unable to communicate his newness, and is forced to change residence.

He does not resign himself, on the contrary: Capernaum was at the crossroads of important roads, which facilitated contacts and dissemination.

Among people from all walks of life, the Son of God wanted to create a consciousness that was highly critical of the homologated doctrines of religious leaders.

He did not mechanically quote the - modest - teachings of the authorities, but started from his own life experience and living relationship with the Father.

He did not seek support, neither for safe living nor for the proclamation - thus he created clear minds and an unusual quiver.

In this way, he suspended in souls the usual doubts of conscience, the usual battles inoculated by the customary-doctrinal-moral cloak, and his inner lacerations.

In a transparent and totally non-artificial manner, Christ [in his] still escapes evil and struggles against the plagiarising, reductive forces of our personality.

In the mentality of automatisms devoid of personal faith, it seemed at the time that one almost had to submit to the powers of external conviction.

All this to avoid being marginalised by the 'nation' [and by groups governed by conformity].

This also applies to us.

The duty to participate in collective rituals - here the Sabbath in the synagogue - risks dampening the intimate nostalgia for "ourselves" that provides nourishment for vocational exceptionality.

Originality in the history of salvation which, on the contrary, we could become, without the ball and chain of certain rules of quiet living, to the minimum - rhythm of customary social moments and symbolic days [sometimes emptied of meaning].

(All in the scruffy, mechanical ways that we know by heart, and no longer want, because we feel they do not make us reach a higher level).

The Master in us still faces the power that reduces people to the condition of ease without originality: a grey, perpetual trance allergic to differences.

Apathy that produces swamps and early camps, where no one protests but neither is surprised.

In the Gospel, the person who suddenly sparks sparks was always a quiet assembly-goer, who wearily dragged his spiritual life in small, colourless spheres, lacking in breadth and rhythm.

But the Word of the Lord has a real charge in it: the power of the bliss of living, of creating, of loving in truth - which does not hate eccentric characteristics.

Where such a call comes, all the demons you don't expect are unmasked and leap out of their lairs [previously simulated, agreed upon, artificially homologated].

He who meets Christ is knocked off his abstemious seat, turned upside down on the spot; he sees his certainties thrown to the wind

Reversal that allows hidden or repressed facets to play their part - even if they are not 'as they should be'.

In short, the Gospel invites us to embrace all that is within us, as it is, unmitigated; multiplying our energies - for within lurks the best of our Call to personal Mission.

In Christ, our multifaceted [albeit contradictory] faces can take the field together, no longer suppressing the precious territories of soul, essence, character, of another persuasion - even a distant or unrepeatably singular one.

The habitué of the assemblies is indeed disturbed and questioned, but at least he does not remain dumbfounded as before: he makes a conspicuous progress from the slumbering and ritual existence - bent, repetitive, dull and fake.

He is freed face to face from all the propaganda and clichés that previously kept him quiet, subjugated, on the leash of the 'authorities' and the conservative environment that repelled all enthusiasm.

The dirge of sacred place and time was a litany that all in all could stand, but the critical proposal of Jesus restores consciousness and freedom from inculcated territories, instilling esteem, capacity for thought and will to do.

Now no longer on the sidelines, but in the midst of the people (v.35).

From the weariness of purely cultic habituation, and even through a protest that breaks apathy, the divine Person and his Call awaken us.

They compel us to a saved life of new witness that seemed impossible.

Unceremoniously and to make us run free of the hypocrisies concealed within, the Lord also pulls out of us all the rages, the disagreements, the soul-quenching alienations.It is no longer enough to make a number [lined up and covered up], we must now choose.

The difference between common religiosity and living Faith? The wonder of a deep, personal, unexpected Happiness.

In fact, away from habitual and mental burdens, we extinguish wars with ourselves and go hand in hand even with our faults - discovering their hidden fruitfulness.

To internalise and live the message:

Has the encounter with the living Jesus in the Church freed you from forms of alienation and restored you to yourself, or has it made you go back to asking for support, sacred confirmation, and quiet - as if you were frequenting a relaxation zone?

Sense without belonging

100. Nor am I proposing an authoritarian and abstract universalism, dictated or planned by some and presented as a supposed ideal for the purpose of homogenising, dominating and plundering. There is a model of globalisation that 'consciously aims at a one-dimensional uniformity and seeks to eliminate all differences and traditions in a superficial search for unity. [...] If globalisation claims to make everyone the same, as if they were a sphere, this globalisation destroys the uniqueness of each person and each people'. This false universalist dream ends up depriving the world of its variety of colours, its beauty and ultimately its humanity. Because 'the future is not "monochromatic", but, if we have the courage, we can look at it in the variety and diversity of the contributions that each person can make. How much our human family needs to learn to live together in harmony and peace without all having to be the same!

(Pope Francis FT n.100).

"On the synodal path, listening must take into account the sensus fidei, but it must not neglect all those 'premonitions' embodied where we would not expect them: there may be a 'sense of smell without citizenship', but it is no less effective. The Holy Spirit in his freedom knows no boundaries, and does not even allow himself to be limited by affiliations. If the parish is the home of everyone in the neighbourhood, not an exclusive club, I urge you: leave the doors and windows open [...] Do not be disenchanted, prepare yourselves for surprises."

(Pope Francis, Address to the Diocese of Rome, 18/09/2021).

Jesus not only drives demons out of people, freeing them from the worst slavery, but prevents the demons themselves from revealing his identity. And he insists on this "secret" because what is at stake is the success of his very mission, on which our salvation depends. Indeed, he knows that to liberate humanity from the dominion of sin he will have to be sacrificed on the Cross as the true Paschal Lamb. The devil, for his part, seeks to dissuade him so as to divert him instead toward the human logic of a powerful and successful Messiah. The Cross of Christ will be the devil's ruin, and this is why Jesus always taught his disciples that in order to enter into his glory he must suffer much, he must be rejected, condemned and crucified (cf. Lk 24: 26), for suffering is an integral part of his mission.

Jesus suffered and died on the Cross for love. On close consideration, it was in this way that he gave meaning to our suffering, a meaning that many men and women of every age have understood and made their own, experiencing profound tranquillity even in the bitterness of harsh physical and moral trials.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 1 February 2009]

1. As we have considered in previous catecheses, the name "Christ" means in Old Testament language "Messiah". Israel, the people of God of the old covenant, lived in expectation of the realisation of the promise of the Messiah, which was fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth. That is why from the very beginning Jesus was called Christ, i.e. "Messiah", and as such accepted by all those who "accepted him" (John 1: 12).

2. We have seen that, according to the tradition of the old covenant, the Messiah is king, and that this messianic King is also called Son of God, a name that in the Old Testament's jahvistic monotheism has an exclusively analogical, or even metaphorical meaning. It is not a question in those books of God's 'begotten' son, but of someone whom God chooses by entrusting him with a particular mission or ministry.

3. In this sense also all the people are sometimes referred to as 'sons', as for example in the words of Yahweh addressed to Moses: 'You shall say to Pharaoh: . . . Israel is my first-born son . . . let my son go forth to serve me!" (Ex 4:22-23; cf. also Hos 11:1; Gen 31:9). If therefore the king is called in the ancient covenant 'son of God', it is because, in the Israelite theocracy, he is a special representative of God.

We see this, for example, in Psalm 2, in connection with the king's enthronement: 'He said to me: You are my son, I have begotten you today' (Ps 2:7). Also in Psalm 88/89 we read: 'He (David) shall call upon me: You are my father . . . I will make him my firstborn, the highest among the kings of the earth" (Ps 89:27-28). Later the prophet Nathan will say of David's descendants: "I will be his father, and he shall be my son. If he does evil, I will chastise him . . ." (2 Sam 7:14).

However, in the Old Testament, through the analogical and metaphorical meaning of the expression 'son of God', another one seems to penetrate, which remains obscure. Thus in the aforementioned Psalm 2, God says to the king: "You are my son: today I have begotten you" (Ps 2:7), and in Psalm 109/110: "From the womb of the dawn, as the dew, I have begotten you" (Ps 110:3).

4. One has to be aware of this biblical-Messianic background to realise that Jesus' way of acting and expressing himself indicates an awareness of a completely new reality.

Although in the synoptic gospels Jesus never calls himself Son of God (just as he does not call himself Messiah), nevertheless in various ways he affirms and makes it clear that he is the Son of God, and not in an analogical or metaphorical sense, but in a natural sense.

5. Indeed, he emphasises the exclusivity of his relationship as Son of God. He never says of God: 'our Father', but only 'my Father', or distinguishes: 'my Father, your Father'. He does not hesitate to affirm: "Everything has been given to me by my Father" (Mt 11:27).

This exclusiveness of the filial relationship with God is particularly manifested in prayer, when Jesus addresses God as Father, using the Aramaic word "abba", which indicates a particular filial closeness and in Jesus' mouth constitutes an expression of his total dedication to the Father's will: "Abba, Father! Everything is possible to you, take this cup away from me" (Mk 14:36).

Other times Jesus uses the expression "your Father"; for example: "how merciful is your Father" (Lk 6:36); "your Father who is in heaven" (Mk 11:25). In this way, he emphasises the specificity of his own relationship with the Father, while desiring that this divine fatherhood be communicated to others, as attested by the prayer of the "Our Father" that Jesus taught his apostles and followers.

6. The truth about Christ as the Son of God is the point of convergence of the entire New Testament. The Gospels, especially the Gospel of John, and the writings of the apostles, especially the Epistles of Saint Paul, offer us explicit testimony. In the present catechesis, we focus only on a few particularly significant statements, which in a certain sense "open the way" for us towards the discovery of the truth about Christ as the Son of God and bring us closer to the correct perception of this "sonship".

7. It is important to note that the conviction of the divine sonship of Jesus was confirmed by a voice from heaven during the baptism in the Jordan (cf. Mk 1:11) and on the mount of transfiguration (cf. Mk 9:7). In both cases the evangelists tell us of the proclamation made by the Father about Jesus "(his) beloved Son" (cf. Mt 3:17; Lk 3:22).

The apostles were similarly confirmed by the evil spirits that raged against Jesus: "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? You have come to ruin us! I know who you are: the saint of God" (Mk 1:24). "What have you in common with me . Son of the most high God?" (Mk 5:7).

8. If we then listen to the testimony of men, the profession of Simon Peter near Caesarea Philippi deserves special attention: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God" (Mk 16:16). It should be noted that this profession was confirmed in an unusually solemn way by Jesus: "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for neither flesh nor blood has revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven" (Mt 16:17).

This is not an isolated fact. In the same Gospel of Matthew, we read that when they saw Jesus walking on the waters of the Lake of Genezaret, calming the wind and saving Peter, the apostles prostrated themselves before the Master, saying: "You are truly the Son of God!" (Matthew 14, 33).

9. So then what Jesus did and taught nourished in the apostles the conviction that he was not only the Messiah, but also the true "Son of God". And Jesus confirmed this conviction.

It was precisely some of the statements Jesus uttered that provoked accusations of blasphemy against him. Particularly dramatic moments ensued, as the Gospel of John attests, where we read that the Jews "sought . . . to kill him: because he not only violated the Sabbath, but called God his Father, making himself equal with God" (John 5:18).

The same problem was raised in Jesus' trial before the Sanhedrin: Caiaphas, the high priest, questioned him: "I beseech thee, by the living God, that he may tell us whether thou art the Christ, the Son of God". To this question Jesus answers simply: "You have said it", that is, "Yes, I am" (cf. Mt 26:63-64). And also in the trial before Pilate, although the charge was a different one, that of having proclaimed himself king, nevertheless the Jews repeated the fundamental indictment: "We have a law and according to this law he must die, because he became the Son of God" (John 19, 7).

10. Thus we can say that Jesus ultimately died on the cross for the truth about his divine sonship. Even though the inscription placed on the cross as an official declaration of condemnation read: "Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews", nevertheless, St Matthew points out, "those who passed by insulted him, shaking their heads and saying: . If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross' (Mt 27:39-40). And again: 'He trusted in God: let him deliver him now, if he loves him. For he said: I am the Son of God!" (Mt 27:43).

This truth lies at the heart of the Golgotha event. In the past it had been the object of conviction, proclamation and testimony given by the apostles, now it has become the object of ridicule. And yet here too, the Roman centurion who oversees Jesus' agony and hears the words with which he addresses the Father, at the moment of death, gives a final surprising testimony, he a pagan, to the divine identity of Christ: "Truly this man was the Son of God!" (Mk 15:39).

11. The words of the Roman centurion on the fundamental truth of the Gospel and of the entire New Testament remind us of those addressed by the angel to Mary at the moment of the annunciation: "Behold, you will conceive a son, you will give birth to him, and you will call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High . . ." (Lk 1:31-32). And when Mary asks: "How is this possible?" the messenger answers her: "The Holy Spirit will descend upon you, the power of the Most High will spread its shadow over you. The one to be born will therefore be holy and called the Son of God" (Lk 1:34-35).

12. By virtue of the knowledge that Jesus had that he was the Son of God in the natural real sense of the word, he "called God his Father . . ." (Jn 5:18). With the same conviction, he did not hesitate to say to his adversaries and accusers: "Truly, truly, I say to you, before Abraham was, I am" (Jn 8:58).

In this 'I am' is the truth about the divine sonship that precedes not only the time of Abraham, but all time and all created existence.

St. John will say at the conclusion of his Gospel: "These (signs performed by Jesus) have been written, that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing, you may have life in his name" (Jn 20:31).

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 13 May 1987]

The Gospel [...] is part of a wider narrative called the “day in Capernaum”. At the heart of today’s reading is the event of the exorcism through which Jesus is presented as a powerful prophet in word and deed.

He enters the Synagogue of Capernaum on a Saturday and he begins teaching. The people are astonished by his words because they are not ordinary words. They do not sound like the ones they are accustomed to hearing. The Scribes in fact teach but without any authority. And Jesus teaches with authority. Jesus instead teaches like one who has authority, thus revealing himself as God’s Emissary, and not a simple man who has to base his teaching solely on earlier traditions. Jesus has full authority. His doctrine is new and the Gospel says that the people commented: “a new teaching! With authority” (v. 27).

At the same time, Jesus reveals himself to be powerful also in deeds. In the Synagogue of Capernaum, there is a man who is possessed by an unclean spirit which manifests itself by shouting these words: “What have you to do with us Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God” (24). The devil tells the truth: Jesus came to destroy the devil, to ruin the demon, to defeat him. This unclean spirit knows the power of God and he also proclaims his holiness. Jesus rebukes him saying: “Be silent, and come out of him!” (v. 25). These few words from Jesus are enough to obtain victory over Satan, who comes out of that man “convulsing him and crying out in a loud voice”, the Gospel says (v. 26).

This makes a strong impression on those present. Everyone is overcome by fear and asks themselves: “What is this? [...] he commands even the unclean spirits and they obey him”. (v. 27). The power of Jesus confirms the authority of his teaching. He does not just speak with words, but he takes action. In this way, he manifests God’s plan with words and with the power of his deeds. In the Gospel in fact, we see that in his earthly mission, Jesus reveals the love of God both through preaching and through countless gestures of attention and aid to the sick, the needy, children and sinners.

Jesus is our Teacher, powerful in word and deed. Jesus imparts to us all the light that illuminates the sometimes dark paths of our lives. He also transmits to us the necessary strength to overcome difficulties, trials and temptations. Let us consider what a great grace it is for us to have known this God who is so powerful and so good! A teacher and a friend who shows us the path and takes care of us especially when we are in need.

May the Virgin Mary, the woman of listening, help us to create silence around us and within us, in order to hear, through the din of the messages of the world, the most authoritative word that there is: that of her Son Jesus who proclaims the meaning of our existence and delivers us from all slavery, even that of the Evil one.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 28 January 2018]