In order not to weaken the personal Encounter

(Jn 20:2-8)

In Jn the beloved disciple at the foot of the Cross together with the Mother is the figure of each one, and of the new community that is born around Jesus.

Rises the Church; not on the basis of a planned succession, but by full and spontaneous adhesion.

In Asia Minor the Lord’s friends, Hellenists less bound to custom, intended to oppose the uncertain and compromissory attitude of the Judaizers.

Most of the faithful of the Johannine churches thought of abandoning the synagogue and the First Testament, which delayed them.

Alternatively, they wished to embrace exclusively the New, through personal Faith in the living Christ, without uncertainty.

The Fourth Gospel attempts to rebalance extremist positions.

"Son" and Mother - that is, the people of the ancient Covenant [in Hebrew «Israel» is of the female gender] - must remain united (Jn 19:26-27).

In short, Faith and works of law go hand in hand.

Faith is a progressive relationship that ignites in a search full of tension and passion [«to run»].

It conveys progressive perceptions, which give access to a new world [«to enter»], where we ‘see’ things we do not know.

This had already been in part the dismayed reaction of Mary Magdalene, who in Jn rushes alone to the tomb - not accompanied by other "women" as the Synoptics narrate.

A dismay that, however, pushes to the Announcement: the sepulcher (the condition of the Sheol, a ravine of darkness) was no longer in the arrangement in which it had been left after the burial of Christ.

And in fact, that «rewound [carefully] apart» sheet says it will never need any shroud. Death no longer has power over Him.

Thus, although the young man is faster than the veteran and arrives first to spot the signs of truth and the new world, he gives way and primacy.

Like a prophet who grasps everything ahead of time, the sincere disciple and the genuine community wait for even the slowest to come to the same experience, to the identical acumen of things; to believe in the mysterious process that brings gain in the loss and life from the death.

The eye of the fell in love immediately perceives; he has an intimate and acute gaze that grasps and makes its own the Novelty of the Risen One.

Earlier than mere admirers, the empathetic and true brother catches Life amid signs of death.

As if by the relationship of Faith that animates us, in the attention of events, we were already introduced into a reality that communicates ‘new senses’. And the distinguish-and-hear of the heart.

A Listening that makes the eye sharp - projecting the Announcement.

In this way, a new People arises, which "sees inside", which feels the Infinite appearing in finiteness, and complete life that is revealed in the fragility of the (even obscure) event.

Perhaps not a few people are still surprised by the 'empty tomb': that is, a Risen Jesus only 'personal', lived in love, in the free normal, in the self-giving that overcomes death. But without any 'mausoleum'.

The Beloved Disciple - flowed from the Heart of the Pierced Jesus and who also brings Tradition to the top - in his sensitivity ‘intuits’ the living Lord well ahead of the one commemorated.

He is kidnapped from it, and in his experience he instantly ‘realizes’ the power of Life on any tie up.

Divine condition, enlightening, unfolded in history.

[St. John the Apostle and Evangelist, December 27]

So as not to weaken the personal Encounter

(Jn 20:2-8)

"Now the two of them ran together, and the other disciple ran ahead sooner than Peter and came first to the tomb, and when he bent down he saw the linen cloths folded apart; yet he did not go in" (Jn 20:4-5).

In the fourth Gospel, the beloved disciple is an individual and ecclesial figure: of each of us, at the foot of the Cross together with the Mother - believing, sensitive and faithful Israel.

In addition, the beloved disciple himself is a broader, collective icon: of the new community that is born around Jesus.

It is precisely the Church that is born; not on the basis of a planned succession, but through full and spontaneous adhesion, which is unbelievable.

At the end of the first century, the Gospel of John acquires its fourth-fifth and final draft, in a climate of growing conflict between the ancient institution [reduced by now to a synagogue, without a Temple] and the new, adoring assembly of the sons.

Other tensions arise between the Johannine school - frankly prophetic - and the apostolic one, which we would define as Petrine charism, i.e. governmental.  A more diplomatic reality, and attenuated in its cues [with frictions evident throughout the writing of John, as well as in the text we are commenting on].

In Asia Minor, the Lord's friends, Hellenists who were less bound by custom, intended to contrast the uncertain and compromising attitude of the Judaizers.

Many of the believers in the Johannine churches were thinking of abandoning the synagogue and the First Testament, which were holding them back.

Alternatively, they wished to embrace the New exclusively, through personal faith in the living Christ, without uncertainty.

The Fourth Gospel attempts to balance the extremist positions.

"Son" and Mother - that is, the people of the Old Covenant [in Hebrew "Israèl" is feminine] - must remain united (Jn 19:26-27).

In short, faith and works of law go hand in hand.

Faith is a progressive relationship that is ignited in a quest filled with tension and passion ["running"].

It conveys progressive perceptions, which give access to a new world ["enter"], where we 'see' things we do not know.

This was already in part the dismayed reaction of Mary Magdalene, who in Jn. 1 runs alone to the tomb - not accompanied by other "women" as the synoptics narrate.

A dismay that, however, leads to the Announcement: the tomb (the condition of the Sheôl, a ravine of darkness) was no longer in the condition in which it had been left after Christ's burial.

And indeed, that sheet "wrapped [carefully] apart" says that it will never need any shroud. Death has no more power over Him.

Thus, although the young man is faster than the veteran and arrives first to sight the signs of truth and the new world, he gives way.

Like a prophet who grasps all things in advance, the outspoken disciple and the genuine community wait for the lagging ones to come to the same experience, to the identical acumen of things; to believe in the mysterious process that brings gain in loss and life from death.

The eye of the lover perceives immediately; it has the acute, intimate gaze that grasps and makes the Newness of the Risen One its own.

Before mere admirers, who await results and anticipate favours before getting involved, immediately the empathetic and true brother grasps Life amidst signs of death.

As if by the relationship of Faith that animates us, in the attention of events, we are already introduced into a reality that communicates 'new senses'. And the distinguishing-hearing of the heart.

A Listening that sharpens the eye - projecting the Announcement.

A new People thus arises, which 'sees within', which perceives the Infinite appearing in finiteness, and complete life revealing itself in the fragility of the (even obscure) event.

Says the Tao Tê Ching [LII]: "He who increases his endeavours, for all his life has no escape. Enlightenment is to see the small; strength is to stick to softness'.

Master Ho-shang Kung comments: 'Only the clear understanding of small things appears as enlightenment. He who sticks to weakness becomes great and strong every day".

Master Wang Pi: "The meritorious work of a ruler does not lie in great things: seeing great things is not enlightenment; seeing small things is enlightenment. Sticking to strength is not strength'.

For the ocean liner of the institutional and governing Church, the motorboat of the enthusiast is impregnable; at best, it tails it. Or at least, it should not lose sight of it.

In his sensitivity, the Beloved Disciple - springing from the Heart of the Pierced One and carrying the Tradition to the summit as well - 'senses' the living Lord well before the one being commemorated.

He is enraptured by it, and in his experience 'realises' instantly the power of Life over all bindings.

Divine, illuminating condition, unfolded in history. 

But a great deal of patience will have to be exercised, so that amidst a thousand delays and backtracks that make the children stagnate, at least here and there we do not lose the charisma of the outriders and the personal encounter.

Those who play in advance and trigger the involvement of the heart to a new level, map out the present and the future for the whole field of those responsible who - uncertain or willingly - still linger.

Perhaps not a few people are still surprised by the 'empty tomb': that is, a Risen Jesus only 'personal', lived in love, in the free normal, in the self-giving that overcomes death. But without any 'mausoleum'.

To internalise and live the message:

How do you live the relationship between Faith and Church life?

The silent ones know the mysterious exchange of hearts

John, son of Zebedee

Dear brothers and sisters

we dedicate today's meeting to the memory of another very important member of the apostolic college: John, son of Zebedee and brother of James. His name, typically Jewish, means 'the Lord has done grace'. He was tidying up his nets on the shore of Lake Tiberijah, when Jesus called him together with his brother (cf. Mt 4:21; Mk 1:19). John is always part of the small group that Jesus takes with him on certain occasions. He is with Peter and James when Jesus, in Capernaum, enters Peter's house to heal his mother-in-law (cf. Mk 1:29); with the other two he follows the Master to the house of the archisynagogue Jairus, whose daughter will be called back to life (cf. Mk 5:37); he follows him when he goes up the mountain to be transfigured (cf. Mk 9:2); He is beside him on the Mount of Olives when before the grandeur of the Temple of Jerusalem he pronounces the discourse on the end of the city and the world (cf. Mk 13:3); and, finally, he is close to him when in the Garden of Gethsemane he withdraws to pray to the Father before the Passion (cf. Mk 14:33). Shortly before Easter, when Jesus chooses two disciples to send them to prepare the room for the Supper, he entrusts him and Peter with this task (cf. Lk 22:8).

His prominent position in the group of the Twelve makes the initiative taken one day by his mother somewhat understandable: she approached Jesus to ask him that his two sons, John precisely and James, could sit one at his right and one at his left in the Kingdom (cf. Mt 20:20-21). As we know, Jesus responded by asking a question in turn: he asked whether they were willing to drink the cup that he himself was about to drink (cf. Mt 20:22). The intention behind those words was to open the eyes of the two disciples, to introduce them to the knowledge of the mystery of his person and to foreshadow to them the future call to be his witnesses until the supreme test of blood. Shortly afterwards, Jesus made it clear that he had not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for the multitude (cf. Mt 20:28). In the days following the resurrection, we find "the sons of Zebedee" engaged with Peter and some other disciples in an unfruitful night, which is followed by the intervention of the Risen One by the miraculous catch of fish: it will be "the disciple whom Jesus loved" who first recognises "the Lord" and points him out to Peter (cf. Jn 21:1-13).

Within the Church of Jerusalem, John occupied a prominent place in the leadership of the first grouping of Christians. Paul in fact counts him among those he calls the "pillars" of that community (cf. Gal 2:9). In fact, Luke in Acts presents him together with Peter as they go to pray in the Temple (cf. Acts 3,1-4.11) or appear before the Sanhedrin to testify their faith in Jesus Christ (cf. Acts 4,13.19). Together with Peter he is sent by the Church in Jerusalem to confirm those in Samaria who have accepted the Gospel, praying on them to receive the Holy Spirit (cf. Acts 8:14-15). In particular, one must remember what he says, together with Peter, before the Sanhedrin that is trying them: "We cannot keep silent about what we have seen and heard" (Acts 4:20). It is precisely this frankness in confessing one's faith that remains an example and an admonition for all of us to always be ready to decisively declare our unwavering adherence to Christ, putting faith before any calculation or human interest.

According to tradition, John is "the beloved disciple", who in the Fourth Gospel rests his head on the Master's breast during the Last Supper (cf. Jn 13:21), stands at the foot of the Cross together with the Mother of Jesus (cf. Jn 19:25), and finally witnesses both the Empty Tomb and the Risen One's own presence (cf. Jn 20:2; 21:7). We know that this identification is debated by scholars today, some of whom see in him simply the prototype of the disciple of Jesus. Leaving it to the exegetes to settle the question, we are content here to gather an important lesson for our lives: the Lord desires to make of each of us a disciple who lives a personal friendship with Him. To achieve this, it is not enough to follow Him and listen to Him outwardly; one must also live with Him and like Him. This is only possible in the context of a relationship of great familiarity, pervaded by the warmth of total trust. This is what happens between friends; that is why Jesus said one day: 'No one has greater love than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends ... I no longer call you servants, because the servant does not know what his master does; but I have called you friends, because everything I have heard from the Father I have made known to you" (Jn 15:13, 15).

In the apocryphal Acts of John, the Apostle is presented not as the founder of Churches, nor as the leader of already established communities, but in continuous itinerancy as the communicator of the faith in the encounter with "souls capable of hoping and being saved" (18:10; 23:8). Everything is moved by the paradoxical intention to make the invisible visible. And indeed by the Eastern Church he is simply called "the Theologian", that is, the one who is able to speak in accessible terms of divine things, revealing an arcane access to God through adherence to Jesus.

The cult of John the Apostle was established from the city of Ephesus, where, according to an ancient tradition, he would have worked for a long time, finally dying there at an extraordinarily advanced age, under the emperor Trajan. In Ephesus the emperor Justinian, in the 6th century, had a great basilica built in his honour, of which impressive ruins still remain. He enjoyed and still enjoys great veneration in the East. In Byzantine iconography he is often depicted very old - according to tradition he died under the Emperor Trajan - and in the act of intense contemplation, almost in the attitude of one who invites to silence.

Indeed, without adequate recollection it is not possible to approach the supreme mystery of God and his revelation. This explains why, years ago, the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople, Athenagoras, the one whom Pope Paul VI embraced in a memorable meeting, said: "John is at the origin of our highest spirituality. Like him, the 'silent ones' know that mysterious exchange of hearts, they invoke the presence of John and their hearts are set on fire' (O. Clément, Dialogues with Athenagoras, Turin 1972, p. 159). May the Lord help us to put ourselves in the school of John to learn the great lesson of love so that we may feel loved by Christ "to the end" (Jn 13:1) and spend our lives for Him.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 5 July 2006].

John, son of Zebedee

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Let us dedicate our meeting today to remembering another very important member of the Apostolic College: John, son of Zebedee and brother of James. His typically Jewish name means: "the Lord has worked grace". He was mending his nets on the shore of Lake Tiberias when Jesus called him and his brother (cf. Mt 4: 21; Mk 1: 19).

John was always among the small group that Jesus took with him on specific occasions. He was with Peter and James when Jesus entered Peter's house in Capernaum to cure his mother-in-law (cf. Mk 1: 29); with the other two, he followed the Teacher into the house of Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue whose daughter he was to bring back to life (cf. Mk 5: 37); he followed him when he climbed the mountain for his Transfiguration (cf. Mk 9: 2).

He was beside the Lord on the Mount of Olives when, before the impressive sight of the Temple of Jerusalem, he spoke of the end of the city and of the world (cf. Mk 13: 3); and, lastly, he was close to him in the Garden of Gethsemane when he withdrew to pray to the Father before the Passion (cf. Mk 14: 33).

Shortly before the Passover, when Jesus chose two disciples to send them to prepare the room for the Supper, it was to him and to Peter that he entrusted this task (cf. Lk 22: 8).

His prominent position in the group of the Twelve makes it somewhat easier to understand the initiative taken one day by his mother: she approached Jesus to ask him if her two sons - John and James - could sit next to him in the Kingdom, one on his right and one on his left (cf. Mt 20: 20-21).

As we know, Jesus answered by asking a question in turn: he asked whether they were prepared to drink the cup that he was about to drink (cf. Mt 20: 22). The intention behind those words was to open the two disciples' eyes, to introduce them to knowledge of the mystery of his person and to suggest their future calling to be his witnesses, even to the supreme trial of blood.

A little later, in fact, Jesus explained that he had not come to be served, but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many (cf. Mt 20: 28).

In the days after the Resurrection, we find "the sons of Zebedee" busy with Peter and some of the other disciples on a night when they caught nothing, but that was followed, after the intervention of the Risen One, by the miraculous catch: it was to be "the disciple Jesus loved" who first recognized "the Lord" and pointed him out to Peter (cf. Jn 21: 1-13).

In the Church of Jerusalem, John occupied an important position in supervising the first group of Christians. Indeed, Paul lists him among those whom he calls the "pillars" of that community (cf. Gal 2: 9). In fact, Luke in the Acts presents him together with Peter while they are going to pray in the temple (cf. Acts 3: 1-4, 11) or appear before the Sanhedrin to witness to their faith in Jesus Christ (cf. Acts 4: 13, 19).

Together with Peter, he is sent to the Church of Jerusalem to strengthen the people in Samaria who had accepted the Gospel, praying for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit (cf. Acts 8: 14-15). In particular, we should remember what he affirmed with Peter to the Sanhedrin members who were accusing them: "We cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard" (Acts 4: 20).

It is precisely this frankness in confessing his faith that lives on as an example and a warning for all of us always to be ready to declare firmly our steadfast attachment to Christ, putting faith before any human calculation or concern.

According to tradition, John is the "disciple whom Jesus loved", who in the Fourth Gospel laid his head against the Teacher's breast at the Last Supper (cf. Jn 13: 23), stood at the foot of the Cross together with the Mother of Jesus (cf. Jn 19: 25) and lastly, witnessed both the empty tomb and the presence of the Risen One himself (cf. Jn 20: 2; 21: 7).

We know that this identification is disputed by scholars today, some of whom view him merely as the prototype of a disciple of Jesus. Leaving the exegetes to settle the matter, let us be content here with learning an important lesson for our lives: the Lord wishes to make each one of us a disciple who lives in personal friendship with him.

To achieve this, it is not enough to follow him and to listen to him outwardly: it is also necessary to live with him and like him. This is only possible in the context of a relationship of deep familiarity, imbued with the warmth of total trust. This is what happens between friends; for this reason Jesus said one day: "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.... No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you" (Jn 15: 13, 15).

In the apocryphal Acts of John, the Apostle is not presented as the founder of Churches nor as the guide of already established communities, but as a perpetual wayfarer, a communicator of the faith in the encounter with "souls capable of hoping and of being saved" (18: 10; 23: 8).

All is motivated by the paradoxical intention to make visible the invisible. And indeed, the Oriental Church calls him quite simply "the Theologian", that is, the one who can speak in accessible terms of the divine, revealing an arcane access to God through attachment to Jesus.

Devotion to the Apostle John spread from the city of Ephesus where, according to an ancient tradition, he worked for many years and died in the end at an extraordinarily advanced age, during the reign of the Emperor Trajan.

In Ephesus in the sixth century, the Emperor Justinian had a great basilica built in his honour, whose impressive ruins are still standing today. Precisely in the East, he enjoyed and still enjoys great veneration.

In Byzantine iconography he is often shown as very elderly - according to tradition, he died under the Emperor Trajan - in the process of intense contemplation, in the attitude, as it were, of those asking for silence.

Indeed, without sufficient recollection it is impossible to approach the supreme mystery of God and of his revelation. This explains why, years ago, Athenagoras, Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople, the man whom Pope Paul VI embraced at a memorable encounter, said: "John is the origin of our loftiest spirituality. Like him, "the silent ones' experience that mysterious exchange of hearts, pray for John's presence, and their hearts are set on fire" (O. Clément, Dialoghi con Atenagora, Turin 1972, p. 159).

May the Lord help us to study at John's school and learn the great lesson of love, so as to feel we are loved by Christ "to the end" (Jn 13: 1), and spend our lives for Him.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 5 July 2006]

1. We meet at the liturgical time of Christmas. I want, therefore, the words that I am about to address to you today, to correspond to the joy of this feast and this octave. I also want them to correspond to that simplicity and at the same time that depth which Christmas irradiates over everyone. There comes to my mind spontaneously the memory of my feelings and my experiences, beginning from the years of my childhood in my father's house, through the difficult years of youth, the period of the second war, the world war. May it never be repeated in the history of Europe and of the world! Yet, even in the worst years, Christmas has always brought some rays with it. And these rays penetrated even the hardest experiences of contempt for man, annihilation of his dignity, of cruelty. To realize this, it is enough to pick up the memories of men who have passed through the prisons or concentration camps, the war fronts and the interrogations and trials. A gleam of faith

This ray of Christmas Night, a ray of the birth of God, is not only a memory of the lights of the tree beside the crib at home, in the family or in the parish church. It is something more. It is the deepest glimpse of humanity visited by God, humanity newly received and assumed by God himself; assumed in the Son of Mary in the unity of the Divine Person: the Son-Word. Human nature assumed mystically by the Son of God in each of us who have been adopted in the new union with the Father. The irradiation of this mystery extends far, very far, and even reaches those parts and those spheres of men's existence, in which any thought of God has been almost obscured and seems to be absent, as if it were burnt out completely. And lo, with Christmas night a gleam appears: perhaps in spite of everything? Happy this "perhaps in spite of everything" ... it is already a gleam of faith and hope.

2. In the festivity of Christmas we read of the pastors of Bethlehem who were the first to be called to the crib, to see the new-born Child: "And they went with haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger." (Lk 2: 16.)

Let us stop at that "found". This word indicates a search. In fact, the shepherds of Bethlehem, when they stopped to rest with their flock, did not know that the time had come in which would happen that which had been announced for centuries by the prophets of that People to which they themselves belonged; and that it would happen just on that night; and that it would take place near the place where they had stopped. Even after wakening up from the sleep in which they were immersed, they did not know either what had happened or where it had happened. Their arrival at the cave of the Nativity was the result of a search. But at the same time they had been led, they were—as we read—guided by the voice and by the light. And if we go back even further in the past, we see them guided by the tradition of their People, by its expectation. We know that Israel had been promised the Messiah.

And lo, the Evangelist speaks of the simple, the humble, the poor of Israel: of the shepherds who found Him for the first time. He speaks, moreover, in all simplicity, as if it were a question of an "exterior" event: they looked for where he might be, and finally they found him. At the same time this "found" of Luke's indicates an inner dimension: that which took place on that Christmas night, in men, in those simple pastors of Bethlehem. "They found Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger"; and then: " ... the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them." (Lk 2:16, 20.)

3. "Found" indicates "a search". Man is a being who seeks. His whole history confirms it. Even the life of each of us bears witness to it. Many are the fields in which man seeks and seeks again and then finds and, sometimes, after having found, he begins to seek again. Among all these fields in which man is revealed as a being who seeks, there is one, the deepest. It is the one which penetrates most intimately into the very humanity of the human being. And it is the one most closely united with the meaning of the whole of human life.

Man is the being who seeks God. The ways of this search vary. The histories of human souls just along these paths are multiple. Sometimes the ways seem very simple and near. At other times they are difficult, complicated, distant. Now man arrives easily at his "eureka": "I have found!". Now he struggles with difficulties, as if he could not penetrate himself and the world, and above all as if he could not understand the evil that there is in the world. It is known that even in the context of the Nativity this evil has shown its threatening face.

A good many men have described their search for God along the ways of their own lives. Even more numerous are those who are silent, considering everything they have lived along these ways as their own deepest and most intimate mystery: what they experienced, how they searched, how they lost their sense of direction and how they found it again.

Man is the being who seeks God.

And even after having found him, he continues to seek him. And if he seeks him sincerely, he has already found him; as, in a famous fragment of Pascal, Jesus says to man: "Take comfort, you would not be looking for me if you had not already found me." (B. Pascal, Pensées, 553: Le mystère de Jésus.)

This is the truth about man.

It cannot be falsified. Nor can it be destroyed. It must be left to man because it defines him.

What can be said of atheism in the light of this truth? A great many things should be said, more than can be enclosed in the framework of this short address of mine. But at least one thing must be said: it is indispensable to apply a criterion, that is, the criterion of the freedom of the human spirit. Atheism cannot be reconciled with this criterion—a fundamental criterion—either when it denies a priori that man is the being that seeks God, or when it mutilates this search in various ways in social, public and cultural life. This attitude is contrary to the fundamental rights of man.

4. But I do not wish to dwell on this. If I mention it, I do so to show all the beauty and dignity of the search for God.

This thought was suggested to me by the feast of Christmas.

How was Christ born? How did he come into the world? Why did he come into the world?

He came into the world in order that men may be able to find him; those who look for him. Just as the shepherds found him in the cave at Bethlehem.

I will say even more. Jesus came into the world to reveal the whole dignity and nobility of the search for God, which is the deepest need of the human soul, and to meet the search halfway.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 27 December 1978]

In the passage of the Gospel we have heard (cf. Jn 20: 1-8), John tells us of that unimaginable morning that changed forever the history of humanity. Let us imagine it, that morning: at the first light of dawn of the day after Saturday, around the tomb of Jesus, everyone starts running. Mary of Magdala runs to warn the disciples; Peter and John run towards the tomb ... Everyone runs, everyone feels the urgency to move: there is no time to waste, we must hurry ... As Mary had done – remember? – as soon as conceived was Jesus, to go to help Elizabeth.

We have many reasons to run: often just because there are so many things to do and there is never enough time. Sometimes we hurry because we are attracted by something new, beautiful, or interesting. Sometimes, on the contrary, we run to escape from a threat, from a danger...

The disciples of Jesus run because they have received the news that the body of Jesus has disappeared from the grave. The hearts of Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and John are full of love and beat wildly after the separation that seemed definitive. Perhaps the hope of seeing the face of the Lord again is rekindled in them! As on that first day when he had promised: “Come and see” (Jn 1:39). The one who runs the fastest is John, certainly because he is younger, but also because he has never ceased to hope after seeing Jesus die on the cross with his own eyes; and also because he was close to Mary, the Mother, and in this way he has been “infected” by her faith. When we feel that faith is weaker or tepid, let us go to Her, Mary, and She will teach us, she will understand, she will make us feel the faith.

Since that morning, dear young people, history has no longer been the same. That morning changed history. The hour when death seemed to triumph, is shown in reality to be the time of its defeat. Even that heavy boulder, placed before the tomb, could not resist. And from that dawn of the first day after Saturday, every place where life is oppressed, every space in which violence, war, misery dominate, where man is humiliated and trampled – in that place a hope of life can still be rekindled.

Dear friends, you set off and have come to this meeting. And now my joy is to feel that your hearts beat with love for Jesus, like those of Mary Magdalene, of Peter, and of John. And because you are young, I, like Peter, am happy to see you run faster, like John, driven by the impulse of your heart, sensitive to the voice of the Spirit that inspires your dreams. This is why I say to you: do not be content with the prudent step of those who wait at the end of the line. do not be content with the prudent step of those who wait at the end of the line. It takes courage to risk a leap forward, a bold and daring leap to dream and realize like Jesus the Kingdom of God, and to commit yourselves to a more fraternal humanity. We need fraternity: take risks, go ahead!

I will be happy to see you running faster than those in the Church who are a little slow and fearful, attracted by that much-loved Face, which we adore in the Holy Eucharist and recognize in the flesh of our suffering brother. May the Holy Spirit drive you in this race forward. The Church needs your momentum, your intuitions, your faith. We are in need! And when you arrive where we have not yet reached, have the patience to wait for us, as John waited for Peter before the empty tomb. And another thing: walking together, these days, you have experienced how hard it can be to welcome the brother or sister who is next to me, but also how much joy his presence can give me if I receive this in my life without prejudice or a narrow mind. Walking alone allows us to be freed from everything, and perhaps faster, but walking together makes us become a people, the people of God. The people of God that gives us security, the security of belonging to the people of God ... And with God’s people you feel safe, in the people of God, in your belonging to the people of God you have an identity. An African proverb says: “If you want to go fast, run alone. If you want to go far, go with someone”.

The Gospel says that Peter first entered the tomb and saw the cloths on the ground and the shroud folded in a separate place. Then the other disciple also entered, who, the Gospel says, “saw and believed” (verse 8). This pair of verbs is very important: seeing and believing. Throughout the Gospel of John it is said that the disciples, seeing the signs that Jesus performed, believed in Him. Seeing and believing. What signs are these? Water transformed into wine for the wedding; some sick people healed; a blind man who gains his sight; a large crowd satiated with five loaves and two fish; and the resurrection of His friend Lazarus, who died four days beforehand. In all these signs, Jesus reveals the invisible face of God.

It is not a representation of the sublime divine perfection that transpires from the signs of Jesus, but the story of human frailty that meets the Grace that lifts up again. There is the wounded humanity that is healed by the encounter with the Master; there is the fallen man who finds an outstretched hand to cling to; there is the loss of the defeated who discover a hope of redemption. And John, when he enters Jesus’ tomb, carries in his eyes and in his heart those signs given by Jesus, immersing himself in the human drama to revive him. Jesus Christ, dear young people,  is not a hero immune from death, but rather He who transforms it with the gift of His life. And that carefully folded sheet says it will no longer be needed: death no longer has power over Him.

Dear young people, is it possible to encounter Life in places where death reigns? Yes, it is possible. We would want to say no, that it is better to stay away, keep far away. Yet this is the revolutionary novelty of the Gospel: Christ’s empty tomb becomes the last sign in which the definitive victory of Life shines forth. So we are not afraid! We do not stay away from the places of suffering, of defeat, of death. God has given us a power greater than all the injustices and fragility of history, greater than our sin: Jesus conquered death by giving His life for us. And He sends us forth to announce to our brothers that He is the Risen One, He is the Lord, and He gives us His Spirit to sow with Him the Kingdom of God. That morning of Easter Sunday changed history, let us have courage.

How many tombs, so to say, await our visit today! How many wounded people, even young ones, have sealed their suffering by placing, as they say, a stone on top of it? With the power of the Spirit and the Word of Jesus we can move those boulders and let beams of light enter into those ravines of darkness.

The journey to Rome was beautiful and tiring; think, how much effort, but how much beauty! But equally beautiful and challenging will be the return journey to your homes, to your countries and to your communities. Undertake it with the trust and energy of John, the “beloved disciple”. Yes, the secret is there – in being and knowing that you are “loved”, “loved” by Him, by Jesus, the Lord, He loves us! And each one of us, returning home, put this in your heart and in your mind: Jesus, the Lord, loves me. Undertake with courage and with joy the path towards home, take it with the awareness o being beloved by Jesus. Then life becomes a good race, without anxiety, without fear, that word that destroys us. Without anxiety and without fear. A race towards Jesus and to your brothers, with a heart full of love, faith and joy: go like this!

[Pope Francis, Final Reflection at the Prayer Vigil at the Circus Maximus 11 August 2018]

Placing in the events of persecution

(Mt 10:17-22)

The course of history is a time when God composes the confluence of our freedom and circumstances.

In such folds there is often a vector of life, an essential aspect, a definitive destiny, that escapes us.

But to the non-mediocre eye of the person of Faith, abuses and even martyrdom are also a gift.

To learn the important lessons of life, every day the believer ventures into what he is afraid to do, overcoming fears.

The spousal and gratuitous love received places us in a condition of reciprocity, of active desire to unite life to Christ - albeit in the meagre nature of our responses.

Continuing instead to complain about failures, dangers, calamities, everyone will see in us women like the others and ordinary men - and everything will end at this level.

We won’t be on the other side. At most we will try to escape the harshness, or we will end up looking for circumstance’s allies (vv.19).

Mt intends to help his communities to clash with worldly logic and to place themselves fervently in the events of persecution.

Social harassments are not fatalities, but opportunities for mission; places of high eucharistic witness (v.18).

The persecuted do not need external crutches, nor do they have to live in the anguish of collapse.

They have the task of being signs of the God’s Kingdom, which gradually leads the distant and the usurpers themselves to a different awareness.

No one is the arbiter of reality and all are twigs subject to reverses, but in the humanizing condition of the apostles overflows an emotional independence.

This happens through the intimate, living sense of a Presence, and the reading of external events as an exceptional action of the Father who reveals himself.

In this mouldable energy magma, unique paths emerge, unprecedented opportunities for growth... even in adversity.

Attitude without alibi or granite certainties: with the sole conviction that everything will be put back on the line.

Sacred and profane times come to coincide in a fervent Covenant, which nests and bears fruit even in moments of travail and paradox.

Here the only necessary resource is the spiritual strength to go all the way... yes, in paradoxes of other side.

It’s in the Lord and in the insidious or day-to-day reality the "place" for each of us. Not without lacerations.

Yet we draw spiritual energy from the knowledge of Christ, from the sense of deep bond with Him and even minute and varied reality, or fearsome - always personal (v.22b).

Our story will not be like an easy and happy ending novel.

But we’ll have the opportunity to witness in the present the most genuine ancient roots: at every moment God calls, manifests himself - and what seems to be failure becomes Food and source of Life.

To internalize and live the message:

What kind of reading do you do, and how do you place yourself in events of persecution? 

Are you aware that setbacks do not come for despair, but to free you from closure in stagnant cultural patterns (and not yours)?

[St. Stephen protomartyr, December 26]

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

On the day after Christmas the liturgy has us celebrate the "birth into Heaven" of the first martyr, St Stephen. "Full of faith and of the Holy Spirit" (Acts 6: 5), he was chosen as deacon in the Community of Jerusalem, together with another six disciples of Greek origin. Stephen worked numerous miracles with the power that came to him from God and proclaimed the Gospel in the synagogues with "inspired wisdom". He was stoned to death outside the city gates and died like Jesus, praying for forgiveness for those who killed him (cf. Acts 7: 59-60). The deep bond which links Christ to his first martyr Stephen is divine Charity:  the very Love which impelled the Son of God to empty himself and make himself obedient unto death on a Cross (cf. Phil 2: 6-8) later spurred the Apostles and martyrs to give their lives for the Gospel.

It is always necessary to notice this distinctive feature of Christian martyrdom:  it is exclusively an act of love for God and for man, including persecutors. At holy Mass today, we therefore pray to the Lord that he who "died praying for those who killed him, [may] help us to imitate his goodness and to love our enemies" (cf. Opening Prayer). How many sons and daughters of the Church down the centuries have followed his example, from the first persecution in Jerusalem to the persecutions of the Roman emperors, to the multitudes of martyrs in our day! Indeed, even today we receive news from various parts of the world of missionaries, priests, Bishops, men and women religious and lay faithful who are persecuted, imprisoned, tortured, deprived of freedom or prevented from exercising it because they are disciples of Christ and apostles of the Gospel; at times, they even suffer and die for being in communion with the universal Church or for their fidelity to the Pope. Recalling the experience of the Vietnamese Martyr, Paul Le-Bao-Tinh (d. 1857) in my Encyclical Letter Spe Salvi (cf. n. 37), I noted that suffering is transformed into joy through the power of hope that comes from faith. The Christian martyr, like Christ and through union with him, "accepts it in his heart, and he transforms it into an action of love. What on the outside is simply brutal violence - the Crucifixion - from within becomes an act of total self-giving love.... Violence is transformed into love, and death into life" (World Youth Day 2005, Homily, Mass on Marienfeld Esplanade, Cologne, 21 August 2005; L'Osservatore Romano English edition, 24 August, p. 11). The Christian martyr brings about the victory of love over hatred and death.

Let us pray for those who suffer for being faithful to Christ and to his Church. May Mary Most Holy, Queen of Martyrs, help us to be credible Gospel witnesses, responding to our enemies with the disarming power of truth and charity.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 26 December 2007]

Dearest brothers and sons!

It is dear to me to address you again today, who have gathered here for the Angelus prayer in the atmosphere so typical and intimate of holy Christmas. Today, in fact, Christmas continues its salutary and invigorating atmosphere, and our souls still breathe in it because of the sense of enduring wonder and amazement before the great event which has taken place and which, inexhaustible in its efficacy, is projected into the whole course of time. I mean the event or, more precisely, the mystery of the Son of God being born in Bethlehem as the Son of Man, to make himself our brother and saviour for us.

So august and unfathomable is this mystery that we cannot meditate on it enough. For this reason, the Church in her liturgical and catechetical wisdom proposes it to us every year, for a commemoration that extends over not a few days and is articulated in a special cycle that we call the 'Christmas liturgical cycle'.

2. And I wish to venerate with you St Stephen, the first Christian martyr, as the Church does on the day after the feast of Christmas.

"Yesterday we celebrated the temporal birth of our eternal king; today we celebrate the glorious passion of one of his soldiers. For yesterday our King, clothed in the noble robe of his flesh, coming forth from the palace of the virginal bosom, deigned to visit the world; today one of his soldiers, leaving the tent of the body, has ascended as a triumphant man into heaven'. These are the evocative expressions of a saint of the early Church, St Fulgentius (St Fulgentius, Sermo 3, 1), and they retain their meaning intact because they enucleate a relationship not only of liturgical continuity between the feast of Christmas and that of the protomartyr, but also, above all, of intrinsic connection in the order of holiness and grace. Christ, king of history and redeemer of man, stands at the centre of that journey towards perfection, to which he calls man, every man.

As we venerate St Stephen and his invincible example as a witness to Christ, as he showed himself by his spirited speech, by his concern for the service of the poor, by his constancy during his trial and, above all, by his heroic death, we see that his figure is illuminated and magnified in the light of his Lord and master, whom he wanted to follow in the supreme sacrifice. It is the Lord Jesus who alone provides the succour and comfort necessary for souls to be faithful unto death.

From this derives a valuable lesson for us: looking at Stephen in the perspective of Christmas, we must take up his example and his teaching, which univocally lead us back to Christ who, born in the cave of Bethlehem, is already on his way - in the final intention of the redemptive work - to the hill of Calvary. Made sons of God by him, called to live as sons of God, we too will be crowned like Stephen up there, in the homeland, if we are faithful.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 26 December 1980]

Today we celebrate the feast of Saint Stephen, the first martyr. The Book of the Acts of the Apostles tells us about him (cf. 6-7), and today’s liturgy presents him to us in the final moments of his life, when he is captured and stoned (cf. 6: 12; 7: 54-60). In the joyful climate of Christmas, this memory of the first Christian killed for the faith could appear out of place. However, precisely from the perspective of faith, today’s celebration is in tune with the true meaning of Christmas. In Stephen’s martyrdom, in fact, violence is defeated by love, death by life: at the hour of supreme witness, he contemplates the open heavens and grants forgiveness to his persecutors (cf. v. 60).

This young servant of the Gospel, full of the Holy Spirit, knew how to narrate Jesus in words, and above all with his life. Looking to him, we see the fulfilment of Jesus’ promise to His disciples: “When they deliver you over … what you are to say will be given to you in that hour. For it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you” (cf. Mt 10: 19-20). In the school of Saint Stephen, who became similar to his Master both in life and in death, we too set our gaze on Jesus, a faithful witness of the Father. We learn that the glory of Heaven, the glory that lasts for eternal life, is not made up of wealth and power, but of love and self-giving.

We need to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, “the founder and perfecter of our faith” (Heb 12: 2), to be able to give reason to the hope that was given to us (cf. 1 Pt 3: 15), through the challenges and trials that we must face daily. For us Christians, heaven is no longer distant, separate from earth: in Jesus, Heaven descended to earth. And thanks to Him, with the strength of the Holy Spirit, we can assume all that which is human and guide it towards Heaven. So may the first witness be precisely our way of being human, a way of life formed according to Jesus: gentle and courageous, humble and noble, non-violent.

Stephen was a deacon, one of the first seven deacons of the Church (cf. Acts 6: 1-6). He teaches us to proclaim Christ through gestures of fraternity and evangelical charity. His witness, culminating in martyrdom, is a source of inspiration for the renewal of our Christian communities. They are called to become increasingly missionary, all of them tending towards evangelization, determined to reach out to men and women in the existential and geographical peripheries, where there is a greater thirst for hope and salvation. Communities that do not follow the worldly logic, that do not put themselves, their own image, at the centre, but only the glory of God and the good of the people, especially the little ones and the poor.

The feast of this first martyr Stephen calls us to remember all the martyrs of yesterday and today – nowadays they are many! – to feel in communion with them, and to ask them for the grace to live and die with the name of Jesus in our hearts and on our lips. May Mary, Mother of the Redeemer, help us to live this Christmas time by fixing our gaze on Jesus, so that we may become more like Him every day.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 26 December 2019]

(Lk Christmas)

It would make no sense to put a cake filled with candles in front of the Nativity. We sing another Wonder: the discovery of a Treasure, hidden behind our dark sides.

Christmas is not an anniversary or birthday, but an event of Revelation of the divine Face: not absolute Sovereign, but poor naked and unarmed among ordinary people, lying on unclean place.

Do we feel "badly done"? We are on the right track - which is not that of the exasperated controls.

God did not "become superhuman", but «Flesh». Reality that the Father makes breathe, embraces and recovers - enlightens and doesn’t discard.

The meaning of Christmas is to let all the uncertain but unrepeatable implications of imperfection pass through us. Not like a fault.

"Weak" points and eccentricities will become strong points.

It takes unpredictable time to trace the way of growth - an unexpected path; and God accepts it.

Incarnation is an irruption of Eternity between our walls and crises: the dreaming Unexpected, that invests the suburbs and doesn’t place distances.

In the shepherds - who we are - the rough, alternate and impure, become priority appointees.

Strident judgment compared to the ephemeral authentic: that of ceremonial opinions.

It’s not an extrinsic redemption, aimed only for the misfits of society, of course. It concerns us.

Under the momentary rind of our "certain things" intrigues a seed that will make our new Child.

The inner Jesus wants to be nursed, guarded, nourished, so that he may grow according to an intimate Drawing, a process of sacred (but unprotected) Exodus that saves.

Mystery that’s not at natural external reach, because in tune with the Call by Name, with its unique innate, multifaceted, vital character - which should not be extinguished.

The development of emotions, inclinations and passions, of our Roots, should not be disturbed by weights of thought, by cloaks of habits, or conditioning.

[Even accelerations hinder evolution: e.g. the desire to deal with insufficiency, in order to solve it immediately].

In general, it harms the battle we set up with ourselves to be accepted - by conforming to the outline.

So the commitment is to sit in an armor that doesn’t belong to us.

Day after day a Flame is giving birth to another and different Infant - in appearance contradictory, unbalanced, unsteady, dented.

This vigorous adolescent doesn’t enjoy lacerating programs, but an awareness of Faith: the Creator wants to walk-with our discrepancies.

There is an intimate Jesus, perhaps not yet weaned: he smiles at us calmly and with open arms.

There is no truth more beautiful than in the vertigo of being able to give birth and express the hidden Little that each one is in the soul’s face.

In his last Christmas Vigil, Paul VI wanted to emphasize that in the arrival of the Logos «Everyone can say: for me!».

May this Time help us to understand this personal dimension; we are not the ones who have to fight against ourselves.

For a Christmas that is already Easter. The punctured cocoon will make our butterfly.