Instances of the world, idea of ‘perfection’, sense of the Christ

(Lk 21:5-11)

In his Apocalyptic Discourse Lk wants us to meditate on the meaning of history and ‘what is it that remains’... but how many adverse conditions and oppositions!

So he aims to support the hope of poor people and persecuted of his communities.

Certainly, Faith turns to the God who guides history. He is Lord of it; but today remains obscure and uncertain, so we remain as if hunted by instances that do not correspond to us - but loom.

Even some believers were beginning to doubt: does God really have control over the facts and the cosmos? It’s the same question we ask ourselves today: in the midst of so many calamities, where will we end up?

In order not to be confused and plagiarized, a better awareness, a refinement of perception must take over in order to discern the meaning of the “realms” that alternate and pass.

The authentic Church has a new Vision, which precisely advocates these earthquakes and calamities, i.e. the shattering of the concatenations of the ancient world.

On the other hand, the turmoils do not disintegrate creation: they prepare a radically new one.

We have to endure within and apply ourselves - perhaps taking more care of the character of time, of unusual friends of the soul, and neglecting the inherited [or imposed] idea of ‘perfection’.

So many worlds built by the mind and hands of man imagined themselves perpetual, even the Goal of everything.

Instead they continue to collapse, dragging away ancient expressions, beliefs, customs, hegemonies, visions of things.

Each era carries with it the crumbling of human ediments and its empires - fragile and insubstantial, despite the contrary appearances (and the sense of permanence with which we interpreted them).

The functions of the earth have no other law than that of perishing: they are undermined at the base, destined to evaporate.

In a moment they move from control to flaking and from dominance to insignificance.

A reversal is enough.

Conversely, the New Kingdom is intimate and like whisper: for this reason it does not remain chipped by external events.

We are not so much called to resist some hard changes, as to stay with them.

The objective is to be ‘re-born’ - as sons, still regenerated, who go through another founding Eros [to whom abandon themselves, otherwise it will not be able to perform its high function].

This impetus settles in hearts and transforms them; it cements them, without clamour: with a very great, subversive power, which triggers new forms - but with secret virtue.

It has another step and rhythm, cozy; and a different time.

So we do not lose any part of ourselves, indeed we let grow all sides of personality and relationships.

It is the Faith [plural] that accepts the opposites - to solidify the stones.

To internalize and live the message:

How do you experience the upheavals?

Do you contract your freedom or do you ignite your most brilliant (even opposing) secret powers?

[Tuesday 34th wk. in O.T.  November 25, 2025]

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

In today's Gospel passage, St Luke reproposes the Biblical view of history for our reflection and refers to Jesus' words that invite the disciples not to fear, but to face difficulties, misunderstandings and even persecutions with trust, persevering through faith in him. The Lord says: "When you hear of wars and tumults, do not be terrified; for this must first take place, but the end will not be at once" (Lk 21: 9). Keeping this admonition in mind, from the beginning the Church lives in prayerful waiting for her Lord, scrutinizing the signs of the times and putting the faithful on guard against recurring messiahs, who from time to time announce the world's end as imminent. In reality, history must run its course, which brings with it also human dramas and natural calamities. In it a design of salvation is developed that Christ has already brought to fulfilment in his Incarnation, death and Resurrection. The Church continues to proclaim this mystery and to announce and accomplish it with her preaching, celebration of the sacraments and witness of charity. 

Dear brothers and sisters, let us welcome Christ's invitation to face daily events by trusting in his providential love. Let us not fear the future, even when it can appear with bleak colours, because the God of Jesus Christ, who entered history to open it to its transcendent fulfilment, is the alpha and the omega, the first and the last (cf. Rv 1: 8). He guarantees that in every little but genuine act of love there is the entire sense of the universe, and that the one who does not hesitate to lose his own life for him finds it again in fullness (cf. Mt 16: 25).

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 18 November 2007]

1. After meditating on the eschatological goal of our existence, that is, eternal life, we now reflect on the journey that leads to it. To do this, we develop the perspective presented in the Apostolic Letter Tertio millennio adveniente: “The whole of the Christian life is like a great pilgrimage to the house of the Father, whose unconditional love for every human creature, and in particular for the ‘prodigal son’ (cf. Lk 15:11-32), we discover anew each day. This pilgrimage takes place in the heart of each person, extends to the believing community and then reaches to the whole of humanity” (n. 49).

In fact, what Christians will one day live to the full is already in some way anticipated today. Indeed, the Passover of the Lord inaugurates the life of the world to come.

2. The Old Testament prepares for the announcement of this truth through the complex theme of the Exodus. The journey of the chosen people to the promised land (cf. Ex 6:6) is like a magnificent icon of the Christian’s journey towards the Father's house. Obviously there is a fundamental difference: while in the ancient Exodus liberation was oriented to the possession of land, a temporary gift like all human realities, the new “Exodus” consists in the journey towards the Father’s house, with the definitive prospect of eternity that transcends human and cosmic history. The promised land of the Old Testament was lost de facto with the fall of the two kingdoms and the Babylonian Exile, after which the idea of returning developed like a new Exodus. However, this journey did not end in another geographical or political settlement, but opened itself to an “eschatological” vision that was henceforth a prelude to full revelation in Christ.  The universalistic images, which in the Book of Isaiah describe the journey of peoples and history towards a new Jerusalem, the centre of the world (cf. Is 56-66), in fact point in this direction.

3. The New Testament announces the fulfilment of this great expectation, holding up Christ as the Saviour of the world: “When the time had fully come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons” (Gal 4:4-5). In the light of this announcement, this life is already under the sign of salvation. It is fulfilled in the coming of Jesus of Nazareth, which culminates in the Passover but will have its full realization in the “parousia”, the final coming of Christ.

According to the Apostle Paul, this journey of salvation which links the past to the present, directing it to the future, is the fruit of God's plan, totally focused on the mystery of Christ. This is the “mystery of his will, according to his purpose which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth” (Eph 1:9-10; cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1042f.).

In this divine plan, the present is the time of the “already and not yet”. It is the time of salvation already accomplished and the journey towards its full actualization: “Until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Eph4:13).

4. Growth towards this perfection in Christ, and  therefore growth towards the experience of the Trinitarian mystery, implies that the Passover will be fulfilled and fully celebrated only in the eschatological kingdom of God (cf. Lk 22:16). But the events of the Incarnation, the Crucifixion and the Resurrection already constitute the definitive revelation of God. The offer of redemption which this event implies is inscribed in the history of our human freedom, called to respond to the call of salvation.

Christian life is a participation in the paschal mystery, like the Way of the Cross and the Resurrection. It is a Way of the Cross, because our life is continually subject to the purification that leads to overcoming the old world marked by sin. It is a way of resurrection, because, in raising Christ, the Father conquered sin, so that for the believer the “justice of the Cross” becomes the “justice of God”, that is, the triumph of his truth and his love over the wickedness of the world.

5. In short, Christian life is growing towards the mystery of the eternal Passover. It therefore requires that we keep our gaze on the goal, the ultimate realities, but at the same time, that we strive for the “penultimate” realities: between these and the eschatological goal there is no opposition, but on the contrary  a mutually fruitful relationship. Although the primacy of the Eternal is always asserted, this does not prevent us from living historical realities righteously in the light of God (cf. CCC, n. 1048f.).

It is a matter of purifying every human activity and every earthly task, so that the Mystery of the Lord’s Passover will increasingly shine through them. As the Council in fact reminded us, human activity which is always marked by the sign of sin is purified and raised to perfection by the paschal mystery, so that “when we have spread on earth the fruits of our nature and our enterprise — human dignity, brotherly communion, and freedom — according to the command of the Lord and in his Spirit, we will find them once again, cleansed this time from the stain of sin, illuminated and transfigured, when Christ presents to his Father an eternal and universal kingdom” (Gaudium et spes, n. 39).

This eternal light illumines the life and the entire history of humanity on earth.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 11 August 1999]

Today’s Gospel passage contains the first part of Jesus’ discourse on the end times, [according to] the writing of Saint Luke (21:5-19). Jesus made this proclamation while standing before the Temple of Jerusalem, and was prompted by the peoples’ words of admiration for the beauty of the sanctuary and its decorations (cf. v. 5). Then Jesus said: “the days will come when there shall not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down” (v. 6). We can imagine the effect these words had on Jesus’ disciples. However, he did not want to insult the temple, but rather make it understood — to them as well as to us today — that human structures, even the most sacred, are fleeting, and we should not place our security in them. How many supposedly definitive certainties have we had in our lives, which later were revealed to be ephemeral! On the other hand, how many problems have appeared to be a dead end, and then were overcome!

Jesus knows that there are always those who speculate about the human need for safety. For this reason, he says: “Take heed that you are not led astray” (v. 8), and guard against the many false Messiahs who will appear (v. 9). Even today there are these! And, he adds, do not be frightened and bewildered by wars, revolutions, and disasters, since even these are part of the world’s reality (cf. vv. 10-11). The history of the Church is rich with examples of people who withstood tribulations and terrible suffering with serenity, because they were aware that they were firmly in God’s hands. He is a faithful Father, an attentive Father, who does not abandon his children. God never abandons us! We must have this certainty in our heart: God never abandons us!

Remaining firm in the Lord, in this certainty that he does not abandon us, walking in hope, working to build a better world, despite the difficulties and sad circumstances which mark our personal and collective existence, is what really counts; it is how the Christian community is called to encounter the “day of the Lord”. It is precisely within this context that we want to place the undertaking that we have lived with faith during these months of the Extraordinary Jubilee of Mercy, which concludes today in the Dioceses of the world with the closing of the Holy Doors in the cathedral Churches. The Holy Year impelled us, on the one hand, to fix our gaze toward the fulfillment of the Kingdom of God and, on the other, to build a future on this earth, working to evangelize the present, so we can make it a time of salvation for everyone. 

In the Gospel Jesus encourages us to keep firmly in mind and in heart the certainty that God guides our history, and that he knows the final end of things and events. Under the the Lord’s merciful gaze, history unravels in flowing uncertainty, and weaves between good and evil. However, all that happens is contained within him. Let us pray to the Virgin Mary that she may help us, through the happy and sad events of this world, to firmly maintain hope in eternity and in the Kingdom of God. Let us pray to the Virgin Mary, that she may help us deeply understand this truth: that God never abandons his children!

[Pope Francis, Angelus 13 November 2016]

Solemnity of Christ the King of the Universe [23 November 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. We close the liturgical year C with grateful hearts as we prepare to resume our journey with Advent.

*First Reading from the Second Book of Samuel (5:1-3)

These are the first steps of the monarchy in Israel. It all begins in Hebron, an ancient city in the mountains of Judea, where the patriarchs of Israel rest: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah, and even Joseph, whose bones were brought back from Egypt. It is a place steeped in memory and faith, and it is here that David becomes king of all the twelve tribes of Israel. After the death of Moses, around 1200 BC, the people of Israel settled in Palestine. The tribes lived independently, united only by the memory of their liberation from Egypt and their faith in their one God. In times of danger, God raised up temporary leaders, the Judges, who guided the people and often also acted as prophets. One of these was Samuel, a great man of God. Over time, however, the Israelites wanted to be 'like other peoples' and asked Samuel for a king. The prophet was troubled by this, because Israel was to recognise only God as King, but in the end, on God's command, he consecrated Saul, the first king of Israel. After a promising start, Saul fell into disobedience and madness, and God chose another man: David, the young shepherd from Bethlehem, on whom Samuel poured the oil of anointing. David did not immediately take power: he served Saul faithfully, became his musician and valiant warrior, loved by the people and bound by deep friendship to Jonathan, Saul's son. But the king's jealousy turned to hatred, and David was forced to flee, while always refusing to raise his hand against 'the Lord's anointed'. After Saul's death, Israel was divided: David reigned in Hebron over the tribe of Judah, while in the north, one of Saul's sons reigned for a short time. When the latter was killed, the northern tribes gathered at Hebron and recognised David as their king. On that day, the united kingdom of Israel was born: twelve tribes under one shepherd, chosen by God and recognised by his brothers. The anointing with sacred oil made David the 'Messiah', that is, the 'anointed one of the Lord'. He was to be a king after God's own heart, a shepherd who would lead his people towards unity and peace. But history showed how difficult it was to realise this ideal. Nevertheless, hope did not die: Israel always waited for the true Messiah, the descendant of David who would establish an eternal kingdom. And a thousand years later, Jesus Christ, called "Son of David," presented himself as the Good Shepherd, the one who offers his life for his flock. Every Sunday, in the Eucharist, he renews his covenant and tells us: "You are of my own blood."

*Responsorial Psalm (121/122:1-2, 3-4, 5-6a, 7a)

"What joy when they said to me, 'We will go to the house of the Lord'." A pilgrim recounts his emotion: after a long journey, his feet finally stop at the gates of Jerusalem. We are in the time of the return from Babylonian exile: the city has been rebuilt, the Temple restored (around 515 BC), and the people find in the house of the Lord the living sign of the Covenant. Before the resurrected city, the pilgrim exclaims: Jerusalem, here you are within your walls, a compact city, where everything together forms one body! Jerusalem is not only a geographical location: it is the heart of God's people, a symbol of unity and communion. Every stone, every wall reminds us that Israel is a people gathered together by a single promise and a common destiny. God himself wanted Israel to make an annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem, so that the common journey and shared effort would keep the bond of the Covenant alive. This is why the Psalm proclaims: "There the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord... to praise the name of the Lord." The verb "to go up" indicates both the elevated position of the city and the spiritual ascent of the people towards their liberating God, the same God who brought them up, that is, out of Egypt. The phrase 'the tribes of the Lord' recalls the mutual belonging of the Covenant: 'You shall be my people, and I will be your God.' The pilgrimage, made on foot, amid fatigue, thirst and songs, is a journey of faith and fraternity. When the pilgrim exclaims, 'Now our journey is over!', he expresses the joy of one who has reached not only a geographical destination but also a spiritual one: the encounter with God in the city of his presence. Giving thanks to the Lord is Israel's vocation. Until the whole world recognises God, Israel is called to be the people of thanksgiving in the world, witnesses to divine faithfulness. Thus, every pilgrimage to Jerusalem renews Israel's mission: to give thanks, to praise and to show the way to other nations. The prophet Isaiah had foretold this universal plan: "At the end of days, the mountain of the Lord's temple will be firm on the top of the mountains, and all nations will flock to it... From Zion will go forth the law, and from Jerusalem the word of the Lord." (Is 2:2-3) Jerusalem then becomes a prophetic sign of the renewed world, where all peoples will be united in the same praise and the same peace. The Psalm recalls again: "There the thrones of judgement are set, the thrones of the house of David." With these words, Israel recalls the promise made by God to David through the prophet Nathan: "I will raise up a king from your descendants, and I will make his kingdom firm." (2 Sam 7:12). After the exile, there is no longer a king on the throne, but the promise remains alive: God does not go back on his word. In the celebrations at the Temple, this memory becomes prayer and hope: the day will come when God will raise up a king after his own heart, just and faithful, who will restore peace and justice. The very name Jerusalem means "city of peace." When we pray, "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; may those who love you be secure" (Ps 122:6), we are not simply expressing a wish, but a profession of faith: only God can give true peace, and Israel is called to be a witness to this in the world. With the passing of the centuries, the hope for a righteous king is fulfilled in Jesus Christ, the Son of David. It is He who inaugurates the Kingdom of life and truth, of grace and holiness, of justice, love and peace, as proclaimed in the liturgy of the feast of Christ the King. In Him, the earthly Jerusalem becomes the new Jerusalem, the city of the definitive encounter between God and man. Every Eucharist is an ascent towards that city, a pilgrimage of the soul that ends in the heart of God. Israel's pilgrimage to Jerusalem then becomes a symbol of the journey of all humanity towards communion with God. And like the pilgrims of the Psalm, we too, the Church of the New Testament, can say with joy: "What joy when they said to me, 'We will go to the house of the Lord'."

*Second Reading from the letter of St. Paul the Apostle to the Colossians (1:12-20)

The invisible face of God. Once upon a time, there was a world that sought God but did not know how to see him. People looked up to the sky, built temples, offered sacrifices, but God remained invisible, distant. Then, one day, the Word became flesh: the God whom no one had ever seen took on a human face, and that face was that of Jesus of Nazareth. Since then, every time a man looks at Jesus, he looks at God. St Paul said it with words that sound like a song: "He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation." In Him, everything that exists finds its origin and meaning. He is not only the beginning of the world, but also its heart: in Him everything was created, and in Him everything was reconciled. This plan of God did not come about yesterday, and Paul speaks of a design that has always been in place: 'He has delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us to the Kingdom of the Son of his love.' God has always dreamed of a free, luminous human being, capable of communion. But what God had prepared in eternity was realised in time, in the present of Christ. This is why Paul writes: "In Him we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." The mystery of Jesus is not a memory; it is a living reality that continues to work in the hearts of believers every day. God had made man "in His own image and likeness." But that image, in sin, had become clouded. So God Himself came to show us what it means to be human. In Jesus, man is restored to his original beauty. When Pilate shows him to the crowd and says, 'Behold the man!', he does not know that he is uttering a prophecy: in that wounded face, in that humble silence, the true man is revealed, as God had intended him to be. But in that face there is also the face of God. Jesus is the visibility of the invisible. He is God who allows himself to be seen, touched, heard. "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father," he will say to Philip. And Paul will add: "In him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily." In Jesus, God and man meet forever. The infinite has taken flesh, heaven has become flesh. This is the mystery of the Cross. But how can the Cross be a sign of peace and reconciliation? Paul explains it this way: "God wanted to reconcile all things to himself, making peace through the blood of his cross." It is not God who wants the suffering of his Son. It is the hatred of men that kills him. Yet God transforms that hatred into redeeming love. It is the great reversal of history: violence becomes forgiveness, death becomes life, the cross becomes a tree of peace. We have seen men in history who have witnessed to peace and been killed for it — Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Itzhak Rabin, Sadat... — but only Christ, being both man and God, was able to transform evil into grace for the whole world. In his forgiveness of his crucifiers — “Father, forgive them” — God’s own forgiveness is revealed. From that day on, we know that no sin is greater than God’s love. On the cross, everything is accomplished. Paul writes: “God wanted all fullness to dwell in him, and through him to reconcile everything.” Creation finally finds its unity, its peace. The first to enter this Kingdom is the repentant thief: "Today you will be with me in paradise." And from then on, every person who opens themselves to forgiveness enters into that same light. The Eucharist is the heart of the mystery. Faced with such a gift, there is only one possible response: to give thanks. This is why Paul invites us: "Give thanks to God the Father, who has made you capable of sharing in the lot of the saints in the light." The Eucharist — in Greek, eucharistia means precisely "giving thanks" — is the place where the Church relives this mystery. Every Mass is a living memory of this reconciliation: God gives himself, the world is renewed, man finds himself again. It is there that everything is recomposed: the visible and the invisible, earth and heaven, man and God. And so, in the history of the world, a face has revealed the invisible. A pierced heart has brought peace. A broken loaf continues to make present the fullness of love. And every time the Church gathers for the Eucharist, Paul's song is renewed as a cosmic praise: Christ is the image of the invisible God, the first and the last, the one who reconciles the world with the Father, the one in whom everything subsists. In Him, everything finds meaning. In Him, everything is grace. In Him, the invisible God finally has a face: Jesus Christ, Lord of heaven and earth.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (23:35-43)

The logic of men and the logic of God. Three times, at the foot of the cross, the same provocation is repeated to Jesus: "If you are..." — "If you are the Messiah," the religious leaders mock; 'If you are the King of the Jews', sneer the Roman soldiers; 'If you are the Messiah', insults one of the criminals crucified with him. Each speaks from his own point of view: the leaders of Israel expect a powerful Messiah, but before them is a defeated and crucified man; the soldiers, men of earthly power, laugh at a defenceless 'king'; the criminal, on the other hand, awaits a saviour who will free him from death. These three voices recall the three temptations in the desert (Lk 4): even then, the tempter repeated, 'If you are the Son of God...'. Temptations of power, dominion and miracles. Jesus responded each time with the Word: 'It is written: man does not live on bread alone...' 'You shall worship the Lord your God and him alone shall you serve...' 'You shall not tempt the Lord your God'. Scripture was his strength to remain faithful to the mission of the poor and obedient Messiah. On the cross, however, Jesus is silent. He no longer responds to provocations. Yet he knows well who he is: the Messiah, the Saviour. But not according to the logic of men, who would like a God capable of saving himself, of dominating, of winning by force. Jesus dies precisely because he does not correspond to this human logic. His logic is that of God: to save by giving himself, without imposing himself. His silence is not empty, but full of trust. His very name, Jesus, means 'God saves'. He awaits his redemption from God alone, not from himself. The temptations are overcome forever: he remains faithful, totally surrendered into the hands of men, but trusting in the Father. Amidst the insults, two words encapsulate the mystery of the Cross. The first: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." The second, addressed to the "good thief": "Today you will be with me in Paradise." Forgiveness and salvation: two gestures that are both divine and human. In Jesus, God himself forgives and reconciles humanity. The repentant thief — who turns to him and says, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom" — is the first to understand who Christ truly is. He does not ask to come down from the cross, but to be welcomed. In that plea of humility and trust, the "remember" becomes the prayer that opens Paradise. Where Adam, in the Garden of Eden, had succumbed to the temptation to "be like God," Jesus, the new Adam, wins by waiting for everything from God. Adam had wanted to decide his own greatness and had been cast out of Paradise; Jesus, on the other hand, by accepting to be the Son in total abandonment, reopens Paradise to humanity. In the story of the Passion, two logics intersect: that of men, who seek a powerful God, and that of God, who saves through love and weakness. Jesus rejects the temptation to demonstrate his strength; instead, he chooses to trust the Father until the end. In his silence and forgiveness, divine power manifests itself as mercy. Beside him, the repentant thief becomes the first witness of the Kingdom: he recognises Christ as the true King, not of the powerful, but of the saved. Where Adam had closed the gates of Paradise, Jesus reopens them: 'Today you will be with me in Paradise' is God's definitive response to the logic of the world.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

Small coins and festival of the voracious God, in solemn appearances

(Lk 21:1-4)

Jesus faces the treasure of the Temple, the true "god" of the whole sanctuary. The comparison is ruthless: one as opposed to the other (v.1; cf. Mk 12:41).

Enigma that could not be solved with a simple "purification" of the sacred place, or a replenishment of devotion.

It will be surprising, but the Gospel passage does not sing praises of individual humility which by faith deprives itself of everything: it’s rather a radical appeal to church leaders and to the sense of institution.

The Lord is saddened by every expropriation conditioned by awe. Indeed, fear takes life from those who do not enjoy fullness.

Christ weeps the subordinate condition of the poor and neglected: He does not make her take the chair. He does not credit the situation. He doesn’t want the woman already naked by two cents to undress all.

He seems distraught for that one silent figure; to underline the difference between the voracious demands of the ancient religions’ God and those of a completely different sign - in our favor - of the Father in the Faith.

While Jesus noticed and was mourning on the minuteous gesture of the little woman, the Apostles did not even notice the irrelevant poor creature, continuing to gape at the magnificence of the Temple.

Who knows what they were dreaming about... seduced by honor.

To divert them from the fever of reputation and considerations they desired to boast of, there was a need for an awareness; but to move them out of their place and yardstick the miracles would not have been enough.

Thus Jesus seeks to convey in conscience the Good News that the Father is the exact opposite of how he had been painted to them by the spiritual guides of the time.

The Eternal disconcerts: He does not take, does not appropriate, does not plunder, nor does absorb or debilitate us - but He is the One who gives.

He does not punish if you do not placate Him with both the little coins you have, without withholding a single one - even if only by doing in half (v.2).

The honour to God is not exclusive, but inclusive.

Paraphrasing the encyclical Fratelli Tutti, we could say that in authentic communities [as in families] «everyone contributes to the common purpose; everyone works for the common good, not denying each person’s individuality but encouraging and supporting it» (n.230).

The Son notes with bitterness that the beautiful protagonists themselves «devour the houses of widows» (Lk 20:47) as vampires. So convincing as to make the souls of the simple even their supporters and victims.

Christ is saddened by such unconscious complicity, induced by the lack of knowledge of the Father’s Face - preached as a leech God.

In fact, in the path of personal Faith true believers are not repeaters of external roles (Lk 20:45-47).

We collaborate with the creative and deifying work of the Eternal in offering ourselves as a vital food for the humanity to which the Bridegroom has been taken away - here in the figure of the poor «widow» who bleed out.

In short, we must no longer macerate and wear ourselves out, because of the glory of the Almighty, but enrich ourselves with Him and pronounce fully!

A God all substance, of little epidermal appearance.

Yet the antithesis of the rich and poor was resurfacing in the early communities... to the detriment of the isolated.

Here, precisely the reversal of the fortunes had to become characteristic of the adoring Church, which is immersed in the same rhythm of the supreme vital Source.

It will therefore be the amiable institution that will remain naked and pilgrim, even in the space of the small and unsteady.

And the action of the assemblies of believers will be able to activate a new, convivial world, humanizing disharmonies.

A reality that beats ‘time’. For a ‘Kingdom’ really not neutral. But where does the soul counts, not the curriculum.

[Monday 34th wk. in O.T.  November 24, 2025]

Pennies and festivals of the voracious God, in solemn appearances

(Lk 21:1-4)

Jesus conveys the Glad Tidings that the Father is the exact opposite of what was imagined.

He does not take, or appropriate, or absorb, or debase, but it is He who gives; He does not chastise unless you appease Him with both coins you have, without withholding even one (v.2).

Honour to God is not exclusive, but inclusive.

Paraphrasing the encyclical Fratelli Tutti, we could say that in authentic communities [as in families] "all contribute to the common project, all work for the common good, but without annulling the individual; on the contrary, they support him, they promote him" (n.230).

In particular, the rich-poor antithesis is heralded by the reversal of lifestyle, situations and destinies: characteristic of the ideal Church, which remains a pilgrim - even in the space of the Person.

Its good reason, virtuous practices and public implications are immersed in the same rhythm as the supreme Life Source - which loves uniqueness, for the sake of common wealth.

With the exception of good relations, the institution can appear unattractive. It does not impose itself by force of 'favourable' social conditions, but is Presence on the plane of Faith.

Friendship that contemplates a new world, capable of humanising disharmonies.

Reality that beats time - because it is inside and outside of it, like Love.

It is the soul that counts, not the curriculum; not even conditioning influences, which only make things difficult.

Indeed, the feeling of being poor or late starts with making comparisons - and wanting to add, to anticipate, to demand an external more.

But what counts in the relationship with oneself, with others and with God is only being able to express one's own nature. Making choices in tune with the essence that characterises.

Calculations are deviant, not consonant; so are comparisons. The small fleeting but personal detail is decisive.

It is only important to coincide with what we are, in that present; in synchrony with one's character.

We are what we are. The development will go well.

Jesus confronts the treasure of the Temple, the true 'god' of the whole sanctuary. The confrontation is merciless: one pitted against the other [v.1; cf. Mk 12:41].

An enigma that could not be resolved by a simple "purification" of the sacred place, or a rekindling of devotion.

The Son announces a Father: he is not the one who sucks the resources and energies of creatures, to the point of plucking them out.

The great places of worship of antiquity were veritable banks, the proceeds of which were to provide in part for the needs of the poor.

Fear of divine chastisements inculcated by false spiritual leaders had perverted the situation: even the needy felt they had to provide for the pomp, worship, the decorations of the sacred buildings, and the livelihood of the practitioners of the ritual.

Jesus here does not praise the austerity and humility of an outcast, but looks with sadness at the poor woman who allowed herself to be cheated out of her thoughts, becoming a paradoxical accomplice of the diseducational system.

She could have kept a coin; she throws them both away in vain, and with them "her whole life" (v.4 Greek text).

The original and Jesuit episode is taken up by Lk for a catechesis to his communities, based on events [cf. the ancient writings of James and Paul] under the eyes of second and third generation Christians.

The first fraternities were composed of simple people, but with the entry of the first well-to-do and their magnificent offerings, the same social frictions that were present in the life of the empire began to reappear.

Tensions became more and more evident at both meetings and the breaking of the Bread.

The teaching of the widow's gesture was meant to be a warning to the Royal Communion.

In short, the Kingdom of God is penetration into the depths of life; with dedication that is not reduced to material quantities, nor to handing over what one advances - but what one is.

In the context of the plural society [of the Roman empire and today] from the responsible and motivated Faith arises the elemental Call of the Gospels.

Ancient and current call - for a singular and common experience. Truly non-neutral.

To internalise and live the message:

Who do you consider to be the outstanding characters in your community?

What about your two cents? Do you withhold at least one?

What do you put in the most?

Can people's problems only be solved with a lot of money?

Are the coins of the notable really more useful than your few pennies?

Church, and Light

In the widow who throws her two coins into the treasury in the temple, we can see the "image of the Church" that must be poor, humble and faithful. Pope Francis began from the Gospel of the day, taken from Luke chapter 21 (1-4), his reflection during the Mass at Santa Marta on Monday 24 November. The homily recalls the passage in which Jesus, "after lengthy discussions" with the Sadducees and disciples about the Pharisees and scribes who "take pleasure in having the first places, the first seats in the synagogues, in the banquets, in being greeted", looked up and "saw the widow". The "contrast" is immediate and "strong" compared to the "rich who threw their offerings into the temple treasury". And it is precisely the widow "who is the strongest person here, in this passage".

Of the widow, the Pontiff explained, 'it is said twice that she is poor: twice. And that she is in misery'. It is as if the Lord wanted to emphasise to the doctors of the law: 'You have so many riches of vanity, of appearance, or even of pride. This one is poor. You, who eat widows' houses...". But "in the Bible, the orphan and the widow are the figures of the most marginalised" as well as lepers, and "that is why there are so many commandments to help, to care for widows, for orphans". And Jesus "looks at this woman alone, simply clothed" and "who throws away everything she has to live on: two coins". The thought also runs to another widow, that of Sarepta, "who had received the prophet Elijah and gave everything she had before she died: a little flour with oil...".

The Pontiff recounted the scene narrated by the Gospel: "A poor woman in the midst of the powerful, in the midst of doctors, priests, scribes... also in the midst of the rich who were throwing their offerings, and even some to be seen". To them Jesus says: "This is the way, this is the example. This is the way by which you must go". The "gesture of this woman who was all for God, like the widow Anna who received Jesus in the Temple: all for God. Her hope was only in the Lord".

"The Lord emphasises the person of the widow", Francis said, and continued: "I like to see here, in this woman an image of the Church". First of all the "poor Church, because the Church must have no other riches than her Bridegroom"; then the "humble Church, as the widows of that time were, because at that time there was no pension, no social aid, nothing". In a certain sense the Church 'is a bit of a widow, because she is waiting for her Bridegroom who will return'. Of course, 'she has her Bridegroom in the Eucharist, in the word of God, in the poor: but she waits for him to return'.

And what drives the Pope to "see in this woman the figure of the Church"? The fact that 'she was not important: this widow's name did not appear in the newspapers, nobody knew her, she had no degrees... nothing. Nothing. She did not shine by her own light'. And the 'great virtue of the Church' must be precisely that of 'not shining with her own light', but of reflecting 'the light that comes from her Bridegroom'. All the more so because "over the centuries, when the Church has wanted to have its own light, it has erred". The 'early Fathers' also said so, the Church is 'a mystery like that of the moon. They called it mysterium lunae: the moon has no light of its own; it always receives it from the sun".

Of course, the Pope specified, "it is true that sometimes the Lord may ask his Church to have, to take a little light of its own," as when he asked "the widow Judith to lay down her widow's robes and put on the robes of a feast to go on a mission". But, he reiterated, 'always remains the attitude of the Church towards her Bridegroom, towards the Lord'. The Church 'receives light from there, from the Lord' and 'all the services we do' in it serve to 'receive that light'. When a service lacks this light "it is not good", because "it causes the Church to become either rich, or powerful, or to seek power, or to take the wrong path, as has happened so many times, in history, and as happens in our lives when we want to have another light, which is not the Lord's: a light of our own".

The Gospel, the Pope noted, presents the image of the widow at the very moment when "Jesus begins to feel the resistance of the ruling class of his people: the Sadducees, the Pharisees, the scribes, the doctors of the law. And it is as if he were saying, "All this is happening, but look there!" to that widow. The comparison is fundamental in order to recognise the true reality of the Church that 'when she is faithful to hope and to her Bridegroom, she is joyful to receive light from him, to be - in this sense - a widow: waiting for that sun that will come'.

Moreover, 'it is no coincidence that the first strong confrontation, after the one with Satan, that Jesus had in Nazareth, was for naming a widow and for naming a leper: two outcasts'. There were "many widows in Israel at that time, but only Elijah was sent to that widow of Sarepta. And they became angry and wanted to kill him'.

When the Church, Francis concluded, is 'humble' and 'poor', and also when it 'confesses its miseries - then we all have them - the Church is faithful'. It is as if she were saying: 'I am dark, but the light comes to me!' And this, the Pontiff added, 'does us so much good'. So 'let us pray to this widow who is in heaven, safe', that 'she may teach us to be Church like this', renouncing 'everything we have' and keeping 'nothing for ourselves' but 'everything for the Lord and for our neighbour'. Always "humble" and "without boasting that we have light of our own", but "always seeking the light that comes from the Lord."

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano 25/11/2014]

At the heart of the Liturgy of the Word […] we find the figure of the poor widow or, more precisely, we find her gesture when she dropped her last coins into the collection box of the Temple treasury. Thanks to Jesus' attentive look it has become the proverbial "widow's mite" and indeed is synonymous with the generosity of those who give unsparingly the little they possess. However, I would like first of all to emphasize the importance of the atmosphere in which this Gospel episode takes place, that is, the Temple of Jerusalem, the religious centre of the People of Israel and the heart of its whole life. The Temple was the place of public and solemn worship, but also of pilgrimage, of the traditional rites and of rabbinical disputations such as those recorded in the Gospel between Jesus and the rabbis of that time in which, however, Jesus teaches with unique authority as the Son of God. He judges the scribes severely as we have heard because of their hypocrisy: indeed, while they display great piety they are exploiting the poor, imposing obligations that they themselves do not observe. Indeed, Jesus shows his affection for the Temple as a house of prayer but for this very reason wishes to cleanse it from improper practices; actually he wants to reveal its deepest meaning which is linked to the fulfilment of his own Mystery, the Mystery of his death and Resurrection, in which he himself becomes the new and definitive Temple, the place where God and man, the Creator and his creature, meet. 

The episode of the widow's mite fits into this context and leads us, through Jesus' gaze itself, to focus our attention on a transient but crucial detail: the action of the widow, who is very poor and yet puts two coins into the collection box of the Temple treasury. Jesus is saying to us too, just as he said to his disciples that day: Pay attention! Take note of what this widow has done, because her act contains a great teaching; in fact, it expresses the fundamental characteristic of those who are the "living stones" of this new Temple, namely the total gift of themselves to the Lord and to their neighbour; the widow of the Gospel, and likewise the widow in the Old Testament, gives everything, gives herself, putting herself in God's hands for others. This is the everlasting meaning of the poor widow's offering which Jesus praises; for she has given more than the rich, who offer part of what is superfluous to them, whereas she gave all that she had to live on (cf. Mk 12: 44), hence she gave herself. 

Dear friends, starting with this Gospel icon I would like to meditate briefly on the mystery of the Church, the living Temple of God, and thereby pay homage to the memory of the great Pope Paul VI who dedicated his entire life to the Church. The Church is a real spiritual organism that prolongs in space and time the sacrifice of the Son of God, an apparently insignificant sacrifice in comparison with the dimensions of the world and of history but in God's eyes crucial. As the Letter to the Hebrews says and also the text we have just heard Jesus' sacrifice offered "once" sufficed for God to save the whole world (cf. Heb 9: 26, 28), because all the Love of the Son of God made man is condensed in that single oblation, just as all the widow's love for God and for her brethren is concentrated in this woman's action; nothing is lacking and there is nothing to add. The Church, which is ceaselessly born from the Eucharist, from Jesus' gift of self, is the continuation of this gift, this superabundance which is expressed in poverty, in the all that is offered in the fragment. It is Christ's Body that is given entirely, a body broken and shared in constant adherence to the will of its Head.

[Pope Benedict, homily Brescia 8 November 2009]

2. Let us praise God together with the psalmist: he "is faithful for ever": the God of the covenant. He is the one who "brings justice to the oppressed", who "gives bread to the hungry" - as we ask him every day. God is the one who 'restores sight to the blind': he restores the sight of the spirit. He "raises up the fallen". He "upholds the orphan and the widow" . . . (Ps 146 [145]:6-9).

3. It is precisely the widow who is at the centre of today's liturgy of the Word. This is a well-known figure from the Gospel: the poor widow who threw into the treasury "two pennies, that is, one quintrin" (Mk 12:42) - (what is the approximate value of this coin?). Jesus observed "how the crowd threw coins into the treasury. And many rich people were throwing a lot of them" (Mk 12:41).

Seeing the widow and her offering he said to the disciples: "This widow has thrown more into the treasury than all the others . . . They all gave of their surplus; she, on the other hand, in her poverty, put in all she had, all she had to live on" (Mk 12:43-44).

4. The widow of the Gospel has her parallel in the old covenant. The first reading of the liturgy from the book of Kings, recalls another widow, that of Zarepta, who at the request of the prophet Elijah shared with him all that she had for herself and her son: bread and oil, even though what she had was only enough for the two of them.

And behold - according to Elijah's prediction - the miracle happened: the flour in the jar did not run out and the jar of oil was not emptied . . . and so it was for several days (cf. 1 Kings 17: 14-17).

5. A common characteristic unites both widows - the widow of the old covenant and the widow of the new covenant -. Both are poor and at the same time generous: they give all that is in their power. Everything they possess. Such generosity of heart is a manifestation of total reliance on God. And so today's liturgy rightly links these two figures with the first beatitude of Christ's Sermon on the Mount:

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Mt 5:3). The 'poor in spirit' - like that widow of Zarepta in the time of Elijah, and that other in the temple of Jerusalem in the time of Christ - demonstrate in their poverty a great richness of spirit. For: the poor in spirit is rich in spirit. And only he who is rich in spirit can enrich others. Christ teaches that "theirs is the kingdom of heaven".

6. For us who participate in the Eucharistic sacrifice, this instruction is particularly important. Only when our presence here reveals that 'poverty in spirit' of which Christ's beatitude speaks, only then can we offer our offering to the great 'spiritual treasure' of the Church: can we bring this offering to the altar in that spirit which God, our creator, and Christ, our redeemer, expect from us.

The letter to the Hebrews speaks of Christ, the eternal priest, interceding on our behalf by presenting before God the Father the sacrifice of the cross on Golgotha. And this unique, most holy and indefinite value of Christ's sacrifice also embraces the offerings we bring to the altar. It is necessary that these offerings be similar to the offering of that widow in the Jerusalem temple, and also to the offering of the widow of Zarepta from the time of Elijah. It is necessary that these offerings of ours presented to the altar - our participation in the Eucharist - carry within them a sign of Christ's blessedness about the "poor in spirit".

7. The whole Church today meditates on the truth contained in these words of the liturgy. It is given to me today, as Bishop of Rome, to meditate on them together with you, the faithful of the parish of St Louis Gonzaga, at Parioli. Your patron, St Louis, lived to the full the evangelical beatitude of poverty in spirit, that is, of stripping oneself of earthly honours and goods in order to conquer true wealth, which is the Kingdom of God. In fact, he said to his father, Marquis of Castiglione delle Stiviere: 'A marquisate is not enough for me, I aim for a kingdom'; he was evidently referring to the Kingdom of Heaven. To realise his wish, Louis renounced his father's title and inheritance to enter the Roman novitiate of the Society of Jesus. He made himself poor in order to become rich. He would later note in one of his writings: 'Even princes are ashes, like the poor'. Just like the 'poor widow', he gave everything to the Lord with generosity and zeal, which has something of the heroic about it. She chose the humblest tasks for herself, dedicating herself to serving the sick, especially during the plague epidemic that struck Rome in 1590, and giving her life for them.

[Pope John Paul II, homily at the parish s. Luigi Gonzaga, 6 November 1988]