Fourth Easter Sunday (year A)  [26 April 2026]

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (2:14a, 36–41)

The account of Peter’s speech in Jerusalem on the morning of Pentecost continues, and since he is now filled with the Holy Spirit, he reads, as it were, an open book in God’s plan. Everything appears clear to him; he recalls the prophet Joel who had announced: “I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh” (Joel 2:28), and it is evident to him that we are at the dawn of the fulfilment of this promise. Through Jesus, rejected and put to death by men, yet raised and exalted by God, the Spirit has been poured out upon all flesh, and Jewish pilgrims from every corner of the Roman Empire have come to celebrate the feast of Pentecost, the feast of the gift of the Law. During their journey and even upon arriving at the Temple in Jerusalem, the pilgrims sang psalms and implored God for the coming of the Messiah. Peter sought to open their eyes: the Messiah of whom you speak is that Jesus whom you have crucified, and when he declares Jesus to be Lord and Messiah, the Christ, these statements of his certainly seem very bold. If the man from Nazareth is the expected Messiah, this means that all the hope of Israel rests upon Jesus. Peter’s listeners were struck to the heart, says Luke, and Peter certainly knew how to touch their hearts. What must we do, they ask themselves? The answer is simple: repent to save yourselves from this perverse generation, and to repent, in biblical language, is precisely to turn around, to make a U-turn. There are two paths before us, and we often take the wrong one: we must then return to the right path. Peter makes a simple observation: the generation living at the time of Christ and the apostles was faced with a real challenge, namely to recognise in Jesus the Messiah awaited for centuries. Unfortunately, however, Jesus did not possess the characteristics or fulfil the hopes placed in the Messiah, who was imagined as the liberator of the Jewish people; thus, an error of judgement was made and the path was lost. For this reason, Peter calls on everyone to be converted and invites them to receive Baptism: be baptised in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit promised to you, to your children, and to all those who are far off, whom our Lord God will call. Furthermore, for Jews familiar with the study of the Scriptures, Peter recalls the prophecy of Joel – ‘I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh’ – just as his words echo those of the prophet Isaiah concerning the peace and covenant desired by God with the people of Israel (cf. Is 49:1; 57:19). It was precisely through this Covenant that Israel felt bound to God: they were the chosen people, the son, as the prophet Hosea says (11:1), whilst other peoples seemed far from God. When Isaiah then states that peace is also for those who are far away, he recalls that the chosen people have a mission of peace for all humanity, called to enter into what might be called God’s plan of peace. The author notes that on that day three thousand were baptised. He adds that the three thousand Jews who had become Christians were among those whom Peter called ‘neighbours’. Little by little, throughout the Book of Acts, even those who were far off will join those ‘called’ by God. To them, St Paul will say, in his letter to the Ephesians: you who were once far off have now become neighbours through the blood of Christ. And it is Christ, our peace, for ‘of the two, the Jew and the Gentile’, he has made one (Eph 2:14–18).

Responsorial Psalm (22/23)

We encountered Psalm 22/23 on the Fourth Sunday of Lent.  At the time, I emphasised three points in my commentary: first, the psalms speak of Israel as a whole, even though the speaker uses the first person singular, saying ‘I’; second, to describe its religious experience, Israel uses two comparisons: that of the Levite who finds joy in dwelling in the House of God, and that of the pilgrim who takes part in the sacred meal following the thanksgiving sacrifices. However, one must read between the lines to see that, through these two comparisons, the chosen people feel a sense of wonder and gratitude for God’s gratuitous Covenant. Thirdly, the early Christians recognised in this psalm the privilege of their own experience as the baptised, and Psalm 22/23 became, in the early Church, the hymn for the celebration of Baptism. I shall simply pause at the first verse: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” There are many references in the Bible. The prophet Micah prays thus: Lord, with your staff be the shepherd of your people, the flock that belongs to you, so that the people may perceive themselves as God’s inheritance (cf. Mic 7:14). In Psalm 15/16, however, we find the inverse expression: ‘Lord, my portion and my cup; you determine my lot; the portion that falls to me brings me joy; I truly have the finest inheritance.’ When God is compared to a shepherd and Israel to his flock, one dares to think that the chosen people are a treasure to their God, which is a bold notion, and the use of such language is an invitation to trust, for God is portrayed as a good shepherd—that is, the one who gathers, guides, nourishes, cares for, protects and defends his flock, watching over all its needs. The prophet Micah writes that God will gather together all the remnant of Israel (cf. 2:12), and bring them together as a flock, gathering the lame and the scattered sheep. Zephaniah takes up the same theme: I will save the lame sheep (cf. 3:19), I will gather those who are scattered, which means that whenever we sow division, we are working against God. God, the attentive shepherd, shepherd-guide and defender of his flock. We find this frequently in the Psalms, particularly in Psalm 94/95, which is the daily morning prayer in the Liturgy of the Hours, where we read: ‘We are the people he leads, the flock guided by his hand’. In Psalm 77/78 we read that, like a shepherd, God leads his people, drives his flock into the desert, guides them, defends them, reassures them, and Psalm 79/80 begins with an appeal: “Shepherd of Israel: listen, you who lead Joseph, your flock, reveal your strength and come to save us”. It is clear that in difficult times, when the flock—that is, Israel—feels ill-guided, abandoned, mistreated or, worse still, beaten down, the prophets often turn to the image of the good shepherd to restore hope. It is therefore no surprise to find this theme in Second Isaiah, in the Book of the Consolation of Israel: God, like a shepherd, tends his flock; his arm gathers the lambs, carries them close to his heart, and leads the nursing ewes (cf. 40:11), so that along the roads they may still graze; on the barren heights shall be their pastures; they shall neither hunger nor thirst; the scorching wind and the sun shall no longer strike them, for he, full of compassion, will guide them, lead them to living waters (cf. Is. 49:9–10). Finally, Ezekiel also takes up this theme, saying that thus says the Lord God: “I myself will tend my sheep and search for them, just as a shepherd searches for his flock when he is among his scattered sheep; so I will search for my sheep and rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and thick fog; I will feed them on the mountains of Israel, in the valleys and in all the best places. I will feed them in good pasture, and their grazing grounds will be on the highlands of Israel; there my sheep will lie down in lush pastures and graze in rich pastures. ‘On the mountains of Israel, I myself will tend my flock and let them rest,’ declares the Lord God. ‘The lost sheep I will seek out; the strayed I will bring back; the injured I will bind up; the sick I will strengthen’ (cf. 34:11–16).  Today, in turn, we sing this Psalm 22/23, knowing that Jesus presented himself as the shepherd of the lost sheep, inviting us to place our trust in the tenderness of God the Shepherd. In a time like ours, when our societies are going through days of clouds and gloom, we are invited to contemplate the image of the Good Shepherd and to renew our trust: God, the true Good Shepherd, never abandons us. 

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Peter the Apostle (2:20b–25)

Saint Peter addresses a particular social group, slaves, because slavery still existed at that time and, under Roman law, a slave was at the mercy of his master, an object in his hands. It therefore happened that slaves suffered mistreatment at the whim of their masters, and a Christian slave serving a non-Christian master was exposed to even harsher oppression. Peter essentially encourages us to imitate Christ, who was himself a ‘slave out of love’ (cf. Phil 2:7) and who devoted his entire life to the service of all people. How, then, did he behave? When insulted, he did not respond with insults; when made to suffer, he did not threaten, but entrusted himself to the One who judges justly. Saint Peter urges us to endure suffering even when doing good, knowing that it is a grace in God’s eyes to be able to behave like Christ when facing trials. Certainly there is no Christian vocation to suffering, but in suffering there is a call to behave according to the example of Christ. So it is not suffering for the sake of suffering, but imitating Christ, who himself suffered by taking our sins upon himself on the wood of the cross, so that, having died to sin, we might live for righteousness. For by his wounds we have been healed. God has saved us so that we may live for righteousness. We have been healed of our wounds, which are our inability to love and to give, to forgive, to share. Because of original sin, we were far from God and disoriented, wandering like sheep. In Christ, crucified for our sins, we have regained fidelity to God’s plan, and his wounds have healed us. Christ died to bear witness to the truth, remaining faithful to the Father even on the cross. The cross, a place of utter horror and unbridled human hatred, has become the throne of absolute love. In Jesus’ forgiveness of his executioners, we are given the chance to contemplate and believe in God’s love for humanity, revealed in the cross, which can transform and convert us.  The prophet Zechariah reminds us: “They will look upon him whom they have pierced” (cf. 12:10), and this heals us, saves us—that is, it makes us capable once more of loving and forgiving as Christ did. When we allow ourselves to be moved by this absolute love of God, our hearts of stone become hearts of flesh, capable of living as he did. Let us allow ourselves to be transformed by this contagion of mercy so that Christ may continue, through us too, the work of transforming all humanity: He continues to send out disciples “like lambs among wolves” (cf. Lk 10:3; Mt 10:16) so that, following in his footsteps, we may be witnesses everywhere to God’s infinite mercy.  

From the Gospel according to Saint John (10:1-10)

The coherence of this Sunday’s biblical readings is truly evident, for the psalm, the second reading and the Gospel lead us into a sheepfold. The psalm compares God’s relationship with Israel to a shepherd’s care for his flock: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want; he makes me lie down in green pastures”; in the second reading, Saint Peter speaks of people like lost, wandering sheep, invited to return “to your shepherd, the guardian of your souls”. Here, in the Gospel, we read a passage from the long discourse on the Good Shepherd and a sheepfold. To understand it, we must make the effort to imagine the landscape of the Near East, where the flock is gathered for the night in a well-guarded enclosure and in the morning the shepherd comes to release the sheep to lead them to pasture: a scene very familiar to Jesus’ listeners at the time, firstly because there were many flocks in Israel, and secondly because the Old Testament prophets had taken to comparing God’s relationship with his people to that of a shepherd caring for his flock. In the responsorial psalm we have just heard some passages on this subject, and I would add a reference to the prophet Isaiah, who emphasises God’s care for his people: full of compassion, he ‘will lead them to springs of water’ (49:9–10). Furthermore, it was said of the future Messiah that he would be a shepherd for Israel, but at the same time the prophets never ceased to warn against false shepherds, a real danger to the sheep, and a matter of life and death for the flock. Jesus, in turn, takes up precisely this same theme, highlighting the shepherd’s care for his sheep and the danger of false shepherds—a subject he revisits in this Sunday’s Gospel in the form of two brief, successive parables: that of the shepherd, followed by that of the gate. It is interesting that he takes care to introduce both with the solemn formula ‘Truly, truly, I say to you’, an expression that always introduces something new. But if the theme of the shepherd was well known, where is the novelty? On the other hand, John specifies that these two parables are addressed to the Pharisees: Jesus tells the first, but, as he notes, they did not understand what Jesus meant to say to them, so Jesus continues with the second. The Pharisees did not understand the first, or did not want to understand it, perhaps simply because, quite clearly, Jesus suggests that he himself is this good shepherd capable of bringing happiness to his people, and they suddenly find themselves demoted to the rank of bad shepherds. Is it not that they understood perfectly well what Jesus meant, but could not accept it because that would be to admit that this Galilean is the Messiah, the One sent by God? Jesus bears no resemblance whatsoever to the image they had of him, and this is perhaps why Jesus took care to say, ‘Truly, truly, I say to you’. When he begins a discourse with this opening, one must pay particular attention, for it is equivalent to idiomatic expressions frequently found in the prophets of the Old Testament. Indeed, when the Spirit of God breathes into them words that are hard to understand or accept, the prophets always take care to begin—and sometimes end—their preaching with phrases such as ‘the word of the Lord’ or ‘thus says the Lord’. Although they knew this and were therefore aware that Jesus was speaking of matters of great importance, the Pharisees did not understand or did not wish to understand; nevertheless, Jesus persists, and John helps us to understand this deliberate insistence by noting that “then Jesus said again”. Here we see all of Jesus’ patience, as he tries in every way to convince his listeners: “Truly, truly, I say to you: I am the gate for the sheep” and whoever enters through me will be saved. Different ways to help them understand that he is the Messiah, the Saviour, and that only through him does the flock gain access to true life, life in abundance. We can draw one final lesson from this Gospel: Jesus says that the sheep follow the shepherd because they know his voice, and behind this image, we can discern a reality of the life of faith: our contemporaries will not follow Christ, will not be his disciples, if we do not make the voice of Christ resound, if we do not make the Word of God known. Is this not, once again, Jesus’ heartfelt appeal to make the sound of his voice heard by every means possible? 

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Third Easter Sunday (year A) [19 April 2026] 

*First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (2:4, 22b–33)

The same Peter who, out of fear, had denied Jesus during his trial and who, after his death, had been holed up with the other disciples in a locked room, we find today, just fifty days later, standing and delivering an impromptu speech before thousands of people; and if Luke notes that he is standing, it is because the posture is symbolic: in a sense, Peter is awakening, coming back to life, rising up. Before going any further, it should be noted that up to this point Peter had not been a model of boldness, and yet it is precisely to him that Jesus now entrusts the boldest of missions: to continue the work of evangelisation, a mission that cost the Son of God himself his life, and the man who not long before had denied the Master will soon rejoice in being persecuted.  This entirely new strength, this boldness, Peter does not draw from himself, but is a gift from God. Let us return to that Pentecost morning in the year of Jesus’ death, when Jerusalem was teeming with people: they were pilgrims who had come from all over for the festival because, just like Peter and the other apostles of Jesus, they shared the hope of Israel, and it is on this hope that Peter relies to proclaim that the long-awaited Messiah has come and that we have had the privilege of knowing him. Peter emphasises in his speech the continuity of God’s work, which for him is a crucial point, and invokes the testimony of Psalm 15/16. His listeners are the least prepared to accept his words precisely because, having always awaited the Messiah, they have had time to form their own ideas about him—human ideas—and God cannot help but surprise our human ideas. One of the most unacceptable aspects of the mystery of Jesus for his contemporaries is his death on the cross: on Good Friday, Jesus, abandoned by all, truly seemed cursed by God himself, and so how could he be the Messiah? On Easter evening, the apostles realised that he was indeed the Messiah because they had witnessed his Resurrection.  Peter concludes by appealing to his listeners, telling them that if they have not been direct witnesses of the Resurrection, the only possible experience is that of seeing and hearing the twelve apostles transformed by the Holy Spirit

*Responsorial Psalm (15/16)

In the verses of Psalm 15/16, which are set before us today, some phrases seem to convey perfect happiness and everything appears so simple. The psalmist declares: ‘Lord, you are my God; I have made you my refuge; I have no good apart from you.’ In other verses, however, one senses the echo of danger, and Israel pleads, asking not to be abandoned to death nor to be allowed to see corruption. Here lies all the joy of Israel when the heart rejoices, the soul is in celebration because the Lord is ‘my portion and my cup, and I have no good apart from you’. Here Israel is likened to a Levite, to a priest who dwells ceaselessly in the temple of God and lives in intimacy with Him. The expression “Lord, my portion and my cup; upon You my lot depends” is an allusion to when the division of the land of Israel among the tribes of Jacob’s descendants was made by lot. At that time, the members of the tribe of Levi had not received a portion of land: their portion was the House of God, that is, service in the Temple, service to God, and their entire lives were consecrated to worship. They therefore had no territory, and their livelihood was secured by tithes and a portion of the harvests and meat offered in sacrifice. This also helps us understand the other verse of this psalm, which we do not hear today, where the psalmist says, ‘My portion makes me glad; I truly have the finest inheritance’. The Levites guarded the Temple day and night, and this is alluded to when the psalm notes, ‘even at night my heart instructs me’. In this psalm, one also senses the echo of danger, and the plea, ‘you cannot abandon me to death, nor let your holy one see corruption’, conveys the often-suffered tribulations of the chosen people.  The opening plea for help, ‘Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge’, and the repeated expressions of trust suggest a period when, indeed, trust was hard to come by, and this cry for help is at the same time a profession of faith, for it reflects the struggle against idolatry to remain faithful to the one God. In another verse of the psalm we read that all the idols of the land never cease to spread their harm, and people rush to follow them. This shows that Israel sometimes succumbed to idolatry but made a commitment not to fall back into it, and the statement ‘I have made you, my God, my only refuge’ conveys this resolve. We can then appreciate how eloquent the image of the Levite is, for it is a way of saying that by choosing to remain faithful to the true God, the people of Israel made the true choice that brings them into intimacy with God, and Israel’s trust inspires such striking phrases as ‘eternity of delights’ or ‘you cannot abandon me to death, nor let your friend see corruption’. One might wonder whether, when the psalm was written, there was already, albeit in a confused form, a first glimmer of faith in the Resurrection, even though we know that belief in individual resurrection appeared very late in Israel. Here it seems rather that the focus is on the people whose survival is in danger because of their succumbing to idolatry. But they are convinced that God will not abandon them, and that is why they affirm: ‘You cannot abandon me to death, nor let your friend see corruption’. Around the second century BC, when belief in the resurrection of each of us began to take hold, the phrase ‘you will not abandon me to death, nor let your friend see decay’ was understood in this sense, and later Christians reinterpreted this psalm in their own way, as we heard in the first reading. On the morning of Pentecost, Peter quoted this psalm to the Jewish pilgrims who had come in great numbers to Jerusalem for the feast, to show them that Jesus was truly the Messiah. He recalled that when David composed this psalm, without realising it, he was already announcing the Resurrection of the Messiah. Here we have an example of the first Christian preaching addressed to Jews, that is, how the first apostles reinterpreted Jewish tradition, discovering within it a new dimension: the proclamation of Jesus Christ. Over the centuries, this psalm has carried the prayer of Israel in its expectation of the Messiah, becoming enriched with new meanings; yet it was the first Christian generation that discovered and demonstrated that the Scriptures find their full meaning in Jesus Christ.

*Second Reading from the First Letter of the Apostle Peter (1:17–21)

In the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we read Peter’s speech on the morning of Pentecost, a model of the first Christian preaching addressed to Jews. Here, however, in Peter’s letter, we see a sermon addressed to pagans—non-Jews who had become Christians—and it is obvious that the discourse is not the same, for it is the ABC of communication to adapt one’s language to the audience. And even though we do not know exactly to whom the letter is addressed—since in the opening lines Peter merely states that he is writing to the elect living as strangers in the five provinces of present-day Turkey, Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia, what suggests they were not of Jewish origin is the phrase ‘you have been redeemed from the futile ways inherited from your fathers’. Peter, being Jewish himself, would not say such a thing to Jews, knowing all too well what hope runs through the Scriptures and how the whole life of his people is directed towards God. What strikes the eye in this simple passage is the striking number of allusions to the Bible, with expressions such as the blood of the Lamb without blemish or spot, the Father who judges impartially, and the fear of God; and if Peter uses them without explaining them, it is because his audience is familiar with them. But this is only possible if they are non-Jews. The most likely hypothesis is that many sympathisers gathered around the synagogues, and among them a significant number of those called ‘God-fearing’, who were so close to Judaism that they observed the Sabbath; they listened to all the synagogue readings on Saturday mornings, and consequently knew the Hebrew Scriptures well but had never gone so far as to ask for circumcision. It is thought that the early Christians were recruited mainly from among them, and it is worth returning to two expressions in Peter’s letter that may strike us as odd if we do not place them in their biblical context.  First of all, the expression ‘fear of God’ has a particular meaning precisely because God revealed himself to his people as Father. The fear of God, therefore, is not fear but a filial attitude made up of tenderness, respect, veneration and total trust, and Peter says that since you call upon God as your Father, you live in the fear of God by behaving as children. If you call upon as Father the One who judges everyone impartially according to their deeds, you therefore live in the fear of God. From Peter’s emphasis on the One who judges everyone impartially according to their deeds, we can surmise that some of these new Christians, coming from paganism, felt inferior to Christians of Jewish origin, and Peter therefore wishes to reassure them by saying, in essence: you are children just like the others; simply behave as children. The second phrase that might cause offence is: ‘you have been redeemed by the precious blood of Christ’. The risk is of seeing this as a horrendous bartering, without being able to say clearly between whom and whom. But reading Peter’s sentence in full – “not with perishable things such as silver or gold were you redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your forefathers, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect” – two things become clear: firstly, this is not a matter of bartering; our liberation is free, and Peter takes care to say ‘not with gold or silver’, a way of saying it is free. Secondly, Peter does not place the emphasis where we do, because the blood of a lamb without blemish or defect is the blood that was shed every year at Passover and which marked Israel’s liberation from all forms of slavery.  This blood that was shed heralded God’s ongoing work to free his people and, for a reader familiar with the Old Testament, is a reference to the feast of freedom—a freedom on the journey towards the Promised Land. But now, Peter notes, definitive liberation has been accomplished in Jesus Christ. We have now entered   a new life better than the Promised Land, and this liberation consists precisely in calling upon God as Father. We can then better understand  the phrase: you have been redeemed, that is, freed from the superficial way of life inherited from your fathers; ‘superficial’ here means that it leads nowhere, as opposed to eternal life. Since the Son lived as a man in trust until the end, it is all of humanity that has rediscovered the path of a filial attitude. Ultimately, it is a matter of having rediscovered the path to the tree of life, to use the image from Genesis. Paul would say: you have passed from the slave’s attitude of fear and mistrust to the filial reverence proper to children.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (24:13–35)

Note the parallel between these two phrases: their eyes were prevented from recognising him, and then their eyes were opened; this means that the two disciples of Emmaus passed from the deepest discouragement to enthusiasm simply because their eyes were opened. Why were they opened? Because Jesus explained the Scriptures to them, and beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted in all the Scriptures what concerned him. This means that Jesus Christ is at the centre of God’s plan revealed in Scripture. The Old Testament must not, however, be reduced to a mere backdrop for the New, because to read the prophets as if they were announcing only the historical coming of Jesus Christ is to betray the Old Testament and strip it of all its historical depth, given that the Old Testament is the testimony of God’s long-suffering patience in revealing himself to his people and enabling them to live in his Covenant. The words of the prophets, for example, apply first and foremost to the era in which they were spoken, and we must not forget that reading Jesus Christ as the centre of human history and therefore also of Scripture is a Christian interpretation. The Jews have a different one, and we Jews and Christians agree in invoking God the Father of all mankind and in reading in the Old Testament the long wait for the Messiah, but let us not forget that recognising Jesus as the Messiah is not self-evident; it becomes so for those whose eyes are somehow opened and whose hearts consequently burn within them, just as those of the disciples of Emmaus did. It would be wonderful to know all the biblical texts that Jesus went through with the two disciples of Emmaus. We do know, however, that at the end of this biblical journey Jesus concludes by asking: ‘Was it not necessary for the Christ to suffer these things and enter into his glory?’ This phrase presents a real difficulty for us because it lends itself to two possible interpretations. The first possible interpretation is “it was necessary for the Christ to suffer in order to deserve to enter into his glory”, as if there were a requirement on the part of the Father; but this interpretation betrays the Scriptures because it presents Jesus’ relationship with the Father in terms of merit, which is not at all in keeping with the Old Testament revelation that Jesus developed. God is nothing but Love, Gift and Forgiveness, and with Him it is not a matter of balance, merit, arithmetic or calculation. It is also true that the New Testament often speaks of the fulfilment of the Scriptures, but not in this sense. There is, however, a second way of reading this phrase: ‘it was necessary for the Christ to suffer in order to enter into his glory’: the glory of God is his presence manifested to us. Now we know that God is Love. One could rephrase the sentence thus: ‘it was necessary for the Christ to suffer’ so that God’s love might be manifested and revealed. Jesus himself gave a foreshadowing of his death when he said to his disciples, ‘There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for those one loves’. It was therefore necessary for love to go that far, to the point of facing hatred, abandonment and death, so that we might discover that God’s love is the greatest love, so that we might discover how far God’s love goes—so far beyond our own way of loving and so unimaginable in the true sense of the word. It was necessary for it to be revealed to us, and for it to be revealed, it had to go that far. “It was necessary” does not therefore mean a requirement on God’s part, but a necessity for us; and to say that the events of Jesus’ life fulfil the Scriptures is to say that his entire life is a revelation in action of this love of the Father, whatever the circumstances, including persecution, hatred, condemnation and death. The Resurrection of Jesus authenticates this revelation: this love is stronger than death.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

No triumphal march: fragments, to reconcile

(Jn 6:52-59)

The Eucharistic theme conveys a fundamental message, about the quality of Life of the Eternal that we can already experience here and now.

The Life of the Eternal is not the effect of external “belief” in Jesus. Conviction that would stop us, and lose 'contact'.

Instead, it becomes reciprocal, evolves, recovers us, as in a natural energy.

Here is the raw Food, and Drink: by 'chewing’ Him and 'crushing’; 'drinking’ Him and 'gulping’, ‘quaffing’ Him and ‘swilling down' even [verbs used in the Greek text].

Total assimilation, which is converted into an experience - Gift from Person to person.

The Food to be fed on is not a seal, but an everlasting, convoking motion. Not a logical, compassed and consenting doctrine, but Word-event that fully engages.

For this reason, here is the Person of Christ - in his true and full human reality, offered and broken; in his authentic teaching and vicissitude as the paschal lamb, amidst wolves that shredded him.

It is the raw means by which the Life of the Eternal is given and preserved.

In this sense the Eucharist received in bare Faith is the real (not symbolic) Presence of the Risen One.

The harshness of the vocabulary used - not very intimate - scratches the lives of believers with concrete effects in the first person.

«To have Life» is to be united with Jesus - but not in a sweet, sentimental, or dazzling way.

The Pact of a new kingdom is existence in God: a charge that is not exhausted, and ushers us into the paradoxical, wounded glory of the community of sons.

The Eucharist is the reference point of Church recognizing itself, defines what it is called to be. And must not find its perennial bonds elsewhere.

With polemical crudeness, Jesus insists on proposing Himself as the Easter Lamb who rudely chopped up and totally absorbed, frees from slavery - introducing his own intimates in angular but true trajectories.

His proposal passes through an impertinent transgression of legalism: it was absolutely forbidden to assume blood, considered the seat of life.

To make the story of the total Christ one's own - so far removed from controlled thinking - is to mark a contestation of norms and habits or fashions.

In short, others "manna" or external affective dependencies, diluted, conditioning-centred, are not even pale figures of the Living Food.

The life Communion with the concrete Person of Lord is only that of the Son with the Father: cultivating it, we dream of it and keep it there, along with our events - so that they are nourished by same Spirit.

By letting the motivations and the world of images linked to the Lord's Supper evolve, we allow ourselves to be led by the efficacious Sign. It will guide and even lead, precisely where we need to go.

By surrendering to such a memorial that gives intimate impetus, something will happen - for the soul to take the field. We will see other stages give birth.

Here is the Judgement of the wounded Crucified, who sprinkles authentic life (even if inclement); without admirable attunements all around.

This by taking our flesh and blood [involves the body and moods] which assimilates to Him the discarded, those outcasts of earthly thrones and opportunistic entanglements.

This is shocking for the vulgar outside mentality that raises defences and seeks approval, recognition, achievement; mirages of success, things that everyone wants.

Decrease that does not attract enthusiastic consensus, but rather flies in the face of normal expectations of the usual choruses of glory - of the acclamation’ symphonies for whirlwind success and available, but mitigating.

Flesh and Blood: thrown into the furrows of history. We also being involved without dampening the Spirit; in a personal and intimate way: One Body, assimilated into Him and His affair.

First fruits of no triumphal march: we too became food, crumbs and fragments, to reconcile.

Otherwise, the time of the Promises cannot be fulfilled.

[Friday 3rd wk. in Easter, April 24, 2026]

No triumphal march: fragments, to reconcile

(Jn 6:52-59)

The Eucharistic theme conveys a fundamental message, about the quality of Life of the Eternal that we can already experience here and now.

The Life of the Eternal is not the effect of external "belief" in Jesus. Conviction would stop us, and we would lose 'contact'.

Instead it becomes reciprocal, it evolves, it recovers us, as in a natural energy.

Here is the raw Food, and Drink: 'chew it' and 'crush it', 'drink it' and 'swill it' even [verbs used in the Greek text].

Total assimilation, which is converted into an experience - Gift from Person to Person.

The Food to be nourished on is not a seal; rather, an everlasting, convoking motion.

Not a logical doctrine, compassed and consenting, but Word-event that fully engages.

And his story - with all its implications of persecution suffered, and harshness, and denunciation activity.

[This is an aspect that is in tune with the so-called inspired prayer 'in the Name of Jesus', i.e. a prayer imbued with the dramatic bearing and burden of his historical events; which neither spiritualises nor anaesthetises us at all, because it contrasts critical witnesses with installed situations].

For this reason, here is the Person of Christ - in his true and full human reality, offered and broken; in his authentic teaching and vicissitude as the paschal lamb.

Between wolves that have shredded it.

It is the abrupt means by which the Life of the Eternal is given and preserved.

In this sense, the Eucharist received in naked Faith is the real (not symbolic) Presence of the Risen One.

The harshness of the vocabulary used - not very intimate - scratches the believers' lives with concrete first-person effects, not automatic or magical.

Faith emphasises the paradigmatic nuptiality "Do you want to unite your life to mine?": it is a privileged place - on which we feed and drink, even in its very harshness, to make it explicit.

It is Life from the Father through the Son, assimilated in us: not devotion.

"To have Life" is to be united with Jesus - but not in a sweet, sentimental, or dazzling way.

We are impregnated and sent, made One with the "Son of Man" [the divine measure for each one of us] in the Covenant of events.

Relationship, motive, vehicle, unifying movement, anticipation, which unfold the Communion between Father and Son - without stillness or pause.

The covenant of a new kingdom is life in God: a charge that is not exhausted, and ushers us into the paradoxical and wounded glory of the community of sons.

The Eucharist is a point of reference for the Church, sometimes lost in the hypnosis of external events.

Assembly that recognises itself; it defines what it is called to be. And it must not find its perennial bonds elsewhere.

Some passages from John are an interesting historical testimony of the catechesis at the end of the first century in the communities of Asia Minor.

Fraternities in search of ancestral motivations, of the most ancient energies, that would rise above the whirlwinds of persecution and not alter consciousness in Christ.

Instruction was configured to short questions and answers, formulated to welcome pagans, stem defections, deepen themes.

Arguments and thrusts that distinguished the living Faith from a religiosity of the past and its perfectionist or commemorative schemes.

Styles that it was appropriate to lay down, to satiate the hunger and thirst for fullness - conquering freedom, joy, and a more complete, total, indestructible being.

With polemical rawness, Jesus insists on presenting himself as the Lamb of the true Passover.

A lamb that, roughly pounded, crushed, shredded, and totally absorbed, could liberate from bondage, and give the joy of ecstasy.

In this way, he introduced his own into angular, but true trajectories - finally reknotted, both to activate the authentic realisation of individuals, and for qualities of coexistence.

His proposal passed through an impertinent transgression of purism, legalism, and intimist, devout culture in general.

It was absolutely forbidden to take blood, which was considered the seat of life.

To make the story of the total Christ - so far removed from controlled thinking - his own was to mark contestation.

It was rejection of symbols, norms, habits or fashions. There would be no alternative, no non-offensive compromise.

Not only that: it was also necessary to change the minds of those who imagined that they could align themselves (individually or as a group) with the archaic idea of a powerful, victorious, and guarantor Messiah.

Perhaps adaptable, flexible; available for any kind of Jesus-Empire alliance, which already enchanted some.

In short, other external, diluted, conditioning-centred 'manne' or affective dependencies could not even be pale figures of the Living Food.

Communion of life with the concrete Person of the Lord is only that of the Son with the Father.By cultivating it, we dream it and keep it there, along with our own affairs - so that they may be nourished by that same Spirit.

By letting the motivations and the world of images linked to the Lord's Supper evolve, we allow ourselves to be led by the efficacious Sign.

It will guide and even lead precisely where we need to go.

By surrendering to such a memory-giving intimate impulse, something will happen - for the soul to take the field.

Waiting until we are ready, we will learn to understand the fruitfulness and wisdom of the broken Gift-Response that incessantly gives birth to other stages, still activating different, perhaps unknown, resources.

Here it is the Judgment of the wounded Crucified One that spreads authentic 'life' even inclemently; without admirable attunement all around.

This by taking our flesh and blood [it even involves the body and humours] that assimilates the discarded, the outcasts of earthly thrones, and opportunistic entanglements to Him.

This is shocking to the vulgar mentality outside. World of convictions that raises defences and seeks approval, recognition, achievements; mirages of success, things everyone wants.

Diminution that does not attract enthusiastic consent, but rather repels the normal expectations of the usual choruses of glory - of symphonies of acclamation for the swirling and available, but mitigating success.

Flesh and Blood: thrown into the furrows of history.

Involved without dampening the Spirit; personally and intimately. One body, assimilated into Him and His story.

First fruits of no triumphal march: we too become food, crumbs and fragments, to reconcile.

Otherwise, the time of Promises cannot be fulfilled.

To internalise and live the message:

What understanding do you show by taking the Food and Drink of Life? All quiet?

How do you see fit to combine and deepen Faith in the Real Presence of the Risen One with the harshness of life?

This […] is the concluding part and culmination of the discourse given by Jesus in the Synagogue of Capernaum after he had fed thousands of people with five loaves and two fishes the previous day. Jesus reveals the meaning of this miracle, namely that the promised time had come; God the Father, who had fed the Israelites in the desert with manna, now sent him, the Son, as the true Bread of life; and this bread is his flesh, his life, offered in sacrifice for us. It is therefore a question of welcoming him with faith, not of being shocked by his humanity, and it is about eating his flesh and drinking his blood (cf. Jn 6:54) in order to obtain for ourselves the fullness of life. It is clear that this address was not given to attract approval. Jesus knew this and gave this speech intentionally. In fact it was a critical moment, a turning point in his public mission. The people, and the disciples themselves, were enthusiastic when he performed miraculous signs; the multiplication of the loaves and fishes was a clear revelation that he was the Messiah, so that the crowd would have liked to carry Jesus in triumph and proclaim him King of Israel. But this was not what Jesus wanted. With his long address he dampens the enthusiasm and incites much dissent. In explaining the image of the bread, he affirms that he has been sent to offer his own life and he who wants to follow him must join him in a deep and personal way, participating in his sacrifice of love. Thus Jesus was to institute the Sacrament of the Eucharist at the Last Supper, so that his disciples themselves might share in his love — this was crucial — and, as one body united with him, might extend his mystery of salvation in the world.

In listening to this address the people understood that Jesus was not the Messiah they wanted, one who would aspire to an earthly throne. He did not seek approval to conquer Jerusalem; rather he wanted to go to the Holy City to share the destiny of the prophets: to give his life for God and for the people. Those loaves, broken for thousands, were not meant to result in a triumphal march but to foretell the sacrifice on the Cross when Jesus was to become Bread, Body and Blood, offered in expiation. Jesus therefore gave the address to bring the crowds down to earth and mostly to encourage his disciples to make a decision. In fact from that moment many of them no longer followed him.

Dear friends, let us once again be filled with wonder by Christ’s words. He, a grain of wheat scattered in the furrows of history, is the first fruits of the new humanity, freed from the corruption of sin and death. And let us rediscover the beauty of the Sacrament of the Eucharist which expresses all God’s humility and holiness. His making himself small, God makes himself small, a fragment of the universe to reconcile all in his love. May the Virgin Mary, who gave the world the Bread of Life, teach us to live in ever deeper union with him.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 19 August 2012]

1. “He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life" (Jn 6:54). By instituting the Eucharist on the eve of his death, Christ wanted to give the Church a food that would nourish her continually and make her live his own life as the Risen One.

Long before the institution, Jesus had announced this unique meal. In Jewish worship there was no lack of sacred meals, which were eaten in the presence of God and which manifested the joy of divine favour. Jesus surpasses all this: now it is he, in his flesh and blood, who becomes the food and drink of humanity. In the Eucharistic meal, man feeds on God.

When, for the first time, Jesus announces this food, he arouses the amazement of his listeners, who fail to grasp such a lofty divine plan. Jesus therefore vigorously emphasised the objective truth of his words, affirming the necessity of the Eucharistic meal: "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you will not have life in you" (John 6: 53). This is not a purely spiritual meal, in which the expressions 'eating the flesh' of Christ and 'drinking his blood' would have a metaphorical meaning. It is a true meal, as Jesus emphatically states: "My flesh is true food and my blood true drink" (Jn 6:55).

Such food, moreover, is no less necessary for the development of divine life in the faithful than material food is for the maintenance and development of bodily life. The Eucharist is not a luxury offered to those who would like to live more intimately united to Christ: it is a requirement of Christian life. This requirement was understood by the disciples since, according to the testimony of the Acts of the Apostles, in the early days of the Church the "breaking of bread", the Eucharistic meal, was practised daily in the homes of the faithful "with joy and simplicity of heart" (Acts 2:46).

2. In the promise of the Eucharist, Jesus explains why this food is necessary: "I am the bread of life" he declares (Jn 6:48). "As the Father, who has life, has sent me and I live for the Father, so also he who eats of me will live for me" (John 6:57). The Father is the first source of life: he has given this life to the Son, who in turn communicates it to humanity. He who feeds on Christ in the Eucharist does not have to wait for the hereafter to receive eternal life: he already possesses it on earth, and in it he also possesses the guarantee of bodily resurrection at the end of the world: "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day" (Jn 6:54).

This guarantee of Resurrection comes from the fact that the flesh of the Son of Man given as food is his body in the glorious state of the Risen One. The listeners to the promise of the Eucharist had not grasped this truth: they thought that Jesus wanted to speak of his flesh in the state of his earthly life, and thus manifested great repugnance at the meal announced. The Master corrects their way of thinking, pointing out that it is the flesh of the Son of Man "ascended to where he was before" (Jn 6:62), that is, in the triumphant state of his ascension into heaven. This glorious body is filled with the life of the Holy Spirit, and it is in this way that it can sanctify the men who feed on it, and give them the pledge of eternal glory.

In the Eucharist, therefore, we receive the life of the risen Christ. For when the sacrifice is sacramentally performed on the altar, not only is the mystery of the Saviour's Passion and Death made present in it, but also the mystery of the Resurrection, in which the sacrifice finds its crowning glory. The Eucharistic celebration makes us participate in the redemptive offering, but also in the triumphant life of the risen Christ. This is the reason for the atmosphere of joy that characterises every Eucharistic liturgy. While commemorating the drama of Calvary, once marked by immense sorrow, the priest and the faithful rejoice in uniting their offering to that of Christ, because they know that they are at the same time living the mystery of the Resurrection, inseparable from this offering.

3. The life of the risen Christ is distinguished by its power and richness. The one who receives communion receives the spiritual strength needed to face all obstacles and trials while remaining faithful to his commitments as a Christian. He also draws from the Sacrament, as from an abundant spring, continuous streams of energy for the development of all his resources and qualities, in a joyful ardour that stimulates generosity.

In particular, he draws on the life-giving energy of charity. In the tradition of the Church, the Eucharist has always been considered and lived as the sacrament par excellence of unity and love. Already St Paul declares it: "Since there is one bread, we, though we are many, are one body; For we all partake of the one bread" (1 Cor 10:17).

The Eucharistic celebration brings together all Christians, whatever their differences, in a unanimous offering and meal in which all participate. It gathers them all into the equal dignity of brothers of Christ and sons of the Father; it invites them to respect, to mutual esteem, to mutual service. Communion also gives each person the moral strength needed to rise above reasons for division and opposition, to forgive wrongs received, to make a new effort in the direction of reconciliation and fraternal understanding.

Is it not, moreover, particularly significant that the precept of mutual love was formulated by Christ in its highest expression during the Last Supper, at the institution of the Eucharist? Every believer should remember this when approaching the Eucharistic table and strive not to contradict with his life what he celebrates in the mystery.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 8 June 1983]

This [...] Gospel passage [...] introduces us to the second part of the discourse that Jesus delivers in the Synagogue of Capernaum, after having satisfied the hunger of the great multitude with five loaves and two fish: the multiplication of the loaves. He presents himself as “the bread which came down from heaven”, the bread that gives eternal life, and he adds: “the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh” (v. 51).

This passage is decisive, and in fact it provokes the reaction of those who are listening, who begin to dispute among themselves: “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” (v. 52). When the sign of the shared bread points to its true significance, namely, self-giving to the point of sacrifice, misunderstanding arises; it leads to the actual rejection of the One whom, shortly before, they had wanted to lift up in triumph. Let us remember that Jesus had to hide because they had wanted to make him king.

Jesus continues: “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (v. 53). Here the blood is present together with the flesh. In biblical language, flesh and blood express concrete humanity. The people and the disciples themselves sense that Jesus invites them to enter into communion with him, to ‘eat’ him, his humanity, in order to share with him the gift of life for the world. So much for triumphs and mirages of success! It is precisely the sacrifice of Jesus who gives himself for us.

This bread of life, the sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ, comes to us freely given at the table of the Eucharist. Around the altar we find what spiritually feeds us and quenches our thirst today and for eternity. Each time we participate in the Holy Mass, in a certain sense, we anticipate heaven on earth, because from the Eucharistic sustenance, the Body and Blood of Jesus, we learn what eternal life is. It is living for the Lord: “he who eats me will live because of me” (v. 57), the Lord says. The Eucharist shapes us so that we live not only for ourselves but for the Lord and for our brothers and sisters. Life’s happiness and eternity depend on our ability to render fruitful the evangelical love we receive in the Eucharist.

As in that time, today too Jesus repeats to each of us: “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (v. 53). Brothers and sisters, it is not about material sustenance, but a living and life-giving bread, which conveys the very life of God. When we receive Communion we receive the very life of God. To have this life it is necessary to nourish ourselves of the Gospel and of the love of our brothers and sisters. Before Jesus’ invitation to nourish ourselves of his Body and of his Blood, we might feel the need to dispute and to resist, as did those listeners whom today’s Gospel spoke of. This happens when we struggle to model our existence after that of Jesus, to act according to his criteria and not according to worldly criteria. By nourishing ourselves of this food we can enter into full harmony with Christ, with his sentiments, with his behaviour. This is so important: to go to Mass and partake in Communion, because receiving Communion is receiving this living Christ, who transforms us within and prepares us for heaven.

May the Virgin Mary support our aim to enter into communion with Jesus Christ, by nourishing ourselves of his Eucharist, so as to become in our turn bread broken for our brothers and sisters.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 19 August 2018]

Thoughts on food

Several things prompted me to reflect on this.

One was a film broadcast by Rai 1 on 2 April 2026 (Maundy Thursday) on the subject of eating disorders. The film was called “Something Lilac.”

It is the story of a teenager who struggles with eating disorders, although the film focuses mainly on bulimia. The main eating disorders are anorexia and bulimia.

Another inspiration was seeing someone again at the centre who had suffered from these problems in the past and whom I had supported psychologically.

Finally, about a month ago, a lady I had known for years and who had long been troubled by these issues passed away. She wouldn’t listen to anyone; she ‘wasted away to the bone’.

And so, as with all my short articles, I ‘dredged up’ the theoretical knowledge I’d acquired over the years, combined with my observations of cases at work.

The issue of food is important for all living beings. If we do not eat, we do not live.

But here too, as in all situations in life, striking the right balance is not always easy.

The ideal approach is to eat without excesses that could cause metabolic disorders, and in such a way that our body functions well.

Sometimes, for various reasons, human beings alter their relationship with food. Think of the periods when people suffered from food shortages due to wars, epidemics, or other causes.

Cases of self-imposed fasting are also described in the Bible, but it was around 1600 that cases of significant weight loss due to diet began to be observed.

In contrast to the time of the ancient Romans, when they would indulge in huge feasts followed by self-induced vomiting – if I recall correctly, they would tickle their palates with a feather to induce vomiting and then start eating again.

The history of eating disorders is not a modern phenomenon, but has its roots in distant times.

In the Middle Ages, fasting was often associated with demonic possession, or conversely with mystical behaviour.

‘Mystics’ would fast to purify the body, draw as close as possible to God, and sometimes to withdraw from earthly life. Unlike the disorder seen today, the motivation was not beauty, but the aspiration to holiness.

Nowadays, distorted relationships with food are recognised as complex disorders, influenced by cultural and psychological factors.                                  

These are serious disorders, often interlinked, and requiring treatment by various specialists.  In short, anorexia involves a profound fear of gaining weight, stemming from a distorted perception of one’s own body.

Bulimia involves overeating followed by vomiting or self-induced purging – to prevent weight gain.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Such issues are more prevalent in industrialised cultures, where there is a higher standard of living and the idea of being attractive is associated with thinness.

Through the media, the idea of physical perfection has also reached less developed cultures, fostering a desire for physical attractiveness; which would not be a bad thing, were it not for the harm it causes to the body.

Nor should we overlook the influence of cultural role models; such as extremely thin models who trigger a desire to be like them – sometimes at any cost.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             And here I recall that years ago, there was a proposal to make figures such as the Barbie doll ‘put on weight’, to correct the image she unconsciously conveyed. 

Until recently, it was mostly young people and women who were affected by such eating disorders. Lately, however, the issue has also come to affect men.

In my professional practice, I have encountered such issues. I have carried out various psychodiagnostic assessments where the main problems were eating disorders, even in very young individuals. 

These were mostly female subjects, but I have also encountered a few male adolescents.

In psychotherapeutic treatment, working alongside other professionals, I have dealt with a few cases of anorexia in young girls, whilst the few cases of bulimia I have encountered were in older women.

This is in line with the theoretical principles that situate anorexia in early adolescence and bulimia in late adolescence or early adulthood.

I recall that the thin girls were always restless, worried and tormented, whilst the more ‘full-figured’ women were cheerful, sometimes even friendly. One of them was even able to joke about her considerable weight. 

The progression of these conditions can vary; some are severe and can compromise general health – and there is a risk of mortality. 

People with anorexia generally tend to be somewhat more stubborn; they may refuse not only food but also new experiences, and adopt a closed-off attitude; people with bulimia mainly exhibit ‘emotional volatility’, moments of anger and emptiness that they unconsciously try to fill with food.

Emotionally, these people may feel anxious, may be impulsive, and may experience shame. Anorexics are ashamed of their bodies, which they always perceive as enormous; bulimics are distressed by their lack of control, which sometimes extends beyond eating habits.

The characteristics of these issues are kept hidden for a long time. In doing so, they make it difficult to form a genuine relationship with others, with sufferers usually appearing more immature and superficial.

These people are united  in an exaggerated way by a hunger for care and affection. They have an immense fear of being abandoned, and that other people might stop loving them.

But it is a question of  ‘how strong this feeling is’, because everyone  wants to be loved; they want to have a healthy relationship based on trust and mutual respect.

Intellectually, those with eating disorders may exhibit rigid thinking and a distorted perception of their body’s condition; in less severe cases, there remains a dissatisfaction with their physical appearance or certain parts of it.

In more severe cases, body image and how it is experienced often impairs their ability to assess reality.

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi  Psychologist – Psychotherapist

(Jn 6:44-51)

God does not attract with peremptory force or blackmail, but with invitation (v.44).

And sincere belief is activated by an initial testimony in oneself (v.44).

The Father does not let us become chronic. He acts within each one to reshape convictions, adhesions, projects.

Everything works in the direction of ourselves, not in an unnatural mode.

He acts present in each person in a way that is spontaneous and at the same time akin to individuating principles; more respectful of inclinations, real characteristics, energies.

This teaching (v.45) is internal: impersonated by Christ in the Word that does not distort anything - implicit in his Person and story.

Thus the gift of life is linked to assimilating and becoming One with that Food.

Bread that does not damage people, but convinces, supports, ferments and orients - in an unrepeatable way; each one by Name.

That “Manducated” kills conformity and extinction.

It possesses the virtue of reknitting the threads that distinguish the character of Person, the innate quality, vocational essence, propulsive capacity [Life of the Eternal].

The bread of the earth preserves life but does not update, does not ceaselessly regenerate us, nor does it open a way through death.

The Bread that reactualizes the ultimate gift of the Son, nourishes the existence of an indestructible quality that does not fade, because it is divine Gold of our spring being.

The prophets had announced that in the last times one would not know God by hearsay but by personal experience.

After the failure of the kings and the priestly class, women and men would be taught directly by the Lord.

The expression «Bread came down from Heaven» designates Jesus himself in relationship with the Father and [precisely] in his mission to bring Wisdom, and exuberant Life, to people.

Divine, limitless Life, which immediately pours into each one - so excluding the uncertainties or interpretations veiled by the shortcomings, by the “visual” defects of the mediators, which conversely would lead to collapse.

Presence that in the time of complexity also kindles in us the desire to be instructed by God-in-Person, guided by the inner Friend, and walked by regenerating insights, in his Spirit.

He inclines us to pay no heed to a nature that seeks and «murmurs» only for the banal "taste" of sustenance: «manna in the desert» (v.49); that is, interest, reputation, titles, trivialitiy of satisfactions.

«I am the Bread, the Living, the one who came down from heaven. If anyone eats from this Bread, he shall live the Life of the Eternal, and the bread that I shall give is my flesh for the full Life of the world» (v. 51).

The Spirit that internalises and actualises is the main Subject of even domestic, daily history of salvation. Making himself ours.

By evangelizing us and growing in Friendship [we «instructed by God» (v.45)] the nourishing action of the Master introduces our fermented flesh into the new Life.

The Son beside us changes our 'taste' and familiarises of Himself the same 'Nature'.

In this way, we, too, assimilated and identified with the Bread-Person made intimate, reveal Totality in act, living Eternity, the original Source.

[Thursday 3rd wk. in Easter, April 23, 2026]