4th Lent Sunday   [15 March 2026]  Laetare

May God bless us and the Virgin protect us! This Sunday is a pause of light in the penitential journey. In the Gospel, Jesus gives sight to the blind man. Laetare means this: light is already overcoming the shadows. Even though we are still in Lent, Easter is near. The blind man's joy is achieved through questioning, rejection and loneliness. Laetare is not an escape from pain, but joy that arises from trial. Laetare is the smile of the Church in the middle of the desert: if I allow myself to be enlightened by Christ, my night is not definitive. The man born blind thus becomes an icon of the catechumen, but also of every believer who, in the heart of Lent, discovers that the light is already present and that Christian joy is born from the encounter with Him.

*First Reading from the First Book of Samuel (16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a)

 Reading this biblical text, we understand that the great prophet Samuel had to learn to change his perspective. Sent by God to designate the future king from among the sons of Jesse in Bethlehem, he apparently had only the embarrassment of choice. Jesse first brought his eldest son, named Eliab: tall, handsome, with the appearance worthy of succeeding the current king, Saul. But no: God let Samuel know that his choice did not fall on him: Do not look at his appearance or his tall stature... God does not look as man looks: man looks at the appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart (cf. 1 Sam 16:7).

So Jesse had his sons pass before the prophet one by one, in order of age. But God's choice did not fall on any of them. In the end, he had to call the last one, the one no one had thought of: David, whose only occupation was to tend the sheep. Well, it was he whom God had chosen to guard his people! The biblical account emphasises once again that God's choice falls on the smallest: "God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong," St Paul will say (1 Cor 1:27), because "my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor 12:9). Here is a good reason to change our way of looking at people! From this text we draw at least three lessons about kingship in Israel:

First: the king is God's chosen one, but the election is for a mission. Just as Israel is chosen for the service of humanity, so the king is chosen for the service of the people. This also entails the possibility of being deposed, as happened to Saul: if the chosen one no longer fulfils his mission, he is replaced. Second: the king receives anointing with oil; he is literally the 'messiah', that is, 'the anointed one'. God says to Samuel: 'Fill your horn with oil and set out! I am sending you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have chosen a king among his sons' (1 Sam 16:1). Third: anointing confers the Spirit of God. ' Samuel took the horn full of oil and anointed him in the midst of his brothers, and the Spirit of the Lord came upon David from that day forward' (1 Sam 16:13). The king thus becomes God's representative on earth, called to rule according to God's will and not according to that of the world. There is also another great lesson: men judge by appearances, God looks at the heart.  Many biblical stories insist on this mystery: God often chooses the least. David was the youngest of Jesse's sons; no one thought he had a great future. Moses declared himself slow of speech (Ex 4:10). Jeremiah considered himself too young (Jer 1:6). Samuel himself was inexperienced when he was called. Timothy was in poor health. And the people of Israel were small among the nations. These choices cannot be explained by human criteria. As Isaiah says: "My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways" (Is 55:8-9). The text summarises it thus: "What man sees does not count: for man sees the appearance, but the Lord sees the heart" (1 Sam 16:7). This truth protects us from two dangers: presumption and discouragement. It is not a question of merit, but of availability. No one possesses the necessary strength within themselves: God will give it at the right moment.

*Responsorial Psalm (22/23) 

We have just heard this psalm in its entirety: it is one of the shortest in the psalter, but it is so dense that the early Christians chose it as the privileged psalm for Easter night. On that night, the newly baptised, rising from the baptismal font, sang Psalm 22/23 as they made their way to the place of their Confirmation and First Eucharist. For this reason, it was called the 'psalm of Christian initiation'. If Christians were able to read the mystery of baptismal life in it, it is because this psalm already expressed in a privileged way the mystery of life in the Covenant, of life in intimacy with God for Israel. It is the mystery of God's choice, who elected this particular people for no apparent reason other than his sovereign freedom. Every generation marvels at this election and this Covenant offered: 'Ask the former generations that preceded you, from the day God created man on earth... has anything so great ever happened?' (Deut 4:32-35). This people, freely chosen by God, was given the privilege of being the first to enter into his intimacy, not to enjoy it selfishly, but to open the door to others. To express the happiness of the believer, Psalm 22/23 refers to two experiences: that of a Levite (a priest) and that of a pilgrim. We are familiar with the institution of the Levites: according to Genesis, Levi was one of the twelve sons of Jacob, from whom the twelve tribes of Israel took their name. But the tribe of Levi had a special place from the beginning: at the time of the division of the Promised Land, it did not receive any territory because it was consecrated to the service of worship. It is said that God himself is their inheritance; an image also taken up in another psalm: "Lord, my portion of inheritance and my cup... for me, the lot has fallen on delightful places" (Ps 15/16:5). The Levites lived scattered among the cities of the other tribes and lived on tithes; in Jerusalem, they were dedicated to the service of the Temple. The Levite in our psalm sings with all his heart: "Goodness and faithfulness shall follow me all the days of my life; I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for long days." His experience is an image of Israel's election: just as the Levite is happy to be consecrated to the service of God, so Israel is aware of its special vocation among humanity. Furthermore, Israel presents itself as a pilgrim going up to the Temple to offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving. On the way, it is like a sheep: its shepherd is God. In the culture of the ancient Near East, kings were called "shepherds of the people," and Israel also uses this language. The ideal king is a good shepherd, attentive and strong to protect the flock. But in Israel it was strongly affirmed that the only true king is God; the kings of the earth are only his representatives. Thus, the true shepherd of Israel is God himself: 'The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want; he makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul'. The prophet Ezekiel developed this image at length. Similarly, the Old Testament often presents Israel as God's flock: "He is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock he leads" (Ps 94/95:7). This recalls the experience of the Exodus: it was there that Israel experienced God's care, who guided them and enabled them to survive amid a thousand obstacles. For this reason, when Jesus said, "I am the Good Shepherd" (Jn 10), his words had a shocking effect: they meant "I am the King-Messiah, the true king of Israel." Returning to the psalm: pilgrimage can be dangerous. The pilgrim may encounter enemies ("You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies"), he may pass through "the dark valley" of death; but he does not fear, because God is with him: "I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff give me security". Once he reaches the Temple, he offers a sacrifice of thanksgiving and participates in the ritual banquet that follows: a joyful feast, with an overflowing cup and the anointing of oil on his head. We can understand why the early Christians saw in this psalm the expression of their experience: Christ is the true Shepherd (Jn 10); in baptism he leads us out of the valley of death to the waters of life; the table and the cup evoke the Eucharist; the perfumed oil recalls Confirmation. Once again, Christians discover with amazement that Jesus does not abolish the faith experience of his people, but brings it to fulfilment, giving it fullness.

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Ephesians (5:8-14) 

Often in Scripture, it is the end of the text that provides the key. Let us start with the last sentence: 'For this reason it is said: "Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will give you light."' The phrase "This is why it is said..." clearly shows that the author did not invent this song, but quoted it. It must have been a well-known baptismal hymn in the early Christian communities. Awake... rise... and Christ will give you light was therefore a song of our first brothers and sisters in faith: and this cannot leave us indifferent. Thus, we better understand the beginning of the text: it simply serves to explain the words of that hymn. It is as if, after a baptismal celebration, someone had asked the theologian on duty — Paul, or one of his disciples (since it is not entirely certain that the Letter to the Ephesians was written by him personally) —: "What do the words we sang during baptism mean?" And the answer is this: thanks to baptism, a new life has begun, a radically new life. So much so that the newly baptised were called neophytes, meaning 'new plants'. The author explains the song in this way: the new plant that you have become is profoundly different. When a graft is made, the fruit of the grafted tree is different from the original one; and that is precisely why the graft is made. The colour makes it easy to distinguish what belongs to the new plant and what is a remnant of the past. It is the same with baptism: the fruits of the new man are works of light; before the grafting, you were darkness, and your fruits were works of darkness. But old habits may resurface: this is why it is important to recognise them. For the author, the distinction is simple: the fruits of the new man are goodness, justice and charity. Anything that is not goodness, justice and charity is a sprout from the old tree. Who can make you bear fruits of light? Jesus Christ. He is all goodness, all justice, all charity. Just as a plant needs the sun to bloom, so we must expose ourselves to his light. The song expresses both the work of Christ and the freedom of man: 'Awake, arise' — it is freedom that is called into question. 'Christ will enlighten you' — only he can do this. For St Paul, as for the prophets of the Old Testament, light is an attribute of God. To say 'Christ will enlighten you' means two things: first of all, Christ is God. The only way to live in harmony with God is to remain united to Christ, that is, to live concretely in justice, goodness and charity. The text of Isaiah (Is 58) comes to mind: share your bread with the hungry, welcome the poor, clothe the naked... Then your light will rise like the dawn. This is the glory of the Lord, his light that we are called to reflect. As Paul says in his second letter to the Corinthians (2 Cor 3:18): we reflect the glory of the Lord and are transformed into his image. To reflect means that Christ is the light; we are its reflection. This is the vocation of the baptised: to reflect the light of Christ. For this reason, at baptism, a candle lit from the Paschal candle is given. Secondly, a light does not shine for itself: it illuminates what surrounds it. In his letter to the Philippians, Paul writes: 'You shine like stars in the world' (Phil 2:14-16). This is his way of translating the words of Jesus Christ: 'You are the light of the world'. The Letter to the Ephesians, written directly by Paul or by one of his disciples (according to the then common practice of "pseudepigraphy"), remains for the Church a fundamental testimony of the baptismal vocation, called to pass from darkness to light.

*From the Gospel according to John (9:1-41)

The worst blindness is not what one thinks. Here we hear an illustration of what St John writes at the beginning of his Gospel, in the so-called Prologue:

"The Word was the true light, the light that enlightens every man... He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not recognise him" (Jn 1:9-10). This is what we might call the drama of the Gospels. But John continues: 'Yet to all who did receive him, he gave them the right to become children of God'. This is exactly what happens here: the drama of those who oppose Jesus and stubbornly refuse to recognise him as the One sent by God; but also, fortunately, the salvation of those who have the grace to open their eyes, like the man born blind.

John insists on making us understand that there are two kinds of blindness: physical blindness, which this man had from birth, and, much more serious, blindness of the heart.

Jesus meets the blind man for the first time and heals him of his natural blindness. He then meets him a second time and opens his heart to another light, the true light. It is no coincidence that John takes care to explain the meaning of the name 'Siloam', which means 'Sent'. In other cases, he does not translate the terms: here he does so because it is important. Jesus is truly the One sent by the Father to enlighten the world. Yet we return to the same question: why was the one who was sent to bring God's light rejected by those who awaited him most fervently? The episode of the man born blind takes place immediately after the Feast of Tabernacles, a great solemnity in Jerusalem, during which the coming of the Messiah was ardently invoked. And the danger of certainties can be great. At the time of Jesus Christ, the expectation of the Messiah was very intense. There was only one question: is he truly the Father's Envoy or is he an impostor? Is he the Messiah, yes or no? His actions were paradoxical: he performed the works expected of the Messiah — he restored sight to the blind and speech to the mute — but he did not seem to respect the Sabbath. And it was precisely on the Sabbath that he healed the blind man. Now, if he were truly sent by God, many thought, he should observe the Sabbath. It was 'obvious'. But it is precisely this 'obviousness' that is the problem. Many had too rigid ideas about what the Messiah should be like and were not ready for God's surprise. The blind man, on the other hand, is not a prisoner of preconceptions. To the Pharisees who ask him for explanations, he simply replies: "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes... I washed and gained my sight." The Pharisees are divided: He is not from God, because he does not observe the Sabbath. How can a sinner perform such signs? The blind man reasons with simplicity and freedom: If this man were not from God, he could do nothing (cf. Jn 9:31-33). It is always the same story: those who close themselves off in their own certainties end up seeing nothing; those who take a step in faith are ready to receive grace. And then they can receive true light from Jesus. This episode takes place in a context of controversy between Jesus and the Pharisees. Twice Jesus had rebuked them for  "judging by appearances" (Jn 7:24; 8:15). It is natural to recall the episode of David's choice: "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart" (1 Sam 16:7). The worst blindness, therefore, is not that of the eyes, but that of a heart that does not want to be enlightened. The man born blind does not only receive sight: he receives a new way of seeing. At first he sees Jesus as "a man"; then as a "prophet"; finally he recognises him as "Lord" and prostrates himself before him. The real miracle is not only the opening of the eyes, but the opening of the heart. Here we also find the wisdom of The Little Prince (novel by A.M. de Saint-Exupéry): "What is essential is invisible to the eye." The Pharisees see with their eyes, but remain blind inside; the beggar, on the other hand, passing through rejection and trial, comes to see the Invisible. The conclusion is this: faith is a journey from external light to inner light. One can have healthy eyes and remain in darkness; or one can have been blind and become a witness to the light. The man born blind teaches us that true sight is recognising Christ as the Light of the world and allowing our hearts to be illuminated.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

Third Lent Sunday (year A) [8 March 2026]

May God bless us and the Virgin Mary protect us! Have a good Lenten journey as we pause today with Jesus at the well, a place of life-changing encounters.

*First Reading from the Book of Exodus (17:3-7)

Looking at a map of the Sinai desert, Massa and Meriba are nowhere to be found: they are not specific geographical locations, but symbolic names. Massa means 'challenge', Meriba means 'accusation'. These names recall an episode of challenge, of protest, almost of mutiny against God. The episode takes place in Rephidim, in the middle of the desert, between Egypt and the Promised Land. The people of Israel, led by Moses, advanced from stage to stage, from one water source to another. But at Rephidim, the water ran out. In the desert, under the scorching sun, thirst quickly becomes a matter of life and death: fear grows, panic takes over. The only right response would have been trust: 'God wanted us to be free, he proved it, so he will not abandon us'. Instead, the people give in to fear and react as we often react ourselves: they look for someone to blame. And the culprit seems to be Moses, the 'government' of the time. What is the point, they say, of leaving Egypt only to die of thirst in the desert? Better to be slaves but alive than free but dead. And, as always happens, the past is idealised: they remember the full pots and abundant water of Egypt, forgetting the slavery. In reality, behind the accusation against Moses, there is a deeper accusation: against God himself. What kind of God is this, they ask themselves, who frees a people only to let them die in the desert? The protest: Why did you bring us out of Egypt? To let us, our children and our livestock die of thirst? It becomes increasingly harsh, until it turns into a real trial against God: as if God had freed the people only to get rid of them. Moses then cries out to the Lord: What shall I do with this people? A little more and they will stone me!

And God replies: he orders him to take the staff with which he had struck the Nile, to go to Mount Horeb and to strike the rock. Water gushes forth, the people drink, and their lives are saved (cf. Exodus 17). That water is not only physical relief: it is a sign that God is truly present among his people, that he has not abandoned them and that he continues to guide them on the path to freedom. For this reason, that place will no longer be called simply Rephidim, but Massah and Meribah, 'Testing and Accusation', because there Israel tested God, asking themselves: Is the Lord among us or not? In modern language: 'Is God for us or against us?' This temptation is also ours. Every trial, every suffering, reopens the same original question: can we really trust God? It is the same temptation recounted in the Garden of Eden (Genesis): the suspicion that God does not really want our good poisons human life. This is why Jesus Christ, teaching the Our Father, educates his disciples in filial trust. Do not abandon us to temptation could be translated as: "Do not let our Refidim become Massa, do not let our places of trial become places of doubt." Continuing to call God "Father," even in difficult times, means proclaiming that God is always with us, even when water seems to be lacking.

*Responsorial Psalm (94/95), 

In the Bible, the original text of the psalm reads as follows: "Today, if you hear his voice,

do not harden your hearts as at Massah and Meribah, as on the day of Massah in the desert, where your fathers tested me even though they had seen my works." This psalm is deeply marked by the experience of Massah and Meribah. This is why the liturgy proposes it on the third Sunday of Lent, in harmony with the story of the Exodus: it is a direct reference to the great question of trust. In a few lines, the psalm summarises the whole adventure of faith, both personal and communal. The question is always the same: can we trust God?

For Israel in the desert, this question arose at every difficulty: ' Is the Lord really among us or not?' In other words: can we rely on Him? Will He really support us? Faith, in the Bible, is first and foremost trust. It is not an abstract idea, but the act of 'relying' on God. It is no coincidence that the word 'Amen' means 'solid', 'stable': it means 'I trust, I have faith' . This is why the Bible insists so much on the verb 'to listen': when you trust, you listen. It is the heart of Israel's prayer, the Shema Israel: Hear, O Israel: the Lord is our God... You shall love Him, that is, you shall trust Him. 'To listen' means to have an open ear. The psalm says: 'You have opened my ear' (Ps 40), and the prophet Isaiah writes: The Lord God has opened my ear. Even 'obeying' in the Bible means this: listening with trust. This trust is based on experience. Israel has seen the 'work of God': liberation from Egypt. If God has broken the chains of slavery, He cannot want His people to die in the desert. This is why Israel calls him 'the Rock': it is not poetry, it is a profession of faith. At Massah and Meribah, the people doubted, but God brought water out of the rock: since then, God has been the Rock of Israel. Even the story of the Garden of Eden (Genesis) can be understood in the light of this experience: every limitation, every command, every trial can become a question of trust. Faith is believing that, even when we do not understand, God wants us to be free, alive and happy, and that from our situations of failure he can bring forth new life. Sometimes this trust resembles a 'leap of faith' when we cannot find answers. Then we can say with Simon Peter in Capernaum: 'Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life'. When Paul of Tarsus writes: ' Be reconciled to God', it is like saying: stop suspecting God, as at Massah and Meribah. And when the Gospel of Mark says, 'Repent and believe in the Gospel', it means: believe that the Good News is truly good, that God loves you. Finally, the psalm says, 'Today'. It is a liberating word: every day can be a new beginning. Every day we can relearn to listen and to trust. This is why Psalm 94/95 opens the Liturgy of the Hours every morning and Israel recites the Shema twice a day. And the psalm speaks in the plural: faith is always a journey of a people. 'We are the people He guides'. This is not poetry: it is experience. The Bible knows a people who, together, come to meet their God: "Come, let us acclaim the Lord, let us acclaim the rock of our salvation." It is faith that comes from trust, renewed today, day after day.

*Second Reading from the Letter of St Paul to the Romans (5:1-2, 5-8)

Chapter 5 of the Letter to the Romans marks a decisive turning point. Up to this point, Paul of Tarsus had spoken of humanity's past, of pagans and believers; now he looks to the future, a future transfigured for those who believe, thanks to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. To understand Paul's thinking clearly, we can summarise it in three fundamental statements. 1. Christ died for us while we were sinners. Paul affirms that Christ died 'for us'. This expression does not mean 'in our place', as if Jesus had simply replaced those who were condemned, but 'on our behalf'. When humanity was incapable of saving itself, marked by violence, injustice, greed for power and money, Christ took this reality upon himself and fought it to the point of giving his life.

Humanity, created for love, peace and sharing, had lost its way. Jesus comes to say, with his life and death: "I will show you to the very end what it means to love and forgive. Follow me, even if it costs me my life."

2. The Holy Spirit has been given to us: God's love dwells in us. The second great affirmation is this: the Holy Spirit has been given to us, and with him, God's own love has been poured into our hearts. It is no coincidence that Paul speaks of the Spirit for the first time when he speaks of the cross. For him, passion, cross and gift of the Spirit are inseparable. Here Paul is in complete harmony with the evangelist John. In his Gospel, during the Feast of Tabernacles, Jesus promises "living water," explaining that he was speaking of the Spirit (cf. Gospel of John (7:37-39). And at the moment of the cross, John writes: Bowing his head, Jesus gave up his spirit (Jn 19:30). The promise is fulfilled: from the cross comes the gift of the Spirit. 3. Our 'boast' is the hope of God's glory. Paul also speaks of 'pride', but he makes it clear: we cannot boast about ourselves, because everything is a gift from God; but we can boast about God's gifts, about the wonderful destiny to which we are called. The Spirit already dwells in us, and we know that one day this same Spirit will transform our bodies and hearts into the image of the risen Christ.

The account of the Transfiguration has given us a foretaste of this glory.

From Massah and Meribah to glory. What an immense journey compared to Massah and Meribah, where the people doubted God! Now, thanks to our faith in Christ, we can say with Paul: "Through him we also have access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God" (5:2). In conclusion, the Spirit that Jesus has given us is the very love of God. This certainty should overcome all fear. If God's love has been poured into our hearts, then the forces of division will not have the last word.

For believers, and for all humanity, hope is well-founded, because "the love of God has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us" (5:5).

*From the Gospel according to John (4:5-42) 

Jesus meets us today at the well. And this detail is not secondary. In the Bible, the well is never just a place where water is drawn: it is a place of decisive encounters, where life changes direction. At a well, Abraham's servant  meets Rebecca, who will become Isaac's wife; at a well, Jacob  falls in love with Rachel. At the well, relationships, alliances and the future are born. When John places Jesus at a well, he is telling us that something decisive is about to happen. Jesus arrives at Jacob's well in Samaria. It is midday. Jesus is tired and sits down. The Gospel immediately shows us a God who stops, who accepts fatigue, who enters our life as it is. Salvation begins with a pause, not with a spectacular gesture. At that hour, a woman arrives. She is alone. Jesus says to her, 'Give me a drink'. It is a surprising request. Jesus, a Jew, speaks to a Samaritan woman; a man speaks to a woman; a righteous man speaks to a person whose life has been wounded. God does not enter our lives by imposing himself, but by asking. He becomes a beggar for our hearts. From that simple request, a dialogue arises that goes ever deeper. Jesus leads the woman from the external well to her inner thirst: "If you knew the gift of God..." The water that Jesus promises is not water to be drawn every day, but a spring that gushes within, a life that does not run dry. It does not eliminate daily life, but transfigures it from within. Then Jesus touches on the truth of the woman's life. He does not judge her, he does not humiliate her. In the Gospel, truth does not serve to crush, but to liberate. Only those who accept to be known can receive the gift. The woman then asks a religious question: where should God be worshipped? On the mountain or in the temple? Jesus responds by shifting the focus: no longer where, but how. 'In Spirit and truth'. God is no longer encountered in one place as opposed to another, but in a living relationship. The true temple is the heart that allows itself to be inhabited. When the woman speaks of the Messiah, Jesus makes one of the most powerful revelations in the entire Gospel: 'I am he, the one who is speaking to you'. The Messiah does not manifest himself in the temple, but in a personal dialogue, at a well, to a woman considered unclean. As in the ancient stories of wells, here too the encounter opens up a promise: but now the Bridegroom is Jesus Christ and the covenant is new. The woman leaves her jug behind. It is a simple but decisive gesture. The jug represents old certainties, repeated attempts to quench a thirst that never goes away. Those who have encountered Christ no longer live to draw water, but to bear witness. The woman runs into town and says, 'Come and see'. She does not give a lesson, she recounts an encounter. And many believe, to the point of saying, 'Now we no longer believe because of what you said, but because we ourselves have heard'. Today's Gospel tells us this: Christ does not take us away from the well of life, but transforms the well into a place of salvation. Our thirst becomes an encounter, the encounter becomes a gift, the gift becomes a source for others. This is Lent: allowing ourselves to be encountered by Christ and becoming, in turn, living water for those who are thirsty.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

(Mt 18:21-35)

Throughout the ancient Middle East, non-disproportionate retaliation one to one [not cruel] was a sacred law.

Forgiveness was a humiliating and absurd attitude, an incomprehensible principle to anyone experiencing any injustice.

Conversely, in the dynamic of Faith, forgiveness becomes a power, which not only makes the air breathable, but activates our personal destiny.

Peter instead wants to know the limits of forgiveness (v.21).

Historically, at the end of the first century the picky, severe, style of the synagogue and of the Empire [«divide et impera»] reappear in believers. 

A question arises: will we have to stop welcoming?

In addition, in the same churches one begins to think that someone has sinned in lese majesty towards those who - now hard and heartless - are used to being revered.

Veterans who make trouble more than others and then dot on the minutiae of others (the weak brothers, considered subjected and destined to the fiscal rigour of moralisms, as well as penances).

While religious discipline exacerbates minute defects, the very experience of the disproportion between the forgiveness received from the Father and what we are able to offer to the brothers, makes us understand the need for tolerance.

Church should be this space of the experience of God who return life, an alternative place of fraternity.

Imperial society was harsh and uncompassionate, with no room for the small and shaky, who unassumingly sought any refuge for their hearts - but no religion gave them an answer.

Synagogues, too, identified material and spiritual blessings. Cloaked with requirements, purity rules and fulfilments, they did not offer the warmth of a welcoming place for the weak.

The issue was that in the early Christian communities themselves, some people insisted on the rigour of norms, customs and hierarchies, demanding coexistence based on the Judaizing model.

Furthermore, as the Letter of James testifies, towards the end of the first century the identical divisions of society, between miserables and wealthy, were already beginning to manifest themselves in the churches of Christ!

Welcoming space of the communities that in the Spirit had been given the task by the Lord to enlighten the world with their seed of life as a ‘shelter for all’ (and of alternative relationships) ran the risk of becoming again a place of conflict, judgement, punishment, condemnation.

«So also my heavenly Father will do to you, if you do not condone each one to his own brother from your heart» (v.35).

Divine forgiveness becomes effective and evident only in the testimony of the Church (v.35) where sisters and brothers - instead of showing themselves to be meticulous, let themselves be guided by a Vision of new heavens and new earth.

For this reason - without any effort, indeed blessing the needs of others as territories of preparatory energies - they live the communion of resources and remit even material debts, a misery.

Otherwise, we would always have to live in the incumbency of an indulgent God perhaps, but at times, and according to the cases retracting the doing of mercy.

It would be a life without surprising developments, all weighted down in a swamp of little pennies.

Instead, it’s the active energy of the Faith that doesn’t condemn us to trudge.

The magnanimity that comes out of the automatisms shifts our gaze and brings us an ineffable and growing wave, far ahead of what we can imagine.

Our surrenders are preparing new developments - the ones that count, without limitations.

The "win-or-lose" alternative is false: you have to get out of it.

[Tuesday 3rd wk. in Lent, March 10, 2026]

(Mt 18:21-35)

Throughout the ancient Middle East, non-proportionate (one-to-one, not cruel) retaliation was sacred law.

Forgiveness was a humiliating and absurd attitude, an incomprehensible principle for anyone experiencing any injustice or drama.

Conversely, in the dynamic of Faith, forgiving becomes a power, which not only makes the air breathable, but activates our personal destiny.

The Gospel according to Matthew devotes the greatest attention to the theme of forgiveness and the need to recompose internal frictions within the church, where each seems to want to crush the other - if only out of spiritual envy.

One wonders: is there a different counterpart to the pagan principle of retributive justice [uncuique jus suum], which by going to extremes ends up accentuating divisions?

What is the most reasonable behaviour for those who have been accepted by God, and even exorbitantly condoned?

It is not enough to oppose a good-natured value, albeit noble, indeed lofty - but for this reason, out of scale - if it excludes the time of a journey, the horizon of development that finally supplants [and does not simply gloss over: so-called 'being positive'].

The only solution free of dormant vindictiveness is to have a sense of the immeasurable, of the gratuitous prevenient - received without merit or conditions; in view of new paths.

We must first realise that the decisive element in overcoming obstacles is not our own strength or an induced voluntarism, which tears both ourselves and our brothers and sisters apart.

Only a dizzying emotion can integrate the drives and all affections, and bring to the surface the germs of the passions that give vertigo.

Personal or external ecstasies; unknown and neglected or unexpressed, to which we have not yet given space.

In fact, in the everyday summary, it seems normal to us to oppose immediate reactions and violate situations with shamelessness, then to set the stage for minor non-compliances by others - with the pretence even of suffocating those responsible for the nonsense.

Of course, even immediately after we have pleaded and promised in the ritual.

Mt proposes even paradoxical nuances on forgiveness - always placing his catecheses on a level of pricelessness, in the perspective of spousal and creative Faith.

And he insists on it in several passages, because the communities he addresses are very poor; still rooted in the narrowness of ancient religiosity.

As is the case not only in groups tied to the baggage of the tradition of the 'fathers' - not of the Father - the members of the communities of Galilee and Syria experienced as an affront the normality of quarrels, differing opinions, and all conflicts.

It seems unbelievable, but those who feel themselves in possession of a licence of immunity [linked to futuristic myths or sacred inhibitions, old-fashioned brakes and observances or cosmic projects of abstract subversion] find it more difficult to enter into the minute logic of coexistence, of confrontation - of disproportion, of the without-boundary, of the Gift that favours coexistence itself.

Peter wants to know the limits of forgiveness (v.21).

Historically, at the end of the first century, the squeamish, severe style of the synagogue and the empire [‘divide et impera’] had reappeared among believers.

The question arose and reappeared: should one stop in welcoming?

In addition, in the churches themselves, people were beginning to think that someone had sinned of lese majesty towards those who - by then hard and heartless - were used to being revered.

Veterans who were up to more than others and then doted on the minutiae of others (the weak brethren, considered subordinates, and destined for the fiscal rigour of moralising as well as penances).

Does the insolvent debtor of the Gospel take it out on those who owe him a few pennies?

The excessive Forgiveness of the living and true God can only be manifested to the world through a community that raises grudges and relationships to a new plane - simply more normal.

Says the Tao Tê Ching (x): "Let creatures live and feed them, let them live and not keep them as your own; work and expect nothing, let them grow and not rule them. This is the mysterious virtue'.

As a commentary, Master Wang Pi writes: "The Dao in eternity does not act, creatures transform themselves. Do not obstruct their source, do not hinder their nature. Creatures from themselves grow and satisfy themselves'.

Master Ho-shang Kung adds: "The Tao makes the ten thousand creatures grow and nourish, but it does not harm them by governing them as if they were instruments. The Tao's implementation of virtue is mysterious and obscure, nor can it be scrutinised. He wants to induce men to be like the Tao'.

Even today, legalistic practice exasperates minute faults, but the very experience of the disproportion between the forgiveness we receive from the Father and what we are able to offer our brothers and sisters makes us realise the need for indulgence.

Lived tolerance, in situation; not just in principle. 

Even more so in times of global crisis, the Church should be this space of God's life-giving experience. An alternative place of less cheap, less sophisticated fraternity.

The imperial society was harsh and without compassion, lacking space for the small and shaky, who unassumingly sought any refuge for the heart - but no religion provided an answer to their need for understanding.

Even synagogues identified material and spiritual blessings. Cloaked with prior demands, rules of purity and fulfilments, they did not offer the warmth of a welcoming place for the weak.

The trouble was that in the earliest Christian communities themselves, some put their foot down on the rigour of the rules.

Consuetudines and hierarchies they were accustomed to, demanding coexistence based on the Judaizing model - or according to the harshness of schematic, disembodied principles, lacking grip.

Moreover, as the letter of James testifies, towards the end of the first century the identical divisions of society around them, between the indigent and the well-to-do, were already beginning to manifest themselves in the churches of Christ!

The welcoming space of the communities that in the Spirit had been given the task by the Lord to enlighten the world with their seed of life as Homes for all, of alternative relations, ran the risk of once again becoming a place of conflict, judgement, punishment, condemnation.

As usual: no Good News for the least, everywhere exhausted.

And this unspeakable climate also sowed death for others, even more fortunate - but trapped in harsh reality.

What to do?

The fundamental educational function of the Church is still to include; to make it understood that the initiative can only be the creditor's (vv.21-22.27.33): he too is a "lost one" (v.25).

Only by the intimate work of awareness in Faith is the ruthlessness of competition, of retributive justice, overcome.

There is no wisdom in being pretentious in order to be someone (vv.28-30).

Our failures are preparing new developments - those that count, without limitation.

"So also my heavenly Father will do to you, if you do not forgive each one his brother from your heart" (v.35).

Divine forgiveness becomes effective and evident in the testimony of the Church where sisters and brothers, instead of being punctilious, are caught up in it.

They allow themselves to be guided by a vision of new heavens and a new earth.

That is why - without any effort whatsoever, indeed blessing the needs of others as territories of preparatory energies - they live the communion of resources and forgive even material debts, which are then a misery.

If not, we would always have to live in the impendence of a God of reciprocation.

And in this way we would reveal him: forgiving perhaps, but in time; retracting 'mercy' - Pope Francis would say.

So: for life under the lash of tormentors, proponents also of a mannered but contrived existence. Made of unimaginative exchanges.

A hell of anticipated pettiness, undercutting and ridiculing the Measure of the Gospel. Glad tidings that go together with differences.

Even the balancing of remissions would not save us from the offence (this one enormous) of stasis that levels the essences - hence from ruin.

It is beautiful and fruitful to live in the imbalance of gratuitousness, rather than in give and take. It also happens with God.

Through forgiveness, not only do we improve the obsessive atmosphere and attest to belief - e.g. in the Cross - but we build a malleable and malleable experience, with fullness of recovery and being.

From astonishment; openness, flexibility, disproportion.

The rest remains only commentary.

Echo of a subject that banally proposes to ratify the 'contract'.

Trace of an environment that remains where it is - until it allows new forces to take over.

It would be a life without marvellous developments, all weighed down in the 'quid pro quo' and the swamp of the few.

Instead, it is the active energy of Faith, the one that overcomes defined pacts. And does not condemn us to trudge on.

The ever-increasing magnanimity that comes out of automatisms shifts the gaze of small cuts.

It carries an ineffable and growing Wave. Much further than we can imagine.

The 'win-or-lose' alternative is false: we must get out of it.

To internalise and live the message:

Can you live in the imbalance of gratuitousness?

Do you accelerate and judge, or do you perceive and wait?

Is your life of Faith constitutive of the give and take typical of mundane religion, or the awareness that you are obliged to pour out the echo of what the Father has already given you?

What is the reconciliation space of your reality?

What do you concretely mean by the Gospel? 

Forgiveness and Faith: Living Encounter

Gratis eccentric, forward: Sacrament of humanity as such

(Lk 17:1-6)

The knowledge of God is not a confiscated commodity or an acquired and already foreclosed science: it moves from one action and another, unceasingly; it is realised in an ever-living Encounter, which does not block or dissolve us.

Typical, the experience of the "little ones" [mikròi v.2]. From the earliest communities of faith, they have been those who lacked security and energy; unstable and without support.

Since time immemorial, "Little Ones" have been the incipients; the new ones, who have heard of Christian brotherhood, but are sometimes forced to stand in line, aside, or give up the journey.

But the criterion of welcome, tolerance, communion even of material goods, has been the first and main catalyst for the growth of the assemblies.

Even the origin and meaning of all the formulas and signs of the liturgy.

The existential and ideal centre to which to converge. For a proactive and in itself transformative Faith.

In the Spirit of the Master, even for us the conciliation of friction is not simply a work of magnanimity.

It is the beginning of the future world. The beginning of an unpredictable and unspeakable adventure. And we with it suddenly reborn: coming into frank contact in Christ. He who does not extinguish us at all.

Hence the Christian forgiveness of children, which is not... 'looking positive', and 'turning a blind eye': rather, Newness of God that creates an environment of Grace, propulsive, with enormous possibilities.

Force that breaks through and paradoxically lets the dark poles meet, instead of shaking them off. Genuinely eliminating useless comparisons, words and ballasts, which block the transparent Exodus.

Dynamics that guide one to the indispensable and unavoidable: waves to shift one's gaze. Teaching one to notice one's own hysterics, to know oneself, to face anxiety, its reason; to manage situations and moments of crisis.

Mouldable virtue that places one in intimate listening to the personal essence.

Hence, solid, broad empathy that introduces new energies; it brings one's own deep states, even standard life, together... arousing other knowledge, different perspectives, unexpected relationships.

Thus without too much struggle it renews us, and curbs the loss of veracity [typical, that in favour of circumstantial manners]. It accentuates capacities and horizons of Peace - crumbling primates, swampy balances.

The discovery of new sides of the being that we are, conveys a sense of better wholeness, then spontaneously curbs external influences, dissolves prejudices, does not make one act on an emotional, impulsive basis.

Rather, it puts us in a position to reveal the hidden and astounding meaning of being. It unfolds the crucial horizon.

Activating 'Forgiveness' is gratuitously a surrender of one's character range, of all lost dignity, and far beyond.

By laying down sentences, the art of tolerance expands the [also intimate] gaze. It enhances and strengthens the dull sides; those we ourselves had detested.

In this eccentric way it transforms those considered distant or mediocre [mikroi] into outriders and brilliant inventors. For what was unthought of yesterday will be clarifying and driving tomorrow.

Confusions will make sense - precisely because of the thinking of the minds in crisis, and because of the action of the despised, intruders, outside of all spin and predictability.

Life of pure Faith in the Spirit: i.e., the imagination of the 'weak'... in power.

Because it is the paradoxical mechanism that makes the crossroads of history assess, activates passions, creates sharing, solves real problems.

And so it supplants difficult moments forwards (bringing us back to the true path) by orienting reality to the concrete good.

Making it fly towards itself.

The 'win-or-lose' alternative is false: we must get out of it. It is in such 'emptiness' and Silence that God makes His way.

Mystery of Presence, overflowing. New Covenant.

The Lord's greeting of peace is followed by two gestures that are decisive for Pentecost: the Lord wants the disciples to continue his mission: "As the Father has sent me, so I send you" (Jn 20: 21).

After this, he breathes on them and says: "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive men's sins, they are forgiven them; if you hold them bound, they are held bound" (Jn 20: 23). The Lord breathes on the disciples, giving them the Holy Spirit, his own Spirit. The breath of Jesus is the Holy Spirit.

We recognize here, in the first place, an allusion made to the story of creation in the Book of Genesis, where it is written: "The Lord God formed man out of the clay of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life" (Gn 2: 7). Man is this mysterious creature who comes entirely from the earth, but in whom has been placed the breath of God. Jesus breathes on the Apostles and gives them the breath of God in a new and greater way.

In people, notwithstanding all of their limitations, there is now something absolutely new: the breath of God. The life of God lives in us. The breath of his love, of his truth and of his goodness. In this way we can see here too an allusion to Baptism and Confirmation, this new belonging to God that the Lord gives to us. The Gospel Reading invites us to this: to live always within the breath of Jesus Christ, receiving life from him, so that he may inspire in us authentic life, the life that no death may ever take away.

To his breath, to the gift of the Holy Spirit, the Lord joins the power of forgiveness. We heard earlier that the Holy Spirit unites, breaks down barriers, leads us one to the other. The strength that opens up and overcomes Babel is the strength of forgiveness.

Jesus can grant forgiveness and the power to forgive because he himself suffered the consequences of sin and dispelled them in the flame of his love. Forgiveness comes from the Cross; he transforms the world with the love that is offered. His heart opened on the Cross is the door through which the grace of forgiveness enters into the world. And this grace alone is able to transform the world and build peace.

If we compare the two events of Pentecost - the strong wind of the 50th day and the gentle breath of Jesus on the evening of Easter - we might think about this contrast between the two episodes that took place on Mt Sinai, spoken of in the Old Testament.

On the one hand, there is the narration of fire, thunder and wind, preceding the promulgation of the Ten Commandments and the conclusion of the Covenant (cf. Ex 19 ff.); on the other, there is the mysterious narration of Elijah on Mt Horeb. Following the dramatic events on Mt Carmel, Elijah fled from the wrath of Ahab and Jezebel. Following God's orders, he journeyed to Mt Horeb. The gift of the holy Covenant, of faith in the one God, seemed to have disappeared from Israel.

In a certain way, Elijah must rekindle the flame of faith on God's mountain and bring it back to Israel. He experiences, in that place, wind, earthquake and fire. But God is not present in all of this. He then perceives a sweet soft murmur; and God speaks to him in this soft breath (cf. I Kings 19: 11-18).

Is this not precisely what takes place the evening of Easter, when Jesus appeared to his Apostles to teach them what it means here? Might we perhaps see here a prefiguration of the servant of Yahweh, of whom Isaiah says: "He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street" (42: 2)? Does not the humble figure of Jesus appear this way, as the true revelation in whom God manifests himself and speaks to us? Are not the humility and goodness of Jesus the true epiphany of God?

On Mt Carmel, Elijah sought to overcome the distancing from God with fire and the sword, killing the prophets of Baal. In this way, though, he was unable to restore the faith.

On Mt Horeb, he was made to understand that God is not in the wind, the earthquake or the fire; Elijah has to learn and perceive the soft voice of God, and in this way to recognize in advance the One who overcame sin not with power but by his Passion; the One who, by his suffering, has given us the ability to forgive. This is how God wins.

Dear Ordinandi, in this way the message of Pentecost is now aimed directly at you. The Pentecostal scene of the Gospel of John speaks to you and of you. To each one of you, in a very personal way, the Lord says: Peace to [all of] you - peace to you! When the Lord says this, he does not give something, but he gives himself. Indeed, he himself is peace (cf. Eph 2: 14).

In this greeting of the Lord, we can also foresee a reference to the great mystery of faith, to the Holy Eucharist, in which he continually gives himself to us, and, in this way, true peace.
Sacrament of the Eucharist

This greeting is placed at the centre of your priestly mission: the Lord entrusts to you the mystery of this Sacrament. In his Name you can say: "This is my Body.... This is my Blood". Allow yourselves to be drawn ever anew by the Holy Eucharist, by communion of life with Christ. Consider the centre of each day the possibility to celebrate the Eucharist worthily. Lead people ever anew to this mystery. Help them, starting from this, to bring the peace of Christ into the world.

In the Gospel Reading we have just heard, a second phrase of the Risen One resounds: "As the Father has sent me, so I send you" (Jn 20: 21). Christ says this in a very personal way to each one of you.

With priestly ordination you are inserted into the Apostolic mission. The Holy Spirit is wind, but it is not amorphous; it is an orderly Spirit. It becomes manifest precisely when it orders the mission, in the Sacrament of the Priesthood, in which the ministry of the Apostles is continued.

Through this ministry, you are inserted in the multitude of those who, beginning with Pentecost, have received the apostolic mission. You are inserted into the communion of priests, into communion with the Bishop and with the Successor of St Peter, who here in Rome is also your Bishop. All of us are inserted in the network of obedience to the Word of Christ, to the word of the One who gives us true freedom because he leads us in the free spaces and open horizons of the truth.

It is precisely in this common bond with the Lord that we can and must live the dynamism of the Spirit. As the Lord came from the Father and has given us light, life and love, so too the mission must continually set us in motion, make us restless, to bring the joy of Christ to those who suffer, those who are in doubt, as well as to the reluctant.

Lastly, there is the power of forgiveness. The Sacrament of Penance is one of the Church's precious treasures, since authentic world renewal is accomplished only through forgiveness. Nothing can improve the world if evil is not overcome.

Evil can be overcome only by forgiveness. Certainly, it must be an effective forgiveness; but only the Lord can give us this forgiveness, a forgiveness that drives away evil not only with words but truly destroys it. Only suffering can bring this about and it has truly taken place with the suffering love of Christ, from whom we draw the power to forgive.

[Pope Benedict, Pentecost homily with priestly ordinations 15 May 2005]

2. Forgiveness! Christ taught us to forgive. Many times and in various ways He spoke of forgiveness. When Peter asked him how many times he should forgive his neighbour, "up to seven times?", Jesus replied that he should forgive "up to seventy times seven" (Mt 18:21f). This means, in practice, always: in fact, the number "seventy" times "seven" is symbolic, and means, rather than a determined quantity, an incalculable, infinite quantity. Responding to the question of how one should pray, Christ uttered those magnificent words addressed to the Father: "Our Father who art in heaven"; and among the requests that make up this prayer, the last one speaks of forgiveness: "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them" to those who are guilty towards us (= "to our debtors"). Finally, Christ himself confirmed the truth of these words on the Cross, when, turning to the Father, he pleaded: "Forgive them!", "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Lk 23:34).

"Forgiveness" is a word uttered from the lips of a man to whom evil has been done. Indeed, it is the word of the human heart. In this word of the heart, each of us strives to overcome the frontier of enmity, which can separate him from the other, seeks to rebuild the inner space of understanding, of contact, of bonding. Christ taught us by the word of the Gospel, and above all by his own example, that this space opens not only before the other man, but at the same time before God himself. The Father, who is God of forgiveness and mercy, desires to act precisely in this space of human forgiveness, desires to forgive those who are reciprocally capable of forgiveness, those who seek to put into practice those words: 'forgive us... as we forgive'.

Forgiveness is a grace, to be thought of with deep humility and gratitude. It is a mystery of the human heart, about which it is difficult to diffuse.

5. Christ taught us to forgive. Forgiveness is also indispensable so that God can pose questions to the human conscience, to which he awaits answers in all inner truth.

At this time, when so many innocent men perish at the hands of other men, it seems to impose a special need to approach each of those who kill, to approach them with forgiveness in our hearts and with the same question that God, the Creator and Lord of human life, put to the first man who had made an attempt on his brother's life and had taken it away from him - had taken away what is the property only of the Creator and Lord of life.

Christ taught us to forgive. He taught Peter to forgive "unto seventy times seven" ( Mt 18:22). God himself forgives when man answers the question addressed to his conscience and heart with all the inner truth of conversion.

Leaving judgement and judgment in its definitive dimension to God himself, we do not cease to ask: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us".

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 21 October 1981]

In the parable in today’s Gospel reading, that of the merciful King (cf. Mt 18:21-35), we find this plea twice: “Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything” (vv. 26, 29). The first time it is pronounced by the servant who owes his master ten thousand talents, an enormous sum. Today it would be millions and millions of euros. The second time it is repeated by another servant of the same master. He too is in debt, not towards his master, but towards the same servant who has that enormous debt. And his debt is very small, maybe like a week’s wages.

The heart of the parable is the indulgence the master shows towards his servant with the bigger debt. The evangelist underlines that, “moved with compassion the master” — we should never forget this word of Jesus: “with compassion”, Jesus always had compassion — “moved with compassion the master let him go and forgave him the loan” (v. 27). An enormous debt, therefore a huge remission! But that servant, immediately afterwards, shows himself to be pitiless towards his companion, who owed him a modest amount. He does not listen to him, he is extremely hostile against him and has him thrown in prison until his debt is paid back (cf. v. 30), that small debt. The master hears about this and, indignant, calls the wicked servant back and has him condemned (cf. vv. 32-34): “I forgave you a great deal and you are not capable of forgiving so little?”.

In the parable we find two different attitudes: God’s — represented by the king who forgives a lot, because God always forgives — and that of the man. In the divine attitude justice is pervaded with mercy, whereas the human attitude is limited to justice. Jesus exhorts us to open ourselves with courage to the strength of forgiveness, because in life not everything can be resolved with justice. We know this. There is a need for that merciful love, which is also at the basis of the Lord’s answer to Peter’s question, which precedes the parable. Peter’s question goes like this: “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?” (v. 21). And Jesus replies, “I do not say to you, seven times but seventy times seven” (v. 22). In the symbolic language of the Bible this means that we are called to forgive always.

How much suffering, how many wounds, how many wars could be avoided if forgiveness and mercy were the style of our life! Even in families, even in families. How many disunited families, who do not know how to forgive each other. How many brothers and sisters bear this resentment within. It is necessary to apply merciful love to all human relationships: between spouses, between parents and children, within our communities, in the Church and also in society and politics.

Today, in the morning, as I was celebrating Mass, I paused, touched by a phrase in the first Reading from the book of Sirach. The phrase says, “Remember the end of your life, and cease from enmity”. A beautiful phrase! Think of the end! Think that you will be in a coffin… and will you take hatred there? Think of the end, stop hating! Stop the resentment. Let’s think of this phrase that is very touching. Remember the end of your life, and cease from enmity”.

It is not easy to forgive because in moments of calm we say: “Yes, this person has done so many things to me but I have done many too. Better to forgive so as to be forgiven”. But then resentment returns like a bothersome fly in the summer that keeps coming back. Forgiveness isn’t something we do in a moment, it is something continuous, against that resentment, this hatred that keeps coming back. Let’s think of our end and stop hating.

Today’s parable helps us to grasp fully the meaning of that phrase we recite in the Lord’s Prayer: “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us” (cf. Mt 6:12). These words contain a decisive truth. We cannot demand God’s forgiveness for ourselves if we in turn do not grant forgiveness to our neighbour. It is a condition: think of your end, of God’s forgiveness, and stop hating. Reject resentment, that bothersome fly that keeps coming back. If we do not strive to forgive and to love, we will not be forgiven and loved either.

Let us entrust ourselves to the maternal intercession of the Mother of God: May she help us to realise how much we are in debt to God, and to remember that always, so that our hearts may be open to mercy and goodness.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 13 September 2020]

Two Names of God

(Lk 4:24-30)

Jesus is annoying and generates suspicion in those who love external schemes, because he proclaims only Jubilee, rather than harsh confrontation and revenge.

In the synagogue, his ‘village’ is perplexed by this overly understanding love - just what we need.

The place of worship is where less aware believers have been educated in reverse!

Their grumpy character is the sour fruit of a pounding religiosity, which denies the right to express ideas and feelings.

The "synagogal" code has produced fake faithfuls, conditioned by a disharmonious and split personality.

Even today and from an early age, that intimate laceration manifests itself in the excess of control over openness to others.

Consequence: an accentuation of youth uncertainty - under which who knows what hatches - and a rigid adult character.

In short, the hammering that does not make the leap of Faith blocks us, prevents from understanding, and pollutes all of life.

Even in the time of Jesus, archaic teaching sharpened nationalisms, the very perception of trauma or violations, and paradoxically precisely the caged situations from which one wanted to escape.

Exclusive spirituality: it’s empty - whether crude or sophisticated.

Selective thinking is the worst disease of worldviews, which are then always telling us ‘how we should be’.

Faced with edgy convictions and conventicular illusions, the Prophet marks distance; he works to spread awareness, not reassuring images - nor disembodied ideas.

But the critical heralds violently irritate the crowd of regulars, who suddenly pass from a sort of curiosity to vengeful indignation.

As in the village, so - we read in watermark - in the Holy City [Mount Sion], from which they immediately want to throw you down (Lk 4:29). Wherever you talk about a real person and eternal dreams.

In the hostility that surrounds them, the intimates of the Lord openly challenge the normalized beliefs - acquired from the environment and not reworked.

For them it’s not only the analogy calculated to a petty side dish that counts. They see other goals and don't just want to “get there”.

If they are overwhelmed, they leave behind that trail of intuitions that sooner or later will make everyone reflect.

Therefore in his Friends it is the Risen who escapes from death and resumes the journey, crossing those who want to kill him (v.30).

At all times, the witnesses make us think: they do not seek compliments and pleasant results, but recover ‘opposite sides’ and accept the happiness of others.

They know that Uniqueness must run its course: it will be wealth for everyone, and on this point they do not allow themselves to be inhibited.

Based on the Father's personal experience, the inspired faithfuls value different approaches.

They create an unknown esteem, advocating new attitudes - different ways of relating to God.

Not, to add proselytes and consider themselves indispensable.

Even if «at home» (v.24: own townspeople, own country) they are uncomfortable characters for the ratified mentality, the nobody-Prophets make Jesus' Personalism survive, snatching it from those who want it to be dormant and kidnapped.

Like him, at the risk of unpopularity and without begging for approval.

With the scars of what has gone away, for a new Journey.

[Monday 3rd wk. in Lent, March 9, 2026]

Lk 4:24-30 (16-37)

Jesus' transgressions and ours (reinforcing the plot)

(Lk 4:14-22)

"The Spirit of the Lord was upon me, therefore he anointed me to proclaim the Good News to the poor" (Lk 4:18).

In ancient Israel, the patriarchal family, clan and community were the basis of social coexistence.

They guaranteed the transmission of the identity of the people and provided protection for the afflicted.

Defending the clan was also a concrete way of confirming the First Covenant.

But at the time of Jesus, Galilee suffered both the segregation dictated by Herod Antipas' policy and the oppression of official religiosity.

The ruler's spineless collaborationism had increased the number of homeless and unemployed.

The political and economic situation forced people to retreat into material and individual problems or those of a small family.

At one time, the identity glue of clan and community guaranteed a (domestic) character of a nation of solidarity, expressed in the defence and relief given to the less well-off of the people.

Now, this fraternal bond was weakened, a little congealed, almost contradicted - also due to the strict attitude of the religious authorities, fundamentalist and lovers of a saccharine purism, opposed to mixing with the less well-off classes.

The Law [written and oral] ended up being used not to favour the welcoming of the marginalised and needy, but to accentuate detachment and ghettoisation.

Situations that were leading to the collapse of the least protected sections of the population.

In short, traditional devotion - a lover of the alliance between throne and altar - instead of strengthening the sense of community was being used to accentuate hierarchies; as a weapon that legitimised a whole mentality of exclusions (and confirmed the imperial logic of dividi et impera).

Instead, Jesus wants to return to the Father's Dream: the ineliminable one of fraternity, the only seal to salvation history.

That is why his non-avoidable criterion was to link the Word of God to the life of the people, and in this way overcome divisions.

Thus, according to Lk, the first time Jesus enters a synagogue he messes up.

He does not go there to pray, but to teach what God's Grace (undefiled by chicanery and false teachings) is in the real existence of people.

He chooses a passage that precisely reflects the situation of the people of Galilee, oppressed by the power of the rulers, who were making the weak suffer confusion and poverty.

But his first Reading does not take into account the liturgical calendar.

Then he dares to preach in his own way and personalising the passage from Isaiah, from which he allows himself to censor the verse announcing God's vengeance.

Then he does not even proclaim the expected passage of the Law.

And he poses as if he were the master of the place of worship - in reality he is: the Risen One who 'sits' is teaching his [still Judaizing] people.

Moreover - we understand from the tone of the Gospel passage - for the Son of God the Spirit is not revealed in the extraordinary phenomena of the cosmos, but in the Year of Grace ("a year acceptable to the Lord": v.19).

The new energy that creates the authentic man is divine because it is personal and social.

This is the platform that works the turning point.

It becomes an engine, a motive and context, for a transformation of the soul and of relationships - at that time weighed down by servility, even theological [of merits].

In a warp of vital relationships, the better understanding of the Gift becomes a springboard for a harmonious future of liberation and justice.

Christ believes that the Father's Kingdom arises by making the present, then mired in oppression, anguish and slavery, grow from within.

Says the Tao Tê Ching (XLVI): "When the Way is in force in the world, swift horses are sent to fertilise the fields".

The emancipation offered by the Spirit is addressed not to the great, but precisely to those who suffer forms of need, defect and penury: in Jesus... now all open to the jubilee figure of the new Creation.

In short, there seems to be total antagonism and unsuitability between the Lord and the practitioners of traditional religion - heavy-handed, selective, devoted to legalisms and reprisals; pyramidal, with no way out.

Obviously, both leaders and customaries ask themselves - on a ritual and venerable basis: is it possible that the divine likeness could manifest itself in a man who is considerate towards the less affluent, who disregards official customs, does not believe in reprisals, and displays forms of uncontrolled spontaneity?

It is a reminder to us. The person of authentic Faith does not allow himself to be conditioned by habitual, useless and quiet conformities.

The common thought - habituated and agreed upon but subtly competitive - becomes a backwards energy, too normal and swampy; not propulsive for the personal and social soul. 

If, on the other hand, we allow ourselves to be accompanied by the Dream of a super-eminent gestation from the Father, we will be animated through the royal and sacred Presence that orients us to fly over repetitions, or selections, marginalisations and fallacious recriminations.

As if we move our being into a horizon and a world of friendly relations that then acts as a magnet to reality and anticipates the future.

Like the Master and Lord, instead of reasoning with induced thoughts and allowing ourselves to be sequestered by the heaviness of rejections and fears, let us begin to think with the images of personal Vocation, with the empathic codes of our bursting Calling.

The unknown evolutionary resources that are triggered, immediately unravel a network of paths that the "locals" may not like, but avoid the perennial conflict with missionary identity and character.

The unrepeatable and wide-meshed Vision-Relation (v.18a) - without reduction - then becomes strategic, because it possesses within itself the call of the Quintessence, and all the resources to solve the real problems.

To listen to the proclamation of the Gospels (v.18b) is to listen to the echo of oneself and of the little people: an intimate and social choice.

And to be in it without the dead leaves of one-sidedness - to wander freely in that same Proclamation; not neglecting precious parts of oneself, nor amputating eccentricities, or the intuition proper to the subordinate classes.

This is to be able to manifest the quiet Root (but in its energetic state), our Character (in the lovable, non-separatist Friend) - to avoid stultifying it with another bondage.

All in the instinct to be and do happy, never allowing ourselves to be imprisoned by the craving for security on the side; stagnant pursuit.

The Kingdom in the Spirit (cf. vv.14.18) - who knows what we need - has ceased to be a goal of mere futurity.

It is the surprise that Christ arouses in us around his proposal with an extra gear.

He does not neglect us: he extinguishes accusatory brooding and creatively redesigns.

He gives birth again and motivates, recovers dispersions, and strengthens the plot.

To internalise and live the message:

How do I connect the Faith with the cultural and social situation?

What is Christ's Today with your Today, in the Spirit?

What is your form of apostolate that frees your brothers and sisters from the debasement of their dignity and promotes them?

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me (et vult Cubam)

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me; therefore he has anointed me and sent me forth to proclaim a glad tidings" (Luke 4: 18). Every minister of God must make these words spoken by Jesus of Nazareth his own life. Therefore, as I stand here among you, I want to bring you the good news of hope in God. As a servant of the Gospel, I bring you this message of love and solidarity that Jesus Christ, with his coming, offers to people of all times. It is neither an ideology nor a new economic or political system, but a path of peace, justice and authentic freedom.

4. The ideological and economic systems that have succeeded one another in recent centuries have often emphasised confrontation as a method, since they contained in their programmes the seeds of opposition and disunity. This has deeply conditioned the conception of man and relations with others. Some of these systems also claimed to reduce religion to the merely individual sphere, stripping it of any social influence or relevance. In this sense, it is worth remembering that a modern state cannot make atheism or religion one of its political orders. The State, far from any fanaticism or extreme secularism, must promote a serene social climate and adequate legislation that allows each person and each religious denomination to live their faith freely, express it in the spheres of public life and be able to count on sufficient means and space to offer their spiritual, moral and civic riches to the life of the nation.

On the other hand, in various places, a form of capitalist neo-liberalism is developing that subordinates the human person and conditions the development of peoples to the blind forces of the market, burdening the less favoured peoples with unbearable burdens from its centres of power. Thus it often happens that unsustainable economic programmes are imposed on nations as a condition for receiving new aid. In this way we witness, in the concert of nations, the exaggerated enrichment of a few at the price of the growing impoverishment of the many, so that the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

5. Dear brothers: the Church is a teacher in humanity. Therefore, in the face of these systems, she proposes the culture of love and life, restoring to humanity the hope and transforming power of love, lived in the unity willed by Christ. This requires a path of reconciliation, dialogue and fraternal acceptance of one's neighbour, whoever he or she may be. This can be called the social Gospel of the Church.

The Church, in carrying out its mission, proposes to the world a new justice, the justice of the Kingdom of God (cf. Mt 6:33). On several occasions I have referred to social issues. It is necessary to keep talking about them as long as there is injustice in the world, however small it may be, since otherwise the Church would not prove faithful to the mission entrusted to her by Jesus Christ. What is at stake is man, the person in the flesh. Even if times and circumstances change, there are always people who need the voice of the Church to acknowledge their anguish, pain and misery. Those who find themselves in such situations can be assured that they will not be defrauded, for the Church is with them and the Pope embraces, with his heart and his word of encouragement, all those who suffer injustice.

(John Paul II, after being applauded at length, added)

I am not against applause, because when you applaud the Pope can rest a little.

The teachings of Jesus retain their vigour intact on the threshold of the year 2000. They are valid for all of you, my dear brothers. In the search for the justice of the Kingdom, we cannot stop in the face of difficulties and misunderstandings. If the Master's invitation to justice, service and love is accepted as Good News, then hearts are enlarged, criteria are transformed and the culture of love and life is born. This is the great change that society awaits and needs; it can only be achieved if first the conversion of each person's heart takes place as a condition for the necessary changes in the structures of society.

6. "The Spirit of the Lord has sent me to proclaim release to the captives (...) to set at liberty those who are oppressed" (Lk 4:18). The good news of Jesus must be accompanied by a proclamation of freedom, based on the solid foundation of truth: "If you remain faithful to my word, you will indeed be my disciples; you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free" (John 8: 31-32). The truth to which Jesus refers is not just the intellectual understanding of reality, but the truth about man and his transcendent condition, his rights and duties, his greatness and limitations. It is the same truth that Jesus proclaimed with his life, reaffirmed before Pilate and, by his silence, before Herod; it is the same truth that led him to the salvific cross and glorious resurrection.

Freedom that is not grounded in truth conditions man to such an extent that it sometimes makes him the object rather than the subject of the social, cultural, economic and political context, leaving him almost totally deprived of initiative with regard to personal development. At other times, this freedom is individualistic and, taking no account of the freedom of others, locks man into his own selfishness. The conquest of freedom in responsibility is an unavoidable task for every person. For Christians, the freedom of God's children is not only a gift and a task; its attainment also implies an invaluable witness and a genuine contribution to the liberation of the entire human race. This liberation is not reduced to social and political aspects, but reaches its fullness in the exercise of freedom of conscience, the basis and foundation of other human rights.

(Responding to the invocation raised by the crowd: "The Pope lives and wants us all to be free!", John Paul II added:)

Yes, he lives with that freedom to which Christ has set you free.

For many of today's political and economic systems, the greatest challenge continues to be to combine freedom and social justice, freedom and solidarity, without any of them being relegated to a lower level. In this sense, the Social Doctrine of the Church constitutes an effort of reflection and a proposal that seeks to enlighten and reconcile the relationship between the inalienable rights of every man and social needs, so that the person may fulfil his deepest aspirations and his own integral realisation according to his condition as a child of God and citizen. Consequently, the Catholic laity must contribute to this realisation through the application of the Church's social teachings in the various environments, open to all people of good will.

7. In the Gospel proclaimed today, justice appears intimately linked to truth. This is also observed in the lucid thinking of the Fathers of the Fatherland. The Servant of God Father Félix Varela, animated by Christian faith and fidelity to his priestly ministry, sowed in the hearts of the Cuban people the seeds of justice and freedom that he dreamed of seeing germinate in a free and independent Cuba. 

José Martí's doctrine of love among all men has profoundly evangelical roots, thus overcoming the false conflict between faith in God and love and service to the homeland. Martí writes: 'Pure, unselfish, persecuted, martyred, poetic and simple, the religion of the Nazarene has seduced all honest men... Every people needs to be religious. It must be so not only in its essence, but also for its utility.... A non-religious people is doomed to die, for nothing in it nourishes virtue. Human injustice despises it; it is necessary for heavenly justice to guarantee it'.

As you know, Cuba possesses a Christian soul, and this has led it to have a universal vocation. Called to overcome its isolation, it must open up to the world, and the world must draw closer to Cuba, to its people, to its children, who undoubtedly represent its greatest wealth. The time has come to embark on the new paths that the times of renewal in which we live demand, as we approach the Third Millennium of the Christian era!

8. Dear brothers: God has blessed this people with authentic formators of the national conscience, clear and firm exponents of the Christian faith, which is the most valid support of virtue and love. Today the Bishops, together with priests, consecrated men and women and the lay faithful, strive to build bridges to bring minds and hearts closer together, propitiating and consolidating peace, preparing the civilisation of love and justice. I am here among you as a messenger of truth and hope. That is why I wish to repeat my appeal to let Jesus Christ enlighten you, to accept without reserve the splendour of his truth, so that all may follow the path of unity through love and solidarity, avoiding exclusion, isolation and confrontation, which are contrary to the will of the God-Love.

May the Holy Spirit enlighten with his gifts all those who have different responsibilities towards this people, whom I hold in my heart. May the "Virgen de la Caridad de El Cobre", Queen of Cuba, obtain for her children the gifts of peace, progress and happiness.

This wind today is very significant, because the wind symbolises the Holy Spirit. "Spiritus spirat ubi vult, Spiritus vult spirare in Cuba". The last words are in Latin because Cuba also belongs to the Latin tradition. Latin America, Latin Cuba, Latin language! "Spiritus spirat ubi vult et vult Cubam'. Goodbye.

(John Paul II, homily "José Martí" Square Havana 25 January 1998)

Person, extemporaneity, synagogues

Two Names of God

(Lk 4:21-30)

Today's Gospel - taken from the fourth chapter of St Luke - is a continuation of last Sunday's Gospel. We are still in the synagogue in Nazareth, the town where Jesus grew up and where everyone knew him and his family. Now, after a period of absence, He has returned in a new way: during the Sabbath liturgy, He reads a prophecy from Isaiah about the Messiah and announces its fulfilment, implying that the word refers to Him, that Isaiah has spoken of Him. This fact provokes the bewilderment of the Nazarenes: on the one hand, "all bore witness to him and were amazed at the words of grace that came out of his mouth" (Lk 4:22); St Mark reports that many said: "Where do these things come from him? And what wisdom is this that has been given him?" (6:2). On the other hand, however, his countrymen know him all too well: 'He is one like us', they say, 'His pretension can only be presumption' (cf. The Infancy of Jesus, 11). "Is not this the son of Joseph?" (Lk 4:22), as if to say: a carpenter from Nazareth, what aspirations can he have?

Precisely knowing this closure, which confirms the proverb "no prophet is welcome in his own country", Jesus addresses the people in the synagogue with words that sound like a provocation. He mentions two miracles performed by the great prophets Elijah and Elisha in favour of non-Israelites, to show that sometimes there is more faith outside Israel. At that point the reaction is unanimous: everyone gets up and throws him out, and even tries to throw him off a cliff, but he calmly sovereignly passes through the angry people and leaves. At this point the question arises: why did Jesus want to provoke this rupture? At first, the people admired him, and perhaps he could have obtained some consensus... But this is precisely the point: Jesus did not come to seek the consensus of men, but - as he will say at the end to Pilate - to "bear witness to the truth" (Jn 18:37). The true prophet does not obey anyone other than God and puts himself at the service of the truth, ready to pay for it himself. It is true that Jesus is the prophet of love, but love has its own truth. Indeed, love and truth are two names of the same reality, two names of God. Today's liturgy also resounds with these words of St Paul: "Charity ... does not boast, is not puffed up with pride, is not disrespectful, does not seek its own interest, is not angry, does not take account of evil received, does not rejoice in injustice, but rejoices in the truth" (1 Cor 13:4-6). Believing in God means renouncing one's prejudices and accepting the concrete face in which He revealed Himself: the man Jesus of Nazareth. And this way also leads to recognising and serving Him in others.

In this, Mary's attitude is illuminating. Who more than she was familiar with the humanity of Jesus? But she was never as scandalised by it as the people of Nazareth. She kept the mystery in her heart and knew how to welcome it again and again, on the path of faith, until the night of the Cross and the full light of the Resurrection. May Mary also help us to tread this path with fidelity and joy.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 3 February 2013].

Jesus is annoying and generates suspicion in those who love external schemes, because he proclaims only Jubilee, instead of harsh confrontation and vengeance.

In the synagogue his village is puzzled by this overly understanding love - just what we need.

The place of worship is where believers have been brought up backwards!

Their grumpy character is the unripe fruit of a hammering religiosity, which denies the right to express ideas and feelings.

The 'synagogal' code has produced fake believers, conditioned by a disharmonious and split personality.

Even today and from an early age, this intimate laceration manifests itself in the over-controlling of openness to others.

Consequence: an accentuation of youthful uncertainty - under which who knows what smoulders - and a rigid character as adults.

In short, the religious hammering that does not make the leap of faith blocks us, prevents us from understanding, and pollutes our whole life.

Even in Jesus' time, archaic teaching exacerbated nationalism, the very perception of trauma or violation, and paradoxically the very caged situations from which one wanted to get out.

Exclusive spirituality: it is empty - crude or sophisticated.

Selective thinking is the worst disease of worldviews - which are then always telling us how we should be.

So in concrete life not a few believers prefer to have friends without conformist blindness or the same bonds of belonging.

On closer inspection, even the most devout lay realities manifest a pronounced and strange dichotomy of relationships - tribal and otherwise.

Pope Francis expressed it crisply:

"It is a scandal that of people who go to church, who are there every day and then live hating others and speaking ill of people: better to live as an atheist than to give a counter-witness to being a Christian".

The real world awakens and stimulates flexibility of standards, it does not inculcate some old-fashioned, hypnosis-like truism.

Today's global reality helps to blunt the edges of conventicle [which have their regurgitations, in terms of seduction and sucking].

In the face of such beliefs and illusions, the Prophet marks distance; he works to spread awareness, not reassuring images - nor disembodied ideas.

But the critical heralds violently irritate the crowd of regulars, who suddenly turn from curiosity to vengeful indignation.

As in the small town, so - we read in a watermark - in the Holy City [Mount Zion] from which they immediately want to throw you down (Lk 4:29).

Wherever there is talk of a real person and eternal dreams: his own, not others'.

In the hostility that surrounds them, the Lord's intimates openly challenge normalised beliefs, acquired from the environment and not reworked.

For them, it is not only the calculated analogy to a mean outline that counts. They see other goals and do not just want to 'get there'.

If they are overwhelmed, they leave behind them that trail of intuition that will sooner or later make both harmful clansmen and useless opportunists reflect.

Thus, in Friends and Brothers it is the Risen One himself who escapes. And he resumes the path, crossing those who want to do him in (v. 30) for reasons of self-interest or neighbourhood advantage.

At all times, the witnesses make one think: they do not seek compliments and pleasant results, but recover the opposite sides and accept the happiness of others.

They know that Oneness must run its course: it will be wealth for all, and on this point they do not let themselves be inhibited by nomenclature.

Although surrounded by the envious and deadly hatred of cunning idiots and established synagogues, they proclaim Love in Truth - neither burine hoaxes (approved as empty) nor ulterior motives (solid utility).

In fact, without milking and shearing the uninformed, such missionaries give impetus to the courage and growth of others, to the autonomy of choices.

All this, fostering the coexistence of the invisible and despised; in an atmosphere of understanding and spontaneity. 

They love the luxuriance of life, so they discriminate between religion and Faith: they do not stand as repeaters of doctrines, prescriptions, customs.

Based on the Father's personal experience, the inspired faithful value different approaches, creating an unknown esteem.

They confront young sectarian monsters [the Pontiff would say], old marpions and their fences, with an open face, advocating new attitudes - different ways of relating to God.

Not to add proselytes and consider themselves indispensable.

Even though 'at home' (v. 24) they are inconvenient characters for the ratified mentality, the none-Prophets make Jesus' personalism survive, wrenching it from those who want it dormant and sequestered.

Like Him, at the risk of unpopularity and without begging for approval.

With the scars of what is gone, for a new Journey.

To internalise and live the message:

In the 'homeland' are you considered a local child, or a prophet? A ratified character, or inconvenient? In fashion, or unpopular?

Is your testimony transgressive or conformist? Does it make the personalism of Jesus survive, snatching it from those who want it dormant and sequestered?

God wants faith, they want miracles: God for their own benefit

Last Sunday, the liturgy had proposed to us the episode in the synagogue of Nazareth, where Jesus reads a passage from the prophet Isaiah and at the end reveals that those words are fulfilled "today", in Him. Jesus presents Himself as the one on whom the Spirit of the Lord has rested, the Holy Spirit who consecrated Him and sent Him to fulfil the mission of salvation on behalf of humanity. Today's Gospel (cf. Lk 4:21-30) is the continuation of that story and shows us the amazement of his fellow citizens at seeing that one of their countrymen, "the son of Joseph" (v. 22), claims to be the Christ, the Father's envoy.

Jesus, with his ability to penetrate minds and hearts, immediately understands what his countrymen think. They think that, since He is one of them, He must prove this strange "claim" of His by performing miracles there, in Nazareth, as He did in the neighbouring countries (cf. v. 23). But Jesus does not want and cannot accept this logic, because it does not correspond to God's plan: God wants faith, they want miracles, signs; God wants to save everyone, and they want a Messiah for their own benefit. And to explain God's logic, Jesus brings the example of two great ancient prophets: Elijah and Elisha, whom God had sent to heal and save people who were not Jewish, from other peoples, but who had trusted his word.

Faced with this invitation to open their hearts to the gratuitousness and universality of salvation, the citizens of Nazareth rebel, and even assume an aggressive attitude, which degenerates to the point that "they got up and drove him out of the city and led him to the edge of the mountain [...], to throw him down" (v. 29). The admiration of the first moment turned into an aggression, a rebellion against Him.

And this Gospel shows us that Jesus' public ministry begins with a rejection and a threat of death, paradoxically precisely from his fellow citizens. Jesus, in living the mission entrusted to him by the Father, knows well that he must face fatigue, rejection, persecution and defeat. A price that, yesterday as today, authentic prophecy is called upon to pay. The harsh rejection, however, does not discourage Jesus, nor does it stop the journey and fruitfulness of his prophetic action. He goes on his way (cf. v. 30), trusting in the Father's love.

Even today, the world needs to see in the Lord's disciples prophets, that is, people who are courageous and persevering in responding to the Christian vocation. People who follow the 'thrust' of the Holy Spirit, who sends them to announce hope and salvation to the poor and excluded; people who follow the logic of faith and not of miracles; people dedicated to the service of all, without privileges and exclusions. In short: people who are open to accepting the Father's will within themselves and are committed to faithfully witnessing it to others.

Let us pray to Mary Most Holy, that we may grow and walk in the same apostolic ardour for the Kingdom of God that animated Jesus' mission.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 3 February 2019].

Liberation from quietism and automatic mentality

(Lk 4:31-37)

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

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

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

He does not resign, indeed: Capernaum was at the crossroads of important roads, which facilitated contact and dissemination. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This also applies to us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those who meet Christ are toppled from their abulic seat, sitting upright; they see their certainties thrown to the wind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From the weariness of purely cultic habituation, and even through a protest that breaks apathy, the divine Person and his Call awaken us. They compel us to a saved life of new witness that seemed impossible.

Without much ado and to make us run free of the hypocrisies concealed within, the Lord also brings out all the rages, disagreements and alienations in us.

It is no longer enough to make up the numbers (lined up and covered), now we have to choose.

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

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

To internalise and live the message:

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