Palm Sunday and the Passion of the Lord [29 March 2026]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us! We enter Holy Week, of which Palm Sunday already gives us a foretaste of the joy and sorrow, the mystery of love and hatred that leads to death: the whole Passion, death and resurrection of Christ. To relive is not merely to remember, but also to open our hearts ever more to this mystery of salvation.

*First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (50:4–7)

Isaiah was certainly not thinking of Jesus Christ when he wrote this text, probably in the 6th century BC, during the exile in Babylon. Let me explain: since his people were in exile, in very harsh conditions, and could easily have succumbed to discouragement, Isaiah reminds them that they are always God’s servants. And that God is counting on them, his servants (that is, his people), to bring his plan of salvation for humanity to fulfilment. The people of Israel are therefore this Servant of God, nourished every morning by the Word, yet also persecuted precisely because of their faith and capable, despite everything, of withstanding all trials. In this text, Isaiah clearly describes the extraordinary relationship that unites the Servant (Israel) with his God. Its main characteristic is listening to the Word of God, ‘the open ear’, as Isaiah puts it. ‘Listening’ is a word that has a very particular meaning in the Bible: it means to trust. We usually contrast these two fundamental attitudes between which our lives constantly oscillate: trust in God, a serene surrender to his will because we know from experience that his will is always good; or mistrust, suspicion of God’s intentions, and rebellion in the face of trials—a rebellion that can lead us to believe that God has abandoned us or, worse still, that He might take some satisfaction in our sufferings.

The prophets repeat: “Listen, Israel” or: “Will you listen to the Word of God today?” And on their lips, the exhortation “listen” always means: trust in God, whatever happens. And Saint Paul explains why: We know that all things work together for good for those who love God (Rom 8:28).

From every evil, from every difficulty, from every trial, God brings forth good; to every hatred he opposes an even stronger love; in every persecution, he grants the strength of forgiveness; and from every death, he brings forth life, the resurrection. It is a story of mutual trust. God trusts his Servant and entrusts him with a mission; in turn, the Servant accepts the mission with trust. And it is precisely this trust that gives him the strength needed to remain steadfast even in the opposition he will inevitably encounter. Here the mission is that of a witness: “So that I may sustain with my words those who are weary,” says the Servant. In entrusting him with this mission, the Lord also grants the necessary strength and the appropriate language: “The Lord God has given me the tongue of a disciple.” And even more: he himself nourishes this trust, which is the source of all boldness in the service of others: “The Lord God makes my ear attentive”, which means that listening (in the biblical sense, that is, trust) is itself a gift from God. Everything is a gift: the mission, the strength, and even the trust that makes one unshakeable. This is precisely the hallmark of the believer: to recognise everything as a gift from God. He who lives in this permanent gift of God’s strength can face anything: “I did not resist, I did not turn back.” Faithfulness to the mission received inevitably entails persecution. True prophets, those who truly speak in the name of God, are rarely appreciated during their lifetime. In concrete terms, Isaiah says to his contemporaries: hold fast. The Lord has not abandoned you; on the contrary, you are on a mission for him. Do not be surprised, then, if you are mistreated. Why? Because the Servant who truly listens to the Word of God—that is, who puts it into practice—soon becomes a thorn in the side. His very conversion calls others to conversion. Some heed this call… others reject it and, convinced of their own righteousness, persecute the Servant. And every morning the Servant must return to the source, to the One who enables him to face everything. Isaiah uses a somewhat strange expression: “I set my face like flint” to express resolve and courage. Isaiah was speaking to his people, persecuted and humiliated during the exile in Babylon; but, naturally, when one re-reads the Passion of Christ, this text stands out in all its clarity: Christ corresponds perfectly to this portrait of the Servant of God. Listening to the Word, unshakeable trust and thus the certainty of victory even in the midst of persecution: all this characterised Jesus precisely at the moment when the acclamations of the crowd on Palm Sunday marked and hastened his condemnation.

*Responsorial Psalm (21/22)

Psalm 21 (22) begins with the famous cry: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”. This phrase has often been taken out of context and interpreted as a cry of despair, whereas in reality the psalm must be read in its entirety. Indeed, after describing suffering and anguish, it ends with a great song of thanksgiving: “You have answered me! I will proclaim your name to my brothers and sisters’. The one who at first feels forsaken ultimately recognises that God has saved him and has not left him alone. Some images in the psalm seem to describe the crucifixion: ‘They have pierced my hands and my feet’, ‘they divide my garments’, ‘a band of evildoers surrounds me’. This is why the New Testament applies this psalm to the Passion of Jesus. However, the text originated in a specific historical context: the return of the people of Israel from the Babylonian exile. The exile had been like a death sentence for the people, who had risked disappearing; the return to their own land is therefore likened to the liberation of a condemned man who had narrowly escaped death. The image of the crucifixion serves to express the humiliation, violence and sense of abandonment experienced by the people, but the focus of the psalm is not suffering but rather the salvation received. The cry “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” is therefore not a cry of despair or doubt, but the prayer of one who suffers and continues to turn to God with trust. Even in the midst of trial, Israel does not cease to pray and to remember the covenant and the blessings received from the Lord. For this reason, the psalm can be likened to a votive offering: in times of danger, God’s help is invoked, and once saved, thanks are given publicly. The psalm recalls the tragedy endured, but above all proclaims gratitude towards God who has delivered his people. The final verses thus become a great hymn of praise: the poor shall be satisfied, those who seek the Lord shall praise him, and all nations shall acknowledge his lordship. God’s salvation will also be proclaimed to future generations. For this reason, in Christian tradition, this psalm has been recognised as a prophecy of Christ’s Passion: on the cross, Jesus echoes the first verse of the psalm, but just as for Israel, so too for him the final word is not suffering, but salvation and life.

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Philippians (2:6–11)

During the exile in Babylon, in the 6th century BC, the prophet Isaiah had bestowed upon the people of Israel the title of Servant of God. Their mission, amidst the trials of exile, was to remain faithful to the faith of their fathers and to bear witness to it among the pagans, even at the cost of humiliation and persecution. Only God could give them the strength to fulfil this mission. When the early Christians were confronted with the scandal of the cross, they sought to understand Jesus’ destiny and found the explanation in the words of St Paul: Jesus ‘emptied himself, taking the form of a servant’. He too faced opposition, humiliation and persecution, drawing his strength from the Father and living in total trust in Him. Although he was of divine nature, Jesus did not seek glory and honours. As Paul says, “though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited”. Precisely because he is God, he claims nothing for himself, but lives in gratuitous love and becomes man to show mankind the way to salvation. His exaltation is not a deserved reward, but a free gift from God. God’s logic is not that of merit or calculation, but that of grace, which is always a free gift. According to Paul, God’s plan is a plan of love: to bring humanity into his life, into his joy and into his communion. This gift is not earned, but received with gratitude. When man demands or claims, he closes himself off from grace, as happened symbolically with the sin in the Garden of Eden. Jesus, on the other hand, lives in the opposite attitude: the total acceptance of the Father’s will, what Paul calls obedience. For this reason, God exalted him and gave him the Name that is above every name: the name of Lord, a title which in the Old Testament belonged only to God. Before him “every knee shall bow”, to quote the words of the prophet Isaiah (Is 45:23). Jesus lived his entire life in humility and trust, even in the face of human violence and death. His obedience – which literally means “to place one’s ear before the word” – expresses a total and trusting listening to the Father’s will. For this reason, Paul’s hymn concludes with the Church’s profession of faith: “Every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father”. In Christ, the glory of God is fully manifested, that is, the revelation of his infinite love. Seeing Jesus love to the very end and give his life, one can recognise, like the centurion beneath the cross, that he is truly the Son of God.

*The Passion of Jesus Christ according to Saint Matthew (26:14–27:66)

Every year, on Palm Sunday, the liturgy reads the account of the Passion from one of the three Synoptic Gospels; this year it is that of Matthew. The four accounts of the Passion are similar in broad outline, but each evangelist highlights certain particular aspects. Matthew, in particular, recounts certain episodes and details that the others do not mention. First of all, Matthew is the only one to specify the exact sum for which Judas betrays Jesus: thirty pieces of silver, which according to the Law was the price of a slave. This detail shows the contempt with which men treated the Lord. Later, Judas himself, overcome with remorse, returns the money to the chief priests, saying that he has handed over an innocent man to his death. They, however, do not wish to take responsibility for it. Judas throws the coins into the temple and hangs himself; the priests use that money to purchase the potter’s field, intended for the burial of foreigners, later called the ‘Field of Blood’, thus fulfilling a prophetic word. During the trial before Pilate, Matthew recounts a unique episode: the intervention of Pilate’s wife, who sends word to her husband not to have anything to do with ‘that righteous man’, for she has suffered greatly in a dream because of him. Pilate himself appears unsettled and, seeing that the crowd is growing ever more agitated, performs the symbolic gesture of washing his hands, declaring himself innocent of that man’s blood. The crowd replies: ‘Let his blood be on us and on our children.’ Pilate then releases Barabbas and hands Jesus over to be crucified. At the moment of Jesus’ death, Matthew also recounts that the veil of the temple is torn, but adds extraordinary details: the earth trembles, the rocks split, the tombs open, and many righteous people rise and appear in the holy city after Jesus’ resurrection. Finally, Matthew highlights the authorities’ concern to guard the tomb, fearing that the disciples might steal the body and claim that Jesus has risen; this very message is what they will spread after Easter. The account highlights a great paradox: the blindness of the religious authorities, who persecute Jesus, whilst some pagans, almost unwittingly, bestow upon him the highest titles. Pilate’s wife calls him ‘righteous’, Pilate has ‘King of the Jews’ written on the cross, and even the title ‘Son of God’, initially used to mock him, ultimately becomes a true profession of faith when the Roman centurion exclaims: ‘Truly this man was the Son of God’. This confession already foreshadows the opening of salvation to the pagans and shows that Christ’s death is not a defeat, but a victory. Matthew highlights the contrast between the weakness of the condemned man and his true greatness: it is precisely in his apparent powerlessness that Jesus manifests the greatness of God, who is infinite love. And in this light, we come to understand ever more deeply the significance of Christ’s Passion, which we shall relive visually this week and in particular during the Holy Triduum: Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, and above all in the outpouring of Easter joy at Christ’s Resurrection.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Allied Sign. Enchanting Path

(Jn 12:1-11)

As he approaches his 'hour', Christ seems to lose his official features and becomes more and more intimate, within our reach.

His dialogue with men is more interwoven with silent gestures than words.

After yesterday's public day, it is in this way that Jesus makes himself present in the community of family members with no leaders; of brothers and sisters only.

Lord and Master without fuss or triumphs; rather, wanted and forced into hiding.

He is welcomed into a quiet House, that leaves room for emotions, even though an arrest warrant was pending on him.

Church where you can enjoy an air of peace, despite the lack of security - and contrary situations around.

This is how the poor Johannine communities of Asia Minor lived under Domitian - destitute and subtracted from the outward glory, from the hosanna of the crowds. But capable ones of healing both tensions and resistances.

They were small «listening» realities, full of a desire for communion and respectful.

Without too much pressures, they guided the energies in more natural directions. As happens among a few friends.

Climate of conversation and face to face, of wonderfully human and daily life that wants to find a place in us. Where the lesser and unsteady still refresh the Master with delicate homages.

In sharing and mutual understanding, the tiny fraternities made one startle just with daily joy and ‘new life’, transmitted to those who came from all the districts.

They were experiencing Love in simplicity. Empathy that made anyone overcome difficulties and fears.

Friendship that stirred and drew by attraction - in gestures of tender devotion, that released each from attitudes and behaviour that demeaned spontaneity.

Here is the Breaking of Bread: a priceless gesture, beyond social conventions; convincing, because an ‘allied’ free sign.

It did not reject the genuine nature of each person. The Eucharist was not an exclusive fortress.

Even today we can - like Mary - without too much calculation, «anoint the feet» of the Lord: celebrate the Gift of a Way.

The faithful were understanding that their best part could be recognized not in a model circle, but [in purest state] in people with tired feet, and in the Person of that First Coming One always about to depart - by abiding within him.

It meant serving and recognizing oneself, assimilating and consecrating one's own personal journey in that overall one of the Son of God, who became very human and divine Presence, which fills and convinces.

Christ's long Journey is a trace of the ours: from the Father's initiative to the sons’ ability to welcome him, cherish him, venerate him, correspond to him - by simply getting closer to the Roots - and not reject him, if “a loser”.

Here is the homage of friendship.

Only this fills the House of Bethany - the Church that is worth experiencing - with the fragrance of the total and living Christ, and ‘reveals’ him.

Jesus defends the right of love «from within» to express itself freely: where everything becomes possible - even the waste of Gratuitousness that does not weigh the pros and cons.

Without one-sided cunnings, therefore not ruining authentic life and all inner rebirths.

[Holy Monday, March 30, 2026]

Allied Sign. Enchanting Path

(Jn 12:1-11)

As his hour draws near, Christ seems to lose his official features and becomes more and more intimate, within our reach.

Dialogue with men is woven more into silent gestures than words.

After yesterday's public day, it is in this way that Jesus makes himself present in the community of family members without leaders; of brothers and sisters only.

Lord and Master without whirlwind or triumph; rather, sought after and forced into hiding.

He is welcomed into a quiet house, which leaves room for emotion, even though a warrant was hanging over him.

A church where there is an air of peace, even in the absence of security - and countervailing circumstances all around.

This is how the miserable Johannine communities of Asia Minor under Domitian lived: destitute and shunned by the outward glory, the hosanna of the crowds.

But able to heal both tensions and resistance.

He enjoyed the simple atmosphere, without barricades, of true [not just essential] relationships capable of awakening innate tendencies and feelings; opportune to transform discomforts and identifications.

The mental labyrinths of fears and 'appropriate' roles would have trapped the vital energy of sisters and brothers in an outer perimeter, with excess thought and control.

No cage, therefore, that could close the dimension of oneness in love, and of the Mystery, in the circle of influences that would empty the internal processes.

The early assemblies were small, listening, full of a desire for communion, and respectful.

Without too much pressure, they guided energies towards more natural directions. As happens among a few friends.

A climate of conversation and face to face, of wonderfully human, everyday life, which still wants to find a place in us. Where the lesser and shaky (still) restore the Master with delicate tributes.

In sharing and understanding each other, the tiny fraternities made people gasp with daily joy and new life, in the ability to coexist.

Realities transmitted to those who came from all quarters; without first configurations.

It was not yet... the church of plausible, ostentatious and mass events - which then seeks 'the full house' to assert itself eloquently, proselytise, or enrich itself like Judas with other people's resources.

They lived love in simplicity. Empathy that made anyone cross difficulties and fears.

Friendship that stirred and drew by attraction - in the gestures of tender devotion, that released spontaneity from humiliating attitudes and behaviour.

Here was the Breaking of Bread, a priceless gesture, beyond social conventions; convincing because it was an allied, free sign.

It did not reject the genuine nature of each person. The Eucharist was not an exclusive fortress.

Even today we can - like Mary - without too much compunction, anoint the Lord's feet: celebrate the Gift of a Way.

The faithful understood that their best part could be recognised not in a model circle.

In its purest state, sisters and brothers found correspondence in the people with tired feet, and in the Person of that First Coming always about to leave - living in it.

It meant serving and recognising oneself, assimilating and consecrating one's personal Path into the overall Path of the Son of God, who became a human and divine Presence that filled and convinced.

Christ's long Journey is a trace of our own: from the Father's initiative to the children's ability to welcome Him, cherish Him, venerate Him, correspond to Him - simply by approaching the 'roots'.

And not reject it, if 'lost'. Here is the homage of understanding.

Only this fills the House of Bethany - that is, the Church worth experiencing - with the fragrance of the total and living Christ. And reveals it.

In such circumstances, Jesus defends the right of love from within to express itself freely: where everything becomes possible.

Conversely, the cohabitant-habitant deprived of the "waste" of the Gratis and of an ideal Exodus without enchantment, remains stunned by the conditioning of false, all too common spiritual guides.

Opportunistic, cunningly one-sided masqueraders who weigh everything - ruining authentic life and all inner rebirth.

To internalise and live the message:

When do I behave in such a way as to spread the fragrance of gratuitousness?

Is the reality into which I am introduced a hospitable Bethany? Does it help or stifle ministerial surprises?

The arrival of the voiceless takes on the importance of an Easter event and puts everyone in celebration, or in suspicion?

Do you compromise from within... or do you seek approval first?

Immedesimation and freedom. Florilegium

"So what counts above all is the inner value of the gift. In Holy Scripture and according to evangelical categories, 'almsgiving' means first and foremost an inner gift. It means the attitude of openness 'towards the other'" [John Paul II, General Audience 28 March 1979]."Let us think of that moment when Mary washes Jesus' feet with spikenard, so costly: it is a religious moment, a moment of gratitude, a moment of love. And Judas detaches himself and makes the bitter criticism: "But this could be used for the poor!" This is the first reference I found, in the Gospel, of poverty as ideology. The ideologue does not know what love is, because he does not know how to give himself" [Pope Francis, homily s. Marta 14/05/2013].

"Let us let him enter our home. Let our lives be invaded by the irrepressible fragrance of the gift. God's immense and gratuitous love becomes flesh, it allows itself to be contemplated on the cross in all its shocking and insane radicality" [Pope Francis].

"The ointment that Mary spreads is the symbol of the nuptial communion with Jesus expressed by the Christian community. We celebrate the call of our Christian communities, represented by Mary of Bethany, to total communion with Jesus, the giver of life. It is he who transforms what should have been the funeral banquet in memory of Lazarus into a banquet of joy. It is he who transforms the unbearable stench of a dead 'quadriduan' into the perfume that floods the house with joy. It is he who protests against all the Judas of the earth, who consider the precious ointment of intimacy with God to be wasted and oppose the poor to the Lord. It is he who rejects the 'practicality' of all those who prefer the efficiency of money to any ecstasy of love, and wistfully reduce to monetary currency even that which has no price. It is he, in short, whom we must seek in the prayer of surrender, in contemplative experience and in the habit of life.

May the Lord preserve us from the error of Judas, who, insensitive to the perfume of spikenard, perceives only the jingle of money, and, instead of perceiving the lustre of oil, allows himself to be seduced by the glitter of silver. What is this perfume of ointment with which we must fill the house, and what is this good perfume of Christ that we must spread throughout the world? The perfume that must fill the house is communion. Of course, like that bought by Mary of Bethany, the oil of communion has a very expensive price. And we must pay for it, without discount, with much prayer, also because it is not a commercial product for sale in our perfume shops, nor is it the fruit of our own titanic efforts. It is a gift from God that we must implore without tiring. But we shall obtain it, I am certain of it; and its perfume will fill our whole Church' [Don Tonino Bello, Lexicon of Communion].

"There is a vertical poverty that affects us all, it is ours. Once recognised, this poverty expresses itself in a gratuitous gesture of adoration, creates the 'useless' space of the liturgy, offers God the firstfruits by taking them out of our mouths. In the life of faith there is an inevitable and lovable waste, an exaltation in pure nothingness: men and women wasting away consecrating themselves to God, time lost in prayer. Adoration is wasteful. What would the Church be if Iscariot's purse were full for the poor and the house of Bethany empty of perfume?" [V. Mannucci].

The Gospel just proclaimed takes us to Bethany, where, as the Evangelist notes, Lazarus, Martha and Mary were giving a supper for the Teacher (Jn 12: 1). This banquet in the house of Jesus' three friends was marked by presentiments of his imminent death: the six days before Easter, the suggestion of Judas, the traitor, Jesus' answer that calls to mind one of the devout burial rites, anticipated by Mary, the hint that they would not always have him with them and the attempt to put Lazarus to death that mirrors the desire to kill Jesus. In this Gospel account there is one gesture to which I would like to draw attention. Mary of Bethany "took 300 grams [a pound] of costly ointment of pure nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair" (cf. 12: 3). Mary's gesture is the expression of great faith and love for the Lord; it is not enough for her to wash the Teacher's feet with water; she sprinkles on them a great quantity of the precious perfume which as Judas protested it would have been possible to sell for 300 denarii. She did not anoint his head, as was the custom, but his feet: Mary offers Jesus the most precious thing she has and with a gesture of deep devotion. Love does not calculate, does not measure, does not worry about expense, does not set up barriers but can give joyfully; it seeks only the good of the other, surmounts meanness, pettiness, resentment and the narrow-mindedness that human beings sometimes harbour in their hearts.

Mary stood at the feet of Jesus in a humble attitude of service, the same attitude that the Teacher himself was to assume at the Last Supper, when, the fourth Gospel tells us, he "rose from supper, laid aside his garments, and girded himself with a towel. Then he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet" (Jn 13: 4-5), so that, he said, "you also should do as I have done to you" (v. 15): the rule of the community of Jesus is that of love which knows how to serve to the point of offering one's life. And the scent spread: "the house" the Evangelist remarks, "was filled with the fragrance of the ointment" (Jn 12: 3). The meaning of Mary's action, which is a response to God's infinite Love, spreads among all the guests; no gesture of charity and authentic devotion to Christ remains a personal event or concerns solely the relationship between the individual and the Lord. Rather, it concerns the whole Body of the Church, it is contagious: it instils love, joy and light.

"He came to his own home, and his own people received him not" (Jn 1: 11: ) Mary's action is in contrast to the attitude and words of Judas who, under the pretext of the aid to be given to the poor, conceals the selfishness and falsehood of a person closed into himself, shackled by the greed for possession and who does not let the good fragrance of divine love envelop him. Judas calculates what one cannot calculate, he enters with a mean mindset the space which is one of love, of giving, of total dedication. And Jesus, who had remained silent until that moment, intervenes defending Mary's gesture: "Let her alone, let her keep it for the day of my burial" (Jn 12: 7). Jesus understands that Mary has intuited God's love and points out that his "hour" is now approaching, the "hour" in which Love will find its supreme expression on the wood of the Cross: the Son of God gives himself so that many may have life, he descends to the abysses of death to bring man to the heights of God, who is not afraid to humble himself, to make himself "obedient, unto death, even death on a cross" (Phil 2: 8). In the Sermon in which he comments on this Gospel passage St Augustine addresses each one of us, with insistent words, the invitation to enter this circuit of love by imitating Mary's gesture and really placing ourselves in the sequela of Christ. Augustine writes: "Whatever soul of you wishes to be truly faithful, anoint like Mary the feet of the Lord with precious ointment.... Anoint the feet of Jesus: follow by a good life the Lord's footsteps. Wipe them with your hair: what you have of superfluity, give to the poor, and you have wiped the feet of the Lord" (In Ioh. evang., 50, 6).

[Pope Benedict, homily 29 March 2010]

1. "Paenitemini et date eleemosynam" (cf. Mk 1:15 and Lk 12:33).

Today we do not listen willingly to the word "alms". We feel something humiliating in it. This word seems to suppose a social system in which there reigns injustice, the unequal distribution of goods, a system which should be changed with adequate reforms. And if these reforms were not carried out, the need of radical changes, especially in the sphere of relations among men, would loom up on the horizon of social life. We find the same conviction in the texts of the Prophets of the Old Testament, on which the liturgy often draws during Lent. The Prophets consider this problem at the religious level: there is no true conversion to God, there can be no real "religion" without putting right offences and injustices in relations among men, in social life. Yet in this context the Prophets exhort to almsdeeds.

They do not even use the word "alms", which, moreover, in Hebrew is "sedaqah", that is, precisely "justice". They ask for help for those who are victims of injustice and for the needy: not so much by virtue of mercy as rather by virtue of the duty of active charity.

"Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, / to undo the thongs of the yoke, / to let the oppressed go free, / and to break every yoke? / Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, / and bring the homeless poor into your house; / when you see the naked, to cover him, / and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?" (Is 58:6-7).

The Greek word "eleemosyne" is found in the late books of the Bible and the practice of almsdeeds is a verification of an authentic religious spirit. Jesus makes almsdeeds a condition of access to his kingdom (cf. Lk 12:32-33) and of real perfection (Mk 10:21 and paral.). On the other hand, when Judas—in front of the woman who anointed the feet of Jesus—uttered the remark: `'Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?" (Jn 12:5), Christ defended the woman, answering: "The poor you always have with you, but you do not always have me" (Jn 12:8). Both sentences offer food for deep thought.

2. What does the word "alms" mean?

The Greek word "eleemosyne" comes from "éleos", which means compassion and mercy. Originally it indicated the attitude of the merciful man and, later, all works of charity for the needy. This word, transformed, has remained in nearly all European languages.

In French: "aumône"; Spanish: limosna"; Portuguese: "esmola"; German: "Almosen"; English: "Alms".

Even the Polish expression "jalmuzna" is the transformation of the Greek word.

We must differentiate here the objective meaning of this word from the meaning we give it in our social conscience. As can be seen from what we have already said before, we often attribute, in our social conscience, a negative meaning to the word "alms". Various circumstances have contributed to this and continue to contribute to it today. On the contrary, "alms" in itself, as help for those who need it, as "letting others share in one's own goods absolutely does not give rise to such negative associations. We may not agree with the person who gives alms, because of the way in which he does it. We may also not be in agreement with the person who stretches out his hand asking for alms, in that he does not try to earn his own living. We may disapprove of the society, the social system, in which almsdeeds are necessary. However, the fact itself of giving help to those who need it, the fact of sharing one's own goods with others, must inspire respect.

We see how, in understanding verbal expressions, it is necessary to free oneself from the influence of various incidental circumstances: circumstances that are often improper, which affect their ordinary meaning. These circumstances, moreover, are sometimes positive in themselves (for example, in our case the aspiration to a just society, in which there would be no need of alms. because a just distribution of property would reign there.

When the Lord Jesus speaks of alms, when he asks for almsdeeds to be practised, he always does so in the sense of bringing help to those who need it, sharing one's own goods with the needy, that is, in the simple and essential sense, which does not permit us to doubt the value of the act denominated with the term "alms", but on the contrary, urges us to approve it: as a good act, as an expression of love for one's neighbour and as a salvific act.

Moreover, at a moment of particular importance, Christ utters these significant words: "The poor you always have with you" (Jn 12: 8). He does not mean by these words that changes of social and economic structures are not important and that we should not try different ways to eliminate injustice, humiliation, want and hunger. He means merely that man will have needs which cannot be satisfied unless with help for the needy and by sharing one's own goods with others... Of what help are we speaking? What sharing? Is it only a question of "alms", understood in the form of money, of material aid?

3. Certainly Christ does not remove alms from our field of vision. He thinks also of pecuniary, material alms, but in his own way. More eloquent than any other, in this connection, is the example of the poor widow, who put a few small coins into the treasury of the temple: from the material point of view, an offering that could hardly be compared with the offerings given by others. Yet Christ said: "This poor widow has put in... all the living that she had" (Lk 21:3-4). So it is, above all, the interior value of the gift that counts: the readiness to share everything, the readiness to give oneself.

Let us here recall St Paul: "If I give away all I have... but have not love, I gain nothing" (1 Cor 13:3). St Augustine, too, writes well in this connection: "if you stretch out your hand to give, but have not mercy in your heart, you have not done anything; but if you have mercy in your heart, even when you have nothing to give with your hand, God accepts your alms" (Enarrat. in Ps. CXXV, 5).

We are here touching the heart of the problem. In Holy Scripture and according to the evangelical categories, "alms" means in the first place an interior gift. It means the attitude of opening "to the other". Precisely this attitude is an indispensable factor of "metanoia", that is, conversion, just as prayer and fasting are also indispensable. St Augustine, in fact, expresses himself well: "how quickly the prayers of those who do good are granted! And this is man's justice in the present life: fasting, alms, prayer" (Enarrat. in Ps. XLII, 8): prayer, as an opening to God; fasting, as an expression of self-mastery also in depriving oneself of something, in saying "no" to oneself; and finally alms, as opening "towards others". The Gospel draws this picture clearly when it speaks to us of repentance, of "metanoia". Only with a total attitude—in his relationship with God, with himself and with his neighbour—does man reach conversion and remain in the state of conversion.

"Alms" understood in this way has a meaning which is in a certain sense decisive for this conversion. To convince ourselves of this, it is enough to recall the image of the Last Judgment that Christ gave us:

"For I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me. Then the righteous will answer him, `Lord, when did we see thee hungry and feed thee, or thirsty and give thee drink? And when did we see thee a stranger and welcome thee, or naked and clothe thee? And when did we see thee sick or in prison and visit thee?' And the King will answer them: `Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me" (Mt 25:35-40).

And the Fathers of the Church will then say with St Peter Chrysologus: "The poor man's hand is the treasury of Christ, since Christ receives everything that the poor man receives" (Sermo VIII, 4), and with St Gregory of Nazianzus: "The Lord of all things wants mercy, not sacrifice; and we give it through the poor" (De patuperum amore, XI).

Therefore, this opening to others, which is expressed by "help", by "sharing" food, a glass of water, a good word, consolation, a visit, precious time, etc., this interior gift offered to the other man, arrives directly at Christ, directly at God. It decides the meeting with him. It is conversion.

We can find many texts in the Gospel that confirm this, and also in the whole of Scripture. "Alms" understood according to the Gospel, according to the teaching of Christ, has a definitive, decisive meaning in our conversion to God. If alms be lacking, our life does not yet converge fully towards God.

4. In the cycle of Lenten reflections, it will be necessary to come back to this subject. Today, before concluding, let us dwell for another moment on the real meaning of "alms". It is very easy, in fact, to falsify the idea, as we noted at the beginning. Jesus also gave a warning about the superficial, "exterior" attitude of almsdeeds (cf. Mt 6:4; Lk 11:41). This problem is still a living one. If we realize the essential significance that "alms" has for our conversion to God for the whole of Christian life, we must avoid, at all costs, all that falsifies the meaning of alms, mercy, works of charity, all that may distort their image in ourselves. In this field, it is very important to cultivate interior sensitivity as regards the real needs of our neighbour, in order to know in what we must help him, how to act in order not to wound him, and how to behave in order that what we give, what we bring to his life, may be a real gift, a gift not dimmed by the ordinary negative meaning of the word "alms".

.We see, therefore, what a field of work—wide and at the same time deep—opens before us, if we want to put into practice the call "Paenitemini et date eleemosynam" (cf. Mk 1:15 and Lk 12:33). It is a field of work not only for Lent, but for every day. For the whole of life.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 28 March 1979]

Pope Francis, this morning in his homily at Casa Santa Marta, said that one must "live life as a gift, not as a treasure to be kept". Jesus himself taught us this first, when he said that "no one has a greater love than this: to give one's life". The exact opposite, the pontiff stressed, of what Judas did, "who had precisely the opposite attitude", and in fact "never understood what a gift was".

"Let us think of that moment of the Magdalene," Pope Francis explained, "when she washes Jesus' feet with spikenard, so expensive: it is a religious moment, a moment of gratitude, a moment of love. And he detaches himself and makes the bitter criticism: 'But this could be used for the poor!' This is the first reference I found, in the Gospel, of poverty as ideology. The ideologue does not know what love is, because he does not know how to give himself".Judas' mistake was to be impermeable and distant from Christ's love: a loneliness that led him to betrayal. He who loves, on the other hand, 'gives his life as a gift, gives his life out of love, he is never alone: he is always in community, he is in the family'. Besides, the Pontiff warned, he who "isolates his conscience in selfishness" eventually "loses it".

[Pope Francis, homily s. Marta 14/05/2013: https://www.tempi.it/papa-francesco-vivete-la-vita-come-dono-satana-e-un-cattivo-pagatore-sempre-ci-truffa-sempre/]

(Mt  21:1-11; Mk 11:1-10; Lk 19:28-40; Jn 12:12-16)

In the Gospels the Lord does not allow himself to be identified with the ‘eagle’ of Jn, although it is He who comes from above - and ‘sees’ beyond the immediate.

He is not a winged spiritual being [like the symbol of Mt] but fully incarnate, despite being the authentic Angel, that is, the Sent of the Father par excellence.

Jesus is not associated with the ‘lion’ [Mk], king of the forest and of beasts, although He is the only successful and majestically royal man - the true and totally ‘present’ Person according to God.

Much less do we imagine him as an ‘ox’ [Lk], icon of the ancient traditionally sacrificial devotion.

On an evangelical basis, it is not even possible to imagine the figure and proposal of the Master with the typical “bestiary” of homage and respect with which sovereigns and dignitaries, all the powerful and the elect even of the official religious caste, were idealised in the ancient East.

The Gospels do not recognise Jesus as a majestic ‘raptor’: they equate the stability, quality and action of his Spirit in the icon of the «dove».

Then with a figure that really makes the chickens laugh: the 'hen', who regrets the ruinous choices of her brood (Mt 23:37).

Instead of the power of the ‘lion’ [of Babylon or Judah tribe] here is the meekness of a Lamb that gives all of itself, including skin.

In place of ascetic renunciations, or of animals destined for the offertory necessary to appease the gods, a «man with a heart of flesh and not of a beast» with the ideal of Communion; life torn from the prehuman.

As if to say: it is a web of being (oneself, even small ones) and qualitative relationships, which supplants and sublimates the archaic sacrificial practices [sacrum-facere] with which in ancient times people sought contact and a reciprocal relationship with celestial Life.

Now it is identified with human fullness.

Instead of the fiery arrogance of a steed that presses and becomes the protagonist of great enterprises, fully collaborating to make its leader illustrious, we see a symbol of tireless industriousness, dropped into everyone's common need: the ‘little donkey’!

That of the «donkey» is a thunderous proposal of a humble life, tailor-made for disciples still distracted, bamboozled by dreams of solemnity, prestige, worldly glory, and competitive lusts.

It means: within each one of us there is a «prophecy of unceasing service» that must be "untied".

It is as if there dwells within us an unexpressed spring being that can and wants to be «freed» from the many bonds of expectations of easy success, greatness, and consensus.

Previously indifferent or outraged hopes - for having gived credit to a resigned, humble Messiah.

Such is the level of Faith that it surpasses common religious sense.

That is why the same people who cheer and acclaim acclaim, expecting triumphal celebration, sublime accolades and easy shortcuts - then queue up behind those who reject the Christ.

[Palm Sunday]

Introduction:

Emphasis on Weakness (Mt 26:14–25)

Matthew, Mark and Luke place the institution of the Eucharist within the context of the Jewish Passover meal. A theological reworking to affirm (in the Faith) the meaning of the true Passover of Liberation in Christ.

Compared to the Synoptic Gospels, the Fourth Gospel is more faithful to the meaning of the Broken Bread: a source of Life for all.

John ‘anticipates’ the Lord’s death at the moment when the priests were slaughtering the lambs destined for the Passover meal, on the Temple esplanade.

Thus the sacrifice of the Cross – contemporary with this latter event – is rightly placed by John in the hours preceding the ‘Passover’ meal of the Synoptic Gospels.

In fact, the Lord’s Supper did not originate from the popular celebration of the Exodus of the First Testament in April of the year 30 (Jesus was 37 years old).

No Eucharist has ever involved the typical ingredients of the Jewish Passover meal, such as spices or sauces, sweet and bitter herbs, different cups of wine and so on.

The original meaning of the Master’s ritual gesture with his disciples – which forms the backdrop to today’s Gospel passage – is the joyful one of the Zebah-Todah (Lev 7:11ff: the only votive offering that could be celebrated outside the Temple in Jerusalem, at home, with friends and family).

Hence the dual term (communion) still used to designate the effective sign that Christ left us: Communion (Zebah) and Eucharist (Thanksgiving: Todah).

Todah was a sacrifice of great praise, one of the various specific types of the Communion sacrifice. We find several traces of this in the First Eucharistic Prayer.

The ceremonial act of Thanksgiving was understood in a very profound sense, for it celebrated Life regained, following a serious illness or a narrow escape from death.

A significant portion of the Psalms – perhaps more than a third – express this same ultimate joy in various places: the averted threat to life, and the experience of finding oneself saved together with one’s loved ones, through divine grace.

The meaning of this daily praise was, in fact, initially celebrated by the Catholic Church as well (for almost the entire first millennium, just like the Orthodox Church) with leavened bread (Lev 7:13), to indicate its domestic and real value.

It echoes the tones of that ancient cult of thanksgiving in the hearth – unfortunately, difficult to convey in the specific formulas (perceptible only to a particularly trained ear, and in the original Hebrew text).

The joyful and familiar atmosphere in which the rite of Communion and Thanksgiving was celebrated seems here marred by the drama of unfaithfulness. It is a powerful call to vigilance for all of us.

Jesus gives himself up not because the Father’s plan demanded blood… nor that at least one should pay dearly for all.

The traits of the non-pagan God have nothing to do with a fixation on recompense.

The Father needs no repayment of any kind.

He is no energy vampire; he does not demand that we live for him; quite the contrary.

And we see this in the Son, whom even Judas may dispose of (but so that he might reflect on his own condition – and so too Peter).

The Face of Christ is that of the betrayed man.

But he lets it happen, because friends belong to one another – and he knows: the inviolability of a loved one may not endure, even through greed. Even at the expense of the One who first welcomed us.

If the sense of mutual belonging falls away, then the face of the authentic man becomes that of the man who has been sold out...

All this takes place with a sense of peaceful loss – not as the result of a preordained plan, but so that the disciples might reflect on their own situation, to recognise it and come to terms with it.

It is the way through which we are taught to be aware of our radical lack; to be conscious of the distance from the ideal – of the need for a path of love and authenticity, far greater than any compensation.

The condition of the apostles (as seen in the Gospel passage) is still empty and inattentive, or even beastly and pre-human – prone even to trading in God, and in unspoilt people.

It is as though (to rouse us) through the doubt concerning Judas and the entire group around him, the Lord were still silently saying – to us specifically, but without moralising: ‘Where are you?’

    Because of the persecutions, some members of the community in Matthew had allowed themselves to be intimidated and had abandoned their brothers and sisters in faith. What attitude should we adopt towards them?

The scandalous story of the failure of the first disciples opens up ceaseless glimmers of hope for the churches of all ages: the logic of the Kingdom remains unshaken by anything.

Doors wide open even for those who deny and flee the Master.

The religious journey without the leap of Faith instils in sensitive people a progressive and marked sense of unworthiness: it imposes a nerve-wracking wait for perfections that press upon us.

What counts is splendid ability and aptitude: what man does for God...

But divine love is not conditional. Therefore, on the genuine and most reliable path, what counts above all is the surprise: what the Lord does for us.

He is the One Who Comes and the One Who acts, disposes and guides – He who weaves the fabric anew and, through unexpected twists or leaps, rips us free from the obsession with inadequacy.

Without such Friendship (free and guided) that is more than wise, one yields and may end up selling Christ in exchange for will-o’-the-wisps, fleeting flashes, the convictions of others, futile trinkets; self-interest and cheap happiness.

Jesus continues to dip the morsel in his Blood and to offer it to us. Little by little, we shall learn to stand up for his values, so that he may live again through us as Bread broken and distributed.

Gradually, we shall even manage not to fall silent and not to flee in the face of the gift of life... transforming ourselves into Food.

The only person who, on the other hand, ruins and destroys himself (Mt 27:5) is the one thoroughly compromised by false spiritual guides.

To internalise and live out the message:

When asked what defines you, do you commit to laying bare the convictions of others and external or imitated goals? Or do you proclaim the freedom to be and become yourself in Christ?

Passion of Love according to Matthew

(Mt 26:14–27:66)

    Jesus introduces into the world a total novelty, a principle of life: unconditional love.

The events narrated in the Passion accounts are fundamentally the same, but each author emphasises the catechetical themes deemed urgent for his community.

The Passion according to Matthew draws on Mark’s account, creating a subtle parallel between the story of Christ and the drama of the righteous one in Psalm 22 (vv. 2, 8–9, 16, 17, 19, 25).

Matthew introduces, in his own original way, only the episodes of Judas’s financial agreement with the chief priests, the death of the traitor himself, and the guarding of the tomb.

A constant theme of the narrative is the reference to the fulfilment of the Scriptures, because the author is writing for communities in Galilee and Syria whose members come from a Jewish background.

In that culture, a great and powerful victorious Messiah was expected: a condemned man hanging on a cross was abhorred as one cursed even by God, as well as a source of contamination (Deut 21:22–23).

The challenge at the foot of the Cross by officials of the Sanhedrin and religious authorities – willing to believe only those who assert themselves – must be understood within this framework of internal catechesis.

‘Save yourself’ is the mantra we too repeat to ourselves when we think of using our qualities to advance and dominate over everyone else. Possibly relying on God, if He approves.

To these doubts, Matthew responds by highlighting a long-dormant strand of ancient Middle Eastern culture and Scripture, which portrayed a humiliated Messiah – our fellow traveller in solidarity through suffering caused by oppression and abandonment.

God’s intervention is not revealed in immediate victory, but in transforming defeat into a source of life, and even death into birth.

Humiliation and silencing become an opportunity for growth towards authentic, indestructible fulfilment and blossoming.

The Gospel passage begins precisely with the venal agreement between Judas and the priests. Betrayal and denial of Christ challenge us regarding our own ambitious and conflicting plans.

Introducing the Last Supper, Matthew immediately turns to address his community – placing the question ‘Is it I?’ on the lips of all those present at the Lord’s Supper.

The evangelist has a strong pastoral concern to make each person recognise their own ‘anti-disciple’ side, dispelling any illusions of immunity. It is a question that each of us would do well to carry within ourselves.

The true apostle is not arrogant or self-assured. He knows his own frailties; he knows he can be mistaken.

‘This is me’ is, in fact, the meaning of the paradoxical sign, the personality and proposal that the Lord leaves us.

In the language of the time, the expressions ‘my body’ and ‘my blood’ indicated the totality of life, teaching and the individual’s word. In short, they were synonymous with ‘myself’.

The juxtaposition that serves as a comparison and contrast between the first episodes is clear and instructive.

In breaking bread (the whole of life) ‘for the multitudes’, Matthew introduces a theme dear to his theology: the universalism of salvation. The chosen people are not the exclusive custodians of redemption.

But the (rather partial) interpretation—common to the Passion narratives of the Synoptics—emerges that Christ’s sacrifice is ‘for sins’ (the term, used in the singular by John, has a different value: theological and existential, comprehensive and far less moral).

The idea of a propitiatory, expiatory and vicarious death for the redemption of humanity was, in fact, typical of the earliest communal interpretations of his story.

This is the reason that led the Synoptics to introduce the events of the Lord’s Passion of love with the so-called institution of the Eucharist.

Moreover, in his account, Matthew multiplies quotations drawn from the First Testament to show Jesus’ earthly defeat as the very expression and culmination of the ancient Scriptures – thereby emphasising their conformity.

Gethsemane reveals the full humanity of Jesus, who goes towards his destruction with a dramatic sense of his destiny, and without even the joy of some understanding.

Beside him were the usual three close companions [namely, the leaders of the early ecclesial communities]: the most distant and stubborn, whom he wished to invite to keep an eye on him, so that they might begin to understand at least something.

First and foremost, the Master recommends prayer to them—that is, attentive listening—so that they might finally assimilate the Father’s will and avoid the temptation to separate themselves from it.

For they were the first to want to excel and return to the ideology of power (and precedence) that still occupied their minds—each dreaming of primacy, and who knows what else.

The evangelist suggests that the true struggle is not with secular powers, which [obviously] defend themselves by any means. To be in agreement with God’s plan for humanity – that is the point.

And we must take this into account in our mission: we must not be caught off guard. To perpetuate itself, the ancient world is capable of anything.

The episode of the arrest, in fact, highlights Christ’s demeanour. He freely proceeds to his death and teaches that the things of God are not defined by violence and the sword.

High priests, official theologians and elders—that is, the influential members of the Jewish aristocracy—feared the new order of things advocated by Jesus.

His dream of a new Temple, a living one alone, would have undermined their positions. The powerful Messiah, on the other hand, would have confirmed their teachings and justified their standard of living.

Jesus, however, asserts his position as the Son of Man. In short, before Caiaphas he reaffirms his distinct stance.

Divine status coincides with the highest expression of common humanity.

A highly dangerous proposition for any institutional mediation structure. After all, every quest for authentic love is free and interpersonal: it loses its lustre with any third party intruding.

The leaders realise this. In the Gospels, the Son of Man – the true and full realisation of the divine plan for humanity – is not hindered by those who frequent places of ill repute, but by the regulars of the sacred precincts.

The growth and humanisation of the people is not opposed by sinners, but precisely by those who are supposed to have the ministry of making the Face of God known to all.

The condemnation for blasphemy follows. It seems obvious that whoever relies on the criteria of such ‘spiritual authorities’ becomes an enemy of life, and thus falls into despair and self-destruction.

However, within the theological framework of Matthew, it is more plausible that the terrible words spoken about Judas serve to emphasise his heavy destiny (according to the Scriptures) to hand over the Redeemer – rather than reading them as a clear-cut judgement of condemnation and damnation.

Certainly, they are another firm warning addressed to the members of the community, so that they may not be deceived by flattery or ways of life that ultimately become utterly unforgivable in themselves.

All creation seems to participate in Christ’s death. ‘The earth shook’: Matthew realises that a new world is being born.

At that time, it was believed that the transition from the age of iniquity to the messianic era would be marked by cosmic events.

It is the irruption of the day of God, which breaks free from the local confines of religion. Now everyone has direct access, thanks to the relationship of Faith.

And every death is no longer a threat to life, but rather strengthens it – even if it takes place amidst external insults.

Instead, Judas’s end is the fate of the disciple who follows the Master for a time, then gives up because he realises that it is not with Him that dreams of glory can be realised.

Judas is the apostle who entrusts his loneliness and torment to the wrong guides – mere profiteers and opportunists. Matthew’s warning to church members: whoever follows his example, alas, has no escape.

All this whilst the deeply religious world continues to proceed with its usual logic, placing its guards to watch over life – which seeks to emerge from the den to which it has been consigned.

The guards watching over the tomb aptly symbolise the world of falsehood’s attempt to silence the righteous, locking them away in a tomb.

It is another reminder from the evangelist: often the powers of evil give the impression that they can secure definitive triumph.

The weak then risk becoming disheartened, regarding (too hastily) hopes for justice as utopian, mere pious dreams.

Meanwhile, Jesus is, in his own way, overcoming evil.

He does not do so through sudden miracles or decisive interventions, but by stripping the forces of death of their power to harm – indeed, by transforming them into an opportunity that prepares and sets in motion further developments.

The result will be such luminous growth and progress that the soldiers stationed to defend and uphold iniquity must flee in terror from a blinding light they cannot bear.

God rolls away every stone that hinders the return to life, and sits upon it (28:2).

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

This evening, in stillness and moved in heart, we have journeyed in prayer along the Way of the Cross. We have gone up Calvary with Jesus and we have meditated on his suffering, rediscovering how deep his love was and is for us. But let us not limit ourselves to a compassion dictated be weak sentiment; rather, we wish to participate in the sufferings of Jesus, we wish to accompany our Master, to share his Passion in our lives, in the life of the Church, for the life of the world, since we know that it is precisely in the Lord’s Cross, in love without limits, that he gives everything of himself, is the source of grace, of liberation, of peace, of salvation.

The texts, the meditations and the prayers of the Way of the Cross have helped us to consider the mystery of the Passion in order to appreciate the great lesson of love which God gave on the Cross, that there might be born in us a renewed desire to change our hearts, living each day that love which is the only force able to change the world.

This evening we have gazed upon Jesus and his countenance marked by pain, derided, outraged and disfigured by the sin of humanity; tomorrow night we will look upon the same countenance full of joy, radiant and luminous. From the moment Jesus goes into the tomb, the tomb and death are no longer a place without hope where history stops in the most complete failure, where man touches the extreme limit of his powerlessness. Good Friday is the greatest day of hope, come to fruition upon the Cross, as Jesus dies, as he draws his last breath, crying out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit” (Lk 23:46). Entrusting his “given” existence into the Father’s hands, he knows that his death is becoming the source of life, just as the seed in the earth must be destroyed that a new plant may be born: “If a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (Jn 12:24). Jesus is the grain of wheat that falls to the earth, is split open, is destroyed and dies, and for this very reason is able to bear fruit. From the day on which Christ was raised upon it, the Cross, which had seemed to be a sign of desolation, of abandonment, and of failure, has become a new beginning: from the profundity of death is raised the promise of eternal life. The victorious splendour of the dawning day of Easter already shines upon the Cross.

In the silence of this night, in the silence which envelopes Holy Saturday, touched by the limitless love of God, we live in the hope of the dawn of the third day, the dawn of the victory of God’s love, the luminous daybreak which allows the eyes of our heart to see afresh our life, its difficulties, its suffering. Our failures, our disappointments, our bitterness, which seem to signal that all is lost, are instead illumined by hope. The act of love upon the Cross is confirmed by the Father and the dazzling light of the resurrection enfolds and transforms everything: friendship can be born from betrayal, pardon from denial, love from hate.

Grant us, Lord, to carry our cross with love, and to carry our daily crosses in the certainty that they have been enlightened by the dazzling light of Easter. Amen.

[Pope Benedict, Way of the Cross at the Colosseum 2 April 2010]