17th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C) [27 July 2025]

May God bless us and the Virgin protect us! This time I have taken a little longer to present some important details of the readings in the NOTES, which are useful for personal meditation and for lectio divina during this holiday period.

*First Reading from the Book of Genesis (18:20-32)

This text marks a step forward in the idea that men have of their relationship with God: it is the first time that one dares to imagine that a man can intervene in God's plans. Unfortunately, the liturgical reading does not allow us to hear the previous verses in which we read that immediately after the encounter at the Oaks of Mamre, Abraham takes his leave, accompanying the three mysterious men to contemplate Sodom from above. The Lord, speaking to himself, says: 'Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do, when Abraham is to become a great and powerful nation, and all the nations of the earth will be blessed in him?' (vv. 17-19). God takes the covenant he has just made very seriously, and it is here that what we might call 'the most beautiful negotiation in history' begins: Abraham, armed with all his courage, intercedes to try to save Sodom and Gomorrah from a punishment they certainly deserve. In essence, he asks if God really wants to destroy these cities even if he finds at least fifty righteous people, or only forty-five, forty, thirty, twenty, ten. What audacity! Yet, apparently, God accepts that man should act as his interlocutor: at no point does the Lord seem impatient and, indeed, he responds each time exactly as Abraham hoped. Perhaps God appreciates that Abraham has such a high opinion of his justice. In this regard, it can be noted that this text was written at a time when people were beginning to become aware of individual responsibility: in fact, Abraham would be scandalised by the idea that the righteous could be punished together with sinners and for their sins. We are far from the time when an entire family was eliminated for the sins of one. The great discovery of individual responsibility dates back to the prophet Ezekiel and the period of the Babylonian exile, i.e. the 6th century BC. We can therefore formulate a hypothesis about the composition of the chapter read today and last Sunday: it is a text written at a rather late date, although it derives from perhaps much older stories, whose oral or written form was not yet definitive. God loves it when people intercede for their brothers and sisters, as we can see with Moses: when the people made a 'golden calf' to worship immediately after swearing never to follow idols again. Moses intervened to beg God to forgive them, and God, who was waiting for nothing else, hastened to forgive them (Ex 32). Moses interceded for the people for whom he was responsible; Abraham, on the other hand, intercedes for pagans, and this is logical, after all, since he is the bearer of a blessing for all the families of the earth. This text is a great step forward in discovering the face of God, but it is only a stage, still within a logic of accounting: how many righteous people will it take to obtain forgiveness for sinners? The final theological step will be to discover that with God it is never a matter of payment. His justice has nothing to do with a scale, whose two pans must be perfectly balanced, and this is what St. Paul will try to make us understand in this Sunday's passage from the Letter to the Colossians. This text from Genesis is also a beautiful lesson on prayer, which is offered to us on the day when Luke's Gospel recounts Jesus' teaching on prayer, beginning with the Our Father, the plural prayer par excellence, which invites us to open our hearts to the whole of humanity. 

NOTE: Development of the notion of God's justice in the Bible: In the beginning, it was considered normal for the whole group to pay for the fault of one: see the case of Achan in the time of Joshua (Joshua 7:16-25). In a second phase, it is imagined that each person pays for himself. Here, there is a new step forward: if ten righteous people are found, they can save an entire city. Jeremiah dares to go further: a single righteous person can obtain forgiveness for all: 'Go through the streets of Jerusalem, search for one man who acts justly... I will forgive the city' (Jer 5:1). Ezekiel also reasons in these terms: 'I sought for a man among them who would stand in the breach before me... but I found none' (Ezek 22:30). It is with the book of Job, among others, that the final step is taken: when it is finally understood that God's justice is synonymous with salvation, not punishment. Jeremiah even goes so far as to invoke unconditional forgiveness, based solely on God's greatness: "If our sins testify against us, act, Lord, for the honour of your name!" (Jer 14:7-9). Before God, just like Jeremiah, Abraham understood that sinners have no other argument than God himself! Finally, note Abraham's optimism, which fully earns him the title of "father of faith": he continues to believe that all is not lost, that not all are lost. Even in a city as horrible as Sodom, he is convinced that there are at least ten good men!

Responsorial Psalm (137/138), 1-2a, 2bc-3, 6-7ab, 7c-8)

This psalm is a song of thanksgiving for the Covenant that God offers to humanity: the Covenant made first with Israel, but also the Covenant open to all nations, and Israel's vocation is precisely to bring other nations into it. Three times 

: 'I give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart', 'I give thanks to your name for your love and your faithfulness', and – in verse 4, which we do not hear this Sunday – 'May all the kings of the earth give thanks to you'. Here we see a progression: first, it is Israel speaking on its own behalf: "I give you thanks, Lord, with all my heart"; then the reason is specified: "I give thanks to your name for your love and your faithfulness"; finally, it is the whole of humanity that enters into the Covenant and gives thanks: "May all the kings of the earth give thanks to you". 

Since we are talking about the Covenant, it is normal that there are allusions to the experience of Sinai and echoes of the great discovery of the burning bush when God told Moses that he had seen the misery of his people and had come down to free them (Ex 2:23-24). Echoing this, the psalm sings: "On the day I called, you answered me" (v. 3). Another reference to God's revelation at Sinai is the expression "your love and faithfulness" (v. 2): these are the same words with which God defined himself before Moses (Ex 34:6). The phrase "Your right hand saves me" (v. 7) is, for Jews, an allusion to the exodus from Egypt. The "right hand" is, of course, the right hand, and since Moses' song after the miraculous crossing of the Red Sea (Ex 15), it has become customary to speak of the victory that God obtained with a strong hand and a powerful arm (Ex 15:6, 12). The expression "Lord, your love is forever" (v. 8) also evokes all of God's work, particularly the Exodus, as in Psalm 135/136, whose refrain is: "For his love is forever." Another link between this psalm and Moses' song is the connection between the entire epic of the Exodus, the Covenant at Sinai, and the Temple in Jerusalem. Moses sang:

"The Lord is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation. This is my God, and I will praise him, my father's God, and I will exalt him" (Ex 15:1-2, 13), and the psalm echoes:

"Not to the gods, but to you I will sing, I bow down toward your holy temple" (vv. 1-2) because the

Temple is the place where all God's work on behalf of his people is remembered. However, God's presence is not limited to a stone temple, but that temple, or what remains of it, is a permanent sign of that presence. And even today, wherever they are in the world, every Jew prays facing Jerusalem, towards the holy temple mountain, because it is the place chosen by God, in the time of King David, to offer his people a sign of his presence. Finally, God's greatness does not crush man, at least not those who recognise their own smallness: "The Lord is exalted, but he looks upon the humble; he recognises the proud from afar" (v. 6). This too is a great biblical theme: his greatness is manifested precisely in his goodness towards the smallness of man (cf. Wis 12:18) and Psalm 113/112: "He raises the weak from the dust, lifts the poor from the ash heap" and in the Magnificat: "He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the humble". The believer knows this and is amazed: God is great, he does not crush us, but on the contrary, he makes us grow.

These parallels, that is, the influence of Moses' song, the experience of Sinai from the burning bush to the exodus from Egypt and the Covenant, are found in many other psalms and biblical texts.

This shows how much this experience was – and remains – the foundation of Israel's faith.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul to the Colossians (2:12-14)

God has cancelled the document written against us (Col 2:14). Paul here refers to a widespread practice when money was borrowed: it was customary for the debtor to give the creditor a 'debt acknowledgement document'. Jesus also used this image in the parable of the dishonest steward. On the day his master threatens to fire him, he thinks of making friends for himself; to this end, he summons his master's debtors and says to each one, 'Here is your debt document; change the amount. Did you owe a hundred sacks of wheat? Write eighty' (Lk 16:7). As he often does, Paul uses the language of everyday life to express a theological thought. His reasoning is this: because of the seriousness of our sins, we can consider ourselves debtors to God. Moreover, in Judaism, sins were often called "debts"; and a Jewish prayer from the time of Jesus said: "In your great mercy, cancel all the documents that accuse us." Well, anyone who looks up at the cross of Christ discovers the extent of God's mercy for his children: with Him, it is not a matter of keeping accounts: 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do' is the prayer of the Son; but it is He himself who said, 'Whoever has seen me has seen the Father'. The body of Christ nailed to the cross shows that God is like this: He forgets all our wrongs, all our faults towards Him. His forgiveness is displayed before our eyes: "They will look on him whom they have pierced," said the prophet Zechariah (Zech 12:10; Jn 19:37). It is as if the document of our debt had been nailed to the cross of Christ. However, we are still surprised because this whole passage is written in the past tense: "buried with Christ in baptism, you have also been raised with him... with him God has given you life... forgiving us all our sins and cancelling the document written against us... he took it away by nailing it to the cross". 

NOTE Paul wants to affirm that the salvation of the world is already accomplished: this 'already-realised' salvation is one of the great themes of the Letter to the Colossians. The Christian community is already saved through baptism; it already participates in the heavenly reality. Here too we see an evolution with respect to some of Paul's earlier letters, such as 'We have been saved, but in hope' (Rom 8:24); "If we have been united with him in death, we will also be united with him in resurrection" (Rom 6:5). While the Letter to the Romans places the resurrection in the future, the Letters to the Colossians and Ephesians speak in the past tense, both of burial with Christ and of resurrection as an already present reality. “When we were dead in our sins, he made us alive with Christ – by grace you are saved –; with him he raised us up and seated us in the heavens in Christ Jesus” (Eph 2:5-6). “You were buried with Christ, with him you were also raised... You were dead... but God gave you life with Christ.” For Paul, baptism is like a second birth, and his insistence that salvation has already taken place through birth into a totally new life is probably also linked to the historical context: behind many expressions in the Letter, we can glimpse a climate of tension and conflict. The community in Colossae seems to be under dangerous influences, against which Paul wants to warn them: "Let no one deceive you with seductive words" (Col 2:4)... "Let no one trap you with empty and deceptive philosophy" (Col 2:8)... "Let no one judge you in matters of food and drink, or in regard to festivals or sabbaths" (Col 2:16). Thus, a recurring problem reappears in the background: how does one enter into salvation? Must one continue to strictly observe all Jewish law? Paul answers: through faith. This theme is present in many letters, and we find it clearly here as well (v. 12): buried in baptism with Christ... raised... through faith in the power of God who raised him from the dead. The Letter to the Ephesians repeats it even more clearly: 'It is by grace you have been saved, through faith, and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God. It is not the result of works, so that no one can boast.' (Eph 2:8-9) Life with Christ in the glory of the Father is not only a future hope, but a present experience of believers: an experience of new life, of divine life. From now on, if we want, Christ lives in us; and we are enabled to live the divine life of the risen Christ in our daily lives! This means that none of our old ways of acting is any longer an inevitable condemnation. Love, peace, justice, and sharing are possible. And if we do not believe this is possible, then we are saying that Christ has not saved us! Be careful! Until now, we have always spoken of the Letter to the Colossians as if Paul were the author; in reality, many exegetes believe that it was written by a disciple very close to Paul, inspired by his thought, but from a later generation. 

From the Gospel according to Luke (11:1-13)

It may come as a surprise, but Jesus did not invent the words of the Lord's Prayer: they come directly from Jewish liturgy and, more profoundly, from the Scriptures. Starting with the vocabulary, which is very biblical: Father, name, holy, kingdom, bread, sins, temptations... Let us begin with the first two questions: with great pedagogical skill, they are addressed first of all to God and teach us to say 'your name', 'your kingdom'. They educate our desire and commit us to collaborate in the growth of his kingdom. The Our Father, probably taught by Jesus in Aramaic, 'Abun d'bashmaya... nethqadash shimukin', which recalls liturgical Hebrew, is a school of prayer, or if you prefer, a method for learning to pray: let us not forget the disciple's request that immediately precedes it: 'Lord, teach us to pray' (v. 1). Well, if we follow Jesus' method, thanks to the Lord's Prayer, we will end up knowing how to speak the language of God, whose first word is Father. The invocation 'Our Father' immediately places us in a filial relationship with God and was already present in the Old Testament: 'You, Lord, are our Father, our Redeemer from everlasting'. (Is 63:16). The first two questions concern the name and the kingdom. "Hallowed be thy name": in the Bible, the name represents the person himself; to say that God is holy (kadosh / shmokh in Aramaic - separate) is to affirm that He is "beyond everything, and this request means: "Make yourself known as God". "Thy kingdom come": repeated every day, this question will transform us into workers in the Kingdom. God's will, as we know, is that humanity, gathered in his love, should become queen of creation: 'Fill the earth and subdue it' (Gen 1:27), and believers await the day when God will be recognised as king over all the earth, as the prophet Zechariah announced: 'The Lord will be king over all the earth' (Zech 14:9). Our prayer, our method of learning the language of God, will make us people who desire above all else that God be recognised, adored and loved, that everyone recognise him as Father, passionate about evangelisation and the Kingdom of God. The next three questions concern daily life: "Give us", "Forgive us", "Do not abandon us to temptation". God never ceases to do all this, and we place ourselves in an attitude of acceptance of his gifts. "Give us this day our daily bread" (τὸν ἐπιούσιον): the manna that fell every morning in the desert taught the people to trust day by day, and this request invites us not to worry about tomorrow and to receive food each day as a gift from God: here bread has various meanings, including the Eucharistic bread, as I will explain in the Note, and the plural "our bread" invites us to share the Father's concern to feed all his children. "Forgive us our sins, for we too forgive everyone who is indebted to us": God's forgiveness is not conditioned by our behaviour, and fraternal forgiveness does not buy God's forgiveness, but is the only way to enter into the divine forgiveness that is already given: those who have a closed heart cannot receive God's gifts. "Do not abandon us to temptation." Here there is a translation problem, because – once again – Hebrew grammar is different from ours: the verb used in the Hebrew prayer means "do not let us enter into temptation." This refers to every temptation, of course, but above all to the most serious one, the temptation to doubt God's love. The whole of life is involved in the Lord's Prayer: speaking the language of God means knowing how to ask, and asking is not only permitted but recommended because it is an exercise in humility and trust. Nor are these just any requests: bread, forgiveness, strength against temptation. All the requests are in the plural, and each of us makes them on behalf of the whole of humanity. Ultimately, there is a close connection between the first petitions of the Lord's Prayer and the subsequent ones: we ask God for what we need to fulfil our baptismal mission: Give us all we need – bread and love – and protect us, so that we may have the strength to proclaim your Kingdom. The Gospel immediately follows with the parable of the importunate friend who invites us never to stop praying, certain that the heavenly Father always gives the Holy Spirit to those who ask him (v. 13), so that even if our problems are not solved with a wave of a magic wand, we will no longer experience them alone but together with Him.

NOTE 

1 – Regarding 'bread' in verse 3: the same adjective is found in a prayer in the Book of Proverbs: 'Give me neither poverty nor riches; give me only my daily bread' (Pr 30:8).  

2 The term bread τὸν ἐπιούσιον, a very rare adjective, is a hapax legomenon, i.e. it appears only here (and in Mt 6:11), and is not found elsewhere in classical Greek literature or in the LXX (Septuagint). There are many interpretations, but ἐπιούσιος remains enigmatic and carries with it a wealth of meanings: the material bread necessary for daily life; spiritual bread, that is, the Word of God and the Eucharist, the sign of daily trust in the Providence of the Father. Some exegetes read it as 'bread for the day that is coming', thus a confident invocation for the immediate future. 

3. Jesus takes the Our Father directly from the Jewish liturgy, and here are some Jewish prayers that are at its origin: 'Our Father who art in heaven' (Mishnah Yoma, common invocation); 'May your name be sanctified in the world you have created according to your will' (Qaddish, Qedushah and Shemoné Esré); May your kingdom come quickly and be recognised throughout the world... May your will be done in heaven and on earth... Give us our daily bread...

Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us... Lead us not into temptation... Yours is the greatness, the power, the glory... (1 Chr 29:11)

4. The final doxology of the Lord's Prayer: Many Christian groups, well before the Second Vatican Council, recited at the end of the Lord's Prayer: Yours is the kingdom, yours is the power and glory forever. This "doxology" (word of praise) is found in some manuscripts of Matthew, and is probably derived from a very ancient liturgical use, already in the first century, but dating back even further, to David's prayer (cf. Chronicles 29:11).

5. On the importance of prayers of petition, I echo an interesting image proposed by Duns Scotus: imagine a boat on the sea; on the shore there is a rock, on which there is a ring, and another ring on the boat, tied together with a rope The man who prays is like someone in the boat pulling on the rope: he does not pull the rock towards himself, but brings himself – and the boat – closer to the rock.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

Getting lost, for the transformation

(Mt 13:10-17)

St Paul expresses the sense of the "mystery of blindness" that contrasts him on the way with the famous expression «thorn in the side»: wherever he went, the enemies were ready; and unexpected disagreements.

This is also the case for us: fateful events, catastrophes, emergencies, the disintegration of old reassuring certainties - all external and swampy; until recently assessed with a sense of permanence.

Perhaps in the course of our existence, we have already realized that misunderstandings have been the best ways to reactivate ourselves, and introduce the energies of renewed Life.

These are those resources or situations that perhaps we would never have imagined allies of our own and others' realisation.

Says Erich Fromm:

«To live means to be born in every moment. Death is produced when one ceases to be born. Birth is therefore not an act; it is an uninterrupted process. The purpose of life is to be born fully, but the tragedy is that most of us die before we are truly born».

In fact, in the climate of unrest or absurd divergences [which oblige us to regenerate] sometimes appear out the most neglected intimate virtues.

New energies - looking for space - and external powers. Both malleable; unusual, unimaginable, heterodox.

But they find solutions, the real way out of our problems; the path to a future that is not a simple rearrangement of the previous situation, or how we imagined "it should have been and done".

Once a cycle is over, we begin a new phase; perhaps with greater rectitude and frankness - brighter and more natural, humanizing, close to the 'divine'.

Genuine and engaging contact with our deep states of being is acutely generated by detachments.

They bring us into dynamic dialogue with the eternal reservoirs of transmuting forces that inhabit us, and belong to us most.

Primordial experience that reaches straight to the heart.

Within us such a way “fishes” the creative, floating, unprecedented option.

In this way, the Lord conveys and opens up his proposal using ‘images’.

Arrow of Mystery that goes beyond the fragments of consciousness,  culture, procedures, and of what is common.

For a knowledge of oneself and the world that goes beyond that of history and the news; for active awareness of other contents.

Until labour and chaos itself guide the soul and force it to Another beginning, to a different gaze (all shifted), to an unprecedented understanding of ourselves and the world.

Well, the transformation of the universe cannot be the result of a cerebral or dirigiste teaching; rather, of a narrative exploration - which does not take people away from themselves.

And Jesus knows it.

[Thursday 16th wk. in O.T.  July 24, 2025]

This Gospel also puts the accent on Jesus’ preaching “method”, that is, on his use of parables. “Why do you speak to them in parables?”, his disciples ask (Mt 13:10). And Jesus answers distinguishing between them and the crowd: to his disciples — namely to those who have already decided for him — he can speak openly about the Kingdom of God, to others, instead, he must proclaim it in parables, precisely to encourage their decision, conversion of the heart; indeed, by their very nature parables demand the effort of interpretation, they not only challenge the mind but also freedom. St John Chrysostom explained: “And this he [Jesus] says to draw them unto him, and to provoke them and to signify that if they would covert he would heal them” (cf. Homily on the Gospel of Matthew, 45, 1-2).

Basically, God's true “Parable” is Jesus himself, his Person who, in the sign of humanity, hides and at the same time reveals his divinity. In this manner God does not force us to believe in him but attracts us to him with the truth and goodness of his incarnate Son: love, in fact, always respects freedom.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 10 July 2011]

1. “He left the house and sat by the sea” (Mt 13:1).
Jesus is the Master; he is also the Master in the way he looks at nature. In the Gospels, there are numerous passages that present him immersed in the natural environment, and if we pay attention, we can see in his behaviour a clear invitation to a contemplative attitude towards the wonders of creation. This is the case, for example, in this Sunday's Gospel account. We see Jesus sitting by the Sea of Tiberias, almost absorbed in meditation.
The divine Master, before dawn or after sunset, and at other decisive moments of his mission, loved to withdraw to a solitary and quiet place, apart from others (cf. Mt 14:23; Mk 1:35; Lk 5:16), so that he could be alone with his heavenly Father and talk with him. In those moments, he certainly did not fail to contemplate creation as well, to gather from it a reflection of divine beauty.
2. His disciples and a large crowd joined him on the shore of the lake. “He spoke to them at length in parables” (Mt 13:3). Jesus spoke “in parables”, that is, using events from everyday life and elements drawn from his contemplation of creation.
But why does Jesus speak "in parables"? This is what the disciples ask themselves, and we ask ourselves with them. The Master responds, echoing Isaiah: So that they may see but not perceive, hear but not understand (cf. Mt 13:13-15). What does this mean? Why speak in parables and not "openly" (cf. Jn 16:29)?
3. Dear brothers and sisters! In reality, creation itself is like a great parable. Is not everything that exists – the cosmos, the earth, living beings, man – a single, immense parable? And who is its author, if not God the Father, with whom Jesus converses in the silence of nature? Jesus speaks in parables because this is God's "style". The only-begotten Son has the same way of acting and speaking as his heavenly Father. Whoever sees him sees the Father (cf. Jn 14:9), whoever listens to him listens to the Father. And this concerns not only the content, but also the manner; not only what he says, but also how he says it.
Yes, the 'how' is important because it reveals the deep intention of the speaker. If the relationship is meant to be dialogical, the way of speaking must respect and promote the freedom of the interlocutor. This is why the Lord speaks in parables: so that those who listen may be free to accept his message; free not only to hear it, but above all to understand it, to interpret it and to recognise in it the intention of the One who speaks. God addresses man in such a way that it is possible to encounter him in freedom.
4. Creation is, so to speak, the great divine story. However, the profound meaning of this marvellous book of creation would have remained difficult for us to decipher if Jesus – the Word made man – had not come to 'explain it' to us, enabling our eyes to recognise more easily the imprint of the Creator in creatures.
Jesus is the Word that holds the meaning of all that exists. He is the Word in whom the 'name' of everything rests, from the smallest particle to the immense galaxies. He himself is therefore the 'Parable' full of grace and truth (cf. Jn 1:14), through which the Father reveals himself and his will, his mysterious plan of love and the ultimate meaning of history (cf. Eph 1:9-10). In Jesus, God has told us everything he had to say.
[Pope John Paul II, homily at St. Stephen of Cadore, 11 July 1993]

There is a recurring question in Pope Francis' meditations during Masses celebrated at Santa Marta, and it is an invitation to examine one's conscience: "How is my relationship with the Holy Spirit?" In his homily [...] the Pontiff repeated the question with a particular twist: "Do I truly believe that the Spirit makes the kingdom of God grow in me?"

The kingdom of God was in fact the theme of the reflection that took its cue from the passage from Luke's Gospel (17:20-25) in which the doctors of the law ask Jesus: "You preach the kingdom of God, but when will the kingdom of God come?" It is a question, the Pope explained, that also came from the "curiosity of many people," a "simple question that comes from a good heart, the heart of a disciple." It is no coincidence that it is a recurring request in the Gospel: for example, the Pope suggested, in that "very ugly, dark" moment when John the Baptist — who was in darkness in prison and "understood nothing, anguished" — sent his disciples to say to the Lord: "But tell us: are you the one, or should we wait for another? Has the kingdom of God come or is it someone else?'.

The doubt about 'when' often returns, as in the 'brazen, arrogant, evil question' of the thief: 'If you are the one, come down from the cross', which expresses the 'curiosity' about 'when the kingdom of God will come'.

Jesus' answer is: "But the kingdom of God is among you." Thus, for example, Francis recalled, "the kingdom of God was announced in the synagogue of Nazareth, that joyful announcement when Jesus reads that passage from Isaiah and ends by saying: 'Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.'" A joyful and, above all, 'simple' proclamation. In fact, 'the kingdom of God grows in secret', so much so that Jesus himself explains it with the parable of the seed: 'no one knows how', but God makes it grow. It is a kingdom that 'grows from within, secretly or hidden like a gem or a treasure, but always in humility'.

Here the Pontiff inserted the key passage of his meditation: "Who gives growth to that seed, who makes it sprout? God, the Holy Spirit who is in us." This consideration explains the coming of the kingdom through the work of the Paraclete, who 'is a spirit of meekness, humility, obedience and simplicity'. And it is the Spirit, added the Pope, 'who makes the kingdom of God grow, not pastoral plans or great things...'.

It is, said Francis, a hidden action. The Spirit "makes it grow, and the time comes and the fruit appears." An action that escapes full understanding: "Who was it," asked the Pope, "who sowed the seed of the kingdom of God in the heart of the good thief? Perhaps his mother when she taught him to pray... Perhaps a rabbi when he explained the law to him...". What is certain is that even though he forgot it in his life, that hidden seed was made to grow at a certain point. All this happens because "the kingdom of God is always a surprise, a surprise that comes" because "it is a gift given by the Lord".

In his conversation with the doctors of the law, Jesus dwells on the characteristics of this silent action: "The kingdom of God does not come in such a way as to attract attention, and no one will say, 'Here it is, or there it is.'" In fact, the Pope added, 'the kingdom of God is not a spectacle' or even 'a carnival'. It does not show itself 'with arrogance, with pride, it does not like publicity', but 'it is humble, hidden, and thus it grows'.

A striking example comes from Mary. When people looked at her following Jesus, they hardly recognised her ("Ah, that's his mother..."). She was "the holiest woman," but since she was "hidden," no one understood "the mystery of the kingdom of God, the holiness of the kingdom of God." And so, "when she was near her son's cross, people said: 'Poor woman, with such a criminal for a son, poor woman...'". No one understood, "no one knew".

The characteristic of concealment, the Pope explained, comes precisely from the Holy Spirit who is 'within us': it is he 'who makes the seed grow, makes it sprout until it bears fruit'. And we are all called to follow this path: 'it is a vocation, it is a grace, it is a gift, it is free, it cannot be bought, it is a grace that God gives us'.

That is why, the Pope concluded, it is good that "all of us who are baptised" and "have the Holy Spirit within us" ask ourselves: "How is my relationship with the Holy Spirit, the one who makes the kingdom of God grow in me?" We need to understand: "Do I truly believe that the kingdom of God is among us, hidden, or do I prefer spectacle?" We must, he added, pray to "the Spirit who is in us" to ask for the grace "to make the seed of God's kingdom sprout in us and in the Church with strength, so that it may grow, give shelter to many people and bear fruits of holiness."

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano, 17/11/2017]

16th Sunday in O.T. (year C) [20 July 2025]

May God bless us and the Virgin protect us! For those who can, summer is a time when we can devote more time to listening to the Word and praying for those who are so immersed in their worries that they believe they have no time to pray.

*First Reading from the Book of Genesis (18:1-10)

Mambré is an inhabitant of the land of Canaan who, on several occasions, offered hospitality to Abraham in his oak grove (near the present-day city of Hebron). We know that oak trees were sacred to the Canaanites. This story recounts an apparition of God in the grove belonging to Mambré. But, in reality, this is not the first time that God has spoken to Abraham. Since chapter 12, the book of Genesis has told us about God's repeated appearances and promises to Abraham. But, for the moment, nothing has happened yet, and Abraham and Sarah are about to die without children. It is often said that God chose a people, but in reality, God first chose a man—and, moreover, a man without children. And it was to this man without a future (at least according to human criteria) that God made an unprecedented promise: "I will make you a great nation... All the families of the earth will be blessed in you" (Gen 12:2-3). To this old, sterile man, he said: "Count the stars, if you can... So shall your descendants be." Based solely on this seemingly impossible promise, Abraham decided to stake his entire life. Abraham did not doubt that God would keep his word, but he was well aware of the obvious obstacle: he and Sarah were sterile, or at least they believed themselves to be, since at the ages of seventy-five and sixty-five they were still childless. Abraham had imagined solutions: God promised me descendants, but, after all, my servant is like a son to me. "Lord God, what will you give me? I am going away childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus" (Gen 15:2). But God refused: 'This man shall not be your heir, but one born to you shall be your heir' (Gen 15:4). A few years later, when God spoke again of that birth, Abraham could not help but laugh (Gen 17:17); then he thought of another solution: it could be my real son, Ishmael, the one I had from my union (authorised by Sarah) with Hagar. "Can a man of a hundred years old have a son? And can Sarah, who is ninety years old, still give birth? ... May Ishmael live before you!" But once again God refused: "No! Your wife Sarah will bear you a son, and you shall call him Isaac" (Gen 17:19). A promise is a promise. The passage we read this Sunday presupposes this long history of a twenty-five-year covenant, according to the Bible. The event takes place near the oak of Mamre. Three men appeared to Abraham and accepted his hospitality. Let us stop here. Contrary to what one might think, the central point of the text is not the generous hospitality offered by Abraham! At that time, in that civilisation, it was nothing extraordinary, however exemplary it might have been. The author's message, what arouses his admiration and prompts him to write in order to pass it on to future generations, is much greater! The unthinkable has happened: for the first time in human history, God himself has become a guest of a man! No one doubts that the three distinguished visitors represent God. Reading the text is a little difficult for us, because it is not clear whether there is only one visitor or more than one: Abraham looked up and saw three men... he said: My Lord, if I have found favour in your eyes... go and fetch some water, wash your feet... I will fetch a morsel of bread and you can refresh yourselves... Where is Sarah, your wife? I will return to you in a year's time... your wife will have a son. In reality, the author wrote this much later, based on different accounts. He combined all these sources into one, harmonising everything as much as possible. And because he wanted to avoid any appearance of polytheism, he took care to reiterate several times that there is only one God. At the time, the author could not have imagined that this was the Trinity, but Abraham certainly recognised the divine presence in those three visitors without hesitation. God, therefore – for it is undoubtedly Him – made Himself a guest in Abraham's house. And to tell him what? To confirm the unheard-of plan He had for him: next year, at this same time, old Sarah will have a son. And from this son would be born a people who would be the instrument of divine blessing. Sarah, who was eavesdropping behind the curtain, could not help but laugh: they were both so old, and the traveller replied with a phrase that we should never forget: 'Is anything too hard for the Lord?' (Gen 18:14). And the impossible happened: Isaac was born, the first link in the promised lineage, as numerous as the stars in the sky.

*Responsorial Psalm (14/15, 1a. 2-3a, 3bc-4ab, 4d-5)

The psalms were all composed to accompany a liturgical action during pilgrimages and feasts at the Temple in Jerusalem, and the Psalter could be compared to the hymnals we find in our churches. Here, the pilgrim arrives at the gates of the Temple and asks the question: am I worthy to enter? The answer is found in the Book of Leviticus: 'Be holy, because I am holy' (19:2), and this psalm draws the consequences: those who wish to enter the Temple (the 'house' of God) must behave in a manner worthy of the holy God. 'Who shall dwell on your holy mountain? (v. 1) The answer is simple: "He who walks blamelessly, practises justice and speaks the truth that is in his heart" (v. 2), and the following verses clarify this: be righteous, be true, do no wrong to anyone. Ultimately, all this recalls the Decalogue (Ex 20) and the identikit of the righteous man drawn up by Ezekiel (Ez 18:5-9). Micah takes up the question of our psalm exactly and develops it (Mic 6:6-8), as does his contemporary Isaiah (Is 33:15-16). A little later, Zechariah also feels the need to repeat it (Zech 8:16-17). Reading these texts, which I am only mentioning but which are worth meditating on, we understand how essential it is to wait for the intervention of the One who can transform our hearts of stone into hearts of flesh, as Ezekiel says. Everything helps us to reread this psalm by applying it to Jesus, whom the Gospels describe as 'meek and humble of heart' (Mt 11:29), attentive to the excluded: lepers (Mk 1), the adulterous woman (Jn 8), the sick and demon-possessed, Jews and pagans. Jesus is completely foreign to the logic of profit and does not even have a place to lay his head. Jesus helps us to re-read verse 3: "He does not slander with his tongue, he does not harm his neighbour, he does not cast insults at his neighbour," giving it a new dimension and teaching us in the parable of the Good Samaritan that the circle of our "neighbours" can be expanded to infinity. Verse 4: "The wicked are despicable in his eyes" may seem out of place amid all these beautiful sentiments: but it probably indicates a commitment to fidelity because the "wicked" are the unfaithful, the idolaters, and the pilgrim must reject all forms of idolatry, for which reason fidelity to the one God has been a constant struggle in Israel. Finally, the reference to the demands of the Covenant is a catechesis addressed to pilgrims, not a condition for entering the Temple, because otherwise no one could ever have entered except Jesus of Nazareth, the only Holy One.

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Colossians (1:24-28)

"I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church." How are we to understand the first sentence of this text? Is there something lacking in Christ's sufferings? Or are there other sufferings that we must endure in order to "compensate" in some way? In truth, there are still sufferings to endure, as Paul affirms, but it is not a matter of completing a measure. It is not the result of a divine demand, but rather a necessity due to the hardness of the human heart. What remains to be suffered are the difficulties, opposition, and even persecution that every work of evangelisation encounters. Jesus said this clearly, both before and after his Passion and Resurrection. If the Son of Man had to suffer greatly, rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the scribes, put to death and rise again on the third day (cf. Lk 9:22), a similar fate would befall his disciples: They will deliver you to courts and synagogues, you will be beaten, you will appear before governors and kings because of me, and this will be an opportunity for you to bear witness, but first, the Gospel must be proclaimed to all nations (cf. Mk 13:9-10). The warning is that until the mission is accomplished, the disciple must continue to labour, face difficulties, even persecution, certainly not by divine decree, as if God desired the suffering of his children and counted their tears, because such an assumption would distort the image of the God of tenderness and compassion that Moses himself had already discovered. For Paul, there are two characteristics that qualify the disciple of Christ: imitation of the suffering divine Master and proclamation of the 'mystery' (v. 26). The first characteristic is described in this difficult opening verse, and St Augustine applies this participation in the sufferings of Christ to all Christians who suffer so that the whole community may be purified from evil. The second characteristic is proclamation, the missionary commitment whose content is 'the mystery', that is, the plan of salvation revealed in Christ. For the work of evangelisation, God calls collaborators because he does not want to act without us. However, the world refuses to listen to the Word and resists with all its might the spread of the Gospel, an opposition that goes as far as persecuting and suppressing the martyrs, who are inconvenient witnesses. This is exactly what Paul is experiencing, imprisoned for speaking too much about Jesus of Nazareth. In his letters to the young Christian communities, he often encourages his readers to accept, in turn, the inevitable persecution (cf. 1 Thess 3:3). Peter also says the same thing: "Resist, standing firm in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are being experienced by your brothers and sisters throughout the world" (1 Pet 5:9-10).  Therefore, we must not give up and we must proclaim Christ, despite everything, "admonishing everyone and teaching them with all wisdom, so that we may present everyone perfect in Christ" (v. 28). Christ began the work of proclamation, and it is our task to bring it to completion. In this way, the Church grows little by little as the Body of Christ. In the First Letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor 12), the image of the body was used to speak of the harmony among the members within each local Church. Here, however, Paul's vision broadens and contemplates the universal Church, the great body of which Christ is the head. This mystery, God's plan, has been revealed to Christians and becomes for them an inexhaustible source of joy and hope: "Christ in you, him, the hope of glory!" (v. 27) and it is the amazement at the presence of Christ in their midst that transforms believers into witnesses. Then we understand better the opening sentence of today's text: I find joy in the sufferings I endure for you, for what is lacking in Christ's sufferings, I complete in my flesh, for the sake of his body, which is the Church.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (10:38-42)

"Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (Mt 6:33): this is perhaps the best commentary on Jesus' lesson in the house of Martha and Mary, a story exclusive to the evangelist Luke that immediately follows the parable of the Good Samaritan. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem with his disciples, an opportunity for him to give them many instructions, offering points of reference to help them remain faithful to their vocation to follow him. He first recommended to his disciples on mission that they accept hospitality (cf. Lk 9:4; 10:5-9) and now he willingly enters this house in Bethany, which he knew well. We should avoid contrasting Martha, the active one, with Mary, the contemplative one, because the evangelist seems rather to focus on the disciples' relationship with the Lord, as can be seen from the context and the repetition of the term 'Lord', which appears three times: Mary sat at the Lord's feet... Martha said, 'Lord, don't you care? The Lord answered her... The insistent use of this term indicates that the relationship described by Luke between Jesus and the two sisters, Martha and Mary, should not be judged according to human criteria of 'good behaviour', but according to what the Master wishes to teach his disciples. Here he invites us to discern what is the 'better part', that is, the essential and indispensable attitude in the life and mission of Christians. The two women welcome the Lord with all their attention: Martha is absorbed in many tasks related to serving, Mary entertains the guest by listening to him and does not miss a word. It cannot be said that one is active and the other contemplative: both, in their own way, are totally focused on him. The evangelist focuses on Jesus who is speaking, even though we are not told what he is saying, while Mary, 'sitting at the Lord's feet', listens with the attitude of a disciple, allowing herself to be taught (cf. Is 50). Martha protests: 'Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to serve you alone? Tell her to help me'. And here Jesus utters a phrase that has caused much ink to flow: "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things." Jesus does not reproach Martha for her desire to welcome him well because, in the culture of hospitality (especially in the East), hospitality meant preparing a good meal: "kill the fatted calf." Martha's agitation and restlessness inspire Jesus to give a lesson that is useful for all his disciples because it goes to the heart of the matter: "Only one thing is needed," that is, everything is useful if we do not forget "the better part," that is, the essential. In life, we must all be both Martha and Mary, but we must be careful not to confuse our priorities. Jesus will take up this lesson again later, in a more extensive way (Lk 12:22-32), which, however, the liturgy does not always propose. I would therefore like to recall it here: "Do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. Life is worth more than food, and the body more than clothing... Now, if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, people of little faith! Therefore, do not seek what you will eat or drink, and do not be anxious. It is the pagans of the world who seek all these things, but your Father knows that you need them. Seek rather his Kingdom, and all the rest will be given to you in addition." Jesus warns us against the risk that our daily concerns will prevent us from listening to his word, which is "the better part". In dedicating ourselves to service like Martha, we must avoid forgetting that it is always God who takes care of us and not the other way around. We can paraphrase Jesus' words as follows: Martha, you are busy and agitated in welcoming me, doing many useful things, but the best way is to know that it is I who want to do things for you, so listen to me.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

Jn 15:1-8(.9-11)

The allegory of the vine and the branches describes the Presence of the Lord in the midst of His own. He is the source of intimate life and works.

The imperative to believe in Him (c.14) becomes a requirement to ‘abide’ in Him [cf. Jn 6:56: Eucharistic theme of the ‘one body’].

Jesus uses the image of the vine and the branches to convey a teaching on familiarity with Him and fraternity among disciples, illustrating the profound bond.

Intimate union, common nourishment, solidarity, continuity of the friendship, require careful and constant work, including «cutting and cleaning» because not all shoots and sprouts bear fruitfulness.

But beware: divine Love is an impulse that demands that we “allow ourselves to be carried”. It drags; it takes us and becomes nourishing Sap. It invests us, purifying us.

It’s not a dimension to be understood as an “effort” (basically ours) but as a... being grasped and becoming involved in the motion of the life of Grace.

Jesus invites us to take care of the codes of interiority: to take from them the resolute impulse to which we entrust our choices, and which has already guided us to grow.

In the Gospel passage the Creator-peasant «cuts and purifies», to rekindle this personal ‘understanding’.

Jesus speaks of «the Vine the real one» (v.1): He alone is the authentic Bud of the People planted by the Father.

It means that deviant teachings were inculcated around, and false “vines” were planted or displayed [like the fabulous one filled with golden pampins, on the door of the inner Sanctuary of the Jerusalem’s Temple].

The lifeblood does not flow from riches, nor from doctrines and disciplines - not even from the great, impressive magnificence of the old cult.

And the farmer’s interest is that the Vine brings more and more «Fruit»: Love, nothing else.

Christ's «abiding» in the disciples, His ‘union’ with each one, is essential to live the same divine life on earth.

Faith-love ‘incorporates’ and is contagious.

Where it meets with resistance, it is precisely this obstacle that will incite it to greater purity, hence to more vigour (v.2).

For this reason He first «Cuts off» what was lush in the past but would no longer give anything.

We realize this in the time of the crisis, which unmasks and overturns nagging and importunate positions that deaden development.

Then he «Purifies» (v.2: Greek text) i.e. He proceeds, as the good peasant does, to a second light pruning of the shoots of the vine; by detaching those that absorb sap but thicken too much and lack proper vitality [so as not to deprive the propulsive points of nourishment].

This passage has often been interpreted as an invitation par excellence to embrace a spirituality of 'pruning' [the term in the Gospels does not exist] that makes no sense from the perspective of Faith, that is, of Love.

In traditional religions it is the subject - the «branch» - that has to focus on himself, to identify the shortcomings, defects and vices, and “lopping”, "trimming” them.

Instead, only the Father-farmer knows how to recognize the harmful elements, those parasitic ones and without a future, that are not worth continuing to support.

Life in Christ does not settle us on an image of sterile external perfection, which God is not interested in.

A spontaneous Power, the mystery of vocational roots, the multi-layered work of a radical essence, innate, that accompanies us, are able to feed and correct any geometry at the desk.

It’s the Father that takes care of the hindrances, not the individual branch or other branches.

In this way - by giving up external dirigisme - we will not produce irreparable damage.

To internalize and live the message:

Which Lymph satiates you, the external one? What mundane, normal geometry do you follow? What is your idea of improvement in the Faith?

Mysticism of Joy: being oneself, sudden Revelation

Resilience not teeth clenched, and Resemblance not possessive

(Jn 15:9-11)

Jesus has just used the image of the «vineyard» to configure the “character” of his new people and the ‘circulation of life’ that unites them.

«Life» of particular intensity and temperament.

The allegory of the Vine and the branches is now translated into existential terms.

The propagation of divine dynamism in us initiates a particular and accentuated ‘current of love’.

The fate of the «withered» branch [deprived of the Spirit's lymph] and cut off, is the sense of futility and distress (v.6).

But - to the Vine - even cutting, cleansing and purifying (v.2) do not prevent it from producing abundant and juicy clusters.

A new song, finally free of dissociation.

In fact, the discomfort brings to the bower an even more pronounced flow, an itinerary of character, and a dilation.

The farmer is the Father (v.1) who cuts and prunes in order to the greater vitality of the field.

Here we linger, surrendering our “predictions” to Grace - in the paradoxical protection of personal concentration.

Let us leave it to Him to bring down the infecund disguises.

In doing so, it will be the wise Farmer who will extinguish the dispersive patterns and turn on our ‘voice’ - the one that belongs to us.

The energy of the metamorphosis that will expand from critical situations will make us «be» instead of “look like” [outside].

From within, the ‘gaze in state of search’ will be shifted and made essential, making room for the virtue of one’s own ‘roots’.

Gradually, the play that required sterile forcing will be skilfully dismantled - so that we do not close ourselves off in preconceptions.

Apparent strength will have to give way to real strength.

Along the Journey, everyone will accept another self-image; without detaching themselves from living together.

Holding hard will leave room for flexibility, for vocational melody.

Thus, making space for the authentic way of being.

By learning to perceive well and rely on all that providentially peeks out, elastic responses will spring forth.

Personal Gaiety will pour into the soul - not the fatuous one of euphoria or exaltation, transient of many leaves.

Because, by not having to hide other preferences, a different identifying character, or our own frailties, we will become stronger.

Without having to control the situation all the time.

The intimate Merriment that will activate us will be the fruit of a new awareness, which finally contributes to the ‘catholic’ conviviality of differences.

Consciousness that combines the divine proposal of non-possessive Similarity with our ability to welcome ourselves - and not fighting unnaturally.

Even in vulnerabilities. Despite the different tastes around.

An ‘ad personam’ vital wave that becomes uncommon resilience, and different Happiness.

As we remain in the Father-Son circulation of love, we will be enveloped by an intoxication that intuits the meaning and uniqueness of our Seed.

This changes the way we see life, relationships, suffering, and Joy.

Laying down the efforts and brooding, encountering the enigmas and unknown sides, here is the Wisdom that dwells within us.

[st Bridget of Sweden, July 23]

Jn 15:1-8 (.9-11)

The allegory of the vine and the branches describes the Presence of the Lord in the midst of His own. He is the source of intimate life and works.

The imperative to believe in Him (c.14) becomes a requirement to abide in Him [cf. Jn 6:56: Eucharistic theme of the "one body"].

The vine is a plant that demands much attention. In the biblical texts it is taken as a symbol of God's care for his people, and conversely its destruction depicted the ancient national calamities.

Jesus uses the image of the vine and the branches to convey a teaching on familiarity with Him and fraternity between disciples, illustrating the profound bond.

Intimate union, common nourishment, solidarity and continuity of the bond require careful and constant work, including cutting and mowing, because not all the shoots and sprouts bear fruitfulness.

But beware: divine Love is an impulse that demands that we allow ourselves to be carried. It drags; it takes us in and becomes nourishing sap. It purifies us.

It is not a dimension to be understood as an effort (basically ours) but as a... Be grasped and become involved in the motion of the life of Grace.

In comparison with the allusions of the First Testament, one notices a substitution: although the vine-dresser continues to represent the Father, the vine is no longer a figure of the people, but of Jesus.

And 'bearing fruit' is a frequent expression that indicates only Love: the true result that God expects, the unique work to be achieved in all our works.

Christ's abiding in the disciples, his union with each one, is essential to living the same divine life on earth.

Faith-love incorporates and is contagious. Where it meets with resistance, it is precisely this obstacle that will incite it to greater purity, hence to greater vigour (v.2).

The man, on the other hand, left to himself does not prolong the influence of Christ; he does not overcome the barriers of nomenclature and the normal.

He who imagines himself self-sufficient - by breaking the union - cracks the Mystery that envelops him, and will fall prey to his own festering clusters.

But it is also true that a vine-love is intrusive by its very nature: it blatantly demonstrates a full willingness to express... love (fruit, taste, life).

In short, if mission is marking time today, it is because it has already lost its dynamic vitality: adaptation plans or narratives and external reform will not suffice to resurrect it.

It is the vital encounter that brings out the waves of strength and friendliness.

Over the years, the Vocation has guided and led us to a personal way of being and a characterising sphere of relationships.

Again, the Lord continues to call, so that by entering into his language [unrepeatable, commensurate with each story and sensitivity] we are removed from conditioning that does not belong to us.

Jesus invites us to take care of the codes of interiority, and from them take the resolute impulse to which we entrust our choices and which has already guided us to grow.

From the dawn of our history and personality, He alone continues to be the intimate and gushing source of development - even of the footprints we had withheld.

If we had relied on externality, the soul would have dispersed its sap, losing the essence that belonged to it and specified it.

In this way, we would not have encountered ourselves and would not have been nourished by the more efficient constituent resources, which now together give balance, greater completeness, the ability to judge in a situation, amiable transparency.

One becomes oneself, one becomes a well-rounded person, one becomes a missionary, in the same way: by understanding that a lymph, a stimulus, flows through one's veins, which comes from One who knows more than us and opinions.

There are plants in the undergrowth, others towering up; still others, sneaking into the empty areas and mysteriously left to the full light are growing at a much faster rate than those that have been planted and installed for a long time - habitués to the point of seeming homologated.

The magic of creation - vines, shoots - speaks of another realm, of a Logos that correlates with us and wisely directs its flows and life forces.

This is what happens in the Spirit, which internalises, calls, nourishes, transmits balance or prophecy, and generates the astonishment of the whole and uniqueness.

How did those seeds (in the example I have in front of me, a double pine and a single pine) take root in precisely the right, intermediate and characteristic places - both aesthetically and in terms of utility, density and breadth? Not even I could have thought of them so neatly arranged; so aligned in perfect proportion, measure, volume and scale.

Only the Hidden Ally sees the whole, the structure, the functionality and the details of our fibres well.

He knows where to lead, and how to nourish us to regain the 'I', the qualitative unity of being.

He does this by sowing, injecting, regenerating, calibrating the energy of his and our Dream. At a convenient pace, and taking care of the rational utilitarian banality of our projects. 

Unceasingly refocusing personal bearing, self-awareness, spontaneous inclination.

As well as detaching the soul from those who in a thousand ways want to leave us in ignorance of the Creatural Way, to hold on to the commonplaces and totems of their habitual, unnerving world.

This is while the Spirit separates our multifaceted thinking from false one-sided guides [old-fashioned and narrow-minded, or hysterical and sophisticated, but disembodied].

Those at the top of the class perhaps stalk, chase, and plagiarise, distracting us from the non-conformist Dialogue with the unrepeatable task of personal life.

In the Gospel passage, the Creator-farmer cuts and purifies, to reconnect.

Jesus speaks of "Vine the true one" (v.1): He alone is the authentic seed of the People planted by the Father.

It means that deviant teachings were inculcated around, and false vines were buried or displayed - like the fabulous one filled with golden vines on the door of the inner sanctum of the Temple of Jerusalem.

The lifeblood does not flow from riches, nor from doctrines and disciplines - not even from the grand, impressive magnificence of the old cult. 

Not even from spineless, à la page fantasies.

The interest of the Farmer is that the Vine bears more and more Fruit, that is, Love, nothing else.

In such a trajectory, the Peasant who knows what to do, "cuts" (v.2) [also so that there are no ropes, no organised ruffians. They who absorb the energies of his people [milked and sheared] without the slightest thought of communicating - in turn - authentic life to others.

First it 'cuts' what was lush in the past but would no longer give anything.

We realise this in the time of the crisis, which unmasks and overturns nagging and importunate positions that deaden development.

Then he "purifies" (v.2: Greek text) i.e. he proceeds, as the good peasant does, to a second light pruning of the shoots of the vine; detaching those that absorb sap but thicken too much and do not have the right vitality [so as not to take nourishment away from the propulsive points].

This passage has often been interpreted as an invitation par excellence to embrace a spirituality of 'pruning' [the term in the Gospels does not exist] that makes no sense from the perspective of Faith, that is, of Love.

In ancient religions, it is the subject - the 'branch' - that has to focus on itself, identify its shortcomings, faults and vices, and 'prune' them.

Instead, only the Father-farmer knows how to identify the harmful elements, those parasitic and without a future, which are not worth continuing to support.

He acts in the reality of our journey, as one would do with an antiquated and intimately corrupt papier-mâché construction [as well as, with fashionable fantasies, which lead to emptiness].

Life in Christ does not concern itself with external limits; on the contrary, it avoids making the faults [renegades!] of the spiritual life protagonists.

Such a configuration would be obsessive, inconclusive, because settled on an image of sterile 'perfection' that God is not interested in.

Rather, it will be an astonishment to observe how in the path of Faith precisely the uncertain souls, their unsteady steps and sides considered dark, can hide the true Pearls of the world.

Spontaneous power, the mystery of images that spring from the depths of vocational roots and reactivate energies; the multi-layered work of a radical, innate essence that accompanies us [immanent being and knows more about it than we do] are energies all capable of nourishing and correcting any geometry at the table.

How not to produce irreparable damage? It yields to external dirigisme.

The impediments are taken care of by the Father, not by the individual branch, nor by other branches - veterans, experts, veterans that is.

Though higher, bigger... elected to life, they would not provide the right vital mood, nor organic bonding: they would only present us with buried contents, and the bill.

To internalise and live the message:

Which lymph satiates you, the external one?

What worldly, normal geometry do you follow?

What is your idea of improvement in the Faith?

Mysticism of Joy: being oneself, sudden revelation

Resilience not gritted teeth, and Resemblance not possessiveness

(Jn 15:9-11)

"Abide in love, my love [...] If my commandments you keep, you will abide in my love [...] I have told you these things so that the joy that is mine may be in you and your joy may be full."

Jesus just used the image of the vineyard to configure the character of his new people and the circulation of life that unites them.

Life of special intensity and temperament.

The allegory of the vine and the branches is now translated into existential terms.

The propagation of divine dynamism in us initiates a particular and accentuated current of love.

The Lord does not ask to be loved, but to receive (before transfusing) God's way - the Gift that descends from the Father and from Him.The fate of the withered branch [deprived of the sap of the Spirit] and cut off is the sense of futility and anguish (v.6).

But - in the Vineyard - even the cuts, castings, cleanings and purifications (v.2) that life imposes do not prevent it from producing abundant and juicy clusters.

A new song, finally free of dissociation.

In fact, discomfort brings an even more pronounced flow to the bower, a walk of character, and a dilation.

It is the liberating opportunity that re-actualises being, and can overflow.

He wants to bring us to the house that belongs to us, not into a territory of chronicity [nailed to the yoke of the canons].

The farmer is the Father (v.1) who cuts and trims the vine of useless shoots - though they too appear green (v.2) - in order to increase the vitality of the field.

Here we linger, surrendering our forecasts to Grace - in the paradoxical protection of personal concentration.

Let us leave it to Him to bring down the infecund disguises.

In this way, it will be the wise Farmer who extinguishes the dispersive patterns and ignites our voice - the voice that belongs to us.

The energy of metamorphosis that will expand from critical situations will make us be, instead of look like [outside].

From within, the searching gaze will be shifted and made essential, leaving room for the virtue of one's own roots.

Gradually the act that required sterile forcing will be skilfully dismantled - so that we do not close ourselves off in preconceptions.

Apparent strength will have to give way to real strength.

By Way, everyone will accept another self-image; without detaching themselves from living together.

Holding on will give way to flexibility, to vocational melody.

Thus, making way for the authentic way of being.

As we learn to take a good look and rely on all that providentially appears, elastic answers will spring forth.

Personal Joy will pour into the soul - not the fatuous one of euphoria or exaltation, transient of the many leaves [to be e.g. like the others; at all costs 'safe', accompanied or crowded].

Because by not having to hide other preferences, a different identifying character, or our own frailties, we will become stronger.

Without always having to control the situation.

The intimate joy that will activate us will be the fruit of a new awareness, which finally contributes to the 'catholic' conviviality of differences.

Awareness that combines the divine proposal of non-possessive similarity with our capacity to welcome ourselves - not to struggle unnaturally.

Even in vulnerability. Despite the different tastes around.

An ad personam life-wave that becomes uncommon resilience, and different Happiness.

The experience of fullness, of correspondence in understanding the meaning of one's being, is an impossible task in terms of both capacity and project.

Or of cerebral predictions, normalised expectations, intentions of perfection. That would be a grave commandment.

By forcing, by not laying down mental models, by not stepping back a little in the induced thoughts, the feeling of a human being's condition on earth as a conflicting event, woven with restlessness - unfulfilled, tragic, absurd - would finally prevail.

Taking possession of God is not the result of any expectation, nor of emotions, situations on command, but of letting oneself be saved: being introduced into a saved life - which sometimes comes suddenly, always unexpectedly.

Loving (even) God cannot be a devout initiative: it is only an ungritted response to an unthinking and unprepared Manifestation, which precedes and astounds the religious, personal identification of the world.

By remaining in the Father-Son circulation of love, we will be enveloped by an intoxication that intuits the meaning and uniqueness of our seed.

It changes the way we see life, relationships, suffering, and Joy.

Laying down the efforts and brooding, encountering the enigmas and unknown sides, the Wisdom that inhabits us emerges.

To internalise and live the message:

What sap satiates you, the external one?

What is your idea of improvement and Happiness?

What is your existential awareness of Revelation?

If we consider these beati and the great throng of those who have been canonized and beatified, we can understand what it means to live as branches of Christ, the true vine, and to bear fruit. Today’s Gospel puts before us once more the image of this climbing plant, that spreads so luxuriantly in the east, a symbol of vitality and a metaphor for the beauty and dynamism of Jesus’ fellowship with his disciples and friends – with us.

In the parable of the vine, Jesus does not say: “You are the vine”, but: “I am the vine, you are the branches” (Jn 15:5). In other words: “As the branches are joined to the vine, so you belong to me!
But inasmuch as you belong to me, you also belong to one another.” This belonging to each other and to him is not some ideal, imaginary, symbolic relationship, but – I would almost want to say – a biological, life-transmitting state of belonging to Jesus Christ. Such is the Church, this communion of life with Jesus Christ and for one another, a communion that is rooted in baptism and is deepened and given more and more vitality in the Eucharist. “I am the true vine” actually means: “I am you and you are I” – an unprecedented identification of the Lord with us, with his Church.

On the road to Damascus, Christ himself asked Saul, the persecutor of the Church: “Why do you persecute me?” (Acts 9:4). With these words the Lord expresses the common destiny that arises from his Church’s inner communion of life with himself, the risen one. He continues to live in his Church in this world. He is present among us, and we with him. “Why do you persecute me?” It is ultimately at Jesus that persecution of his Church is directed. At the same time, this means that when we are oppressed for the sake of our faith, we are not alone: Jesus Christ is beside us and with us.

Once again, Jesus says in the parable, and I quote: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser” (Jn 15:1), and he goes on to explain that the vinedresser reaches for his knife, cuts off the withered branches and prunes the fruit-bearing ones, so that they bring forth more fruit. Expressed in terms of the image from the prophet Ezekiel that we heard in the first reading, God wants to take the dead heart of stone out of our breast and give us a living heart of flesh (cf. Ez 36:26), a loving heart, a heart of gentleness and peace. He wants to bestow new life upon us, full of vitality. Christ came to call sinners. It is they who need the doctor, not the healthy (cf. Lk 5:31f.). Hence, as the Second Vatican Council expresses it, the Church is the “universal sacrament of salvation” (Lumen Gentium, 48), existing for sinners, for us, in order to open up to us the path of conversion, healing and life. That is the Church’s great perennial mission, entrusted to her by Christ.

Many people see only the outward form of the Church. This makes the Church appear as merely one of the many organizations within a democratic society, whose criteria and laws are then applied to the task of evaluating and dealing with such a complex entity as the “Church”. If to this is added the sad experience that the Church contains both good and bad fish, wheat and darnel, and if only these negative aspects are taken into account, then the great and beautiful mystery of the Church is no longer seen.

It follows that belonging to this vine, the “Church”, is no longer a source of joy. Dissatisfaction and discontent begin to spread, when people’s superficial and mistaken notions of “Church”, their “dream Church”, fail to materialize! Then we no longer hear the glad song “Thanks be to God who in his grace has called me into his Church” that generations of Catholics have sung with conviction.

But let us return to the Gospel. The Lord continues thus: “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me ... for apart from me [i.e. separated from me, or outside me] you can do nothing” (Jn 15:4f.).

Every one of us is faced with this choice. The Lord reminds us how much is at stake as he continues his parable: “If a man does not abide in me, he is cast forth as a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire and burned” (Jn 15:6). In his commentary on this text, Saint Augustine says: “The branch is suitable only for one of two things, either the vine or the fire: if it is not in the vine, its place will be in the fire; and that it may escape the latter, may it have its place in the vine” (In Ioan. Ev. Tract. 81:3 [PL 35, 1842]).

The decision that is required of us here makes us keenly aware of the fundamental significance of our life choices. But at the same time, the image of the vine is a sign of hope and confidence. Christ himself came into this world through his incarnation, to be our root. Whatever hardship or drought befall us, he is the source that offers us the water of life, that feeds and strengthens us. He takes upon himself all our sins, anxieties and sufferings and he purifies and transforms us, in a way that is ultimately mysterious, into good branches that produce good wine. In such times of hardship we can sometimes feel as if we ourselves were in the wine-press, like grapes being utterly crushed. But we know that if we are joined to Christ we become mature wine. God can transform into love even the burdensome and oppressive aspects of our lives. It is important that we “abide” in Christ, in the vine. The evangelist uses the word “abide” a dozen times in this brief passage. This “abiding in Christ” characterizes the whole of the parable. In our era of restlessness and lack of commitment, when so many people lose their way and their grounding, when loving fidelity in marriage and friendship has become so fragile and short-lived, when in our need we cry out like the disciples on the road to Emmaus: “Lord, stay with us, for it is almost evening and darkness is all around us!” (cf. Lk 24:29), in this present era, the risen Lord gives us a place of refuge, a place of light, hope and confidence, a place of rest and security. When drought and death loom over the branches, then in Christ we find future, life and joy. In him we always find forgiveness and the opportunity to begin again, to be transformed as we are drawn into his love.

To abide in Christ means, as we saw earlier, to abide in the Church as well. The whole communion of the faithful has been firmly incorporated into the vine, into Christ. In Christ we belong together. Within this communion he supports us, and at the same time all the members support one another. We stand firm together against the storm and offer one another protection. Those who believe are not alone. We do not believe alone, we believe with the whole Church of all times and places, with the Church in heaven and the Church on earth.

The Church, as the herald of God’s word and dispenser of the sacraments, joins us to Christ, the true vine. The Church as “fullness and completion of the Redeemer”, as Pius XII expressed it (Pius XII, Mystici Corporis, AAS 35 [1943] p. 230: “plenitudo et complementum Redemptoris”), is to us a pledge of divine life and mediator of those fruits of which the parable of the vine speaks. Thus the Church is God’s most beautiful gift. Therefore Saint Augustine could say: “as much as any man loves the Church, so much has he the Holy Spirit” (In Ioan. Ev. Tract. 32:8 [PL 35:1646]). With and in the Church we may proclaim to all people that Christ is the source of life, that he exists, that he is the great one for whom we keep watch, for whom we long so much. He gives himself, and thus he gives us God, happiness, and love. Whoever believes in Christ has a future. For God has no desire for what is withered, dead, ersatz, and finally discarded: he wants what is fruitful and alive, he wants life in its fullness and he gives us life in its fullness.

[Pope Benedict, homily in Berlin, 22 September 2011]