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

5th Lent Sunday (year A)  [22 March 2026]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us! This Sunday touches upon the theme of death and of life that does not die. In the face of such fear of dying, may this word of salvation kindle within us the invincible hope of living eternally in God, who is Love

*First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel (37:12–14)

This text is very brief, but it is clear that it forms a single unit: it is framed by two similar expressions; at the beginning, ‘Thus says the Lord God’, and at the end, ‘The word of the Lord’. A frame that is evidently intended to give solemnity to what it encloses. Whenever a prophet deems it necessary to specify that he is speaking on behalf of the Lord, it is because his message is particularly important and difficult to hear. Today’s message is therefore what lies within this framework: a promise repeated twice and addressed to God’s people, for God says “O my people”; on both occasions the promise concerns two points: firstly, “I will open your graves”; secondly, “I will bring you back to the land of Israel”, or “I will let you rest in your own land”, which amounts to the same thing. These expressions allow us to situate the historical context: the people are in exile in Babylon, at the mercy of the Babylonians, annihilated (in the true sense of the word, reduced to nothing), as if dead; this is why God speaks of graves. The expression ‘I will open your graves’ therefore means that God will raise up his people. Reading chapter 37 of the Book of Ezekiel, we see that this brief text follows a vision of the prophet known as ‘the vision of the dry bones’ and provides an explanation of it: the prophet sees a vast army of the dead, lying in the dust; and God says to him: your brothers are so desperate in their exile that they believe themselves to be dead, finished… well, I, God, will raise them up. This entire vision and its explanation thus evoke the captivity of the exiled people and their restoration by God. For the prophet Ezekiel, it is a certainty: the people cannot be wiped out, because God has promised them an eternal Covenant that nothing can destroy; therefore, whatever the defeats, the ruptures, the trials, it is known that the people will survive and regain their land, because this is part of the promise. “I will open your graves… O my people, and bring you back to the land of Israel”: ultimately, there is nothing surprising about these words; Israel has always known that its God is faithful; and the expression “You shall know that I am the Lord” precisely means that it is through his faithfulness to his promises that the true God is recognised. But why repeat almost the same things twice? In reality, the second promise does not merely repeat the first, but expands upon it:  It continues: I will open your graves and bring you out of your tombs and let you rest in your own land, and you shall know that I am the Lord: all this  is a return to the situation prior to the disaster of the Babylonian exile. In this second promise there is much more, something new and never seen before: “I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live”; here the New Covenant is announced: from now on the law of love will no longer be written on tablets of stone, but in hearts. Or, to use another expression of Ezekiel, human hearts will no longer be of stone, but of flesh.

Here there is no room for doubt: the repetition of the phrase “my people” clearly shows that these two promises herald a rebirth, a restoration of the people. This is not a matter of individual resurrection. Individual death did not compromise the future of the people; and for a long time it was the future of the people, and that alone, that mattered. When someone died, it was said that they had fallen asleep with their fathers, without imagining any personal survival; on the contrary, the survival of the people has always been a certainty, because the people are the bearers of God’s promises. To believe in individual resurrection, two elements are required: firstly, an interest in the individual’s fate — something that did not exist at the beginning of biblical history; an interest in one’s personal fate is a later development. Secondly, it is essential to believe in a God who does not abandon you to death. The certainty that God never abandons humanity did not arise suddenly; it developed in step with the concrete events of the history of the chosen people. The historical experience of the Covenant is what nourishes the faith of Israel; it is the experience of a God who frees humanity from all forms of bondage and intervenes ceaselessly to liberate them; a faithful God who never goes back on his word. It is this faith that guides all of Israel’s discoveries; indeed, it is their driving force. Four centuries after Ezekiel, around 165 BC, these two combined elements—faith in a God who continually liberates humanity and the discovery of the value of every human person—led to faith in individual resurrection. It became evident that God would liberate the individual from the most terrible and definitive form of slavery, that of death. This discovery came so late to the Jewish people that, in Christ’s time, it was not yet shared by all: the Sadducees, in fact, were known as those who did not believe in the resurrection. Perhaps, however, Ezekiel’s prophecy might have surpassed his own understanding, without him realising it. The Spirit of God spoke through his mouth, and we might think: Ezekiel did not know how great was what he was proclaiming

*Responsorial Psalm (129/130) 

In the Psalter there is a group of fifteen psalms bearing a particular name: Song of Ascents. Each of them begins with the words ‘Song of Ascents’, which in Hebrew signifies going to Jerusalem on pilgrimage. In the Gospels, moreover, the expression ‘going up to Jerusalem’ occurs several times with the same meaning: it evokes the pilgrimage for the three annual feasts and, in particular, the most important of these, the Feast of Tabernacles. These fifteen psalms therefore accompanied the entire pilgrimage. Even before arriving in Jerusalem, they already foreshadowed the unfolding of the festival. For some, one can even guess at which point in the pilgrimage they were sung; for example, Psalm 121/122 – ‘How joyful I was when they said to me: “We shall go to the house of the Lord”… now our feet stand within your gates, Jerusalem…’ – was probably the psalm of arrival. Psalm 129/130 is one of these Songs of Ascent; it was probably sung during the Feast of Tabernacles as part of a penitential celebration, which is why guilt and forgiveness feature so prominently in the psalm: ‘If you keep track of sins, O Lord, O Lord, who can stand before you?’.  The sinner who pleads here is certain of being forgiven; it is the people who together acknowledge God’s infinite goodness, his tireless faithfulness (his Hesed) and man’s radical inability to respond to the Covenant. These repeated acts of unfaithfulness are experienced as a true spiritual death: “From the depths I cry out to you”, a cry addressed to Him whose very being is Forgiveness: this is the meaning of the expression “with you is forgiveness”. God is Love and is Gift, and the two are one and the same. Now “forgiveness” is nothing other than a gift that goes beyond everything. To forgive means to continue to offer a Covenant, a possible future, beyond the other’s infidelities. Let us recall the story of David: after the killing of Bathsheba’s husband, the prophet Nathan announced God’s forgiveness to him even before David had uttered a single word of repentance or confession. The idea that God always forgives, however, does not please everyone; yet it is undoubtedly one of the central teachings of the Bible, right from the Old Testament. And Jesus forcefully takes up this same teaching: for example, in the parable of the Prodigal Son in the Gospel according to Luke (chapter 15), the father is already out on the road waiting for his son (a sign that he has already forgiven him) and opens his arms to him even before the son has opened his mouth. And the example of God’s totally gratuitous forgiveness was given to us by Jesus himself on the cross: those who were killing him did not utter a single word of repentance, yet he says: ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do’. It is precisely in his forgiveness, says the Bible, that God manifests his power. This too is a great discovery of Israel; consider what the Book of Wisdom states: “Your strength, Lord, is the source of justice… you who possess strength, judge with gentleness and rule us with great indulgence” (Wis 12:16, 18). The certainty of God’s mercy does not breed presumption or indifference towards sin, but humble and amazed gratitude: “With you is forgiveness, so that we may fear you.” This concise formula indicates the believer’s attitude before God, who is nothing but gift and forgiveness. This certainty of forgiveness, always offered beyond all fault, inspires in Israel an attitude of extraordinary hope. Repentant Israel awaits forgiveness “more than the watchmen await the dawn”. “He will redeem Israel from all its sins”: similar expressions recur frequently in biblical texts. They announce to Israel the definitive liberation, the liberation from all the sins of all time. Israel awaits even more: precisely because the people of the Covenant experience their own weakness and ever-recurring sin, but also God’s faithfulness, they await from God himself the definitive fulfilment of his promises. Beyond immediate forgiveness, what they await from age to age is the definitive dawn, which they hope for against all hope, like Abraham: the dawn of the Day of God. All the psalms are permeated by this messianic expectation. Christians know with even greater certainty that our world is moving towards its fulfilment: a fulfilment that has a name, Jesus Christ: “Our soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the dawn”.

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (8:8–11)

“I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live,” announces Ezekiel in the first reading, but from baptism, Saint Paul reminds us here, this is a reality, and he uses a figurative expression: the Spirit of God dwells within you. Taking this literally, one commentator speaks of a change of ownership. We have become the dwelling place of the Spirit: it is he who is now in charge. It would be interesting to ask ourselves, in all areas of our lives, both personal and communal, who is in charge, who is the master of the house within us; or, if we prefer, what is our purpose in life. According to Paul, there are not many alternatives: either we are under the influence of the Spirit, that is, we allow ourselves to be guided by him, or we do not allow ourselves to be inspired by the Spirit, and this he calls being under the influence of the flesh. Being under the influence of the Spirit is easy to understand: simply replace the word ‘Spirit’ with the word ‘Love’, as the Letter to the Galatians demonstrates when explaining the fruits of the Spirit: ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control’ (Gal 5:22–23); in a word, love expressed in all the concrete circumstances of our lives. Paul is the heir to the entire tradition of the prophets: and they all affirm that our relationship with God is realised in the quality of our relationship with others; in the ‘Songs of the Servant’, the Book of Isaiah (chapters 42; 49; 50; 52–53) forcefully asserts that living according to the Spirit of God means loving and serving one’s brothers and sisters. Once life according to the Spirit—that is, life according to love—has been defined, it is easy to understand what Paul means by life according to the flesh: it is the opposite, namely indifference or hatred; in other words, love is turning away from oneself, whilst life under the influence of the flesh is centring on oneself. The question: ‘Who is in charge?’ here becomes ‘Who is the centre of our world?’ And those who are under the influence of the flesh cannot please God, says Paul. On the contrary, Christ is the beloved Son in whom God is well pleased, that is, he is in perfect harmony with God precisely because he too is all love. In this sense, the account of the Temptations, read on the first Sunday of Lent (Matthew chapter 4), is very eloquent because Jesus appears totally centred on God and on his Word and resolutely refuses to focus on his own hunger or even on the demands of his messianic mission. If the text of the temptations is presented to us every year at the start of Lent, it is because Lent is precisely a journey of shifting our focus away from ourselves in order to refocus on God and on others. Later on, in the same Letter to the Romans, Paul says that the Spirit of God makes us children: it is he who prompts us to call God ‘Father’. That which is love within us comes from God; it is our inheritance as children. The Spirit is your life, Paul says again: to put it another way, love is your life. After all, we know from experience that only love is creative. What is not love does not come from God and, precisely because it does not come from God, is destined for death. The great good news of this text is that everything within us that is love comes from God and therefore cannot die. As Paul says: ‘If God raised Jesus from the dead… he will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you’.

From the Gospel according to John (11:1–45)

We have got into the habit of calling this passage the resurrection of Lazarus, but, to tell the truth, it is not the most appropriate term; when we proclaim ‘I believe in the resurrection of the dead and in eternal life’, we mean something quite different. Lazarus’s death was, in a sense, merely a parenthesis in his earthly life; after Jesus’ miracle, his life resumed its ordinary course and was, more or less, the same as before. Lazarus simply had his earthly life extended. His body was not transformed and he had to die a second time; his first death was not what it will be for us, that is, the passage to true life. So one might ask: to what end? In performing this miracle, Jesus took great risks, for he had already drawn far too much attention to himself… and for Lazarus, it was merely a matter of postponing the final appointment. It is St John who answers our question: ‘what was the purpose of this miracle?’ He tells us that it is a very important sign: Jesus reveals himself as the one in whom we have eternal life and in whom we can believe, that is, upon whom we can stake our lives. After all, the chief priests and the Pharisees were not mistaken: they fully understood the gravity of the sign performed by Jesus, for the Gospel of John tells us that many, many began to believe in him precisely because of Lazarus’s resurrection, and it was then that they decided to put him to death. This miracle thus sealed Jesus’ death sentence; thinking about it two thousand years later, it seems paradoxical: being able to restore life deserved death. A sad example of the aberrations to which our certainties can lead… Let us return to the account of what we might call the ‘raising of Lazarus’, because it is not a true resurrection but rather an extension of earthly life. Let us make just two observations. 

First observation: for Jesus, only one thing matters, the glory of God; but to see the glory of God, one must believe (If you believe, you will see the glory of God, he tells Martha). Right from the start of the story, when they tell him: ‘Lord, the one you love is ill’, Jesus replies to the disciples: ‘This illness will not lead to death, but is for the glory of God’, that is, for the revelation of the mystery of God. Faith opens our eyes, removing the blindfold of mistrust that we had placed over our gaze. Second observation: here, faith in the resurrection takes its final step. In Israel, faith in the resurrection appeared late; it was clearly affirmed only in the second century BC, at the time of the persecution by Antiochus Epiphanes, and in Christ’s time it was not yet shared by everyone. Martha and Mary, evidently, are among those who believe in it. But in their minds it is still a resurrection at the end of time; when Jesus says to Martha: “Your brother will rise again”, she replies: “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day”. Jesus, however, corrects her: he is not speaking in the future, but in the present: “I am the resurrection and the life… Whoever believes in me, even if they die, will live; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.” To put it plainly, we sense that the Resurrection is already here.” “I am the resurrection and the life” means that death as separation from God no longer exists: it is overcome in Christ’s resurrection, so that believers, with Paul, can say: “O death, where is your victory?”. Now nothing can separate us from the love of Christ, not even death. The true novelty of this Gospel is not that a dead person returns to life, but that life itself has a face: Jesus. When he says: ‘I am the resurrection and the life’, he is not merely promising a future event; he is affirming that those who live in communion with him are already entering a life that death cannot destroy. Lazarus will emerge from the tomb once more, only to die again; but those united with Christ will never return to the tomb as to a final prison. Biological death becomes a passage, not an end; a threshold, not an abyss. If we live in communion with God — that is, in love — we are already within eternity. For God is not merely the One who gives life: He is Life itself. And that which is united to Life cannot be annihilated.

As Saint Augustine writes: “Do you fear death? Love. Love kills death.”

And again, St Paul, in his Letter to the Romans: “Nothing can separate us from the love of God” (Rom 8:39). Herein lies the heart of the sign of Lazarus: whoever remains in love remains in God, and God remains in him, and this communion knows no end. The true resurrection begins now.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

From above and from below

(Jn 8:21-30)

At the end of the first century, the Jews raised questions concerning the prayerful reading that the disciples of Christ made of the events and the Words of the Master.

The inglorious end of Jesus and His destination posed several questions. The text reiterates that the crucial point was the prejudice of the ever victorious Face of God.

Tare that prevented from recognizing the Father in the Son humiliated by the authorities, and in the sons who had followed Him, equally defeated... but who considered themselves victors - even of the «sin» (v.21)!

Only the sense of the story of Lord sweeps away the void of intimate energy aroused by the perception of the creatural condition - from which the inability to correspond to one's own intimate vocation derives.

Lacerating and bizarre inefficiency, because it is induced and sustained precisely by paradoxically 'worldly' official structures - and by the mentality they themselves spread; a conviction secured over time.

The same term used in the plural [«sins», in a moral sense] underlined and reiterated in verse 24 alludes to the torment inoculated in the soul and life of people, precisely by the "normal" cloak of beliefs.

They enclose the journey of individual exceptional personalities within a useless spasmodic search for imperfections, which are by nature inevitable - with the torment of comparisons to external models.

Result: women and men whose lives stagnate in the strident attempt to overcome the genuine contradictions of their own faces that complete us, with extreme and vacuous expenditure of virtues.

In this sense, the veterans, experienced and well-known leaders, found it difficult to understand the meaning of the elevation of Christ.

The authentic Messiah was raised to the "right" of the Eternal and on the Cross - highest Revelation of the «I Am»: Emmanuel in his Personality, Wisdom, Uniqueness, Future and already Presence.

The Crucifix that in Jn 19:30 and 20:22 hands over the Spirit without delay, radiates the image of the divine "position".  And through the bond of Faith he makes us live in his Contact; which is of debasement and descent, but of humanizing weight and relief-promotion (vv. 28-29).

What we also experience in the «Son of man» within this founding relationship with the Father becomes explicit precisely in a Confluence, Core, Active Bridge, and Hinge.

Liberation and Salvation that allows to treasure pitfalls, paradoxes, and upheavals.

The Messiah works in a reversal of ​​«glory», of climbing, and dominance.

He acts in the contrast of principle [which seems devoutly incomprehensible] between two «worlds» - the self-styled ‘best’ of which seeks redemption in “above”.

But creates dismay. It still does not know how bringing life from death.

«Dying in sin» means closing oneself in the criteria that exclude true honor: that of the total gift of oneself - for a further and widespread outcome.

To the question «Who are you?» Christ responds by giving a full Life appointment, on Calvary.

[Tuesday 5th wk. in Lent, March 24, 2026]

Raised up and lifted up from themselves, from above and from below

(Jn 8:21-30)

At the end of the first century, the Jews raised quite a few questions concerning the prayerful reading that Christ's disciples made of the events and words of the Master - considered to be the expression of the Word of God and the summit of salvation history.

The theme of misunderstanding about the origin and mission of the Son is dramatised in a controversy in which each side stands on a different ground: belonging to the world of Faith, or to that of religion that encloses the Mystery in what is already known.

To help the faithful deepen their understanding of the Lord's call, in the Johannine communities of Asia Minor, the transmission through catechesis of the extent (and preciousness) of involvement in the life of Faith took place through question-and-answer dialogues.

The inglorious end of Jesus and his destination posed various questions. The text reiterates that the crucial point was the prejudice of the always victorious Face of God.

Tara that prevented them from recognising him in the Son humiliated by the authorities, and in the sons who had followed him, equally defeated... but who considered themselves victorious.

Compared to the world around them, Christians oriented their gestures and words without banal closed-mindedness, to which we too would sometimes like to conform.

And even today - thanks to this drive, Motive and Drive - it is only because of this conviction that we are able to acquire a different vision, and overcome sin.

The term in the singular here in v.21 [cf. "the sin of the world" in Jn 1:29] does not refer to small daily transgressions, but to the (devout) humbling of unbridgeable distances [compared to the crowning of being].

Only the meaning of Jesus' story sweeps away the emptiness of intimate energy aroused by the perception of the creaturely condition - from which descends the inability to correspond to one's intimate vocation.

A lacerating and bizarre inefficiency, because it is induced and sustained precisely by official structures that are paradoxically "worldly" - and by the mentality spread by them, as well as ensured over time.

The same term used in the plural ["sins", in the moral sense] emphasised and reiterated in v.24 alludes to the torment inoculated in people's souls and lives, precisely by the "normal" cloak of pious convictions.

They enclose the path of individual exceptional personalities within a useless, spasmodic search for imperfections, by nature inevitable - with the torment of comparisons with external models.

The result: women and men whose lives stagnate in the strident attempt to overcome the genuine contradictions of their own faces that complete us, with extreme and vacuous expenditure of virtue.

In the sphere of tradition, or rather of custom, in order to identify, correct, and reaffirm (other people's) norms every day, souls are subjected to a regime of retreats that affect both summary conduct and the leading lines of personality.

Such forms of 'government' that are not very inclusive close non-opportunist vocations within themselves, with serious social damage as well: a typical outcome of a climate of people who naively rely on external, mannerist, ethical or intimist ideologies.

In the graniticity of the principles of domination of the beghine structures of sin over individual affairs, the attitude of suspicion of deviance makes the lives of humble and more sensitive people swampy.

Here one risks death - in the very still sands of the sins of return, of addition and gratification, that were originally intended to be exorcised.

Those who embrace the conformity of abstract excellence that wants to re-emerge at all costs - without eminent criteria, nor re-elaboration, and path of personal enhancement with prospects for a critical future - will experience the total reversal of good intentions; then, crazy, sudden thuds.

The swamp of restrained vital powers sets up excellent screens but rots existence, overturning expectations.

It is as if Jesus were saying, "try what a beating you might make by falling from so high up, so you will understand!".

The frame of reference of the leaders of the winning mentality or of ancient devotion, is not the gaze planted on the authentic and full life of the people, but rather the judgmental scrutiny from an already antiquated fashion, without openings.

Basically: the usual or power-assured, stone-hearted and all ready-made one. At hand, as if chiselled down to the tiniest detail - in clichéd institutions, rooted in the territory - representative only of itself.

In this sense, the veteran, experienced leaders had difficulty understanding the meaning of Christ's elevation.

The authentic Messiah was elevated to the 'right hand' of the Eternal One and raised on the Cross - the ultimate Revelation of the 'I Am' or Emmanuel in His Personality, Wisdom, Uniqueness, Future and already Presence.The Crucified One, who in Jn 19:30 and 20:22 delivers the Spirit without temporal delay, radiates the image of the divine "position". And through the bond of Faith he makes us live in his contact; which is of debasement and lowliness, but of weight and prominence - humanising promotion (vv.28-29).

What in the "Son of Man" we also experience within such a founding Relationship with the Father is made explicit precisely in a Confluence, Nucleus, Active Bridge, and Hinge. Liberation and Salvation that enables us to treasure pitfalls, paradoxes, upheavals.

He operates in a reversal of the idea of 'glory', climbing, and supremacy. He operates in a principled opposition (which seems devoutly incomprehensible) between two 'worlds' - the self-styled 'best' of which seeks its redemption at 'the top'.

And yet it creates consternation. It does not yet know how to take life from death.

So the discourse is 'internal': it is about the worldly criteria of judgement on the Lord who trust in themselves, who crush us in the coils of doubt; not against the Jews.

It is for anyone who regrets lost small certainties and - precisely - does not yet know how to take sap from the earth.

The petty world remains that sadly marked by the shrewd, mediocre, saltieri, constantly compromising and conniving with power - as well as the very coffers of the Temple.

For them, that of Jesus and his people who are serious is suicide (v.22), a condition that - in the thinking of the time - would have led to the eternal state of the darkest hell.

Indeed, the Sanctuary seemed a bright, desirable, spiritual and secluded perimeter; instead, it was only separated... from access to life, and to the thought of Heaven - the only fruitful Centre of gravity.

Tremendous vocation, so unheard of and perilous to the point of mortal risk - to arouse indignation, for every ideology of power: that weighs down the spontaneous and mysterious vitality of today, even broken, bitter, downgraded.

In its ambitious and agonistic reality, aiming to prevail [all decorum, pirouettes, opportunism, reputation] the established institution would not succeed in conveying to Christians the specific sense of their Faith. It imposes itself in the heart, even though it seems deplorable.

The worldly gears distorted and rendered unrecognisable the identity of the paradisiacal condition, confused and bartered with that of the one who wins, towers above, receives honours - without any qualitative leap about the authenticity of the One Subject of history.

The Pharisees of all times and creeds still orient themselves on the basis of titles and honours.

The Man-God reflects a different inclination from the expectations of so many sedentary, mundane, mimetic synagogues, who do everything they can to stand up and avoid the low.

"To die in sin" means to close oneself in the criteria that exclude true honour: that of total self-giving - for a further and widespread outcome.

Clear key point of the Son's life, claiming human-divine fullness (v.28).

To the question "Who are you?" Christ answers by giving an appointment of complete Life, on Calvary.

For those of us who feel it pulsating within, the same gratuitousness will not be the impossible fruit of a voluntarist choice, but of discipleship in respect of the personal Vocation - which seeks and makes room for the new kingdom.

Wise discipleship will lead each one from the religious experience of useless and deadly submission to the adventure of Faith in the Lord, with no more qualms that would hinder the journey towards self and neighbour.

With the Son of Man lifted up, we will pass from the dull and deadened life of servants to that of friends, therefore brothers (cf. Jn 13:13; 15:15; 20:17).

To internalise and live the message:

When you are questioned about your identity as a being, do you commit yourself to parading titles and goals?

What does it mean for you to be from down here or up there?

“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above”. The words we have just heard in the second reading (Col 3:1-4) invite us to raise our gaze to the reality of Heaven. With the expression “the things that are above” St Paul means Heaven, for he adds: “where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God”. The Apostle is referring to the condition of believers, of those who are “dead” to sin and whose life “is hidden with God in Christ”. They are called to live daily in the lordship of Christ, the principle and fulfilment of all their actions, witnessing to the new life bestowed upon them in Baptism. This renewal in Christ takes place in the heart of each person. While continuing the struggle against sin, it is possible to grow in virtue, attempting to give a full and willing answer to the grace of God.

Inversely, the Apostle indicates later “the things of the earth”. Thus highlighting that life in Christ entails a “choice of field”, a radical renunciation of everything that — like an anchor — ties man to earth, corrupting his soul. The search for the “things that are above” does not mean that Christians must neglect their earthly obligations and duties, rather that they must not get lost in them, as if they had a definitive value. Recalling the realities of Heaven is an invitation to recognize the relativity of what is destined to pass away, in the face of those values that do not know the deterioration of time. It is about working, committing oneself, allowing oneself the proper rest, but with the serene detachment of one who knows that he is only a traveller on the way to the heavenly Homeland; a pilgrim, in a certain sense, a foreigner on the path to Eternity.

[...] the Son of Man must be lifted on the wood of the Cross so that whoever believes in him may have life. St John sees precisely in the mystery of the Cross the moment in which the real glory of Jesus is revealed, the glory of a love that gives itself totally in the passion and death. Thus, paradoxically, from a sign of condemnation, death and failure, the Cross becomes a sign of redemption, life and victory, through faith, the fruits of salvation can be gathered.

[...] God approached man in love, even to the total gift, crossing the threshold of our ultimate solitude, throwing himself into the abyss of our extreme abandonment, going beyond the door of death. The object and beneficiary of divine love is the world, namely, humanity. It is a word that erases completely the idea of a distant God alien to man's journey and reveals, rather, his true face. He gave us his Son out of love, to be the near God, to make us feel his presence, to come to meet us and carry us in his love so that the whole of life might be enlivened by this divine love. The Son of man did not come to be served, but to serve and to give life. 

God does not domineer but loves without measure. He does not express his omnipotence in punishment, but in mercy and in forgiveness. Understanding all this means entering into the mystery of salvation. Jesus came to save, not to condemn; with the sacrifice of the Cross he reveals the loving face of God. Precisely by faith in the abundant love that has been given to us in Christ Jesus, we know that even the smallest force of love is greater than the greatest destructive force, which can transform the world, and by this same faith we can have the “reliable hope”, in eternal life and in the resurrection of the flesh.

[Pope Benedict, homily in the Papal Chapel 4 November 2010]

1. Glory to you, Word of God!

This greeting is repeated daily in the liturgy of Lent. It precedes the reading of the Gospel, and testifies that the time of Lent is in the life of the Church a time of special concentration on the Word of God. This concentration was linked - especially in the early centuries - to the preparation for Baptism on Easter night, for which the Catechumens were prepared with increasing intensity.

However, it is not only in consideration of Baptism and the Catechumenate that Lent stimulates such intense concentration on the Word of God. The need arises from the very nature of the liturgical season, that is, from the depth of the Mystery into which the Church enters from the very beginning of Lent.

The mystery of God reaches minds and hearts first and foremost through the Word of God. We are, in fact, in the period of "initiation" into Easter, which is the central mystery of Christ, as well as of the faith and life of those who confess him.

I am glad that at this time, also this year, I am given to bring my personal contribution to the pastoral care of the university environment in Rome. I extend a cordial welcome to all those present: Professors, Students and guests who come from outside Rome.

I would like to remind you, on this occasion, that the problems concerning the presence of the Church in the university world of our City, the problems of the specific academic pastoral care were this year the theme of the meeting of the clergy of the diocese of Rome at the beginning of Lent. Together with my brothers in the episcopate and in the presbyterate, who share with me the pastoral solicitude for the three million citizens of the Rome of the 1980s, I was able to listen to various voices of professors, students, representatives of the individual academic circles and movements, as well as their ecclesiastical assistants, who illustrated numerous problems concerning the important task of the Church of Rome in this area.

I hope that this task can be carried out in an ever more mature and fruitful manner.

2. Praise to you, Word of God!

This word in the Liturgy of the penultimate week of Lent becomes particularly intense and, I would say, particularly dramatic. The readings from the Gospel of St John emphasise this in a special way.

Christ, conversing with the Pharisees, ever more clearly says Who he is, Who sent him, and his words are not accepted. And more and more, through the increasing tension of questions and answers, the end of this process is also outlined: the death of the prophet of Nazareth.

"Who are you?" (Jn 8:25), they ask him as they once asked John the Baptist.

This question brings with it that eternal messianic restlessness, in which Israel had participated for generations, and which in the generation of that time seemed still to have increased in power.

- Who are you?

- "When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know..." (Jn 8:28).

3. It seems that the key concept of today's Liturgy of the Word of God is that of "elevation".

During Israel's pilgrimage through the desert, Moses "made a serpent of copper and put it on a staff" (Numbers 21:9). He did this at the Lord's command when his people were being bitten by poisonous snakes "and a great number of the Israelites died" (Nm 21:6). When Moses put the copper serpent on the pole, whoever was bitten by the snakes, when he looked at it, "remained alive" (Nm 21:9).

That copper serpent became the figure of Christ "lifted up" on the cross. Exegetes see in it the symbolic announcement of the fact that man, who with faith looks upon the cross of Christ, "remains alive". He remains alive...: and life means the victory over sin and the state of grace in the human soul.

4. Christ says: "When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know...": you will know, you will find the answer to this question that you now put to me, not trusting in the words that I say to you.

The "lifting up" through the Cross is in a certain sense the key to knowing the whole truth, which Christ proclaimed. The Cross is the threshold, through which man will be allowed to approach this reality that Christ reveals. To reveal means "to make known", "to make present".

Christ reveals the Father. Through him the Father becomes present in the human world.

"When you have raised up the Son of man, then you will know that I am and do nothing of myself, but as the Father has taught me, so I speak" (Jn 8:28).

Christ refers to the Father as the ultimate source of the truth he proclaims: "He who sent me is true, and I tell the world the things I have heard from him" (Jn 8:26).

And finally: "He who sent me is with me and has not left me alone, because I always do those things that are pleasing to him" (Jn 8:29).In these words is revealed before us that limitless solitude, which Christ must experience on the Cross, in his "elevation". This solitude will begin during the prayer in Gethsemane - which must have been a true spiritual agony - and will be completed at the crucifixion. Then Christ will cry out: "Elí, Elí, lemà sabactàni", "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mt 27:46).

Now, however, as if anticipating those hours of terrible loneliness, Christ says: "He who sent me is with me and has not left me alone...". As if to say, in the first place: even in this supreme abandonment I shall not be alone! I shall then fulfil that which "is pleasing to Him", that which is the Father's Will! and I shall not be alone!

- And, further: the Father will not leave me in the hand of death, for in the Cross is the beginning of the Resurrection. Precisely for this reason, "crucifixion" will ultimately become "elevation": "Then you will know that I am. Then, too, you will know that "I say to the world the things that I have heard from him".

5. The crucifixion truly becomes the elevation of Christ. In the Cross is the beginning of the resurrection.

Therefore, the Cross becomes the definitive measure of all things, which stand between God and man. Christ measures them precisely by this yardstick.

In today's Gospel we hear what he says: "You are of here, I am of there; you are of this world, I am not of this world" (Jn 18:23).

The dimension of the world is, in a sense, set against the dimension of God. In the conversation with Pilate Christ will also say: "My kingdom is not of this world" (Jn 18:36).

The dimension of the world meets the dimension of God precisely in the Cross: in the Cross and Resurrection.

That is why the cross becomes that ultimate yardstick by which Christ measures. It becomes the central point of reference. The dimension of the world is in it definitively referred to the dimension of the Living God. And the Living God meets the world in the cross. He meets through the death of Christ.

This encounter is totally for man.

Why - we sometimes ask ourselves - did that encounter of the Living God with man take place on the Cross? Why did it have to take place like that?

Christ, in today's conversation, gives the answer: "For if you do not believe that I am, you will die in your sins" (Jn 18:24).

Above the dimension of the world is placed the dimension of sin.... This is precisely why God's encounter with the world is accomplished in the cross.

There is a need for the Cross and death, so that man "does not die in his own sins".

There is a need for the Cross and resurrection, so that man believes in Christ, so that he accepts this 'world' that he reveals through himself.

In Christ, the Living God is revealed to man. God the Father.

Not only that: in Christ the mystery of man himself is revealed to man - is revealed to the very depths.

6. We must learn to measure the problems of the world, and especially the problems of man, by the yardstick of the Cross and Resurrection of Christ.

Being Christian means living in the light of Christ's paschal mystery. And to find in it a fixed point of reference for what is in man, for what is among men, what makes up the history of humanity and the world.

Man, looking within himself, also discovers - as Christ says in the dialogue with the Pharisees - what is 'from down here' and what is 'from up there'. Man discovers within himself (this is a perennial experience) the man 'up there' and the man 'down here': not two men, but almost two dimensions of the same man; of the man, who is each one of us: me, you, him, her...

And each one of us - if he looks inside himself carefully, self-critically, if he tries to see himself in truth - will know how to say what in him belongs to the man "down here", and what belongs to the man "up there". He will know how to call him by name. He will know how to confess him.

And finally: in each of us there is a certain spontaneous tendency to tend from the man "down here" to the man "up there". This is a natural aspiration. Unless we stifle it, we do not trample it within us.

It is an aspiration. If we cooperate with it, this aspiration develops and becomes the engine of our life.

Christ teaches us how to cooperate with it. How to develop and deepen what is 'from up there' in man, and how to weaken and overcome what is 'from down here'.

Christ teaches us this by his Gospel and by his personal example.

The Cross becomes a living measure here. It becomes the point of reference, through which the lives of millions of men pass from what is "down here" to what is "up there".

The Cross and the Resurrection: the paschal mystery of Christ.

7. The first, elementary method of this passage is prayer.

When man prays, in a certain sense he spontaneously turns towards the One who offers him the dimension "up there". With this, he distances himself from what, in himself, is "down here". Prayer is an inner movement. It is a movement that decides the development of the whole human personality. Of the direction of life.With what clarity does the Psalm of today's Liturgy give expression to this theme!

"Lord, hear my prayer, / to thee may my cry come; / hide not thy face from me; / in the day of my distress / bend thine ear towards me; / when I call upon thee: quickly, answer me" (Ps 102 [101]:1-3).

Man lives in search of the "face of God", which is hidden before him in the darkness "of the world". Yet, in the same "world" he can discover the footprints of God. All that is needed is for him to start praying. Let him pray. Let him move from what is "down here" to what is "up there". Let him, together with prayer, discover in himself the way from the man "down here" to the man "up there".

My beloved ones! In the name of the Crucified and Risen Lord, I ask you: pray! love prayer!

8. Glory to you, Word of God!

May the love of prayer become in each of us the fruit of listening to the Word of God.

"The seed is the Word of God, the sower, Christ; everyone who finds it will last for ever," proclaims a liturgical text.

The seed is the seed of life. It contains within itself the whole plant. It conceals the ear for the harvest and the future bread.

The Word of God is such a seed for human souls. The sower of it is Christ.

Let us pray that from the seed of Christ's word this Life, to which man is called in Christ, will be born in us anew. Called "from above".

This Life is born in the sacraments of faith. It is born first in Baptism and then in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

Christ is not only the One who proclaims the Word of God. He is the One who gives Life in this Word.

A new Life.

Such is the power of the words: 'I baptise you'.

Such also is the power of the words: 'I absolve you... go in peace'. Go! In the direction from what is in you "down here" to what is "up there". Once again, go!

And finally the power of the Eucharistic words: "Eat and drink, all of you". He who eats... will live. He shall live for ever.

Let us look, dear brothers and sisters, at the "elevation" of Christ. Let us look through the prism of the cross and resurrection at our humanity. Let us accept the invitation contained in Christ's paschal mystery. Let us accept the Word and the Life. Amen.

[Pope John Paul II, homily for university students in preparation for Easter, Rome 30 March 1982]

Making "the sign of the cross" distractedly and flaunting "the symbol of Christians" as if it were "the badge of a team" or "an ornament", perhaps with "precious stones, jewels and gold", has nothing to do with "the mystery" of Christ. So much so that Pope Francis suggested an examination of conscience precisely on the cross, to verify how each of us carries the only true "instrument of salvation" in our daily lives. Here are the lines of reflection that the Pontiff proposed in the Mass celebrated Tuesday morning, 4 April, at Santa Marta.

"It attracts attention," he noted immediately, referring to the passage from the evangelist John (8:21-30), "that in this brief passage of the Gospel three times Jesus says to the doctors of the law, to the scribes, to some Pharisees: 'You will die in your sins'". He repeats this "three times". And "he says this," he added, "because they did not understand the mystery of Jesus, because their hearts were closed and they were not capable of opening a little, of trying to understand that mystery that was the Lord". In fact, the Pope explained, 'to die in one's sin is an ugly thing: it means that everything ends there, in the filth of sin'.

But then "this dialogue - in which three times Jesus repeats 'you will die in your sins' - continues and, at the end, Jesus looks back at the history of salvation and reminds them of something: 'When you have raised up the son of man, then you will know that I am and that I do nothing of myself'". The Lord says precisely: "when you have lifted up the son of man".

With these words - said the Pontiff, referring to the passage from the book of Numbers (21, 4-9) - "Jesus brings to mind what happened in the desert and what we heard in the first reading". It is the moment when "the bored people, the people who cannot endure the journey, turn away from the Lord, spit on Moses and the Lord, and find those snakes that bite and cause death". Then "the Lord tells Moses to make a bronze serpent and raise it up, and the person who suffers a wound from the serpent, and who looks at the bronze one, will be healed".

"The serpent," the Pope continued, "is the symbol of the evil one, it is the symbol of the devil: it was the most cunning of animals in the earthly paradise. Because "the serpent is the one who is capable of seducing with lies", he is "the father of lies: this is the mystery". But then "must we look to the devil to save us? The serpent is the father of sin, the one who made mankind sin". In reality, "Jesus says: 'When I am lifted up on high, all will come to me'. Obviously this is the mystery of the cross".

"The bronze serpent healed," Francis said, "but the bronze serpent was a sign of two things: of the sin made by the serpent, of the serpent's seduction, of the serpent's cunning; and also it was a sign of the cross of Christ, it was a prophecy. And "that is why the Lord says to them: 'When you have lifted up the son of man, then you will know that I am'". So we can say, said the Pope, that "Jesus 'became a serpent', Jesus 'became sin' and took upon himself the filth all of humanity, the filth all of sin. And he 'became sin', he made himself lifted up for all people to look upon, people wounded by sin, us. This is the mystery of the cross and Paul says it: 'He became sin' and took on the appearance of the father of sin, the cunning serpent'.

"Whoever did not look upon the bronze serpent after being wounded by a serpent in the desert," the Pontiff explained, "died in sin, the sin of murmuring against God and against Moses". In the same way, 'whoever does not recognise in that uplifted man, like the serpent, the power of God who became sin in order to heal us, will die in his own sin'. Because 'salvation comes only from the cross, but from this cross that is God made flesh: there is no salvation in ideas, there is no salvation in good will, in the desire to be good'. In reality, the Pope insisted, "the only salvation is in Christ crucified, because only he, as the bronze serpent meant, was able to take all the poison of sin and healed us there".

"But what is the cross for us?" is the question posed by Francis. "Yes, it is the sign of Christians, it is the symbol of Christians, and we make the sign of the cross but we don't always do it well, sometimes we do it like this... because we don't have this faith to the cross," the Pope pointed out. The cross, then, he said, "for some people is a badge of belonging: 'Yes, I wear the cross to show that I am a Christian'". And 'it looks good', however, 'not only as a badge, as if it were a team, the badge of a team'; but, Francis said, 'as a memory of the one who became sin, who became the devil, the serpent, for us; he lowered himself to the point of total annihilation'.Moreover, it is true, 'others carry the cross as an ornament, they carry crosses with precious stones, to be seen'. But, the Pontiff pointed out, "God said to Moses: 'He who looks at the serpent will be healed'; Jesus says to his enemies: 'When you have lifted up the son of man, then you will know'". In essence, he explained, 'those who do not look upon the cross, thus, in faith, die in their sins, will not receive that salvation'.

"Today," the Pope relaunched, "the Church proposes to us a dialogue with this mystery of the cross, with this God who became sin, out of love for me". And "each of us can say: 'out of love for me'". So, he continued, it is appropriate to ask ourselves: 'How do I carry the cross: as a reminder? When I make the sign of the cross, am I aware of what I am doing? How do I carry the cross: only as a symbol of belonging to a religious group? How do I carry the cross: as an ornament, like a jewel with many golden precious stones?". Or "have I learnt to carry it on my shoulders, where it hurts?".

"Each one of us today," the Pontiff suggested at the conclusion of his meditation, "look at the crucifix, look at this God who became sin so that we might not die in our sins, and answer these questions that I have suggested to you.

[Pope Francis, S. Marta homily, in L'Osservatore Romano 05/04/2017]

(Jn 8:1-11)

Every day at sunrise, from the Mount of Olives, by contemplating the Temple, the people recited the Shema’ Israel, and so did Jesus.

Like many, he spent his nights in a cave, outdoors (Lk 21:37-38; Jn 8:1-2), then he went to Solomon's portico to teach.

A new Day begins. The confrontation with the sinful woman who represents us, activates a new Aurora.

The adulterer and the adulteress had to be put to death (Dt 22:22-24): why is no there the male accomplice one?

In many biblical passages, the 'woman' is a collective parable - here evoked for a catechesis against the traditionalist prosecutors who were also coming forward in the early communities.

[They don’t sleep at night, in order to spy on others and accuse them of their sins]. But there is a new ‘dawn’ (v.2) on the face of God.

In the whole scene the true accused is Jesus and his idea of ​​Justice, irregular. He does not allow the “gendarmes” to isolate persons.

Whoever makes a mistake or is unsteady, is not marked for life.

We are bent over by weights and can hardly stand up. Therefore, divine action unmasks the old fanatical wigs, not at all innocent.

The conciliatory and reflexive attitude turns the accusations right back on the veterans of the rules, who let the stones fall from their hands only when unmasked.

However, it is a theology passage, not a gossip piece.

In bygone leaders who like to organize trials even internal ones, there is sometimes no honesty: it is better that in the House of God they avoid being judges and accusers, and go back to their homes.

Incredible then that Jesus does not make sure that the woman is repentant, before forgiving her! In this the Son of God violates the Law, Tradition, the common way of thinking and teaching catechism!

His most incriminated sentence is a bomb, which has created embarrassment for centuries: «Stop hurting yourself, but I do not condemn you!»"  [sense of v.11].

The ‘living’ and true God proceeds without inquiries and penitential torments: he puts us back on our feet.

Therefore He does not want to have anything in common with the unexceptionable who cunningly shield themselves with ancient norms to annoy (and project their own defects onto others, in order to exorcise them).

That is why the Lord’s Finger on the ‘stone slabs’ of the esplanade of the Jerusalem Temple!

A clear accusation to the censors still accustomed to the Decalogue of the No […], who remained at the age of Sinai: opinionated and deadly ones, devoid of the flesh and Spirit ‘heart’ - corpses calibrated at room temperature.

Throughout the scene, Jesus - figure of the new Justice of the Father - remains crouched on the ground [cf. Greek text], threatened by those who are on top of him to accuse or take him hostage.

He remains subjected even to the adulteress reduced to silence, because the request for mercy is authentic even when it remains only implicit.

And in any case, Christ relates to each of us without incumbent upon. Looking at us all from below!

Here is the difference between Faith approach and assessments of trivial religiosity. The qualitative leap between Finger on the stone slabs, and the Looking on the persons.

To internalize and live the message:

In what situations did you consider: "Justice is done"?

On what occasions have you experienced divine judgment as understanding and mercy?

[Monday 5th wk. in Lent (year A.B), March 23, 2026]

Adulterous "Church", accused Jesus

(Jn 8:1-11)

What about an ancient codex of the Gospels with a torn 'page'?

Husbands did not want women to have a license of immunity from the Lord himself: God's action baffles.

But how does the Lord deal with those who have made mistakes in life? Or with people of a different cultural background [e.g.] from the West?

Can they be admitted to a direct relationship with Jesus, or must they undergo a long rigmarole of doctrinal and moralistic x-rays?

Christ proceeds without enquiry or accusatory penitential tares.

He only puts people and heterogeneous groups back on their feet - albeit all humiliated and mocked souls by the veterans of the postilion (who secretly indulge in everything).

He imposes - and chisels - Justice where it has been transgressed, at least in our conventional view.

The only reliable and convincing solution and judgement is the Good.

In Ephesus, bishop Polycrates had had to clash with the intransigents on the question of the readmission into the community of the lapsi ['slipped' in the confession of faith, under blackmail] or of those who had 'surrendered' the sacred books (traditores) because intimidated by threats of persecution.

The bishop of Rome, Sotère, had taken a position in favour of the rigorists. But as the Apostolic Constitutions testify, the more sympathetic ones explicitly referred to the episode of the adulteress, bearing in mind that God's action is a creative act that recomposes - not a gesture of hasty punishment.

Having disappeared from the Gospel according to Lk (cf. 21:38), the Gospel pearl has been recovered by Jn (8:1-11).

Again St. Augustine complained that the passage was excluded by leaders of some communities.

But going beyond petty moralisms, the pericope has significant theological weight.

In religions, the idea of divine just judgement is identical, because it is in harmony with the concept of common justice: unicuique Jus suum.

All the sarcophagi of ancient Egypt reproduce the scene of the scales with the two plates in perfect balance: on one the feather symbol of Maat goddess of wisdom; on the other the heart of the deceased, who is led by the hand by the god Anubis.

On the weighing depends the future happiness or ruin of the one being judged.

The Qur'an attributes to God the splendid title of 'Best of those who forgive'; yet even in Islam, the Day of Judgement is the moment of separation between the righteous and the wicked - the some ushered into paradise, the others banished to hell.

The rabbis of Jesus' time held that mercy intervened at the moment of reckoning: it prevailed only when good and bad works were equal.

The adulterer and the adulteress were to be put to death (Deut 22:22-24): how come the male escapes?

In many biblical passages, the 'woman' is a collective parable - here evoked for a catechesis against the traditionalist prosecutors who also came forward in the early communities.

The trouble with moral courts is that too many protagonists seem more inclined to condemn 'symbols' than to get to the bottom of matters.

Despite the strict penitential practices of the early centuries and the controversy between laxists and strictists, the gemstone recovered and formerly removed from many manuscripts reiterates the incriminated phrase: 'I do not condemn you'!

And he even sketches a Jesus who does not ask beforehand whether the woman was repentant or not!

Shocking episode? No, because this is about theology, not the news.

Every day at sunrise the people from the Mount of Olives contemplating the Temple recited the Shemàh, and so did Jesus.

Like many, he spent the nights in a cave, in the open air (Lk 21:37-38; Jn 8:1-2), then went to the Temple to teach.

Another 'Day' begins.

The confrontation with the sinner who represents us begins a new 'dawn' - on the Face of God.

What sentence does the Lord pronounce in his House [Church]?

It is not said what Jesus was teaching, for he himself is 'the' Word, the Teaching.

Each gesture tells how the Father relates to the one who has strayed, or comes from an uncertain background.

He helps the lost son to recover, and says [in short]: 'I do not condemn you, but stop hurting yourself'.

Jesus crosses the bridge-viaduct over the Cedron valley and enters the temple esplanade through the Golden Gate.

There he finds hearts steadfast in the retributive justice of Sinai, that of the cold tables of stone.

Justice of the scribes and Pharisees of the vice squad who - pressing - were standing over him [so the Greek text].

Justice by scales and sanhedrin? No, Benevolence that makes the wicked righteous, that makes pure those who draw near - those from multiform paganism, considered theological adulterers."Justice is done" for us means that the guilty are straightened out, punished and separated from the unrighteous.

God instead makes righteous those who once were not. He precisely retrieves the wretch from the abyss, and makes him breathe.

[Perhaps the woman is a symbolic image of a subordinate primitive community, coming to the Faith but with mixed cultural origins and uncertain practices, judged tumultuously free].

Forgiveness is not a defeat, nor a surrender. After all, there is no shortage of those who make a shield of laws to annoy and hide behind screens.

In short: the true defendant of the pericope is the Son and his idea of Justice!

Hence the Finger on the Ground: resting on the stone slabs of the Temple esplanade in Jerusalem.

This is a very serious accusation against the spiritual guides of official religiosity and all those who, upon becoming leaders of the first Christian realities, immediately intended to replicate their hypocrisies.

Inebriated by the rank and file of leaders and censors, they too show that they have remained in the Sinaitic, stone age.

An age of old supponents without a heart of flesh, strangers to the warmth of the divine Spirit.

Indeed, not a few manuscripts from the first centuries demonstrate the obsessive communitarian attachment to a very rigid ethical discipline.

There was a risk of returning to the ideology of the 'best': ruthless and gabellant, icy and judgmental, chastising; confusing about the passions - that of the 'chosen' and 'upright'.

Acolytes who were proponents of death; corpses incapable of fiery desire, of explicit passion; because - at least in façade - they were calibrated to room temperature.

Instead, throughout the scene Jesus remains crouched on the ground!

He even relates to the adulteress by looking up at her from below (cf. Greek text)!

He is even subjected to the adulteress, an icon of an uncertain or 'lesser' church - one that gathers the formerly distant free. The same ones who now approached the threshold of fraternities with a past and moral baggage that was perhaps questionable.

In short, every demand for mercy is authentic even when it remains only implicit - and in any case Christ relates to each of us without looming!

In the life of Faith, God is beneath us, and so do those who authentically represent Him.

The LORD is not a legislator, nor a weigher, nor a plaintiff - not even a notorious judge who passes sentence at once.

In this way and 'lapidary' tone, Pope Francis has repeatedly said:

"I prefer a Church that is bumpy, wounded and dirty from being out on the streets, rather than a Church that is sick from being closed and comfortable clinging to its own security. I consider missteps less serious than not moving at all!".

The difference of Faith's approach with the assessments of banal religiosity? The qualitative leap between Finger on the plates and Look at the people.

To internalise and live the message:

In what situations have you considered, 'Justice is done'?

On what occasions have you experienced divine judgement as understanding and grace?