22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [30 August 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah (20:7–9).

The central theme here is Jeremiah’s inner struggle: the fire of the Word.  His is an experience of persecution and inner turmoil that he endured throughout his life. And he is not alone: many other prophets and, later, Jesus himself faced similar situations. Jeremiah carried out his ministry during the 40 years leading up to the disaster in Jerusalem in 587 BC and the deportation to Babylon. Forty years of spiritual decline. His task was to foretell the catastrophe, not to be a harbinger of doom, but on the contrary in the hope of securing, at the very last moment, the conversion of the king and the people. He spared no effort to warn his contemporaries, whilst there was still time, but they, in turn, spared no effort to silence this spoilsport. It is in this contentious and distressing context that the private reflections from which we have read an excerpt arise: his ‘confessions’. Unfortunately, the word ‘lamentations’, which derives from this, has taken on a pejorative connotation, and this is unjust: Jeremiah’s confessions are magnificent, full of sorrow, yes, but even more so full of faith and passion for the cause of his God. In today’s text, he reveals to us the inner struggle taking place deep within him: torn between God’s call, which urges him to speak, and human wisdom, which urges him to remain silent: ‘I said, “I will think no more of him; I will speak no more in his name!” But in my heart there was like a burning fire, shut up in my bones; I tried to hold it back, but I could not’ (Jer 20:9). To give up would mean abandoning his fellow citizens to their sad fate and betraying God’s trust. It is clear why this text is set before us on the Sunday when we hear the Gospel following Peter’s confession at Caesarea. When Jesus asked the disciples, ‘Who do you say that I am?’, Peter replied that Jesus was the expected Messiah. But immediately afterwards, Jesus reveals to the disciples the fate that awaits him: Passion, the cross, death and resurrection (Mt 16:21). Peter protests: ‘God forbid, Lord; this shall never happen to you.’ But Jesus calls him ‘Satan’ and warns the disciples that they will not be treated any better than their Master: ‘If anyone wishes to come after me… (Mt 16:24–25). This proves that every true prophet is inevitably a thorn in the side of the prevailing ideas of the moment. The consuming fire of the Word of God, which calls for conversion, is not meant to please: ‘I have become a byword all day long; everyone mocks me,’ confesses Jeremiah, and he does not hide the fact that at times he is afraid. He hears people talking behind his back and plotting to get rid of him: ‘I hear the slander of many’ (Jer 20:10). The prophet is all the more troublesome because, as the Lord’s messenger, the Lord gives him the strength to carry on despite all the persecution, so that there is no way to silence him. It is clear why persecution is inevitable. The verses preceding today’s reading describe a particularly harrowing episode: Jeremiah had so exasperated everyone in the Temple with his rebukes that the priest Pashur had him tied to a pillory, hanging upside down in the public square. The next day, when Pashur himself came to untie him, thinking that such punishment had calmed him down, Jeremiah spoke out even more forcefully and took his anger out on Pashur himself. Yet these confessions of Jeremiah’s, steeped in sorrow, are at the same time an admission of the all-consuming passion that burns within him and, ultimately, illuminates his life: ‘You have seduced me, Lord, and I let myself be seduced’ (Jer 20:7). He complains, yes, but he would not give his place to anyone else. The Word was a burning fire in my heart, a consuming fire that brings to mind Psalm 68/69: ‘Zelo for your house has consumed me’, which aptly expresses the persecution suffered by all the prophets. To begin with, this was the case with the people of Israel, entrusted with a prophetic mission in the service of the nations. Throughout their history, they sought to remain faithful to that mission, and this earned them terrible persecution at times. Then it was the case for all the prophets, one after another, and subsequently for the early Christians, who imitated Jesus, who was ultimately silenced. But nothing can silence the Word of God: Christ is risen; and now we know that a day will come when people will hear the Word and finally find their light in it. 

Responsorial Psalm (62/63) 

This psalm echoes the experience of Jeremiah, whom we encounter in the first reading, who endured inner turmoil and constant attacks, even though his passion for God—stronger than anything else—helped him to endure every threat and humiliation. However, this psalm was not composed to speak of Jeremiah; rather, it is like a prayer that King David might have composed whilst being hunted down by his enemies. The Old Testament recounts at least three episodes in which David had to take refuge in the Judean desert: the first two times to escape the murderous rage of King Saul, who had become so jealous of David that he wanted to kill him. The third time was even more dramatic: the one pursuing and seeking to kill David was his own son Absalom, who was too eager to seize the throne and hasten his father’s death, and who had already eliminated his elder brother. David did not immediately realise the danger, and by the time he did, it was too late: Absalom was on the verge of conquering Jerusalem; there was only one solution left: flight. And all of Jerusalem saw their king, humiliated, fleeing on foot from the holy city and climbing the Mount of Olives in tears (cf. 2 Sam 15:23–28). The words of this psalm are attributed to David: ‘Your love is better than life’ (v. 4). As is well known, the title of the psalms does not designate the author—in this case, King David. This psalm in particular contains several clear allusions to the Temple in Jerusalem, which David certainly did not know, as the Temple was only built by his son Solomon. ‘A psalm of David’ here means ‘in the manner of David, the one who thirsts for God’. The prayer ‘O God, you are my God; at dawn I seek you; my soul thirsts for you’ may have been David’s, but it is also that of all generations of the chosen people, from Abraham right up to the Day of Salvation. In the most dramatic periods, this prayer took on even greater force, as during the Exile in Babylon. Upon their return from the Exile, the people give thanks: ‘Yes, you have been my help; I rejoice in the shelter of your wings.’ These are the wings of the cherubim that cover the Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies; but they also recall the wings of the great desert eagle that protects its brood whilst teaching them to fly: and Moses had taken up this image to express the care with which God had surrounded his people: ‘I carried you on eagle’s wings,’ God had said (cf. Ex 19:4; Dt 32:10–11). Then came the even more terrible periods of persecution in the 2nd century BC under the Greek king Antiochus Epiphanes, when many Jews died for their faith, proclaiming: ‘Your love, Lord, is worth more than life.’ This verse resonates particularly on this Sunday, when we shall hear Jesus say to his disciples: ‘Whoever loses their life for my sake will save it’ (Mt 16:25). This is the struggle of all the prophets.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (12:1–2)

‘I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the tenderness of God’: this is the theme of the Letter to the Romans. The first eleven chapters deal with the major themes of Paul’s theology, which are set out at length and in depth: the universality of sin, justification by faith, the Paschal Mystery, the work of the Holy Spirit, and the salvation promised and granted to all. But all of this always returns to a single subject: the tenderness of God. Now, as in all his letters, Paul draws out for his readers the implications of his teaching: the discovery of God’s immense tenderness cannot fail to shake us to the core, or rather, to permeate our whole life from now on. ‘I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the tenderness of God…’. What he is about to say is closely linked to everything he has written so far, particularly in the final lines of the previous chapter: ‘God wishes to show mercy to all’, which are followed by the hymn of thanksgiving we read last Sunday: ‘Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgements, and his ways beyond our understanding!’ (Rom 11:32–33).  The logical response is to offer ourselves as a ‘living, holy sacrifice’. Therefore, says Saint Paul, there is no room for hesitation: to this God, so astonishing in his tenderness and his desire to save all humanity, there is but one possible response: that of trusting surrender, offering ourselves to him as a sacrifice so that he may accomplish his work within us. The verb ‘to sacrifice’ means ‘to make sacred’, and St Paul invites us to make our lives sacred—that is, divine. Paul devotes the remainder of his Letter to the Romans to setting out the nature of the Christian commitment: each person, according to their gifts and qualities, is invited to take their place in the Church’s mission, which is the service of all people. This commitment is an active participation in ‘God’s will’. This undoubtedly requires us to accept, day by day, to be transformed—that is, to ‘renew our minds’—which for us is, at times, a true conversion because, all too often, our thoughts are not God’s thoughts but those of men, as Jesus rebuked Peter at Caesarea Philippi, as we read in this Sunday’s Gospel. But the Spirit has been given to us to bring about this renewal within us, which requires us to refuse to conform to the mindset of this age (Rom 12:2). True freedom lies in charting our own course, whatever the siren calls of fashion may be; in loving the world without being enslaved by the world’s ways; and in remaining constantly immersed in God’s tenderness, even though we know full well that it is not easy.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (16:21–27)

From ‘You are the Christ’ to the rejection of the cross. This account follows Peter’s memorable profession of faith which we heard last Sunday: ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God’, a statement which earned him this reply from Jesus: ‘Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah: it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you (that is, you did not guess it on your own), but my Father in heaven. Like any blessing, this ‘Blessed are you’ sounds like a compliment – and what a compliment! – but also like encouragement. And indeed, it will take a great deal of courage for Peter to remain faithful to this first profession of faith. For he does not yet fully grasp its significance, and Jesus has not finished surprising him. In fact, Jesus accepts, at least implicitly, Peter’s recognition of his title as the Messiah: ‘My Father has revealed this to you’. And immediately afterwards, he sets out his plan, which does not fit at all with the common idea people had of the Messiah: ‘From that time on, Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer greatly…’ (Mt 16:21). It was a world turned upside down: a king without weapons or privileges… Worse still, a king who was mistreated and seemingly consenting… . He speaks of suffering greatly and even of being put to death! Peter has some reason to protest because, like many of his contemporaries, he was expecting a triumphant, glorious, powerful Messiah-King who would drive the Roman occupiers out of Jerusalem. What Jesus announces is therefore unacceptable: the almighty God cannot allow such things to happen! One might almost entitle this text: ‘Peter’s first denial’, his first refusal to follow the Messiah in his suffering. Jesus faces this spontaneous refusal on Peter’s part as a real temptation for himself and tells him so vehemently: ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me’ (Mt 16:23). We must allow the Spirit to transform—and at times completely overturn—our plans and ideas if we are to remain faithful to God’s plan. As Paul says in the second reading, we must allow the Spirit of God to transform our ways of seeing (cf. Rom 12:2) and we will experience wonderful surprises, for God’s ways are entirely different from our own. We must never lose sight of Isaiah’s famous words: ‘God says: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord’ (Isaiah 55:8–9). ‘If I understood God, he would not be God,’ said Saint Augustine. We must therefore accept being taken by surprise: the apostles and all the Jews of their time were, Peter foremost among them. With rare exceptions, they had anticipated a powerful, triumphant Messiah; instead, Jesus is the very antithesis of these grand expectations. God’s plan is nothing other than the salvation of the world, that is, the birth of a new humanity, one that will live solely by tenderness and mercy, in the image of God Himself. The logic of the cross is required to save humankind, and the salvation of humankind—that is, our total and definitive conversion to love and forgiveness, to brotherhood and peace, to sharing and justice—cannot happen with a wave of a magic wand. The salvation of humankind inevitably involves a slow transformation of humankind, but how can we transform humankind without showing them the way? Therefore, it was absolutely necessary for Jesus to walk the path of gentleness, goodness and forgiveness to the very end, in order to give us some chance of walking it ourselves. This is why Jesus, when explaining his passion and death to the disciples on the road to Emmaus, said ‘it had to be’, in the sense of ‘unfortunately, it had to be’. God’s plan of salvation is not compatible with a triumphant Messiah. For people to come to a full knowledge of the truth (1 Tim 2:4), they must discover the God of tenderness and forgiveness, of mercy and compassion, and this is not achieved through power but through the supreme gift of the Son’s life. We can then better understand this saying of Jesus: ‘No one has greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends’ (John 15:13). Only this supreme proof of love can lead us, too, to walk the path of love.

NOTE. ‘You are a stumbling block to me’ – the Greek word skandalon means ‘stumbling block’ – and our frailties and doubts can become stumbling blocks for ourselves or for others.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

(Mk 6:17-29)

The question «Jesus, Who is he?» grows throughout the Gospel according to Mk, up to the answer of the centurion under the Cross (15:39).

The assessment of the opinions of the people (vv.14-16) suggests that even around the first assemblies of believers someone tried to understand Christ starting from what was already known.

Not a few wished to understand his Person on the basis of criteria drawn from the Scriptures or from the Oral Tradition of the Chosen People; from ancient beliefs and suggestions - even superstitious (as in the case of Herod).

But the Herald of God was not a purifier of the Temple, nor was He a simple healer of dated religiosity, of domesticated cultural ideas. Not even one of the many "reformers"... all in all conformists.

He overturns the hopes of the people, thus disturbing any school of thought; in particular, those who hold the exclusivity.

When feel a danger, those who are shrouded in luster and power become brazen and willing to do any violence, even for a false point of honor.

Tyrants always scoff at the isolated, uncomfortable and defenseless.

But leaders and powerful are also cowards: they do not intend to lose face in front of the allies of their immoderate and uncontrolled environment, cloaked in exemptions.

Josephus [Flavius] reports that John was in prison for fear of a popular uprising - evaluating that it was good for him to act early.

The assassination plot was occasional.

The brave one who denounces abuses is cut off, but the Voice of his martyrdom is no longer silent.

For this reason the episode does not lead Jesus to greater prudence.  Once an Envoy is killed, another greater and more incisive takes over: the last of the Prophets, the Son of God.

It seemed absurd that someone in that society dared to break the conspiratorial wall that guaranteed the troublemakers to consider themselves untouchable.

Faced with the unceremonious blackmail of the privileged who had control of every social and cultural class, it seemed impossible to start a new path, or to say and do anything that was not aligned.

John and Jesus challenge the status quo and attract upon themselves the vengeance of those who try to perpetuate the prerogatives of the ancient hierarchical cosmos, and the anger of those who are exposed in their hypocrisy.

This is the real difficulty encountered in the proclamation of the new Kingdom in the world. His contemptuous refusal and every attempted murder will be a litmus test of our noble critical frankness, the ‘revelation’ of which will run parallel the Two.

The Master stood up in defense of conscience and of the divine law itself, against the opportunist authorities, which he challenged openly.

Even today he asks for courage not to surrender in the face of corruption, evil, the current mentality; to be different in the way of thinking, speaking, choosing and acting.

Not listened to, derided, opposed by many courtiers, the children of God bear witness to the Truth, paying in person: perfect Joy.

Authentic Fullness.

To internalize and live the message:

Who is Jesus according to you and the others?

[Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist, August 29]

(Mk 6:17-29)

The question "Jesus, Who is He?" grows throughout the Gospel of Mark, up to the centurion's answer under the Cross (Mk 15:39).

The balance of people's opinions (Mt 14:1-2; Mk 6:14-16; Lk 9:7-9) suggests that even around the first assemblies of believers there was an attempt to understand Christ from what was already known [from the criteria of Scripture and tradition, from ancient - even superstitious - beliefs and suggestions].

But the man of God is not simply a purifier of the Temple, nor a patchworker of conformist religiosity. He overturns popular, emotional or standard hopes.

In this way, each Prophet disquiets all those who hold the exclusive.

When he senses danger, those cloaked in lustre and power become brazen and willing to any violence, even for a false point of honour.

Tyrants always make a mockery of the isolated, inconvenient and defenceless, but leaders and potentates are also cowards: they do not intend to lose face in front of the allies of their inordinate and unchecked environment, cloaked in exemptions.

During more than 40 years of his reign, Herod Antipas had created a class of officials and a system of privileged people who had the government, the treasury, the economy, justice, every aspect of civil and police life in their hands, and his command covered the territory capillarly.

In every village, the ruler could count on the support of all the cliques and various local leaders, interested in controlling the consciences - along with compromised scribes and Pharisees, linked to his politics.

Apart from being a puppet of Rome - to which he guaranteed control of the territory and the flow of taxes - Herod was depraved and superstitious: he thought that even a light oath to a dancer should be kept.

Josephus Flavius, on the other hand, reports that John was in prison due to the ruler's fear of a popular uprising - and was considering that it was good for him to act in advance. The assassination plot was probably casual.

The courageous person who denounces abuse is crushed, but the voice of his martyrdom will never be silenced again.

This is why the episode does not induce Jesus to greater caution. Once a prophet is killed, another greater and more incisive one takes his place: the last of the Prophets, the Son of God.

Delinquents should not delude themselves that Providence does not know how to equip even the higher (and more wimpy) echelons with the counterpart of consistent and good people.

Both John and the Lord never visited the new Herodian capital, Tiberias, the city of courtly palaces, built - after Sefforis, where Jesus also worked - in diplomatic homage to the Roman emperor.

Generic and confusing religiosity can adapt to any season and be adopted even by those who think that other people's lives are worth nothing, but a Prophet does not stop at the whim of the corrupt system.

In the Palestinian villages, people's lives were harassed with taxes and abuses by landowners [who did not even reside there]; controlled by the perfect marriage of interests between civil and religious powers - who cunningly attempted to impose their way of life and impart established (useless) knowledge to the crowds.

The leaders of the popular, orthodox and compliant faith - as is often the case - were on the leash of the authorities on the ground, who considered themselves definitive and found strength in the coalition.

It seemed absurd that anyone in that society would dare to break the wall of silence that ensured that troublemakers, 'spiritual' authorities and even low-level bullies could consider themselves untouchable.

Faced with the [unceremonious] blackmail of the privileged who were in control of every social and cultural stratum, it seemed impossible to start a new path, or to say and do anything unaligned.

John and Jesus challenge the status quo and attract the vengeance of those who seek to perpetuate the prerogatives of the ancient hierarchical cosmos, and the anger of those who are exposed in their hypocrisies.

This is the real difficulty that the proclamation of the new kingdom encounters in the world. Its scornful rejection and every assassination attempt will be a litmus test of the critical prophecy, whose revelation will run parallel to the Two.

The Baptiser was an intrepid denouncer of vice, superficiality, malpractice, and the perversions of the powerful.

Pope Francis would have spoken of good manners (in the pursuit of ropey alliances) and bad habits - in the irresponsible and insulting private life, and in the violence with which dominion over the little ones is perpetuated.

Jesus, too, put his foot down, instead of making an internal career. In spite of John's foreboding, he rejected the path of weighed-up guile, pretense, diplomacy and pirouettes of circumstance.The Master stood in defence of conscience and divine law itself, against opportunistic religious and political authorities, whom he challenged head-on.

The Lord asks for the courage not to bend in the face of corruption, evil, the current mentality; to be different in the way of thinking, speaking (mellifluous), choosing and acting.

Unheard, laughed at, opposed by lords, luminaries and courtiers, the children of God bear witness to the Truth, paying their own way: perfect Gladness.

Authentic Fullness.

To internalise and live the message:

Do you know victims of authoritarianism, corruption, domination of the powerful, excess and extravagance of power? Even in the Church?

How is it that this still happens (and everything is silenced sooner or later)?

Who is Jesus according to you and others? And what would you say?

Dear brothers and sisters,

[...] the liturgical Memorial of the martyrdom of St John the Baptist, the Precursor of Jesus. In the Roman Calendar, he is the only saint whose birth and death, through martyrdom, are celebrated on the same day (in his case, 24 June). Today’s Memorial commemoration dates back to the dedication of a crypt in Sebaste, Samaria, where his head had already been venerated since the middle of the fourth century. The devotion later extended to Jerusalem, both in the Churches of the East and in Rome, with the title of the Beheading of St John the Baptist. In the Roman Martyrology reference is made to a second discovery of the precious relic, translated for the occasion to the Church of San Silvestro in Campo Marzio, Rome.

These small historical references help us to understand how ancient and deeply-rooted is the veneration of John the Baptist. His role in relation to Jesus stands out clearly in the Gospels. St Luke in particular recounts his birth, his life in the wilderness and his preaching, while in today’s Gospel St Mark tells us of his dramatic death. John the Baptist began his preaching under the Emperor Tiberius in about 27-28 A.D., and the unambiguous invitation he addressed to the people, who flocked to listen to him, was to prepare the way to welcome the Lord, to straighten the crooked paths of their lives through a radical conversion of heart (cf. Lk 3:4).

However, John the Baptist did not limit himself to teaching repentance or conversion. Instead, in recognizing Jesus as the “Lamb of God” who came to take away the sin of the world (Jn 1:29), he had the profound humility to hold up Jesus as the One sent by God, drawing back so that he might take the lead, and be heard and followed. As his last act the Baptist witnessed with his blood to faithfulness to God’s commandments, without giving in or withdrawing, carrying out his mission to the very end. In the 9th century the Venerable Bede says in one of his Homilies: “St John gave his life for [Christ]. He was not ordered to deny Jesus Christ, but was ordered to keep silent about the truth” (cf. Homily 23: CCL 122, 354). And he did not keep silent about the truth and thus died for Christ who is the Truth. Precisely for love of the truth he did not stoop to compromises and did not fear to address strong words to anyone who had strayed from God’s path.

We see this great figure, this force in the Passion, in resistance to the powerful. We wonder: what gave birth to this life, to this interiority so strong, so upright, so consistent, spent so totally for God in preparing the way for Jesus? The answer is simple: it was born from the relationship with God, from prayer, which was the thread that guided him throughout his existence. John was the divine gift for which his parents Zechariah and Elizabeth had been praying for so many years (cf. Lk 1:13); a great gift, humanly impossible to hope for, because they were both advanced in years and Elizabeth was barren (cf. Lk 1:7); yet nothing is impossible to God (cf. Lk 1:36). The announcement of this birth happened precisely in the place of prayer, in the temple of Jerusalem, indeed it happened when Zechariah had the great privilege of entering the holiest place in the temple to offer incense to the Lord (cf. Lk 1:8-20). John the Baptist’s birth was also marked by prayer: the Benedictus, the hymn of joy, praise and thanksgiving which Zechariah raises to the Lord and which we recite every morning in Lauds, exalts God’s action in history and prophetically indicates the mission of their son John: to go before the Son of God made flesh to prepare his ways (cf. Lk 1:67-79).

The entire existence of the Forerunner of Jesus was nourished by his relationship with God, particularly the period he spent in desert regions (cf. Lk 1:80). The desert regions are places of temptation but also where man acquires a sense of his own poverty because once deprived of material support and security, he understands that the only steadfast reference point is God himself. John the Baptist, however, is not only a man of prayer, in permanent contact with God, but also a guide in this relationship. The Evangelist Luke, recalling the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples, the Our Father, notes that the request was formulated by the disciples in these words: “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his own disciples” (cf. Lk 11:1).

Dear brothers and sisters, celebrating the martyrdom of St John the Baptist reminds us too, Christians of this time, that with love for Christ, for his words and for the Truth, we cannot stoop to compromises. The Truth is Truth; there are no compromises. Christian life demands, so to speak, the “martyrdom” of daily fidelity to the Gospel, the courage, that is, to let Christ grow within us and let him be the One who guides our thought and our actions. However, this can happen in our life only if we have a solid relationship with God. Prayer is not time wasted, it does not take away time from our activities, even apostolic activities, but exactly the opposite is true: only if we are able to have a faithful, constant and trusting life of prayer will God himself give us the ability and strength to live happily and serenely, to surmount difficulties and to witness courageously to him. St John the Baptist, intercede for us, that we may be ever able to preserve the primacy of God in our life. Thank you.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 29 August 2012]

1. Today, 29 August, Christian tradition commemorates the martyrdom of St John the Baptist; the Messiah himself says in praise of him: "none born of woman is greater" (cf. Lk 7: 28). He gave to God the supreme witness of his blood, sacrificing his life for truth and justice; indeed, his head was cut off at the orders of Herod, whom he had dared to tell that it was not lawful to take his brother's wife (cf. Mc 6: 17-29).

2. In the Encyclical Veritatis Splendor, recalling the sacrifice of John the Baptist (cf. n. 91), I observed that martyrdom is "an outstanding sign of the holiness of the Church" (n. 93). Indeed, it "represents the high point of the witness to moral truth" (ibid.).

Although relatively few are called to make this supreme sacrifice, it is nonetheless "a consistent witness which all Christians must daily be ready to make, even at the cost of suffering and grave sacrifice" (ibid.). At times, a truly heroic effort is also needed in daily life, in order not to give in to the difficulties that are an incentive to compromise and to live the Gospel "sine glossa".

3. The heroic example of John the Baptist reminds us of the martyrs for the faith who down the centuries followed courageously in his footsteps. I recall in particular the multitude of Christians in the last century who were also victims of religious hatred in various European nations. Today too, in some parts of the world, believers are still subjected to harsh trials for adhering to Christ and his Church.

May these brothers and sisters of ours feel the full solidarity of the entire Ecclesial Community! Let us entrust them to the Blessed Virgin, Queen of Martyrs, whom we call on together at this moment.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 29 August 2004]

A man, John, and a road, which is that of Jesus, indicated by the Baptist, but is also ours, in which we are all called at the moment of trial.

It starts from the figure of John, "the great John: in the words of Jesus "the greatest man born of a woman"" the reflection of Pope Francis in the Mass celebrated at Santa Marta on Friday 6 February. The Gospel of Mark (6:14-29) recounts the imprisonment and martyrdom of this "man faithful to his mission; the man who suffered many temptations" and who "never, never betrayed his vocation". A man 'faithful' and 'of great authority, respected by all: the great of that time'.

Pope Francis paused to analyse his figure: 'What came out of his mouth was right. His heart was just'. He was so great that "Jesus will also say of him that 'it is Elijah who has returned, to clean the house, to prepare the way'". And John "was conscious that his duty was only to proclaim: to announce the proximity of the Messiah. He was conscious, as St Augustine makes us reflect, that he was the voice only, the Word was another'. Even when "he was tempted to "rob" this truth, he remained just: "I am not, behind me comes, but I am not: I am the servant; I am the servant; I am the one who opens the doors, so that he may come".

At this point the Pontiff introduced the concept of the way, because, he recalled, 'John is the forerunner: forerunner not only of the Lord's entry into public life, but of the Lord's entire life'. The Baptist 'goes forward in the Lord's way; he bears witness to the Lord not only by showing him - "This is it!" - but also by bringing life to the end as the Lord has brought it'. And by ending his life "with martyrdom" he was "a forerunner of the life and death of Jesus Christ".

The Pope went on to reflect on these parallel paths along which "the great" suffers "many trials and becomes small, small, small to the point of contempt". John, like Jesus, "annihilates himself, he knows the road of annihilation. John, with all that authority, thinking about his life, comparing it with that of Jesus, tells people who he is, what his life will be like: 'It is better for him to grow, I instead must diminish'". This, the Pope stressed, is "the life of John: to diminish before Christ, so that Christ may grow". It is "the life of the servant who makes room, makes way for the Lord to come".

John's life "was not easy": in fact, "when Jesus began his public life", he was "close to the Essenes, that is, to the observants of the law, but also of prayers, of penances". Thus, at a certain point, during the time he was in prison, 'he suffered the ordeal of darkness, of the night in his soul'. And that scene, Francis commented, "moved: the great, the greatest sent two disciples to Jesus to ask him: 'But John asks you: is it you or have I made a mistake and must we wait for someone else?'" Along John's path therefore came 'the darkness of error, the darkness of a life burnt in error. And this was a cross for him".

To John's question "Jesus answers with the words of Isaiah": the Baptist "understands, but his heart remains in darkness". Nevertheless he lends himself to the demands of the king, 'who liked to hear him, who liked to lead an adulterous life', and 'almost became a court preacher, of this perplexed king'. But "he humbled himself" because "he thought he was converting this man".

Finally, the Pope said, 'after this purification, after this continuous descent into annihilation, making way for the annihilation of Jesus, his life ends'. That king from being perplexed 'becomes capable of a decision, but not because his heart has been converted'; rather 'because the wine gives him courage'.

And so John ends his life 'under the authority of a mediocre, drunken and corrupt king, at the whim of a dancer and the vengeful hatred of an adulteress'. Thus 'ends the great, the greatest man born of woman', commented Francis, who confessed: 'When I read this passage, I am moved'. And he added a useful consideration for the spiritual life of every Christian: "I think of two things: first, I think of our martyrs, the martyrs of our day, those men, women, children who are persecuted, hated, driven from their homes, tortured, massacred". And this, he stressed, 'is not a thing of the past: this happens today. Our martyrs, who end their lives under the corrupt authority of people who hate Jesus Christ'. Therefore, "it is good for us to think about our martyrs. Today we think of Paul Miki, but that was in the 1600s. Let us think of those of today, of 2015".

The Pontiff went on to add that this passage also prompts him to reflect on himself: 'I too will end. All of us will end. No one's life is 'bought'. We too, willingly or unwillingly, go down the road of the existential annihilation of life'. And this, he said, prompts him "to pray that this annihilation resembles Jesus Christ, his annihilation, as much as possible".

This closes the circle of Francis' meditation: 'John, the great, who continually diminishes to nothingness; the martyrs, who diminish today, in our Church of today, to nothingness; and we, who are on this road and going towards the earth, where we will all end'. In this sense the Pope's final prayer: "May the Lord enlighten us, make us understand this road of John, the forerunner of the road of Jesus; and the road of Jesus, who teaches us how ours should be."

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano 07.02.2015]

Wise souls, or mad ones

(Mt 25:1-13)

The theme is not that of moral vigilance, but punctual: sooner or later all the baptized in Christ fall asleep (v.5).

And the environment does not seem the best: the groom is late, the girls are sleepy, some without oil and others... sour.

But sometimes we are like madmen who go to build houses on the sand: at the first trickle is landslide, and everything collapses.

The enthusiasm was there, the harmony with the Lord and his desire to embrace and transmit fullness of being... maybe not.

It lacks a dimension of depth, or of living hope that animates motivations and lubricates energy, in the impulse to the mission.

It is the outcome of those who seem to have welcomed the Beatitudes at all points, but do not make them their own...

Not for the fact that they do not fulfill well the role - a task - but because they do not relate the listening to the practice (not distracted, exquisitely evangelical).

Powering the torch is promoting life!

And the Appeal, the opportune moment, comes suddenly; it does not set itself up through a general or formal choice that evolves without correlations, personal tracks, attention to events and wisdom to correspond.

Here the relationship of Faith is not oil that can be lent.

There are anxious or perfectionist souls who rush to intervene, but lack perception. There are fearful and paralyzed hearts: they must acquire flexibility.

Some stare at the "no" moments and do not know how to turn them into occasions of awakening, or they heal too late. Others depend on the season or live on adrenaline and lack awareness.

Someone has to slow down and recollect himself, rediscover himself and the instinctive vocational lightness, his own infinite part - but avoiding childish strategies.

Others who have already accepted the divine, would need to wake up from numbness, to set in motion the wise and innate light they possess in deep inclinations.

Some need to throw ballasts, become more subtle in hearing and in offering themselves, or less dirigist; others need to prepare for the Encounter in a more relational and visible dimension.

There are people who must complicate their stories and then simplify [without dispersing] eventually becoming sharper; others and perhaps more, learning to donate. And so on.

So... better some with light than all in the dark. The actions and risk for wisdom, love and completeness of being build the Person and his dialogue.

One often imagines having provided for own practice with God by enrolling in parish registers, without elaborating his commitment.

But the person who neither edifies nor communicates life has nothing to do with God himself (v.12).

In this way, even the crisis can have an evolutionary sense; in not feeling absolute, in the logic of options, in personalisation, in the unexpected and different encounter.

Threshold of every Exodus, to Freedom and the Feast.

The paradigm of this high and strong Call of the Gospel is the therapy that can regenerate the world subjugated by external homologations, so that it goes Elsewhere - and does not renounce the dimension of Mystery that arouses it.

To internalize and live the message:

Have you lost the meaning of the Wedding Invitation? Or do you simply prefer to cross the Banquet threshold unscathed?

Is there an Encounter that you feel can awaken your life, or has the habit of waiting turned into a habit of waiting nothing any longer?

[Friday 21st wk. in O.T.  August 28, 2026]

Distraction in the waiting room, or a crisis with an evolutionary sense

(Mt 25:1-13)

The theme is not one of moral vigilance, but timely: sooner or later all those baptised into Christ fall asleep (v.5).

And the environment doesn't look the best: the groom is delayed, the girls are sleepy, some without oil and the others... sour.

But sometimes we are like madmen who go out to build houses on the sand: at the first flood everything collapses.

Enthusiasm is there, attunement with the Lord and his desire to embrace and transmit fullness of being... perhaps not.

What is missing is a dimension of depth, or of living hope that animates motivation and lubricates energy, in the impulse to mission.

This is the outcome of those who seem to have accepted the Beatitudes in full, but do not make them their own....

Not because they do not fulfil the role well - a task - but because they do not relate listening to the non-distracted, exquisitely evangelical practice.

To feed the torch is to promote life!

But how can we focus on it and not obfuscate it, or rather unblock it, and not allow ourselves to be influenced by the trappings, pull it out of the drawer; orient it well - in local and universal favour, one's own, and that of all?

The Appeal, the opportune moment, comes suddenly. It is not set up through a general or formal choice that evolves without correlation, without personal tracks, without attention to events and the ability to correspond.

In short: the relationship of Faith is not oil that can be lent.

As in a Love relationship, each one needs moment by moment a new personal balance - enhanced in fusion.

There are anxious or perfectionist souls who rush to act, but lack perception. There are fearful and paralysed hearts: they must acquire flexibility.

Some stare at "no" moments and do not know how to transform them into opportunities for awakening; or they heal too late. Others depend on the season or live on adrenaline, and lack awareness.

Some must slow down and collect themselves, rediscover themselves and their instinctive vocational lightness, their infinite part - but avoiding puerile strategies.

Others, who have already embraced the divine, would need to wake up from their torpor, to set in motion the wise, innate light they possess in their deepest inclinations.

Some need to shed ballast, to become more subtle in their hearing and presentation, or less dirigiste; others, to prepare for the Encounter in a more relational and visible dimension.

There are some who cannot help but complicate their lives, and then simplify [without dispersing], eventually becoming sharper; others, and perhaps more, learn to give. And so on.

So. to harmonise and invigorate the natural, passionate and vocational organism, better some with light than all in the dark - stuck in the waiting room, lost forever.

Jesus does not favour those slumbering in an empty spirituality without uniqueness - that is, those gripped by the instinct of self-protection. He does not seek first his own resources, what he already finds within himself; but what he obtains outside, or is given on demand, begged by others.

The unusual - perhaps undue - and personal listening, as well as the enterprising actions, the risk for wisdom, love, the stimulus to the completeness of being, build the Persona and its true dialogue.

Conformities do not produce breakthroughs; they persist in the torpid outline. 

The indistinct crowd without conviviality of differences - if mediocre, lacking in exploratory peaks, exceptions - pushes every unrepeatable Call to the bench.

Often one imagines one has made one's own practice with God by enrolling in parish registers, without fully processing the commitment. Perhaps for fear of risk or unforeseen hardship.

Then some zealous mannerists also assume prone attitudes of [formerly called] 'papist' appearance and [fake] orthodoxy - or vice versa, sophisticated, à la page.

Disembodied abstractions, which the Bridegroom is not interested in.

He who does not even work on himself, obviously according to the character of his own vocational inclinations, neither edifies nor communicates life.

He neither enriches nor cheers up even a cursory existence, of the weary times of waiting. Finally, it has nothing to do with God (v.12).

The paradigm of this high and strong call of the Gospel is the therapy that can regenerate the world subjugated by external homologations, so that it goes Elsewhere - and does not renounce the dimension of the Mystery that arouses it.

It is an appeal out of time for the Church itself, so that it does not settle for schemes, models, standard recipes, or to put things in place in a habitual way.

Nor does it get stuck in sick relationships, in nomenclatures of qualunquist support; resounding or museum-like. And thus find themselves outside the Feast, disoriented, overwhelmed; without even having activated themselves, humanising.

As the encyclical Fratelli Tutti recalls in no.33 [quoting a homily by Pope Francis in Skopje]:

"We fed ourselves with dreams of splendour and greatness and ended up eating distraction [losing] the taste and flavour of reality".

But even the crisis can have an evolutionary meaning: in accepting to be wrong, in becoming aware of imperfections.

In not feeling absolute; in the logic of options, in personalisation, in the unexpected and different encounter.

Threshold of every Exodus towards Freedom and Celebration.

To internalise and live the message:

Have you lost the meaning of the Wedding invitation? Or do you simply prefer to cross the Banquet threshold unscathed?

Is there an Encounter that you feel can awaken your life, or has the habit of waiting turned into a habit of not waiting any longer?

In order not to relapse

"The biblical readings of today's liturgy [...] invite us to prolong our reflection on eternal life [...]. On this point there is a clear difference between those who believe and those who do not believe, or, one might equally say, between those who hope and those who do not hope. In fact, St Paul writes to the Thessalonians: "We do not want to leave you in ignorance about those who have died, so that you may not be sad like the others who have no hope" ( 1 Thess 4:13). Faith in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ also marks a decisive watershed in this area. St Paul again reminds the Christians of Ephesus that, before accepting the Good News, they were "without hope and without God in the world" ( Eph 2:12). In fact, the religion of the Greeks, the pagan cults and myths, were unable to shed light on the mystery of death, so much so that an ancient inscription read: 'In nihil ab nihilo quam cito recidimus', which means: 'Into nothingness from nothingness how soon we fall'. If we remove God, if we remove Christ, the world falls back into emptiness and darkness. And this is also reflected in the expressions of contemporary nihilism, an often unconscious nihilism that unfortunately infects so many young people.

Today's Gospel is a famous parable about ten girls invited to a wedding feast, a symbol of the Kingdom of Heaven, of eternal life (Mt 25:1-13). It is a happy image, with which, however, Jesus teaches a truth that challenges us; in fact, of those ten girls: five enter the feast, because, when the bridegroom arrives, they have the oil to light their lamps; while the other five remain outside, because, foolish, they did not bring the oil. What does this 'oil', indispensable to be admitted to the wedding feast, represent? St Augustine (cf. Sermons 93:4) and other ancient authors read in it a symbol of love, which cannot be bought, but is received as a gift, kept in one's heart and practised in one's works. True wisdom is to take advantage of mortal life to perform works of mercy, because after death, this will no longer be possible. When we are awakened for the last judgement, this will be on the basis of the love practised in earthly life (cf. Mt 25:31-46). And this love is Christ's gift, poured into us by the Holy Spirit. Whoever believes in God-Love carries within him an invincible hope, like a lamp with which to cross the night beyond death, and reach the great feast of life".

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 6 November 2011]

Dear brothers and sisters!

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

The Biblical Readings of this […] Liturgy invite us to extend the reflection on eternal life that we began on the occasion of the commemoration of the faithful departed. On this point there is a clear difference between those who believe and those who do not believe or, one might likewise say, between those who hope and those who do not hope.

Indeed St Paul wrote to the Thessalonians: “but we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thess 4:13). Faith in the death and Resurrection of Jesus Christ in this sphere too is a crucial divide. St Paul always reminded the Christians of Ephesus that before accepting the Good News they had been “separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world” (Eph 2:12). Indeed the religion of the Greeks, the pagan cults and myths, were unable to shed light on the mystery of death; thus an ancient inscription said: “In nihil ab nihilo quam cito recidmus” which means: “how quickly we fall back from nothing to nothing”. If we remove God, we remove Christ and the world falls back into emptiness and darkness. Moreover, this is also confirmed in the expressions of contemporary nihilism that is often unconscious and, unfortunately, infects a great many young people.

Today’s Gospel is a famous parable that speaks of ten maidens invited to a wedding feast, a symbol of the Kingdom of Heaven and of eternal life (Mt 25:1-13). It is a happy image with which, however, Jesus teaches a truth that calls us into question. In fact five of those 10 maidens were admitted to the feast because when the bridegroom arrived they had brought the oil to light their lamps, whereas the other five were left outside because they had been foolish enough not to bring any. What is represented by this “oil”, the indispensable prerequisite for being admitted to the nuptial banquet?

St Augustine (cf. Discourses 93, 4), and other ancient authors interpreted it as a symbol of love that one cannot purchase but receives as a gift, preserves within one and uses in works. True wisdom is making the most of mortal life in order to do works of mercy, for after death this will no longer be possible. When we are reawoken for the Last Judgement, it will be made on the basis of the love we have shown in our earthly life (cf. Mt 25:31-46). And this love is a gift of Christ, poured out in us by the Holy Spirit. Those who believe in God-Love bear within them invincible hope, like a lamp to light them on their way through the night beyond death to arrive at the great feast of life.

Let us ask Mary, Sedes Sapientiae, to teach us true wisdom, the wisdom that became flesh in Jesus. He is the Way that leads from this life to God, to the Eternal One. He enabled us to know the Father’s face, and thus gave us hope full of love. This is why the Church addresses the Mother of the Lord with these words: “Vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra” [our life, our sweetness and our hope]. Let us learn from her to live and die in the hope that never disappoints.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 6 November 2011]