The Sulk.

How many times a day do we take offence?

How often does our excessive sensitivity to other people’s attention and words get on our nerves?

This is what happens to many people… and at certain times in life, it has happened to all of us… without exception.

The trouble is that if this feeling pervades our very being and shapes the way we are, then we will never be content.

People react in the way that is most natural to them and their nature, and these behaviours originate in childhood.

There are people who take offence at actions, glances or words; others don’t even get upset by what is actually an offence – or, very wisely, let it go without feeling the slightest disturbance.

And here, if we think back on events that have happened to us and our friends, there is no shortage of examples.

I know several people who need to be ‘treated with kid gloves’; they take offence at the slightest thing, or misinterpret certain words… and then, just like small children, they sulk. 

This is a facial expression combined with a pursing of the lips and a furrowing of the brow that expresses unease, annoyance or resentment.

We usually speak of ‘sensitivity’ when one is overly attentive and sensitive to what others say to us; of ‘touchiness’ when, in addition to this excessive sensitivity, there is also resentment, animosity and closed-mindedness.

These are attitudes often seen in children up to a certain age (around 7–8 years old), but which an adult should have outgrown.

Venturing into a field outside my own – that of philosophy – Aristotle argued that those who take offence easily are unable to manage their anger and react disproportionately.

Immanuel Kant asserted that such people react emotionally rather than rationally.

Those who feel offended assess what the other person says to them based on how they feel (pain or annoyance) rather than on the objectivity of what is actually said.

Despite this philosopher’s pessimistic view, I find Schopenhauer’s metaphor (from 1851) particularly beautiful.

In short, on a cold winter’s day, a group of porcupines huddle together to keep warm, so as not to freeze to death. After a while, they realise the pain caused by each other’s quills and so move apart.

However, driven once more by the cold, they draw closer again and start pricking one another… so, by repeatedly moving apart and coming together, they find the right distance between them to keep warm without pricking one another.

This metaphor aptly describes the behaviour of those who take offence easily and sulk.

One solution suggested by this metaphor is to find the right relational distance, based on good manners.

Returning to my own field, that of psychology, this topic has also been addressed there.

For Freud, the tendency to take offence is seen as a defence mechanism associated with narcissism, punitive moral standards, and projection; that is, with what is ours, what lies within us – which we perceive and attribute to others.

The touchy person believes themselves to be great and flawless; an image they have constructed to hide their own weaknesses.

Young children live in a world that revolves entirely around them, and if an adult remains stuck in this phase, every word, expression or glance is seen as a personal attack.

Marie-Louise von Franz, a Jungian analyst, speaks of sensitivity as a specific aspect of our inferior functions.

She argues that almost all of us become childish when this dimension is stimulated.

Unable to tolerate the slightest criticism, we feel under massive attack – and so we force the rest of humanity to interact with us with great caution.

In doing so, we fail to realise that this behaviour of ours is a form of tyranny.

Personally, I think that irony and self-irony can be of help – precisely to cope better with the annoyances of ‘over-sensitively’ perceiving the voices of others. 

Irony and self-deprecating humour allow us to play down the problem that has gripped us, and point to a vital path that requires tenacity.

We need irony and self-deprecating humour to re-examine our thoughts and feelings from a different perspective.

This is no easy task, because to ensure these feelings do not get the better of us, we need to make an effort and practise….

We really do need to summon our inner strength, and sometimes laugh at our own shortcomings or flaws.

This makes life better.

Sometimes, in addition to the ‘ghosts’ we believe we have internalised, there are comments directed at us that are genuinely hurtful; and here it might perhaps be useful to point out to these people that anyone could find themselves in such situations.

So that we do not allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by what hurts us, or what we think has hurt us.

[This brief reflection, too, stems from my school days and professional training].

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi, Psychologist and Psychotherapist

33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [15 November 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Proverbs (31:10–13, 19–20, 30–31)  

This passage, which forms the conclusion of the Book of Proverbs, is one of the biblical texts dedicated to the figure of woman. It does not merely present an ideal wife according to the social standards of the time, but offers a portrait of the wise woman, capable of transforming her faith into concrete acts of love, diligence, solidarity and responsibility. It is an alphabetical poem: in Hebrew, each verse begins with the next letter of the alphabet, from Alef to Tau, and this structure suggests a certain completeness: from the first to the last letter, a model of wisdom is described that encompasses the whole of life. The text presents the so-called ‘eshet chayil’, a Hebrew expression which we can translate as ‘strong woman’, ‘woman of worth’ or ‘virtuous woman’.

The word chayil denotes not only moral virtue, but also strength, ability, courage, valour and competence. She is a woman who possesses inner resources and knows how to put them at the service of life. She is not confined to the home, but is enterprising; she works, trades, organises, helps the poor and takes on responsibilities.

The author begins with a rhetorical question: where can one find a woman of such worth? Worth that is not measured by outward beauty, wealth or social standing, but by the quality of the person; and the comparison with pearls is interesting because, in ancient culture, precious stones represented extraordinary wealth. Yet this woman is worth far more. Today, people’s worth is often measured by their appearance, efficiency, success and ability to produce, whilst the Bible reminds us that a person’s worth does not depend on what they possess, but on who they are and what they are able to give. True beauty is an inner beauty that manifests itself in relationships. The first element that emerges is trust. Her husband can rely on her because he knows he has by his side a loyal, responsible and trustworthy person, and the marital relationship is not built on fear, control or possession, but on mutual trust. The woman is not her husband’s property, but a partner to whom he can entrust his heart, and the text speaks precisely of the heart: in the Bible, the heart is the centre of the person, of their will, feelings and decisions. The strong woman does not seek only her own interests: she desires the good of the other, and the text emphasises continuity: ‘all the days of her life’. It is not, therefore, a love made up solely of exciting moments, but of daily faithfulness; and charity is not measured by grand gestures, but by the perseverance of small acts of kindness. ‘She procures wool and flax and works them willingly with her hands’ (v. 13). Here we are presented with a hard-working and creative woman who is not simply compelled to work, but who puts intelligence, skill and passion into what she does; and verses 19–20 add: ‘She stretches out her hand to the distaff, and her fingers hold the spindle. She opens her palms to the needy; she extends her hand to the poor.’ The distaff and spindle were tools used for spinning wool and linen, whilst manual labour was an important part of the ancient household economy. But the most beautiful detail is the transition from manual labour to solidarity. The hands that work are the same ones that reach out to the poor. There is a profound spiritual lesson here: if work does not become an activity confined to personal interest, it also fosters concern for others. 

‘Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised’ (v. 30). After describing so many human qualities, the author arrives at the root of them all: the fear of the Lord. The Hebrew expression yir’at Adonai, ‘the fear of the Lord’, is the recognition of his greatness, loving respect, and the awareness that God is the centre and foundation of one’s existence. The woman described in the poem is beautiful above all because she lives before God and allows her relationship with him to guide her choices. Here we find a link to the entire Book of Proverbs, which begins by stating: ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom’ (Prov 1:7). Wisdom does not simply consist in knowing many things, but in knowing how to live according to God’s plan.  ‘Let her children give her thanks for the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her at the city gates’ (v. 31) The poem concludes with a call for public recognition. The city gates were the place where social gatherings, judicial decisions and public matters took place. A woman should not be praised merely within the privacy of the home: the value of her work deserves to be recognised by the whole community, for it is not merely her words that bear witness to her, but her deeds. Although this passage is dedicated to women, it contains a lesson that applies to all people, and we can summarise five key messages: A person’s dignity takes precedence over outward appearance, and one should not be judged by visible qualities, for true worth springs from inner richness. Love is demonstrated through daily faithfulness, expressed in gestures, thoughtfulness, responsibility and perseverance. Work must be at the service of life, for it is not merely a means of earning a living, but can become a collaboration with God in building a more humane world. Solidarity is the sign of true wealth, and those who live in God’s wisdom do not remain indifferent to the suffering of others.

The fear of God is the foundation of all authentic beauty, for a life centred on God acquires a value that does not fade with time.

Responsorial Psalm 126 (127)  

Psalm 126, according to the Greek and liturgical numbering (127 in the Hebrew numbering), belongs to the so-called Psalms of Ascent (Ps 120–134), probably sung by pilgrims travelling up to Jerusalem for the great feasts.

It is a psalm that addresses three fundamental aspects of human life:

The building of the house and the city. Daily work and toil. The family and the gift of children. The central teaching is that man must strive, but cannot consider himself the absolute master of his own life: everything depends on God’s blessing. In the biblical mindset, the ‘house’ refers not only to the physical building, but also to the family, one’s descendants and the stability of life. Man builds, plans, works and organises, but if God is not the foundation, everything risks remaining fragile. The same applies to the city: the watchmen keep vigil, but ultimate security does not come from human vigilance alone. The psalm does not say that we must not build or keep watch, but that we must do so together with God. We may build a beautiful house and yet fail to build a family; we may have many material securities and yet live in inner insecurity. 

‘In vain you rise early in the morning and go to bed late, you who eat the bread of toil.’ Here the psalmist does not condemn work, but warns against the illusion that everything depends on human effort. A person can become a slave to their own work, sacrificing rest, loved ones, family and even their relationship with God. Bread earned through toil is necessary, but it must not become the master of our existence. The following verse contains a beautiful expression: ‘To his beloved he will give it in sleep.’ Life is not merely the result of our efforts: it is, first and foremost, a gift of his providence, and the psalm reminds us that we are not merely what we do, but children loved by God. Learning to rest also means learning to trust. Rest thus becomes an act of faith: we recognise that God continues to watch over our lives even when we are not actively working. ‘Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord; the fruit of the womb is a reward.’ The psalm moves from work to the family. Children are not presented as an achievement or the property of their parents, but as a heritage—that is, a gift received from God. The image of arrows in a quiver (vv. 4–5) emphasises the strength and protection that a large family could represent in the ancient world. Today we can discern a further meaning: children do not belong to their parents as possessions, but are entrusted to their care. They are people to be guided, educated and prepared for life. To bring children into the world does not merely mean giving birth to them: it also means helping them to become free, responsible people capable of love. Parents are not called to mould their children according to their own expectations, but to help them discover their vocation and God’s plan for their lives. This principle can also be extended to spiritual fatherhood and motherhood: priests, consecrated persons, educators and catechists are called to bring others to the faith and to accompany their growth.

This psalm offers three lessons that we can apply to our daily lives: it is not enough to ask God to bless our plans; we must learn to build according to his plan. Our lives do not depend solely on our own abilities, for they are safeguarded by Divine Providence. The people God entrusts to us are not our possessions, but responsibilities and opportunities for love. And we may conclude with a question: If God were to enter the home and family we are building, would He find a central place, or would He have to make do with the space we leave free for Him?

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians (5:1–6)

This passage forms part of the discourse on the coming of the Lord and the fate of Christians who have died (1 Thess 4:13–18). After speaking of the resurrection of the dead and the encounter with Christ, Paul addresses a second question: when will all this take place, and what should be the Christian’s attitude whilst waiting? The core of the message is very clear: it is not important to know the day and hour of the Lord’s coming, but to live each day as people who belong to the light. He uses two Greek terms: Chrònoi: the ages, that is, the eras and their duration. Kairòi: the opportune moments, the occasions and the times appointed by God. The distinction is not absolute, but the two terms together denote the totality of time and its fulfilment. The community in Thessalonica was concerned about Christ’s return, and the Christians were living in anticipation of his glorious coming, eager to know when it would happen. Paul does not fuel curiosity about dates and chronological calculations, but shifts the focus from prediction to preparation. This is an important teaching: the Christian faith is not an anxious search for when the end will come, but a call to live the present responsibly. Here we find Paul’s advice not to let ourselves be dominated by fear or speculation, for we must not try to predict the future, but live the present in a holy manner. Paul notes that ‘The Day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night’ (v. 2). The expression ‘Day of the Lord’ has a long history in biblical tradition. In the Old Testament, it refers to the moment when God intervenes in history to judge evil, save his people and manifest his lordship. The prophet Amos, for example, warns those who long for the Day of the Lord without realising that it will also be a day of judgement (cf. 5:18). In the New Testament, this expectation finds its fulfilment in the glorious coming of Christ. Paul uses the image of a thief arriving at night, and the night represents above all unpredictability and surprise, given that human life is characterised by the unexpected. The Christian question is not when the Lord will come, but: if he were to come today, would he find me ready to welcome him? ‘When people say, “There is peace and security!”, then sudden destruction will overtake them’ (v. 3). Here, Paul introduces a clear contrast: on the one hand, we find tranquillity and security; on the other, the sudden onset of destruction. The expression ‘peace and security’ may also recall the language of Roman imperial propaganda, which presented the Empire as the guarantor of peace and order. Paul warns against the false sense of security held by those who think that economic, political and social structures can guarantee absolute stability. The reference to the labour pains of a pregnant woman adds an important detail: childbirth is inevitable and cannot be stopped by human will. The Christian’s true security does not lie in the absence of problems, but in the certainty of belonging to Christ. ‘But you, brothers and sisters, are not in darkness, so that that day should surprise you like a thief’ (v. 4). Here we find a turning point in Paul’s discourse. Having spoken of those who live under the illusion of security, the apostle addresses Christians directly: ‘But you’. They, too, do not know when that day will come, but the difference lies in the awareness that they are not in darkness because they have received the light of the Gospel and belong to Christ. To be in the light means to live in the truth, in communion with God, whilst to be in darkness means to live without reference to God, allowing oneself to be dominated by selfishness, sin and the illusion of self-sufficiency.  ‘You are all children of the light and children of the day’ (v. 5). This is one of the most beautiful expressions in the passage. In biblical language, being children of the light means belonging to Christ, who is the light of the world (John 8:12). Christians must not merely seek the light, but live by the light they have received as a baptismal gift. The dignity of being children of the light is a gift, but it is also a responsibility. ‘We do not belong to the night, nor to the darkness. Let us not, therefore, sleep as others do, but let us keep watch and be sober’ (v. 6). Paul concludes with three spiritual exhortations: do not sleep, keep watch and be sober. The Greek verb used for ‘to sleep’ is katheudō. Here it takes on a spiritual meaning: to live in a state of unawareness, without realising one’s own condition or the nearness of the Lord. The verb grēgoreō, ‘to keep watch’, on the other hand, indicates a state of attentiveness, vigilance and awareness. Finally, we find nēphō, ‘to be sober’. Sobriety is not merely abstinence from material excesses, but also inner clarity and the ability not to allow oneself to be dominated by passions, illusions and distractions. These are three closely linked attitudes: those who keep watch do not allow their conscience to be lulled to sleep in the face of evil; those who do not become so accustomed to sin as to regard it as normal do not continually put off conversion; those who do not live distracted from what is essential do not allow worries to stifle prayer. Our ultimate security is Christ.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (25:14–30)

The parable of the talents is found in the fifth major discourse of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew, the eschatological discourse (Mt 24–25), in which Jesus speaks of his final coming and calls on his disciples to live in vigilance. It is preceded by the parable of the ten virgins (Mt 25:1–13), which teaches the need to be ready to welcome the Bridegroom, and followed by the scene of the Last Judgement (Mt 25:31–46), in which the criterion for judgement will be concrete love for one’s brothers and sisters. We thus have a very significant progression: The virgins: one must be ready.

The talents: we must be industrious and responsible; the Last Judgement: we must put charity into practice. Christian vigilance is therefore not a passive waiting, but a life that bears fruit.

‘A man, setting out on a journey, called his servants and entrusted his possessions to them’ (v. 14).

The man who sets off on a journey and entrusts his possessions to his servants, in the context of the parable, represents Christ, who, after his earthly mission, returns to the Father, leaving his disciples with a responsibility: to safeguard and make fruitful what they have received. The verb ‘entrusted’ is significant. In Greek we find parédōken, from paradídōmi, which means to hand over, to entrust, to pass on. The master does not simply distribute riches but entrusts something that belongs to him. This detail is fundamental: we are not the absolute owners of the gifts we have received, but stewards of a wealth that comes from God. Our life, our faith, our time, our abilities, our responsibilities, our charisms and our opportunities to do good are gifts entrusted to our freedom—gifts we have received that must not be regarded as private property. ‘To one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, according to each one’s ability’ (v. 15).

A talent was not a coin of small value, but a unit of weight and monetary measure. One talent corresponded to a considerable quantity of precious metal, usually silver. Therefore, even the servant who receives just one talent is entrusted with a significant wealth. The master distributes them differently, ‘according to each one’s ability’. Not everyone receives the same amount, but everyone receives something. Here is an important lesson: God does not expect the same results from everyone, but asks each person to live responsibly according to the gifts they have received; and diversity is not a form of discrimination, but a source of richness. Indeed, equality of dignity must not be confused with the sameness of gifts. In the Christian community, in fact, everyone has a particular vocation, sensibility and task. St Paul elaborates extensively on this concept in 1 Corinthians 12, where he compares the Church to a body made up of many different members, all of which are necessary. The parable invites us to move beyond the logic of comparison. The issue is not how many talents we have received, but what we do with them; and a community grows when each person stops envying the gifts of others and begins to make their own available. 

‘At once the one who had received five talents went off to put them to work’ (vv. 16–17).

The first two servants set to work immediately. The text emphasises their initiative: they do not wait for further instructions, they do not ask for guarantees, they do not put it off. They take responsibility for what has been entrusted to them, and the result is that both double the talents they have received. It is interesting to note that the servant with five talents gains another five, whilst the one with two gains another two, showing that the results differ in quantity but are identical in terms of faithfulness. The master does not assess the magnitude of the result in absolute terms, but rather how well it corresponds to the responsibility entrusted to them. Even within the Church, there is a temptation to always wait for others to take action. We wait for the parish priest to take the lead, for the organiser to make arrangements, for the priest to put forward ideas, for someone else to take on a role. But the community is not an audience merely watching the activities of a few key figures. The community is a living organism in which everyone is called to participate. It is not enough to ask what the Church can do for me; rather, we must ask ourselves what the Lord wants to do through me for the Church and for others.

‘The one who had received a single talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money there’ (v. 18).

Here we see the completely different behaviour of the third servant. He does not lose the talent, nor does he squander it or use it for personal gain, but he hides it. On the surface, this seems like prudent behaviour, but  this is precisely where the problem lies: he received a gift to make it bear fruit, yet he turns it into something to be hoarded. His is a prudence that masks fear. In the ancient world, burying money underground was a well-known way of protecting it from theft. The servant acts according to a logic of security, but not according to the logic of trust. The talent is not lost, but neither does it produce anything. The opposite of faithfulness is not merely wastefulness: it can also be inaction. This is probably the most thought-provoking aspect of the parable for our communities. We may have a sound spiritual tradition, but without passing it on to the younger generations; we may have structures and organisations, but without genuine fraternal life; we may have capable and generous people, but who are not actively involved. Many projects, but little ability to reach out to those who are far away: in short, a faith that is preserved but not borne witness to. A community thus becomes a repository of memories, habits and past activities, rather than a place where the Gospel continues to generate life. The hidden talent can also be a vocation never embraced, a charism never made available, a kind word never spoken, a person we have never tried to reach out to.

‘Lord, I know that you are a hard man…’ (vv. 24–25).

When the master returns, the servants give an account of their actions. The first two present the fruits of their labour. The third, however, tries to justify himself. The most interesting detail is the reason he gives: ‘I was afraid, so I went and hid your talent in the ground’.

Fear is this servant’s real problem because he has a distorted image of his master: he regards him as a harsh, demanding, almost unjust man. He did not trust him and did not understand the meaning of entrustment. His behaviour stems from this false image. The way we think of God profoundly shapes the way we live out our faith: if God is a severe judge, religion becomes a matter of fear and self-defence; if he is the Father who loves us, faith becomes a response of love, trust and responsibility.  In communities, we encounter people who do not get involved because they are afraid of making mistakes, of being judged, of not measuring up or of not being recognised. The community must not stifle initiatives, but support them; it must not foster competition, but encourage collaboration. Yet this does not mean abandoning responsibility and fraternal correction, so as to create an environment in which everyone can offer what they have received.

‘You wicked and lazy servant…’ (v. 26).

The master does not rebuke the servant because he produced little, but because he did nothing at all. His is a failure to fulfil his responsibility. The laziness of which Jesus speaks is not simply a lack of willingness to work; it is an inner closed-off attitude, a refusal to take responsibility for the gift received. The master points out to him that he could at least have deposited the money with the bankers to earn interest.

In other words, even if he had not been capable of making a large investment, he could at least have done something. The parable therefore condemns inaction: evil consists not only in committing wicked deeds, but also in failing to do the good that is possible. St James writes: ‘Whoever, then, knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, commits sin’ (Jas 4:17). 

‘For to everyone who has, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from the one who has not, even what they have will be taken away’ (v. 29).

This statement may seem paradoxical and even unjust. How can anything be taken away from someone who already has so little? In the context of the parable, Jesus is speaking of the dynamics of the spiritual life. A gift that is received, used and allowed to bear fruit grows; a gift that is rejected and left unused ends up being lost. We can also understand this dynamic through everyday experience: a skill that is not practised weakens; a relationship that is not nurtured deteriorates; a faith that is not nourished risks fading away. Grace is not capital to be kept static, but a life to be nurtured and allowed to grow. The parable enables us to examine our consciences within our communities, for it calls us to move from delegation to shared responsibility, as the mission cannot be sustained by just a few people; everyone must feel responsible for the common mission. It calls us to move from competition to complementarity, for different gifts must not create rivalry but rather collaboration, and one person’s talent does not diminish another’s. It encourages us to move from preservation to mission, since faith is not a treasure to be kept in a safe, but a wealth to be shared; and a community that does not evangelise risks turning in on itself. Finally, it invites us to move from fear to trust, for we must not be afraid to put our gifts to the test. We may make mistakes; we must learn and correct ourselves, but we cannot allow fear to paralyse us. There is one further point to emphasise: the master does not ask the servants simply to return what he had entrusted to them; he asks them to account for the fruits. This means that God has not given us life so that we might simply keep it intact, but so that it might bear fruit. He has not given us faith so that we might keep it only for ourselves, but so that it might also enlighten others. He has not given us charisms so that we might feel superior to others, but so that we might serve the community. He has not given us time so that we might waste it, but so that we might transform it into an opportunity for love. And there is another important point: the first two servants receive exactly the same praise, even though they produced different amounts. ‘Well done, good and faithful servant… share in your master’s joy.’

God does not ask us all to be the same, nor to do the same things. He asks us to be faithful to our vocation. Holiness does not consist in having many talents, but in not burying any of the gifts that God has entrusted to us. The concluding question to put to the community might be: If the Lord were to come today to ask for an account of the talents he has entrusted to us, would he find a community that has merely preserved the past, or a community that, through prayer, fellowship and mission, has brought forth new life?

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Talents - Gifts of the new Kingdom

(Mt 25:14-30)

Matthew narrates this parable because some converted Jews of his communities have difficulty unlocking and evolving.

A competition arises between them that concerns the importance of ecclesial positions.

It is the true evangelical sense of «talents according to capacity» (v.15).

We all receive some accent of the Kingdom, «goods» to be multiplied by transmitting; for example, the Word of God.

Unique gift, but not uncommon: immense prosperity with extraordinary life-propulsive virtues... for each and every one.

Thus the spirit of service and sharing; the attitude to discernment and appreciation of unrepeatable uniquenesses, and much more.

The very idea of the ancient God as lawgiver and judge (vv.24-25) induced believers not to grow or transmit - rather to shut themselves up and move away from the Father’s plan.

The Lord strongly reiterates that a deformed idea of ‘Heaven at points’ can negatively affect the bearing lines of personality, and ruin people’s existence.

In our own history, too, there have been instances where an institutional premise stifled people’s natural inclinations.

And so we have naive, uneducated masses who have been led to perceive freedom as a fault – and the risk of love as a danger of sin.

Instead, the Lord wants to create Family, where no one is alarmed or held in check, nor blocked and potted.

Even the little that everyone has in dowry can be invested - through a contribution to be made, available to all.

This is what happens in the community that values us: the ministerial Church [«bank» of v.27] that projects and infinitely expands the resources, the Word, the broken Bread, «goods» of the Kingdom of God.

That which uplifts souls and reveals God’s Presence is personal and unique; yet it must not remain a rare occurrence.

Everyone has an opportunity for apostolic work, their own capacity for friendship and special skills…

These are insights, areas and sources of energy to be explored without limits, so that they may be shared, transformed into wisdom, and used to drive us forward.

In this way, anyone who keeps up to date, engages with others, takes an interest and adds something sees the human and spiritual wealth grow and flourish.

Conversely, no one will be surprised that the rearguard or abstract and disembodied situations undergo further declines - finally they perish without leaving regrets (vv.27-30).

In these catecheses of chapter 25, the evangelist Mt tries to make his communities understand and help, remembering that Jesus himself was not under escort, but an involved, willing figure.

He did not want to limit himself to fighting for an appreciable and necessary legal change - but still staying at a safe distance.

In fact, he acted in a laborious, «crafted» way (FT n.217); without placing anything in safe [out of fear].

He was not limited to easy contrasts and grand ex cathedra proclamations, which would not have affected anything.

Did He have alternatives?

Of course: do not move anything, do not guard the minimums, do not protect them, limit himself, keep his mouth closed or open it only to flatter the powerful, the established and well-introduced.

Giving up fighting and neglecting to take winding routes, he would have no problems.

But this applies to us too: playing at safe and aiming low stifles our personal and social lives; it does not help a new Kingdom to grow – it causes it to be lost.

[Sunday 33rd wk. in O.T. (year A), November 15, 2026]

Talents - Gifts of the new Kingdom

(Mt 25:14-30)

How can a community reveal God's presence? By valuing and emphasising the many facets of life, defending them, promoting them and rejoicing in them.

Why do some people grow and others do not? Why do those who progress less than others, especially on the 'religious' path, risk ruining themselves?

We all have strengths, passions, qualities and unique inclinations. Each of us receives gifts from those who have gone before us (even if only one) and can become involved in church services.

Everyone - even those who are normally excluded [such as Zacchaeus, in the parallel passage in Luke 19:1-10, 11-28] - has a wealth of incomparable resources that they can pass on for the enrichment of the community.

Matthew tells this parable because some Jewish converts in his community are finding it difficult to break free and evolve. Some are not flourishing at all, clinging to roles and devotions.

To put it bluntly, a competition arises among them concerning the importance of ecclesial roles [this is the true evangelical meaning of 'talents according to ability': v. 15].

These roles are also threatened by the arrival of converts from paganism, who are less intimidated and more relaxed than the Judaizing faithful (who are a bit like museum pieces).

The resulting stubbornness stiffens the internal atmosphere, accentuates difficulties in collaborating and exchanging gifts and resources, and enriching one another.

These are vain and competitive situations that we are familiar with.

We all receive some accent of the Kingdom, "goods" to be multiplied by transmitting, for example (here) the Word of God.

A unique gift, but not rare: immense prosperity and extraordinary virtues that propel life... for each and every one.

Thus the spirit of service and sharing; the attitude of discernment and appreciation of unique qualities, and much more.

Of course, the community does not grow by producing, showcasing and 'delivering'. It is made up of members who are all valuable and already 'mature', who spontaneously know where and how to fit in!

Women and men of faith do not seek merit, they do not hold on to things for themselves; they relate to God and their neighbours in a wise way, even when not in 'correct' terms and formulas (according to the instruction manual).

Unfortunately, in order to convince people to respect figures and structures and to follow customs, veterans have often resorted to fear.

This is particularly true of 'social' fear, the popular inclination not to get into trouble (which paralysed even inner life).

Since the time of Jesus, there has been no shortage of fear and a desire to avoid blackmail [my mother said in amazement of dishonest leaders: 'They use religion as a weapon!

The very idea of the ancient God as lawgiver and judge (vv. 24-25) led believers not to grow or pass on the faith, but rather to shut themselves off and distance themselves from the Father's plan.

Under penalty of social exclusion, it was forbidden to welcome new experiences of God, to encounter oneself authentically, to open up personal spaces (even radically identitarian ones), to chart new paths.

This was the case for centuries.

To understand the meaning of the parallel passage in Luke 19:11-28 [v. 22, where in the CEI translation the King seems to reiterate the petty idea of the uneducated slacker], it is enough to insert a question mark [the original Greek texts had no punctuation]:

'He said to him, "I will judge you by your own words, you wicked servant! Did you not know that I am a harsh man, taking what I did not deposit and reaping what I did not sow?"'.

The same in Matthew 25:26:

'But his master replied, "You wicked servant [...] Did you not know that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered?"'.

As if to say, 'Who taught you that?!'.

The Lord strongly reiterates that this distorted concept of Heaven based on points can have a negative impact on the main traits of a person's personality and ruin their existence. This is especially true if freedom and the risk of love are perceived as a fault – or at least as a danger of sin that could lead to the deleterious spiritual state of no longer being considered (by traditional religiosity) 'in God's grace'.

Ancient religions needed followers who were immature and obtuse, without backbone, who were content to avoid danger and cling to the petty securities of everyday life.

Instead, the Father desires hearts that are open, that take risks for love and for the sake of love.

If the God of popular piety needs flocks that are sometimes obtuse and servile, Christ needs friends, family members and fearless collaborators, capable of walking on their own two feet, who do not dehumanise (even others).

In this way, today, the pastoral ministry of consensus [I give you what you want] presupposes obedient and devout masses, deprived of personality and dreams.

Instead, the Lord wants a family where no one is alarmed, held back, blocked or put in a hole. Perhaps for fear of losing family peace, the little place they have, the false securities they have carved out for themselves or begged for.

Pope Francis, for example, does not want our achievements to frighten and hold us back, but rather that, as members of our eternal family, we should be the first to vibrate with prophetic ideals. And to challenge false beliefs that do not disturb us - indeed, that put us into a state of lethargy - in order to stimulate more grandiose ideals in terms of humanisation.

Even the little that each of us has can be invested - through a contribution to be made available to all.

This is what happens in the community that values us: the ministerial Church [the 'bank' of v. 27] which projects and expands resources, the broken bread, the 'goods' of the Kingdom of God, to infinity.

What promotes people and reveals God's Presence is personal and unique, yet it must not remain rare.

Everyone has an opportunity for apostolate, their own aptitude for friendship and their own skills... these are territories and energies to be explored without limits, so that they may be shared, made wise and propulsive.

As the Pope said:

"The inability of experts to see the signs of the times is due to the fact that they are closed in their own system; they know what can and cannot be done, and they feel secure there. Let us ask ourselves: am I open only to my own things and ideas, or am I open to the God of surprises?"

Anyone who keeps up to date, engages with others, takes an interest and makes a contribution – without being overwhelmed by routine, fear or fatigue – sees their human and spiritual wealth grow and flourish.

Conversely, no one will be surprised that situations that are backward or abstract and disembodied - exhausting, though in themselves weak, exhausted, spineless and merely boring or fanciful - suffer further decline and ultimately perish without regret (vv. 27-30).

In these catecheses of chapter 25, the evangelist Matthew seeks to help his communities understand and act, reminding them that Jesus himself was not under guard, but was an involved, willing figure.

He did not let things slide, but got involved in the issues - nor did he say, 'What will people think of me?

Nor did he want to limit himself to fighting for an appreciable and necessary legal change - but standing at a safe distance.

Instead, he embodied the gift of himself, tracing the Way of social choice in the first person, with the arduousness of undertaking it; without placing anything in a safe, out of fear.

To paraphrase the encyclical Fratelli Tutti (n.262), we would say: he knew that even rules were not enough 'if we think that the solution to problems lies in dissuading through fear'.

The Lord, in fact, frequented those on the outside and those in between; he kept away from envious circles and those who were snobbish. He acted in a laborious, 'artisanal' way (FT n. 217) and put himself out there; he did not preach to others ex cathedra.

Did he have alternatives?

Of course: not to move, not to look after the least, not to protect them, to limit himself, to keep his mouth shut; if necessary, to open it, but only to flatter the powerful, the established and the well-connected.

By giving up the fight and avoiding the thorny paths, he would have had no problems.

And if he had added silence to the common mediocrity of the spiritual leaders of the time, he could very well have made a career for himself.

But the same goes for us: playing it safe and playing to the lowest common denominator atrophies our personal and social lives; it does not build a new Kingdom - it loses it.

In everyone, something equal and unequal

The Gospel [...] is the parable of the talents, taken from St Matthew (25:14-30). It tells of a man who, before leaving on a journey, summons his servants and entrusts them with his wealth in talents, ancient coins of great value. The master entrusts five talents to the first servant, two to the second and one to the third. During the master's absence, the three servants must make this wealth bear fruit. The first and second servants each double their initial capital; the third, however, for fear of losing everything, buries the talent he has received in a hole. When the master returns, the first two receive praise and reward, while the third, who returns only the coin he received, is rebuked and punished.

The meaning of this is clear. The man in the parable represents Jesus, we are the servants, and the talents are the inheritance that the Lord entrusts to us. What is this inheritance? His Word, the Eucharist, faith in the Heavenly Father, His forgiveness... in short, many things, His most precious gifts. This is the inheritance He entrusts to us. Not only to be guarded, but to be made to grow! While in common usage the term 'talent' refers to a marked individual quality – for example, talent in music, sport, etc. – in the parable, talents represent the Lord's goods, which He entrusts to us so that we may make them fruitful. The hole dug in the ground by the 'wicked and lazy servant' (v. 26) indicates the fear of risk that blocks creativity and the fruitfulness of love. Because the fear of the risks of love blocks us. Jesus does not ask us to keep his grace in a safe! Jesus does not ask this of us, but wants us to use it for the benefit of others. All the goods we have received are to be given to others, and thus they grow. It is as if he were saying to us: "Here is my mercy, my tenderness, my forgiveness: take them and make good use of them." And what have we done with them? Who have we 'infected' with our faith? How many people have we encouraged with our hope? How much love have we shared with our neighbour? These are questions that we would do well to ask ourselves. Any environment, even the most distant and impractical, can become a place where talents can bear fruit. There are no situations or places that are closed to Christian presence and witness. The witness that Jesus asks of us is not closed, it is open; it depends on us.

This parable urges us not to hide our faith and our belonging to Christ, not to bury the Word of the Gospel, but to let it circulate in our lives, in our relationships, in concrete situations, as a force that challenges, purifies and renews. The same is true of forgiveness, which the Lord gives us especially in the Sacrament of Reconciliation: let us not keep it closed within ourselves, but let it unleash its power, let it break down the walls that our selfishness has built up, let it enable us to take the first step in blocked relationships, to resume dialogue where there is no longer communication... And so on. Let us ensure that these talents, these gifts that the Lord has given us, come to others, grow and bear fruit through our witness.

I think it would be a nice gesture today if each of you took the Gospel home, the Gospel of St Matthew, chapter 25, verses 14 to 30, Matthew 25:14-30, and read this and meditate on it a little: "The talents, the riches, everything that God has given me spiritually, in goodness, the Word of God, how can I make them grow in others? Or do I just keep them in a safe?"

Furthermore, the Lord does not give everyone the same things in the same way: he knows us personally and entrusts us with what is right for us; but in everyone, in everyone there is something the same: the same immense trust. God trusts us, God has hope in us! And this is the same for everyone. Let us not disappoint him! Let us not be deceived by fear, but let us repay trust with trust! The Virgin Mary embodies this attitude in the most beautiful and fullest way. She received and accepted the most sublime gift, Jesus himself, and in turn offered him to humanity with a generous heart. We ask her to help us to be "good and faithful servants" so that we may share "in the joy of our Lord."

(Pope Francis, Angelus, 16 November 2014)

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

The Word of God this Sunday the second to the last Sunday of the liturgical year invites us to be vigilant and hardworking, in the expectation of the Lord's return at the end of time. The Gospel passage recounts the famous Parable of the Talents, related by St Matthew (25: 14-30). The "talent" was an ancient Roman coin, of great value, and precisely because of this parable's popularity it became synonymous with personal gifts, which everyone is called to develop. In fact, the text speaks of "a man going on a journey [who] called his servants and entrusted to them his property" (Mt 25: 14). The man in the parable represents Christ himself, the servants are the disciples and the talents are the gifts that Jesus entrusts to them. These gifts, in addition to their natural qualities, thus represent the riches that the Lord Jesus has bequeathed to us as a legacy, so that we may make them productive: his Word, deposited in the Holy Gospel; Baptism, which renews us in the Holy Spirit; prayer the "Our Father" that we raise to God as his children, united in the Son; his forgiveness, which he commanded be offered to all; the Sacrament of his Body sacrificed and his Blood poured out; in a word: the Kingdom of God, which is God himself, present and alive in our midst. 

This is the treasure that Jesus entrusted to his friends at the end of his brief life on earth. Today's parable stresses the inner disposition necessary to accept and develop this gift. Fear is the wrong attitude: the servant who is afraid of his master and fears his return hides the coin in the earth and it does not produce any fruit. This happens, for example, to those who after receiving Baptism, Communion and Confirmation subsequently bury these gifts beneath a blanket of prejudice, beneath a false image of God that paralyzes faith and good works, thus betraying the Lord's expectations. However, the parable places a greater emphasis on the good fruits brought by the disciples who, happy with the gift they received, did not keep it hidden with fear and jealousy but made it profitable by sharing it and partaking in it. Yes, what Christ has given us is multiplied in its giving! It is a treasure made to be spent, invested and shared with all, as we are taught by the Apostle Paul, that great administrator of Jesus' talents. The Gospel teaching that the liturgy offers us today has also had a strong effect at the historical and social level, encouraging an active and entrepreneurial spirit in the Christian people. 

The central message, however, concerns the spirit of responsibility with which to receive God's Kingdom: a responsibility to God and to humanity. This attitude of the heart is embodied perfectly in the Virgin Mary who, on receiving the most precious gift of all, Jesus himself, offered him to the world with immense love. Let us ask her to help us to be "good and faithful servants" so that we may one day enter "into the joy of our Lord".

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 16 November 2008]

1. “Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s joy” (Mt 25:23).
As the end of the liturgical year draws near, the Church invites us to listen to the Lord’s words, which urge us to keep watch whilst awaiting the Second Coming. We must prepare for this with a simple yet resolute response to the call to conversion that Jesus addresses to us, calling us to live the Gospel as a source of striving, hope and anticipation.
Today, in the liturgy, the Saviour speaks to us through the parable of the talents, to show us how those who adhere to him in faith and live actively whilst awaiting his return are likened to the ‘good and faithful servant’, who, with wisdom, diligence and fruitfulness, manages the affairs of his master whilst he is away.
What does ‘talent’ mean? Literally, it refers to a coin of great value used in Jesus’ time. Figuratively, it means ‘gifts’, which are bestowed upon every individual: the totality of qualities with which a person, in their psychophysical wholeness, is endowed ‘by nature’.
However, the parable highlights that these abilities are at the same time a ‘gift’ from the Creator, bestowed upon every person.
These ‘gifts’ are diverse and multifaceted. This is confirmed by observing human life, in which we see the variety and richness of the talents found in people.
Jesus’ parable firmly emphasises that every ‘talent’ is a calling and an obligation to undertake a specific task, understood in the dual sense of working on oneself and working for others. It affirms, in other words, the need for personal self-discipline combined with active service to one’s neighbour.
4. Often the gifts that God places within us are difficult talents, but they must not be squandered—neither out of self-doubt, nor out of disobedience, nor, least of all, because they are arduous. For Christ, the cross was not a reason to object to the Father’s will, but the very condition—the supreme talent—by which ‘by dying he destroyed death and, by rising again, restored life to us’ (Easter Preface). I therefore ask all of you, and in particular the sick, the suffering and those with disabilities, to bring to fruition, through prayer and self-offering, the difficult and demanding gift you have received.
Always bear in mind that your invocations, your prayers and your willing acceptance of life’s hardships and sufferings enable you to reach out to all people and to contribute to the salvation of the whole world.
5. This work on oneself, which bears fruit for all people, has its roots in Baptism, which gave rise to new life within each of you through the supernatural gift of grace and liberation from original sin. Through this sacrament, which has made you children of God, you have received those ‘gifts’ which constitute a true inner wealth of life in Christ.
Incorporated into Jesus and conformed to him, you are called, as living members, to contribute with all your strength and talents to the growth of your parish, which is the gateway to the Roman-Universal Church.
The talents received at Baptism are also a call to cooperate with grace, which entails a dynamism inherent in the Christian life and a gradual and constant growth towards that maturity which is shaped by faith, hope, charity and the gifts of the Holy Spirit.
This collaboration is realised above all in that centre of communion which is the parish, a community of men and women who place their various abilities at the service of their own personal growth and that of their brothers and sisters, both near and far.
The parish is the Church: a community of people who must develop within themselves ‘the gifts of Baptism’. Its entire structure, by fostering and ensuring a communal apostolate—above all through the liturgy, catechesis and charity—unites the many human differences found within it and enables everyone, according to their own abilities, to make a fraternal contribution to every missionary initiative of their ecclesial family (cf. Apostolicam Actuositatem, 10).
6. Today’s Gospel parable also speaks of a talent ‘buried in the ground’, left unused.
‘The one who had received a single talent said: “Lord, I know that you are a hard man, reaping where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed; out of fear I went and hid your talent in the ground; here is your talent”’ (Mt 25:24–25). This last servant, who received only one talent, illustrates how a person behaves when they do not live out an active fidelity to God. Fear, self-importance and the assertion of selfishness prevail, as he seeks to justify his behaviour by citing the master’s unjust demand—that he reaps where he has not sown.
This attitude warrants punishment from the Lord, for that man has failed in the responsibility entrusted to him and, in so doing, has not fulfilled what God’s will required, with the consequence that he has neither realised his own potential nor been of any use to anyone.
On the other hand, working on oneself and for the world is something that must concretely engage the true disciple of Christ. In the various and specific situations in which the Christian finds himself, he must be able to discern what God wants of him and carry it out with that joy which Jesus then makes full and eternal.
7. Dearest brothers and sisters, I urge you to unite yourselves with all your spirit to the sacrifice of Christ, to the Eucharistic liturgy, which each time represents the presence of the Saviour in your community.
Persevere in being, and in becoming ever more, one heart and one soul, so that you may welcome Christ amongst you every day. May he enter into you, and remain in you, to bring you his fullness.
May the Mother of God, Saint Mary of the People, bring Jesus into your community and help it to remain with her Son, so that it may bear much fruit.
Here is the essence of the teaching contained in the parable of the talents, which we have listened to and meditated upon together: to have the fullness of life and bear fruit, we must, with passionate vigilance, fulfil God’s will and remain in Christ, through supplicatory and adoring prayer.
Let us remain in him! Let us remain in Jesus Christ!
Let us remain through all the talents of our soul and our body!
Through the talents of sanctifying and active grace!
Through all the talents that come from participating in the Word of God and the sacraments, especially in the Eucharist!
Let us remain!
Let us remain so that we may bear much fruit!
[Pope John Paul II, homily, 18 November 1984]

In this penultimate Sunday of the liturgical year, the Gospel presents to us the Parable of the Talents (cf. Mt 25:14-30). Before setting off on a journey, a man gives his servants talents, which at that time were coins of considerable value: he gives five talents to one servant, two to another, one to another, to each according to his ability. The servant who had received five talents was resourceful and he traded with them, earning another five. The servant who had received two behaved likewise, and acquired another two. However, the servant who had received one dug a hole in the ground and therein hid his master’s coin.

Upon the master’s return, this same servant explained to him the reason for this action, saying: “Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not winnow; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground” (vv. 24-25). This servant did not have a trusting relationship with his master, but was afraid of him, and this hindered him. Fear always immobilizes and often leads to making bad choices. Fear discourages us from taking the initiative; it induces us to take refuge in secure and guaranteed solutions, and thus end up not accomplishing anything good. To move forward and grow on the journey of life, we must not have fear; we must have faith.

This parable helps us understand how important it is to have a true concept of God. We must not think that he is a cruel, hard and severe master who wishes to punish us. If this mistaken image of God is within us our life cannot be fruitful, because we will live in fear and this will not lead us to anything constructive. On the contrary, fear paralyzes us; it causes our self-destruction. We are called to reflect in order to discover what our idea of God really is. Already in the Old Testament he revealed himself as “a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Ex 34:6). And Jesus always showed us that God is not a severe or intolerant master, but a father full of love, of tenderness, a father full of goodness. Therefore, we can and must have immense faith in him.

Jesus shows us God’s generosity and care in so many ways: with his words, with his gestures, with his welcome toward everyone, especially toward sinners, the little ones and the poor, as today — the first World Day of the Poor — also reminds us. But he also does so with his admonitions, which show his interest so that we do not pointlessly waste our life. Indeed, it is a sign that God has great esteem for us: this awareness helps us to be responsible people in all our actions. Therefore, the Parable of the Talents reminds us of a personal responsibility and of a faithfulness that even becomes the ability to continually set out anew, walking new paths, without “burying the talent”, that is, the gifts which God has entrusted to us, and for which he will call us to account.

May the Blessed Virgin intercede for us, so that we may remain faithful to the will of God, cultivating the talents that God has given us. Thus we will be helpful to others and, on the last day, we will be welcomed by the Lord, who will invite us to take part in his joy.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 19 November 2017]

The scandal of waiting

(Lk 18:1-8)

In the 80s the communities of Asia Minor suffered persecution because the emperor of Rome [the star Domitian] wanted to be venerated as god.

The official religious institution - servile and flattering - adapts itself. Christians not - aware of their own dignity and project of an alternative world.

Lk intends to encourage faithful and communities victims of abuse by highlighting how to reach the most effective disposition, capable of undermining the blackmail of social estrangement underway.

The ‘silence of God’ over abuses and domination of bullies posed questions and raised reserves of faith.

But in the parable, the irresponsible judge is not the Father! The unjust is icon that dramatizes the condition in which the disciples (without Master) come to be found in a world of cunning people.

Here is the «widow»: the community of the new ‘Anawim, poor of Yahweh [in the Gospels «ptōchôis»] ie defenseless, exposed to abuse - who have the Lord as their only hope.

They do not remain on the surface of situations. They perceive the signs of the new Kingdom - of an alternative humanity - and crave them.

Lk says: the only means of finding oneself and not losing one’s founding energy is Prayer. It is not a folding in on oneself (vv.3.7).

The prayer of the sons is rather a forward action. A sort of leap that becomes magnetic and finally takes possession with force of his deep desire.

An embezzlement. As St. Bernard said: «How much I miss, I usurp from the side of Christ».

In short, Christian prayer has the same step of the Faith, and its multifaceted sides.

So it does not plant us on the spot: it becomes a Source that induces rash gestures.

Why? At certain times things change. In the "world", only by calculation - but that said, even the most banal interests move something (vv.4-5).

There are aspects of our Dialogue with God characterized by traits of assent. But the “colourful” part of prayer comes when one enters the spousal climate - of listening, intuition; also of struggle and personal quarrel.

They culminate in a sort of reading of one’s own story’s significance, of the time’s genius and the points of reference for a contemporary relevance, which brings us out of mediocrity: take it or leave it.

In short, prayer is a concrete gesture. It puts us in touch with a ‘vision’ that gives indications. Vocation at all costs.

A sort of primordial energy that comes back to heal and direct situations.

Not only is it the great tool for not losing head, and a means not to discourage.

Rather, a pungent and annoying action, with an attractive effect - as a ‘magnet’.

The dynamic, not very reassuring nest of prayer, brings us back to the Core of essence, to the eminent Self; to the realm of the Call by Name.

It becomes Reading and Intuition that meets the deep states.

It is in shift of gaze and Vision that we actualize the future.

In this way, prayer itself guides us to the realization of our individual and ministerial-ecclesial being.

In fact, it creates: suddenly places (v.8) the appropriate conditions, the acute moments of the turning - because it lives Elsewhere, and in the base of the soul.

It sees God in the furrows of history, therefore it activates the energies of becoming: it drags reality, attracts it.

It enshrines and actualizes what is ‘coming’; it questions and stirs up the institution that tends to wither.

With his Rudder, even among too many mists, it plows through the waves of ageing toxins, flies over the harassment; moves the world and our whole life.

[Saturday 32nd wk. in O.T.  November 14, 2026]

The scandal of waiting and the kidnapping of the prelates

(Lk 18:1-8)

In the 80s, communities in Asia Minor suffered persecution because the emperor of Rome [the divine Domitian] demanded to be worshipped.

The official religious institution - servile and flattering - complies with the diktats of the Caesar on duty. 

Christians do not - aware of their own dignity and alternative world project, linked to a new face of God: no longer legislator and judge, but Creator and Redeemer of our intelligence, development and freedom.

The assemblies of the early believers are thus faced with hardships, discrimination and weariness that may be beyond their strength, but not their conscience.

Lk encourages believers and communities that are victims of abuse, with a narrative catechesis that emphasises how to arrive at the most effective disposition, capable of undermining the blackmail of social estrangement.

In fact, a kind of marginalisation (devious rather than violent) imposed by the religious and political authorities, by all the cliques in power.

If our gaze is obscured by conventions, the 'silence of God' in the face of abuses and the domination of bullies raises questions and raises reservations of faith.

[Today also for the kind of Church nostalgic for Constantine, or vice versa à la page; of later cynicism or disembodied superimpositions, and of many mists - not catacombs].

Certainly prayer does not force the Father to obey us, but our insistence is a sign of a living relationship, not a formal one.

This is the case even when it may happen that we become exhausted and (while remaining on the surface) do not consider the Creator entirely innocent in the face of evil and degradation.

But such an approach would cause us to miss the course of the King who reveals himself within... hiding in the furrows of events, and surfacing in hearts.

In the parable, the irresponsible judge is not the Father!

The unjust 'jurist' - a man of power - is an icon that dramatises the condition in which the disciples find themselves, deprived of the Master.

The authentic witnesses find themselves in a world of cunning, impregnated with ideology and the practice of having, power, appearing. Configurations that suffocate any yearning for genuine life.

Here is the "widow": the community of the new 'Anawim, Yahweh's poor [in the Gospels "ptōchôis"], that is, defenceless, exposed to abuse, deprived of worldly support - who have the Lord as their only hope.

Despite their shaky condition, the masses, though deprived of energy, do not desire conformity. They do not linger in adapting themselves to wiles - by dislodging themselves - without a Fire, a vital wave; without within a travelling companion to perceive, to welcome, to listen.

They reason and act from the hidden core of being and evolving. They do not remain at the bark of situations. They desire to be reborn.

They grasp the signs of the new emerging kingdom - of an alternative humanity - and yearn for them.

Should they lose the core, the meaning, they should return to learning to see in everything a calling, an infinity, an outside of time.

And a way of looking at themselves that is different from common sense. Us too: as if we were all lying on the foundational energy of our Dream - unique, personal, integral - that truly belongs to us.

Lk says: the only way to find ourselves and not lose the game of our character identity as children and critical witnesses is Prayer.

It is not the devout, predictable chanting that would put us to sleep (vv.3.7). Nor is it understood as religious duty: performance, formula, nerve-racking obligation; recognition of the honour due to the Master, or retreat.

It is evident from the tone of the narrative: the children's tu-per-tu is not an avalanche of pious emotions, rather an action forward.

A kind of leap that becomes magnetic and finally seizes powerfully on his deep desire.

An undue appropriation, but a corroborated one; not set up, or by our own merits, but through those of Christ - through the tenacious intuition he instils.

As St Bernard said: 'How much I miss the usurpation from the side of Christ'!

I recall the account of a great Roman parish priest ordained a priest by Paul VI who confided to me that he had participated in a blitz in the very Seminary I know so well. At the end of the celebration of a Eucharist (!) with distinguished guests, the students in revolt against the traditionalist prelates and professors of the Lateran - not at all intimidated by the rank of the sequestered - locked them in the sacristy, to force the various beautiful names present to yield to their demands for freedom [of readings and other]. They won the game shamelessly, unceremoniously - and some of the professors present changed their line on the spot (cf. v.8). Today those former seminarians are landmarks in the capital, all in the pastoral vanguard, people determined to follow their Calling. Real tough faces, who do not resign themselves. Impertinent, but imposing the appropriate developments, for everyone. They know: to lose sight of one's mission would mean losing the meaning of life, no longer knowing how to be with oneself, with others and with reality; finally, falling ill, because one would otherwise choose to live in a swamp, compulsorily slumbering.

Christian Prayer has the same pace as Faith, not only peacefully dialoguing - and in such nodal traits it can be described through its own multifaceted facets.

So it does not plant us on the spot: it becomes a Source that induces reckless, brazen and inappropriate actions; totally inappropriate.

Why? At certain times, things change. In the 'world', just by calculation - but having said that, even the most trivial interests move something (vv.4-5).

There are aspects of our relationship with God characterised by traits of assent.

But the colourful part of prayer comes when we enter into a spousal atmosphere - of listening, intuition; also of personal struggle and quarrelling.

Such true moments result in a kind of reading of the weight of one's own story, of the genius of the time, of the footholds for actualisation.

Vision and 'pulse' that takes us out of mediocrity. Exodus dynamics corroborated by unrepeatable sensibilities and inclinations.

In short, we are not qualunquists, nor do-gooders, but ourselves: take it or leave it.

Even if in prayer we are not triggered by a pious disposition but by anger, that wrath will be embodied in our hands.

That same 'wrath' will become energy to build the prophetic present - and to critically anticipate the future - without, however, 'raging' [v.1 Greek text].

In short, prayer is a concrete gesture: it puts us in contact with a Vision that gives direction.

Living Prayer brings us closer to the world, through the inner gaze: in the perception of an innate Image that is our clear mirror and Vocation at all costs.

Here, a kind of primordial energy arises; to heal and direct situations.

Not only is it the great tool not to lose one's head, and a means not to discourage.

Rather than fall back, here is a prickly and annoying action, which recovers the whole being dispersed in a thousand questing events, with an attractive, positively uplifting effect - a magnet.

The dynamic, not very reassuring nest of prayer takes us back to the Core of the essence, to the eminent Self; into the realm of the Calling by Name.

It becomes Reading and Intuition encountering the profound states.

It is in such a shift of gaze and Vision that we actualise the future.

In this way, prayer itself guides us to the realisation of our individual and ministerial-ecclesial [or para-ecclesial] being.

For it creates: it suddenly [v.8 Greek text] places the fitting conditions, the acute moments of the turning point - because it lives Elsewhere, and in the base of the soul.

It discerns God in history, therefore it activates the energies of becoming: it drags reality, it attracts it.

He sanctions and actualises what is coming; he questions and stirs the institution that tends to wither.

With his helm, even in the midst of too much fog, he ploughs through the storms of ageing toxins, he flies over anguish, he unravels the world and our whole life.

"The gift is so great that no eye has ever seen it, for it is not colour; no ear has ever heard it, for it is not sound; nor has it ever entered the heart of man (cf. 1 Cor 2:9), for it is there that the heart of man must enter. We shall receive it with all the greater ability, the firmer our faith, the firmer our hope, the more ardent our desire. We therefore always pray in this same faith, hope and charity, with unceasing desire. But at certain times and in certain circumstances, we also address God with words, so that, through these signs, we may stimulate ourselves and at the same time realise how far we have progressed in our holy aspirations, spurring us on with greater ardour to intensify them. For the more vivid the desire, the richer the effect. And therefore, what else do the words of the Apostle mean: "Pray unceasingly" (1 Thess 5:17) if not this: Desire, without tiring, from him who alone can grant it, that blessed life, which would be worth nothing if it were not eternal?".

S. Augustine, "Letter to Proba"

Continuous Prayer: a condition of grace and strength, which does not fail.

Failing without failing: unceasing struggle with ourselves and with God

(Mt 7:7-12)

Sometimes we put the Father in the dock, because he seems to let things go as our freedom directs them.

But his design is not to make the world work to the perfection of transistors (of yesteryear) or integrated circuits (in their respective 'packages') or 'chips' [various 'bits']...

God wants us to acquire a New Creation mindset. His Action moulds us to the Son, transforming projects, ideas, desires, words, standard behaviour.

At first, prayer may perhaps seem tinged with mere requests. The more one proceeds in the experience of prayer in the Spirit of Christ, the less one asks.

The demands diminish, until they almost cease.

Desires for accumulation, or revenge and triumph, give way to listening and perception.

The penetrating eye becomes aware of what is at hand and of the unusual - in the increasingly conscious welcoming, which becomes real contemplation and union.

We do not know how long, but the 'result' comes suddenly: not only certain, but disproportionate.

But as if extracted from a process of continuous incandescence, where there are no logical networks, no easy shortcuts.

We receive the ultimate and complete Gift. And we can host it with dignity. A new Creation in the Spirit, a different Face.

An unexpected Face - not simply the fantasised or well-arranged one (as passed on by the family or expected on the side).

God allows events to take their own course, seemingly distant from us; therefore prayer can take on dramatic overtones and provoke irritation - as if it were an open dispute between us and Him.

But He chooses not to be the guarantor of our outer dreams. He does not allow Himself to be introduced into petty limits.

He wants to involve us in more than just our goals, which often conform too much to what is right under our noses.

It invents expanded horizons, but in this labour it must be clear that we must not fail ourselves. That is, to the character of our essence and vocation.

All this, precisely by failing ourselves - that is, by surrendering the rigid point of view and dialoguing with our deepest layers.

This process shifts the conditional emphasis.

It is not that God delights in being relentlessly prayed to and bent over by the poor.

It is we who need time to meet our own souls and allow ourselves to be introduced to another kind of agenda that is not conformist and predictable.

Reading happenings according to totally 'inadequate', eccentric or excessive views, less contracted within the usual armour (and so on) can open the mind.

The expansion of the gaze increases intuition, modifies feelings, transforms, activates. It grasps other designs, opens up different horizons - with intermediate results that are already prodigious, certainly unpredictable.

When someone believes he has understood the world, he already conditions further, more intense desires that would like to invade our space.

This artificial 'nature' of spurious set-ups, external or other, blocks the itinerary towards the nature of character, the true personal call and mission.

Prayer must be insistent, because it is like a view laid upon oneself; not as we thought: authentically. 

The inner eye serves to make a kind of clear, individual space within, which opens to our and others' Presence, all to be looked at (in the way that counts).

It will be the wisest, strongest and most reliable travelling companion... carrying our identity-character and not pulling the essential self of the person elsewhere.

The conscious emptying out of the piled-up junk (by ourselves or others) must be filled over time by an intensity of Relation.

Here is the interpersonal dialogue-listening with the Source of being.

In it is nested our particular Seed: there the difference of face that belongs to us is seated and in bloom.

It will be the radical depth of the relationship with our Root - perhaps lost in too many regular, even elevated or functioning expectations - that will confer another, more convincing Way.

And it will uncover the unique tendency and destination that belongs to us, for Happiness we did not think of.

Goals, resolutions, disciplines, memories of the past, dreams of the future, searches for reference points, habitual evaluations of possibilities, piles of merit... are sometimes ballasts.

They distract from the soil of the soul, where our grain would like to take root to become what is in the heart.

And from the kernel make one understand the proposal of Mission received - not conquered, nor possessed - so that it grants another prodigious character (not: visibility).

Often the mental and affective system recognises itself in an album of thoughts, definitions, gestures, forms, problems, titles, tasks, characters, roles and things already dead.

Such a morphology of interdiction loses the authentic present, where, on the contrary, the divine Dream that completes - realising us in specificity - takes root.

So, here is the therapy of the absolute present in Listening - of non-planning; starting with each one.

This in the conscious gap of that part of us that seeks security, approval, and panders to trivialities.Through unceasing dialogue with the Father in prayer, we make space for the roots of Being, which (in the meantime) is already filling us with views and opportunities for a different fate.

By reactivating the exploratory charge stifled in the gears, we create the right gap and start again in the Exodus.

To settle, to stop, to settle in one spot, would turn even qualitative conquests into a land of new slavery.

It would oblige us to recite and retrace milestones that have already been conquered - which conversely we are by vocation called upon to cross.

Exodus... within a springing, cosmic and identifying Relationship, singularly foundational.

Through prolonged Listening in prayer, we children acquire knowledge of the soul and the Mystery.

We dwell long in the House of our very special essence.

Thus we plant it - or root it even deeper - in order to understand it and recover it completely, clear and full.

Now freed from the destiny mapped out in a narrow environment, already marked but devoid of dreams.

When we are ready, Oneness will come into the field with a new solution, even an extravagant one.

It will give birth to what we really are, at our best - within that chaos that solves real problems. And from wave to wave it will leap to Goal.

Away with the definitions and aspirations of nomenclature, in a kind of coming undone of ourselves - in a state of 'discharge' but full of potential energy - we will give space to the new Germ that knows best.

Already here and now our distinctive and unmistakable Plant wants to touch the divine condition.

Continuous prayer (incessant listening and perception) excavates and disposes of the volume of trivial redundant thoughts in this space.

Opportunities open up in this interstice and 'emptiness'. Inner cleansing is created so that the Gift - not second-hand - arrives.

Do we desire a decisive conversion? Do we desire the call to the totality of humanising existence, without limitations and in our uniqueness?

[Then divine action can reach anyone? Does it touch any face? And how does one not break it?].

Why not now the new beginning? Prayer and the 'new fullness' of the Spirit become for us - growing children - the milk of the soul.