30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [25 October 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Exodus 22:20–26 

This text forms part of the Book of the Covenant, that is, the law which God gave at Sinai immediately after the Ten Commandments. It is not an isolated civil law, but the practical consequence of the Covenant that has just been made. Israel has come out of Egypt, has experienced slavery and liberation, and now God says to them: your freedom must become justice for the most vulnerable.

Four groups are protected in this text: the stranger, the widow and the orphan, and the poor person seeking a loan. Three different groups, yet united by a single principle: those without protection must find divine protection in Israel. For the stranger, the historical memory applies: ‘You were strangers in the land of Egypt.’ Those who have known what it is like to live without rights cannot allow others to remain without rights, and God reminds Israel of its own history to prevent it from becoming an oppressor. For the widow and the orphan, the rationale is even stronger. In ancient patriarchal society, without a husband and without adult sons, these people were vulnerable to the confiscation of their property, to exploitation and to starvation. This is why the law states: ‘If you afflict them, when they cry out to me, I will hear their cry and my anger will be kindled.’ The verb ‘to hear’ is central. The cry of the poor, zaaq in Hebrew, is the prayer that God cannot ignore. God takes the side of the wronged. Not afflicting the widow and the orphan is not merely a social duty; it is an act of fidelity to God himself. For the poor debtor, the law intervenes on two fronts. It commands that usury must not be practised: do not impose interest on those who are already poor; in other words, do not turn another’s need into profit. And return the pledge before sunset. In the ancient world, a cloak was the poor person’s only possession – a blanket at night and a garment by day – so taking it as a pledge meant leaving the person unprotected. The law commands that it be returned because human dignity is worth more than financial security. The conclusion, then, is the key to it all: when the poor cry out, I will hear them, for I am merciful; and God calls for social justice because, if He is merciful, so too must His people be. Here, then, is the text’s deepest message: God does not present Himself as a cold lawgiver or a distant judge, but as the One who listens and is moved. True liturgy and true worship are not the sacrifice offered on the altar if the heart remains indifferent to the cry of the weak. God’s holiness is not power; it is active compassion, and human holiness consists in imitating this compassion of His.

This message is of burning relevance today. Today’s strangers are migrants, refugees and undocumented people, but also the new neighbour, the one who is different in culture or faith. Many of our families were once migrants themselves and know what it means to be welcomed or rejected. The memory of our own past as strangers must challenge us: are our homes, our parishes, our country a welcoming inn or a fortress that turns people away? Our widows and orphans are the single mothers, the abandoned elderly, the children without a future, the victims of violence, and the young people without work. When a system crushes them with bureaucracy, unaffordable rents and precarious living conditions, God hears their cry. We cannot claim to love God whilst remaining indifferent. Our poor debtors are the families strangled by mortgages, by easy loans, by three-figure interest rates, by gambling. The biblical principle stands: no debt can take away dignity. Even today, one cannot take a man’s cloak – that is, his last possession – as security. The economy must always retain a human face. This is why Exodus 22:20–26 is not merely an ancient text; it is a call to translate faith into concrete actions. To welcome the stranger, to visit those who are alone, to lend without exploiting, to return what is needed to live. Then the cry of the poor will no longer be an accusation against us, but will become an opportunity to respond to the cry of God, who invites us to be merciful as he is merciful.

 Responsorial Psalm (17/18)

The title of the psalm attributes it to David, the Lord’s servant, who addressed the words of this song to the Lord when he was delivered from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul. It is a true hymn of thanksgiving, not a private prayer, but a liturgical song following a victory. We are probably at the Feast of the Covenant or the commemoration of a deliverance, and the king speaks in the first person, yet he represents the people. Here, only a few of the 51 verses of the psalm are quoted; it opens with a profession of faith: ‘I love you, O Lord, my strength, my rock, my fortress, my deliverer.’ Seven divine titles, like a crown. God is not described in the abstract, but in relation to concrete salvation. The Psalm goes on to recount the danger and the answered prayer. The king is grappling with the waters of death, the snares of Sheol, the torrents of Belial. It is the experience of mortal anguish, but the prayer from the temple is heard: ‘From his temple he heard my voice.’ Then comes the theophany, which forms the heart of the Psalm. God intervenes as a cosmic warrior. The earth trembles, the mountains smoke, the heavens draw near; God rides upon a cherub, hurling lightning and hail. The language is drawn from Sinai and from the myth of the warrior God who battles the sea and chaos. This is not a scientific description, but poetic language to convey that when God acts, the entire universe participates in the salvation of his chosen one. The king’s justice and victory follow. After the storm, God reaches out his hand and delivers from the deep waters and from powerful enemies. The rationale is central: ‘The Lord has rewarded me according to my righteousness.’ This is not presumption: David presents himself as one who observes the Law, a man of integrity. The Psalm echoes the theology of retribution: to those who are faithful, God is faithful; to those who are good, you are good; to the upright, you are upright. The Psalm concludes with a universal perspective: the delivered king sings not only for Israel, but proclaims God’s name amongst the nations.

For the believer today, this Psalm teaches us to pray in times of trial by invoking God’s names, to recognise that deliverance comes from him, and to live consistently, for faithfulness attracts faithfulness. The theophany reminds us that our personal history is part of a cosmic plan: God does not save on a small scale; he saves in such a way as to make the waters of chaos tremble, like a victorious warrior.

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians (1:5c–10)

Paul expresses his gratitude to the community in Thessalonica, which received the Gospel with genuine faith, despite difficulties and persecution. He recognises in the Thessalonians the tangible fruits of God’s work: their lives have been transformed by the Word and their witness has become an example to other believers. It was a newly formed community, born in difficult circumstances, yet it had managed to take root in the faith. Paul thus shows that the strength of the Church does not depend on the absence of problems, but on the ability to receive and live out the Gospel in the power of the Holy Spirit. First of all, Paul recalls that the Thessalonians received the Word ‘with the joy of the Holy Spirit’, even in the midst of tribulations. Their faith did not remain a mere theoretical commitment, but became an experience capable of facing difficulties. Christian joy, in fact, does not consist in the absence of suffering, but in the certainty of God’s presence even in the most difficult moments. And in this way, the Thessalonians became a model for the believers in Macedonia and Achaia. Their faith spread beyond the boundaries of the community, as a living proclamation of the Gospel. Paul emphasises that Christian witness is expressed not only through words, but above all through a life transformed by the encounter with Christ; and proof that the Thessalonians had been converted lies in their turning away from idols to serve the living and true God and to await his Son, Jesus, risen from the dead. This is a radical change: it is not merely a change in the way one thinks, but a shift in the very centre of one’s existence. Christian faith always involves a concrete choice: to leave behind what distances us from God, to live in his service, and to keep our gaze fixed on Christ, our hope.

St Paul invites us to reflect on the quality of our faith. To embrace the Gospel means allowing the Word to transform our daily choices, our relationships and the way we face life’s trials; and the joy of the Holy Spirit reminds us that even in suffering we can find strength and hope. Furthermore, like the Thessalonians, we are called to become credible witnesses to Christ, not so much through grand speeches as through concrete acts of love, service and solidarity. Finally, turning away from idols is more necessary than ever in our own time, for even today we can place the idols of consumer culture at the centre of our lives: success, money, power or the pursuit of approval. Conversion means recognising that only God can give fulfilment to our existence and living in confident anticipation of Jesus’ return. In conclusion, we can say that here Saint Paul presents a journey of faith that leads from listening to the Word to conversion, from conversion to witness, and from witness to hope. The Christian community thus becomes a tangible sign of God’s presence in the world, capable of proclaiming through its very life that Christ is risen and that salvation is found in him.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (22:34–40)

The greatest commandment. We are in Jerusalem, in the final days of Jesus’ life. Following the exchange with the Sadducees on the resurrection, the Pharisees gather in council, not to seek the truth, but to trap him. They send a teacher of the Law – an expert in the 613 precepts of the Law – with a trick question: which is the greatest commandment? For the rabbis, this is a classic debate between different rabbinic schools. Many rabbis of the school of Shammai maintained that the Sabbath was the greatest commandment; others, that it was circumcision; and still others, that it was the study of the Torah. Jesus responds succinctly, yet with startling depth. He does not cite any of the 613 commandments found in the Babylonian Talmud, Makkot 23b, and in the subsequent rabbinic tradition (248 positive commandments corresponding to the limbs or parts of the human body and 365 negative commandments corresponding to the days of the year), but draws upon two fundamental texts for Israel: the Shema: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your strength’, found in Deuteronomy (cf. 6:5) and which every Jew recited morning and evening because, ultimately, it is the fundamental act of faith. The second text is found in the Book of Leviticus: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ (cf. 19:18). Jesus does something unprecedented: he places the two texts on an equal footing and says that the second is like the first, using the Greek term homoios, meaning equal in nature, not merely similar in importance. And he concludes: ‘On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.’ The image that emerges is that of a building: the entire Torah hangs on these two nails, and if you remove these two nails, the whole structure collapses. Jesus, therefore, does not abolish the 613 precepts, but points out the centre that sustains them. The Law is not, therefore, a burden of rules; it is the concrete expression of a twofold love, and Jesus reveals to us that God does not want mere religiosity; He asks for love – total love. To love God with all one’s heart, with all one’s soul, with all one’s mind means not reserving just a corner of one’s life for God, but the centre and the entirety of one’s life; for the heart is the will, the soul is life itself, and the mind is thought. It is not enough to say one believes; one must love through one’s choices, through one’s very breath, through one’s reason… To love one’s neighbour as oneself is the revolution. It does not say to love one’s neighbour more than oneself; it says ‘as oneself’, that is, with the same natural care with which we look after ourselves, nourish ourselves and seek what is good. One’s neighbour, therefore, is not a stranger; they are another version of oneself. And who is one’s neighbour? In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus explains that we are called to be a neighbour to anyone we meet on our path, even to the enemy and the stranger. Loving God and loving one’s neighbour point to two inseparable forms of love, for one cannot claim to love God whilst hating one’s brother; nor can one truly love one’s brother without loving God, because it is only in God that we find the strength to love those who do not love us. These two pillars are like the wings of a bird: without a wing, no bird can fly. But how do we live out this new commandment today? On closer inspection, in our world we are witnessing a reversal of this hierarchy of values, for we place ourselves at the centre whilst God and our neighbour become mere options. We betray our first love every time our heart is divided amongst a thousand idols: work, success, money, image, power. We love God with our lips, but our minds and hearts are elsewhere. Jesus asks us today: have you given God first place, or just the leftovers of your time? It is easy to betray our love for our neighbour in this paradoxical age of connection and loneliness. We know everything about everyone on social media, yet we do not know our next-door neighbour, and perhaps not even those living under our own roof. Our neighbour sometimes becomes a nuisance, a rival, someone to be judged. Jesus reminds us that the measure of love is not a feeling, but a concrete act. Loving our neighbour as ourselves means treating others as you would wish to be treated when you are sick, poor, lonely or a stranger. The challenge, therefore, is a practical one. Love for God is measured by love for one’s neighbour, and love for one’s neighbour is rooted in the love of God. We cannot separate them, and when we truly love, the whole Law and the Prophets are fulfilled.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

No forced compliance: only profound Quality compels

(Mt 22:34-40)

That of the ‘Great commandment’ was the most familiar catechism rule, even to infants.

Jesus is questioned to retort: and why do you not keep the one commandment that even God fulfils - the Sabbath rest?

The unique disposition in which the Father recognizes himself is Love, not some particular precept - because only profound Quality obliges.

The spiritual proposal of the Master makes the narrative of God's people and the practice of the Prophets its own: all heart, feet, hands - and intelligence.

Complete Love for God envelops the creature in every decision [heart], every moment and aspect of its concrete 'life', all its resources [strength].

Mt does not explicitly mention this last aspect, perhaps to emphasize that the Father does not absorb energies in any way, but transmits them.

And Jesus adds to the nuances of authentic understanding with God enumerated in the First Testament an unexpected side to those who think of love as a feeling only emotional.

The Lord suggests study, discernment and understanding of our perceptions (v.37) - the mental and deep intelligence aspect that complements Dt 6.

At first glance, it appears to be a secondary facet or even a frill for the qualitative leap from a common religious sense to the wisely and personally configured existence of Faith.

The exact opposite is true: we are children of a Father who does not supplant us, nor absorb our forces or potential, depersonalising us; not even from the mental point of view.

Practicality alone makes us fragile, not very aware; and when we are not convinced, we will not be reliable either, always at the mercy of changing situations and the conformist, fashionable, other people’s opinion.

Jesus does not speak of love for God in terms of intimacy and feeling, but of a totally involving affinity, made less oscillating precisely by the development of our sapiential measure on issues.

Here is a decisive appointment, of the Love in the round.

It would be unnatural to recognise a Lord of Heaven who does not come to meet us and instead towers over us with an objective of his own, which is extrinsic to us and makes us marginal.

Loving «How [and Because] yourself»: it is a new Genesis in the spirit of Giving.

All this involves practising kindness, even towards oneself. The journey to Heaven is intertwined with the path of the Person.

God’s «great commandment» encompasses real life and concerns not only the quality of our relationship with the world and our neighbour, but also our overall reflection on ourselves. 

The paradox suggested by Jesus is that we love for the care to meet - and because we love ourselves - by expanding the ‘I’ into the ‘You’.

The ‘You’ that speaks to us of ourselves.

We should not be afraid of other doctrines and disciplines, neglecting the challenges even intellectual ones that call into question beliefs, works, one’s worldview, language, style, and thought itself.

All added values.

Needless to complain, if the ecclesial realities that do not update or deepen, and remain in the inherited commonplaces [or vogues] slowly decay, then disappear.

Therefore to the ancient notes of true love, the Son of God adds the ‘quality of mind’: we are not gullible, clueless, one-sided.

Our outstretched hands are the result of free and conscious choice. No forced surrender.

«Faith that does not become culture is a faith that is not fully accepted, not entirely thought out, not faithfully lived» [John Paul II].

To internalize and live the message:

What is Great for you? Do you document and update yourself in order to better correspond to God’s Call?

[Friday 20th wk. in O.T.  October 25, 2026]

Only Quality is binding. No forced compliance

(Mt 22:34–40)

Jesus turns what was the most trivial of catechism questions into a crucial issue: what is the ‘great’ commandment? 

Despite the various theological schools of thought, the answer was known to all: the Sabbath rest, the only precept observed (even) by God.

The question put to the Master by the expert in the Law was not so innocent, but ‘to test him’ (Mt 22:35; Lk 10:25) – that is, to retort: ‘So why, then, do you not fulfil the Sabbath commandment?’

Christ simplifies the tangled web of disputes concerning the expansion or reduction of theoretical casuistry, and gets to the heart of the matter.

Always averse to doctrinal squabbles, He proposes a way of life as the unifying principle of the demands of the Covenant.

All rules have an essence; otherwise, they remain a scattered jumble. They find their spontaneous foundation and natural meaning in the gift of self – though a motivated one.

But what is the solid foundation and context of such an invitation? A vague feeling, one emotion amongst many, a passing impulse? Philanthropy? Or an experience?

We are thirsty for affection and offer friendship in fits and starts, to the extent that love becomes a source of misunderstandings, rooted in the need to feel complete.

This is why the second commandment appears as an explanation of the first, not a reduction of it [Mt 22:39; Mk 12:31; Lk 10:27].

In the ancient world, it made no sense to speak of love for God, the ineffable Mystery.

It was the Most High who favoured certain individuals by bestowing material fortune upon them, and these individuals recognised a duty of worship and sacrifice towards Him.

The same applied to the less fortunate, at least to avoid reprisals (and to keep him on their side).

With Jesus, we speak openly of gratuitousness – not mere gratitude – as the unifying core of both the individual and the history of salvation.

The idea of an exchange of favours comes to an end.

The Father needs nothing; He does not take pleasure in seeing us submissive or in feeling recognised [a pattern of pagan religiosity] as a sovereign might towards his subjects.

The relationship with the Eternal One remains concrete, but honour towards the Most High is manifested by embracing His plan for the good and growth of humankind, and by recognising oneself within it.

God’s plan unfolds… with a living urgency. But there is a Starting Point, a Centre and a Destination. In reality, a new Genesis.

In any case, only God’s initiative draws out the best in us: more talent, more desire, more interests, more untapped abilities, more originality – rather than torments that hurt the soul.

This is the difference between a form of religiosity that dulls the personality, and Faith.

Through Faith, a special creative Relationship is kindled: that of the one who welcomes the Call by Name, as well as the proposals from the very Source of being – wave upon wave.

These proposals anticipate our own initiatives and guide us infallibly towards the perfect blossoming of our own and others’ Seed.

Particularly in Matthew (22:38–39) and Mark (12:29–31), it is clear that love for one’s neighbour stems from the experience and awareness of being loved first and without preconditions by God – looked upon, accepted, valued, uplifted, rejoiced in, and made whole.

We love not through effort [effort is a coercive lever: it produces situations that make life worse] but on the basis of how much we feel loved – and with immediacy, repeatedly, unconditionally.

We love on the basis of the ‘risking everything’ that we have already experienced in our own favour through Providence, which gives meaning and value to human actions.

Not out of infatuation with external, induced expectations – which, in any case, belong to others.

Even in the spiritual realm, quite a few behaviours deemed capable of solving problems often end up making them chronic.

In this way, they rely on an idea of permanence – not on the dynamic of vocational gratuitousness, on the unimaginable Gift to be received.

So the issue is either to live according to the resources that come our way, or to fall into the distortion of models typical of a moralistic mindset.

In fact, the notion of omnipotence in the realm of good, paradoxically, stifles the self and its strengths, and distorts its perspective.

But beyond all these nuances, we are heartened that the first and second commandments concern Love: what we most desire to give and receive. It is a vital necessity of life.

Yet we must be wise, so that the framework of paradigms or the impulses of natural affection and impulsiveness do not overwhelm and sweep away – turning upside down – every good intention.

Love cannot bear an excess of expectations, for it springs from an experience of Perfection that comes to us; offered, unexpected, unpredictable. Not staged according to a chain of ordinary, pre-determined plans.

If it is authentic, over time we shall experience its blossoming; not in anticipation of a return, but first and foremost as a Gift beyond time. For it has already sated and convinced us – with contemplative wonder – and made us leap for joy.

Thus, the vocational and foundational Eros will continue to shape us, with its perpetually exploratory virtue, capable of bringing about new Births.

Personal energy – without the usual baggage of torment, reservations, outward appearances… and (once again) frowns.

The Great Commandment: only profound Quality is binding

The only disposition in which the Father recognises Himself is Love, in its fullness and in every respect; not some particular precept.

For Jesus, there are no hierarchies in the affairs of God and man – indeed, He showed a marked tendency to summarise the many principles – because only profound Quality is binding.

The Master’s spiritual teaching embraced the narrative of the people of God and the practice of the Prophets: all heart, feet, hands – and intellect.

Complete love for God must envelop the creature in every decision [heart].

Likewise, in every moment and aspect of one’s concrete ‘life’, it must also engage all one’s resources [strengths: cf. Mk 12:30; Lk 10:27].

Deut 6:5 (Hebrew text) in fact reads: ‘with all your “very much”’, meaning concrete participation in both liturgical life and material fellowship – providing for and helping with one’s own possessions.

Matt 22:37 does not explicitly mention this latter aspect, perhaps to emphasise that the Father does not drain one’s energy in any way, but rather imparts it.

But Jesus adds to the nuances of authentic communion with God enumerated in the First Testament an unexpected dimension for those who conceive of love as a delicate, purely emotional sentiment.

The Lord suggests the study, discernment and understanding of our perceptions [Mt 22:37; Mk 12:30; Lk 10:27], accompanied by the mental aspect and profound intelligence (which is excluded in Deut 6).

At first glance, this seems like a secondary facet or even a mere embellishment for the qualitative leap from a common religious sense to a life of Faith wisely and personally shaped.

The exact opposite is true: we are children of a Father who does not supplant us, nor does He absorb our potential or energies, thereby depersonalising us; not even from a mental perspective.

This is a crucial aspect of our dignity and fulfilment – including our human fulfilment – and a specific distinguishing feature in discerning Faith in Christ, as opposed to all other approaches devoted to the search for the Absolute (whatever that may be).

Practicality alone renders us fragile and lacking in awareness; and when we are not convinced, we cannot even be relied upon, remaining perpetually at the mercy of changing circumstances and the conformist, fashionable opinions of others.

It is not uncommon to shy away from the all-encompassing engagement that would enrich each of us – precisely because of incompetence.

But we are not one-sided gullible souls. Being attentive and up to date, and possessing the capacity for critical thought, is an essential expansion required for the development of one’s human, moral, cultural and spiritual vocation.

Trivialities, superficial identifications, impersonal plagiarism and thoughtless, collective repetitions hinder the flow of life, this divine cascade of everlasting energy that pulses and never ceases.

On the contrary, it comes with stirring calls: it calls us to open ourselves wide to new attractions in relationships and other interests, including intellectual ones; even denominational ones.

Jesus does not speak of love for God in terms of intimacy and sentiment, but of a wholly all-encompassing affinity, made less uncertain precisely by the development of our wisdom in assessing these matters.

Devotion swallows everything up. Faith, on the other hand, does not allow itself to be swayed by local or external influences: it presupposes an ability to engage competently in personal assessments or in debates within the community and on a broader scale – both historical and contemporary.

The witness of our Hope does not shy away from being enriched by dialogue with those who possess greater expertise in psychology or biblical studies, specialised pastoral care and social work, as well as archaeology, bioethics, economics, science and so on.

This is a commitment that demonstrates a genuine interest in the Sacred [admittedly, all aspects to be assessed, not as if they were merely academic options].

But we must admit that one of the most organic expressions of great Catholic theology is what was once called the ‘doctrine’ of the seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit.

In the existence of Love, the primacy (including the relational primacy) of the Gift of the Spirit was recognised, which complemented the ‘natural’ possibilities of expression of the cardinal and theological virtues, leading them to fulfilment.

No fewer than four of the seven Gifts were associated with a character of profound knowledge: Wisdom, Understanding, Counsel and Knowledge.

In short: here lies yet another decisive rendezvous for all-encompassing Love.

Anyone can indulge in a few remarks along religious lines [whether as an individual or within a circle], but the ability to delve into the matter properly belongs only to those who have sought to examine and live out these themes – because they are more interested in understanding the Face of God and His Plan for humanity than in reiterating false narrative certainties.

It would be unnatural to recognise a Lord of Heaven who does not come to meet us; as if He were towering above us with ‘His own’ objective (external to us) and thus rendering us all marginal.

[In sects – even those that appear good-natured – it is forbidden to delve deeper in order to understand: the position is already established; the candidate must ‘merely’ conform].

‘As (and why) yourself’ [meaning of the Greek text: Mt 22:39; Mk 12:31; Lk 10:27]: this is a new Birth into life, a new Genesis in the spirit of Gift.

The paradox suggested by Jesus goes beyond the ancient precept of Lev 19:18. 

We love not only the children of our own people, ‘simply because’ we take care to come together and wish to enrich ourselves together, expanding the ‘I’ into the ‘You’.

God’s ‘Great Commandment’ encompasses real life and concerns not only the quality of our relationship with the world and our neighbour, but also our reflective relationship with ourselves.

We must not be afraid of other doctrines and disciplines, nor neglect analytical challenges beyond the ‘organic’ ones – those of the long term.

All of them call into question our beliefs, our actions, our own worldview; our language, style, and thought itself.

We still have a great need to broaden our minds and become as vast as a panorama. And to reharmonise the opposites we carry within us.

Hidden facets and pearls to which we have not yet given breath or visibility – and which we may never have considered as allies.

The troubled fate shared by prophets remains unique, but it is not certainties (whether ancient, sophisticated, fashionable or à la page) that constitute the added value of the adventure of Faith in Love – rather, it is the risk of placing oneself in the balance and a comprehensive re-evaluation.

It is, moreover, pointless to complain if ecclesial realities that fail to keep up with the times, and remain mired in inherited clichés, slowly decay and thus disappear.

Despite their dazzling heritage and fairy-tale events.

In this way, the ‘teacher of the law’ is perhaps already close [Mk 12:34; Lk 10:28] but must still keep an eye on Jesus, to understand in Him the broader meaning of total self-giving, in its specifically personalised form, which is by no means naïve.

The Lord restores the meaning of the norms to their profound and original function: to serve as a provision for every Encounter that elevates events, people of every background, and creation itself.

In conclusion, experience and ritual find their centre in the reciprocity of love.

Life in all its facets becomes a Liturgy more meaningful than the established act of worship; its truly broken Bread becomes a compelling call to Communion and Mission.

Even if it does not make the news, the true barometer of our journey will not be the volume or the pile of important things we do, but rather the beating of a regenerated heart and mind.

This is why, to the ancient notes of true Love, the Son of God adds the quality of thought: we are not gullible, naive or one-sided.

Our outstretched hands are the fruit of a free and conscious choice. There is no forced submission.

‘A faith that does not become culture is a faith that has not been fully embraced, not entirely thought through, not faithfully lived’ [John Paul II].

To internalise and live out the message:

What is Great to you? Titles? Possessions, power, appearances?

In your experience of Love, what is the Starting Point, the Centre and the Destination?

Do you keep yourself informed and up to date so that you can better respond to God’s Call?

The Word of the Lord, resounding a short while ago in the Gospel, reminded us that the whole divine law is summarized in love. The Evangelist Matthew narrates that after Jesus had answered the Sadducees, silencing them, the Pharisees met to put him to the test (cf. 22: 34-35). One of them, a doctor of law, asked him: "Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?" (22: 36). The question makes apparent the concern, present in ancient Jewish tradition, over finding a unifying principle in the various formulations of God's will. This was not an easy question, considering that in the law of Moses, a good 613 precepts and prohibitions are contemplated. How does one discern, among all of these, which is the most important? But Jesus does not hesitate, and readily responds: "You shall love the Lord your God with your all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment" (22: 37-38). Jesus quotes the Shemà in his answer, the prayer the pious Israelite recites several times a day, especially in the morning and in the evening (cf. Dt 6: 4-9; 11: 13-21; Nm 15: 37-41): the proclamation of the integral and total love due to God, as the only Lord. Emphasis is placed on the totality of this dedication to God, listing the three faculties that define man in his deep psychological structures: heart, soul and mind. The word mind, diánoia, contains the rational element. God is not only the object of love, commitment, will and sentiment, but also of the intellect, which should not be excluded from this milieu. Then, however, Jesus adds something which, in truth, had not been asked by the doctor of law: "And a second is like it, You must love your neighbour as yourself" (22: 39). The surprising aspect of Jesus' answer consists in the fact that he establishes a similarity between the first and the second commandments, defined this time too with a biblical formula drawn from the Levitical code of holiness (cf. Lv 19: 18). And thus by the end of the passage the two commandments become connected in the role of a fundamental union upon which all of biblical Revelation rests: "On these two commandments the whole law is based, and the prophets as well" (Mt 22: 40). 

The Gospel passage on which we are focusing makes clear that being disciples of Christ means practicing his teachings, which can be summarized in the first and greatest commandment of the divine law, the commandment of love. Even the First Reading, taken from the Book of Exodus, insists on the duty of love; a love witnessed concretely in relationships between persons, which must be relationships of respect, collaboration, generous help. The neighbour to be loved is the stranger, the orphan, the widow and the needy, in other words, those citizens who have no "defender". The holy author goes into details, as in the case of the object pawned by one of these poor persons (cf. Ex 22: 25-26). In this case God himself is the one to vouch for the neighbour's position. 

In the Second Reading, we can find a concrete application of the supreme commandment of love in one of the first Christian communities. St Paul writes to the Thessalonians, leading them to understand that, while having known them for such a short time, he appreciates them and holds them dear in his heart. Because of this, he pinpoints them as "a model for all the believers of Macedonia and Achaia" (1 Thes 1: 7). Weaknesses and difficulties are not lacking in this recently founded community, but it is love that surpasses all, renews all, conquers all: the love of those who, knowing their own limits, docilely follow the words of Christ, the divine Teacher, passed down through one of his faithful disciples. "You, in turn, became imitators of us and of the Lord, receiving the word despite great trials, with the joy that comes from the Holy Spirit", the Apostle wrote. He continued: "For not only has the word of the Lord sounded forth from you in Macedonia and Achaia, but your faith in God has gone forth everywhere" (1 Thes 1: 6, 8). The lesson that we can draw from the Thessalonians' experience, an experience that is truly common in every authentic Christian community, is that neighbourly love is born from docile listening to the divine Word. It is a love that will even withstand difficult trials for the truth of the divine Word, and in this way true love grows and truth shines in all its splendour. How important it is to listen to the Word and incarnate it in personal and community life!

[Pope Benedict, homily at the closing of the Ordinary Synod of Bishops, 26 October 2008]

2. Christ says: ‘If anyone loves me, they will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them…’ (Jn 14:23). At the very heart of Christ’s teaching lies the great commandment of love. This commandment was already enshrined in the tradition of the Old Testament, as today’s first reading, taken from the Book of Deuteronomy, bears witness.

When the Lord Jesus answers the question posed by one of the scribes, he refers to this version of the divine Law, revealed in the Old Covenant: ‘Which is the first of all the commandments?’. ‘The first is… you shall love… the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your mind and with all your strength.’ ‘And the second is this: you shall love your neighbour as yourself.’ ‘There is no other commandment greater than these’ (Mk 12:29–31).

3. That interlocutor, whom Saint Mark recalls, accepted Christ’s answer thoughtfully. He accepted it with profound approval. We too, today, need to reflect briefly on this ‘greatest commandment’, so that we may accept it anew with full approval and deep conviction. First and foremost, Christ emphasises the primacy of love in human life and vocation. Man’s greatest vocation is the call to love. Love also gives definitive meaning to human life. It is the essential condition of human dignity, the proof of the nobility of the human soul. St Paul will say that it is ‘the bond of perfection’ (Col 3:14). It is the greatest thing in human life, for true love embodies the dimension of eternity. It is immortal: ‘Love never fails’, as we read in the First Letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor 13:8). A person dies in the flesh, for such is the fate of everyone on earth; yet this death does not harm the love that has matured in their life. Certainly, it remains above all to bear witness to man before God, who is love. It designates man’s place in the Kingdom of God; within the order of the Communion of Saints. The Lord Jesus, speaking to his interlocutor in today’s Gospel – seeing that he understands the primacy of love amongst the commandments – says: “You are not far from the Kingdom of God” (Mk 12:34).

4. There are two commandments of love – as the Master expressly states in his reply – but there is only one love. One and the same love embraces both God and one’s neighbour. God: above all things, for He is above all. One’s neighbour: on a human scale, and therefore “as oneself”.

These ‘two loves’ are so closely linked that one cannot exist without the other. St John says as much elsewhere: ‘For whoever does not love their brother whom they have seen cannot love God whom they have not seen’ (1 John 4:20). One love cannot, therefore, be separated from the other. True love for one’s neighbour, precisely because it is true love, is, at the same time, love for God. This may surprise some people. It is certainly surprising. When the Lord Jesus presents to his listeners the vision of the Last Judgement, as recounted in the Gospel of Saint Matthew, he says: ‘I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I was a stranger and you welcomed me; I was naked and you clothed me; I was ill and you visited me; I was in prison and you came to see me’ (Mt 25:35–36).

Then those who hear these words are astonished, for we hear them ask: ‘Lord, when did we ever do any of these things for you?’. And the reply: ‘Truly I tell you: whenever you did these things for one of these least of my brothers and sisters – that is, for your neighbour: for one of your fellow human beings – you did it for me’ (cf. Mt 25:37, 40).

5. This truth is of great importance for our whole life and for our conduct. It is particularly important for those who seek to love their fellow human beings, but ‘do not know whether they love God’ or even declare that they do not ‘know’ how to love him.

This difficulty is easy to explain when one takes into account the whole nature of man, his entire psychology. It is, in a certain sense, easier for man to love what he sees than what he does not see (cf. 1 John 4:20).

6. Yet man is called—and called with great firmness, as the words of the Lord Jesus bear witness—to love God, to a love that surpasses all else. If we reflect on this commandment, on the meaning of the words already written in the Old Testament and repeated with such determination by Christ, we must recognise that they tell us a great deal about man himself. They reveal the deepest and, at the same time, definitive perspective on his being, on his humanity. If Christ assigns to man such love as a task—that is, the love of God which he, as a human being, cannot see—this means that the human heart harbours within itself the capacity for this love, that the human heart is created ‘tailored to such love’. Is this not, perhaps, the first truth about man, namely that he is the image and likeness of God himself? Does not Saint Augustine speak of the human heart which remains restless until it finds rest in God? Thus, then, the commandment to love God above all things reveals a scale of man’s inner possibilities. This is not an abstract scale. It has been reaffirmed and is constantly confirmed by all those who take their faith—the fact of being Christian—seriously. Yet there is no shortage of people who have heroically confirmed this scale of man’s inner possibilities.

[Pope John Paul II, homily, 4 November 1979]

Today’s Gospel Reading reminds us that the whole of Divine Law can be summed up in our love for God and neighbour. Matthew the Evangelist recounts that several Pharisees colluded to put Jesus to the test (cf. 22: 34-35). One of them, a doctor of the law, asked him this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?” (v. 36). Jesus, quoting the Book of Deuteronomy, answered: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment” (vv. 37-38). And he could have stopped there. Yet, Jesus adds something that was not asked by the doctor of the law. He says, in fact: “And a second is like it, You shall love your neighbour as yourself” (v. 39). And in this case too, Jesus does not invent the second commandment, but takes it from the Book of Leviticus. The novelty is in his placing these two commandments together — love for God and love for neighbour — revealing that they are in fact inseparable and complementary, two sides of the same coin. You cannot love God without loving your neighbour and you cannot love your neighbour without loving God. Pope Benedict gave us a beautiful commentary on this topic in his first Encyclical Deus Caritas Est (nn. 16-18). 

In effect, the visible sign a Christian can show in order to witness to his love for God to the world and to others, to his family, is the love he bears for his brothers. The Commandment to love God and neighbour is the first, not because it is at the top of the list of Commandments. Jesus does not place it at the pinnacle but at the centre, because it is from the heart that everything must go out and to which everything must return and refer. 

In the Old Testament, the requirement to be holy, in the image of God who is holy, included the duty to care for the most vulnerable people, such as the stranger, the orphan and the widow (cf. Ex 22:20-26). Jesus brings this Covenant law to fulfilment; He who unites in himself, in his flesh, divinity and humanity, a single mystery of love. 

Now, in the light of this Word of Jesus, love is the measure of faith, and faith is the soul of love. We can no longer separate a religious life, a pious life, from service to brothers and sisters, to the real brothers and sisters that we encounter. We can no longer divide prayer, the encounter with God in the Sacraments, from listening to the other, closeness to his life, especially to his wounds. Remember this: love is the measure of faith. How much do you love? Each one answer silently. How is your faith? My faith is as I love. And faith is the soul of love.

In the middle of the dense forest of rules and regulations — to the legalisms of past and present — Jesus makes an opening through which one can catch a glimpse of two faces: the face of the Father and the face of the brother. He does not give us two formulas or two precepts: there are no precepts nor formulas. He gives us two faces, actually only one real face, that of God reflected in many faces, because in the face of each brother, especially of the smallest, the most fragile, the defenseless and needy, there is God’s own image. And we must ask ourselves: when we meet one of these brothers, are we able to recognize the face of God in him? Are we able to do this?

In this way, Jesus offers to all the fundamental criteria on which to base one’s life. But, above all, He gave us the Holy Spirit, who allows us to love God and neighbour as He does, with a free and generous heart. With the intercession of Mary, our Mother, let us open ourselves to welcome this gift of love, to walk forever with this two-fold law, which really has only one facet: the law of love.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 26 October 2014]

Conversion and Times

(Lk 13:1-9)

Conversion refers to a process that shakes the soul, due to an Encounter. A ‘meeting’ that opens to the knowledge of ourselves.

A dialogue that projects minds and actions onto reality and the Mystery, which ceaselessly refer to a new Exodus.

Even today, the swampy counterpart of the life of Faith wedges itself like a constant woodworm, and is symbolized by an arid confrontation, expressed in the absence of fruit on an unnecessarily leafy tree.

The ‘vineyard’ is an icon of the chosen people and the ‘fig tree’ of its central prosperity. Here evokes the Temple, in particular its liturgical nucleus: the Sanctuary.

The cult that took place in the sacred of ​​the vast area of ​​Mount Zion had to express the praise of a people who were constantly listening, called to a life of sharing and fraternity.

The delicious fruits that the Lord was waiting for should have been sweet and tender (like figs), but they were hard and inedible. The Call had been dropped on deaf ears.

The many and showy "leaves" of the most devout rite did not celebrate a life of welcome and understanding, rather tended to hide the bitter berries of a style in no way conforming to the divine plan.

We ask ourselves: how much time do we have available to amend and not regress, living fully the present?

Is the Father's governmental action punitive or only responsible and life-giving?

In the parable of the sterile fig tree we learn: the only condition that can change a history of infertility and squalor - as well as the danger of formalism - is the time still needed to assimilate the Word.

Forward process, linked to the unpredictable way in which the vital call of the Seed and the particular reaching out of its roots intertwine with the earth of the soul, then overflowing in relation to the events.

Appeal that never ceases, in the reverb of which is elaborated and strengthened the change of mentality that introduces into conviviality and into the plan of liberation for an alternative world: the Kingdom of God.

After the three years of the Son's public life, there is a ‘fourth year’ that extends to the history of the Church (vv. 7-9).

It does not want to conceal the luxuriance of life but to make it blossom, and without ceasing recalls a flourishing growth; for a feeling of Family with sweetest fruit, which is not satisfied with external practices.

As the encyclical Brothers All points out, the Lord still dreams of a «plan that would set great goals for the development of our entire human family» (n.16).

For this purpose «we need to think of ourselves more and more as a single family dwelling in a common home. Such care does not interest those economic powers that demand quick profits» (n.17).

The hasty logic - as well as the epidermal rush of the society of events - creates inequalities, not only in the commercial field.

In short, everything becomes an opportunity for the Eternal flowering and action ground, history that is truly ours: teaching of authentic theology and humanization - if the people story unfolds ‘on the way’.

The God of religion has his own claims and does not appear long-suffering. The Father of Jesus knows how to wait. He does not get angry, he does not give in to the frenzy of blow for blow. He is not disinterested, but not complain; nor take revenge.

He proposes solutions.

In doing so He will not cause irreparable trouble - indeed will astound us. For a new Spring, in which the fig tree gives its unrepeatable sugary, juicy and highly energetic Fruit - before the many leaves.

So that ‘fraternity’ does not «remain just another vague ideal» (n.109).

[Saturday 29th wk. in O.T.  October 24, 2026]

Conversion and Times

(Luke 13:1-9)

Conversion refers to a process that shakes the soul, because of an Encounter. A rediscovery that opens to self-knowledge.

A dialogue that projects mind and actions onto reality and Mystery, which incessantly refer back to a new Exodus.

Even today, the swampy counterpart to the life of Faith wedges in like a constant woodworm, and is symbolized by a barren confrontation, expressed in the absence of fruit above an unnecessarily leafy tree.

The vineyard is iconic of the Chosen People and the fig tree of its central prosperity. Here it evokes the Temple, particularly its liturgical core: the Sanctuary.

According to religious prejudices - of class, purity conditions, ministry, progressive skimming - within strictly demarcated perimeters homage was paid to the God of Israel.

The worship that took place in the sacred zone of the vast Mount Zion area was to express the praise of a people in constant listening, called to a life of sharing and fraternity.

The delicious fruits that the Lord awaited should have been sweet and tender (like figs); conversely, they turned out to be hard and inedible. His Appeal had been let fall on deaf ears.

The many and conspicuous "leaves" of the devout rite did not celebrate a life of acceptance and understanding, but tended precisely to hide the bitter berries of a style in nothing in accordance with the divine plan.

We ask ourselves: how much time do we have to amend and not regress, living fully in the present? Is the Father's governing action punitive or only responsible and life-giving?

In the parable of the barren fig tree we learn: the only condition that can change a history of infertility and squalor - as well as the danger of formalism - is the time still needed to assimilate the Word.

Forward process, linked to the unpredictable manner in which the vital Call of the Seed and the particular outreach of its roots intertwines with the soil of the soul, then overflows in relation to happenings.

Call that does not cease; in whose reverberation is elaborated and strengthened the change of mentality that ushers in the mutual hospitable of convivialities and the design of liberation for an alternative world: the Kingdom of God.

Now in the hands of a useless and corrupt caste that had allowed the vital relationship to be extinguished, the threads of the ignored design of Salvation and Justice (in the sense first and foremost of authentic God-man positions and just relationships) are reknotted by the intensity of Father-Son relationship.

After the three years of public life, there is a "fourth year" that extends to the history of the Church (vv.7-9).

It is not meant to conceal the luxuriance of life but to make it blossom, and without ceasing it calls forth a flourishing growth; for a feeling of Family with the sweetest fruit, which is not satisfied with outward practices.

In order to overcome conditionings, suspicions, blockages, failures, there is a need for breath: it involves treading a long path of exploration.

There are no shortcuts, no useful U-conversions according to the code of official authorities, perpetually committed to mitigating and homologating charismatic peaks.

Indeed, Jesus had invited the crowds to have independent thinking and judgment (Luke 12:57: "Now why do you not judge for yourselves also what is right?").

Woe betide to be subjugated, accepting omertà out of calculation or fear. Our dignity and the missionary wealth to which God calls are at stake.

This is why the authorities considered Jesus to be like a Galilean: subversive and rebellious.

He suffers another intimidation by proxies of religious leaders (Lk 13:1). We seem to be witnessing a scene of prevarication with which we may be familiar.

As the encyclical Brothers All points out, the Lord still dreams of a project "with great goals, for the development of all humanity (No. 16)."

For this purpose "we need to constitute ourselves into a 'we' that inhabits the Common House. Such care does not interest the economic powers that need quick revenues" (n.17).

The rushed logic - as well as the epidermic haste of the society of events - creates inequalities, not only in the mercantile field.

In short, everything becomes opportunity for flourishing and ground for action of the Eternal, history truly ours: magisterium of authentic theology and humanization-if the story of the people unfolds on the way.

In the processes that trigger a history of redemption according to Gospel logic, the memory of the past does not alienate but interpellates: it does not trivially provide inert indefectible criteria for judging the present and obtaining repercussions or predictive capacities for the future.

The creed of philosophical-religious idealism may be a cocoon in which to lull oneself, but from the attentive and propulsive Faith flows a life of love that is also unpredictable, capable of inexplicable recoveries: it demands personal judgment and new grit in situation.

Harmful to dust off and readjust old things or one-sided dreams.It is necessary to have open eyes and at the same time to give time, so that we overcome the fatalisms of archaic monotheism, the sentiments that confuse intimist emotionalism with passion for the things of God, the reductionist and schematic fundamentalisms, the illusions that we are already well on the path of conversion.

The God of ancient religion has its demands and does not appear longsuffering. The Father of Jesus knows how to wait. He tolerates both stubbornness and careless acceleration.

He does not get irritated, does not give in to the frenzy of blow after blow. He is not disinterested, however, he does not complain; nor does he retaliate.

It proposes solutions.

She reiterates occasions that would melt the hard temper of our idols -- for an evolution toward a renewed masterpiece of heavenly Patience.

It has the style of the mother or at any rate of the parent - close relative - who by dint of caresses and kisses persuades the wayward child to be fed the food that will make him grow (calmly) and thus surpass himself.

In this way he does not cause irreparable trouble - in fact he will astound us.

For a new Spring, in which the fig gives its unrepeatable sugary fruit [never already dry or dried] juicy and highly energetic-before the many leaves.

So that fraternity does not remain "at best a romantic expression" (FT, 109).

To internalize and live the message:

How do you safeguard community living and your transpositions of Faith in Christ? What is the point of homologation in satisfactions, and where do you place your Preciousness?

""Repent', says the Lord, "for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand'", we proclaimed before the Gospel […] that presents us with the fundamental theme of this "strong season" of the liturgical year: the invitation to change our lives and to do works worthy of penance.
Jesus, as we heard, recalls two items of news: a brutal repression in the Temple by the Roman police (cf. Lk 13: 1) and the tragic death of 18 people, killed when the tower in Siloam collapsed (v. 4). People interpret these events as divine punishment for those victims' sins, and thinking they are upright, believe they are safe from such accidents and that they have nothing in their own lives that they should change. Jesus, however, denounces this attitude as an illusion: "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans, because they suffered thus? I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish" (vv. 2-3). And he invites us to reflect on these events for a greater commitment on the journey of conversion, for it is precisely the closure of ourselves to the Lord and the failure to take the path of our own conversion that lead to death, to the death of the soul. In Lent, each one of us is asked by God to mark a turning point in our life, thinking and living in accordance with the Gospel, correcting some aspect of our way of praying, acting or working and of our relations with others. Jesus makes this appeal to us, not with a severity that is an end in itself but precisely because he is concerned for our good, our happiness and our salvation. On our part, we must respond to him with a sincere inner effort, asking him to make us understand which particular ways we should change. 

The conclusion of the Gospel passage reverts to the prospect of mercy, showing the urgent need to return to God, to renew life in accordance with God. Referring to a custom of the time, Jesus presents the parable of a fig tree planted in the vineyard. However, this fig tree was barren, it produced no fruit (cf. Lk 13: 6-9). The dialogue that develops between the master and the vinedresser shows on the one hand the mercy of God who is patient and allows human beings, all of us, time in which to convert; and on the other, the need to start to change both our interior and exterior way of life straight away in order not to miss the opportunities that God's mercy affords us to overcome our spiritual laziness and respond to God's love with our own filial love. 

[Pope Benedict, homily parish St. John of the Cross, March 7, 2010]