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

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

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

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

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

*Responsorial Psalm (129/130) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+Giovanni D’Ercole

4th Lent Sunday   [15 March 2026]  Laetare

May God bless us and the Virgin protect us! This Sunday is a pause of light in the penitential journey. In the Gospel, Jesus gives sight to the blind man. Laetare means this: light is already overcoming the shadows. Even though we are still in Lent, Easter is near. The blind man's joy is achieved through questioning, rejection and loneliness. Laetare is not an escape from pain, but joy that arises from trial. Laetare is the smile of the Church in the middle of the desert: if I allow myself to be enlightened by Christ, my night is not definitive. The man born blind thus becomes an icon of the catechumen, but also of every believer who, in the heart of Lent, discovers that the light is already present and that Christian joy is born from the encounter with Him.

*First Reading from the First Book of Samuel (16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a)

 Reading this biblical text, we understand that the great prophet Samuel had to learn to change his perspective. Sent by God to designate the future king from among the sons of Jesse in Bethlehem, he apparently had only the embarrassment of choice. Jesse first brought his eldest son, named Eliab: tall, handsome, with the appearance worthy of succeeding the current king, Saul. But no: God let Samuel know that his choice did not fall on him: Do not look at his appearance or his tall stature... God does not look as man looks: man looks at the appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart (cf. 1 Sam 16:7).

So Jesse had his sons pass before the prophet one by one, in order of age. But God's choice did not fall on any of them. In the end, he had to call the last one, the one no one had thought of: David, whose only occupation was to tend the sheep. Well, it was he whom God had chosen to guard his people! The biblical account emphasises once again that God's choice falls on the smallest: "God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong," St Paul will say (1 Cor 1:27), because "my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor 12:9). Here is a good reason to change our way of looking at people! From this text we draw at least three lessons about kingship in Israel:

First: the king is God's chosen one, but the election is for a mission. Just as Israel is chosen for the service of humanity, so the king is chosen for the service of the people. This also entails the possibility of being deposed, as happened to Saul: if the chosen one no longer fulfils his mission, he is replaced. Second: the king receives anointing with oil; he is literally the 'messiah', that is, 'the anointed one'. God says to Samuel: 'Fill your horn with oil and set out! I am sending you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have chosen a king among his sons' (1 Sam 16:1). Third: anointing confers the Spirit of God. ' Samuel took the horn full of oil and anointed him in the midst of his brothers, and the Spirit of the Lord came upon David from that day forward' (1 Sam 16:13). The king thus becomes God's representative on earth, called to rule according to God's will and not according to that of the world. There is also another great lesson: men judge by appearances, God looks at the heart.  Many biblical stories insist on this mystery: God often chooses the least. David was the youngest of Jesse's sons; no one thought he had a great future. Moses declared himself slow of speech (Ex 4:10). Jeremiah considered himself too young (Jer 1:6). Samuel himself was inexperienced when he was called. Timothy was in poor health. And the people of Israel were small among the nations. These choices cannot be explained by human criteria. As Isaiah says: "My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways" (Is 55:8-9). The text summarises it thus: "What man sees does not count: for man sees the appearance, but the Lord sees the heart" (1 Sam 16:7). This truth protects us from two dangers: presumption and discouragement. It is not a question of merit, but of availability. No one possesses the necessary strength within themselves: God will give it at the right moment.

*Responsorial Psalm (22/23) 

We have just heard this psalm in its entirety: it is one of the shortest in the psalter, but it is so dense that the early Christians chose it as the privileged psalm for Easter night. On that night, the newly baptised, rising from the baptismal font, sang Psalm 22/23 as they made their way to the place of their Confirmation and First Eucharist. For this reason, it was called the 'psalm of Christian initiation'. If Christians were able to read the mystery of baptismal life in it, it is because this psalm already expressed in a privileged way the mystery of life in the Covenant, of life in intimacy with God for Israel. It is the mystery of God's choice, who elected this particular people for no apparent reason other than his sovereign freedom. Every generation marvels at this election and this Covenant offered: 'Ask the former generations that preceded you, from the day God created man on earth... has anything so great ever happened?' (Deut 4:32-35). This people, freely chosen by God, was given the privilege of being the first to enter into his intimacy, not to enjoy it selfishly, but to open the door to others. To express the happiness of the believer, Psalm 22/23 refers to two experiences: that of a Levite (a priest) and that of a pilgrim. We are familiar with the institution of the Levites: according to Genesis, Levi was one of the twelve sons of Jacob, from whom the twelve tribes of Israel took their name. But the tribe of Levi had a special place from the beginning: at the time of the division of the Promised Land, it did not receive any territory because it was consecrated to the service of worship. It is said that God himself is their inheritance; an image also taken up in another psalm: "Lord, my portion of inheritance and my cup... for me, the lot has fallen on delightful places" (Ps 15/16:5). The Levites lived scattered among the cities of the other tribes and lived on tithes; in Jerusalem, they were dedicated to the service of the Temple. The Levite in our psalm sings with all his heart: "Goodness and faithfulness shall follow me all the days of my life; I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for long days." His experience is an image of Israel's election: just as the Levite is happy to be consecrated to the service of God, so Israel is aware of its special vocation among humanity. Furthermore, Israel presents itself as a pilgrim going up to the Temple to offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving. On the way, it is like a sheep: its shepherd is God. In the culture of the ancient Near East, kings were called "shepherds of the people," and Israel also uses this language. The ideal king is a good shepherd, attentive and strong to protect the flock. But in Israel it was strongly affirmed that the only true king is God; the kings of the earth are only his representatives. Thus, the true shepherd of Israel is God himself: 'The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want; he makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul'. The prophet Ezekiel developed this image at length. Similarly, the Old Testament often presents Israel as God's flock: "He is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock he leads" (Ps 94/95:7). This recalls the experience of the Exodus: it was there that Israel experienced God's care, who guided them and enabled them to survive amid a thousand obstacles. For this reason, when Jesus said, "I am the Good Shepherd" (Jn 10), his words had a shocking effect: they meant "I am the King-Messiah, the true king of Israel." Returning to the psalm: pilgrimage can be dangerous. The pilgrim may encounter enemies ("You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies"), he may pass through "the dark valley" of death; but he does not fear, because God is with him: "I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff give me security". Once he reaches the Temple, he offers a sacrifice of thanksgiving and participates in the ritual banquet that follows: a joyful feast, with an overflowing cup and the anointing of oil on his head. We can understand why the early Christians saw in this psalm the expression of their experience: Christ is the true Shepherd (Jn 10); in baptism he leads us out of the valley of death to the waters of life; the table and the cup evoke the Eucharist; the perfumed oil recalls Confirmation. Once again, Christians discover with amazement that Jesus does not abolish the faith experience of his people, but brings it to fulfilment, giving it fullness.

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Ephesians (5:8-14) 

Often in Scripture, it is the end of the text that provides the key. Let us start with the last sentence: 'For this reason it is said: "Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will give you light."' The phrase "This is why it is said..." clearly shows that the author did not invent this song, but quoted it. It must have been a well-known baptismal hymn in the early Christian communities. Awake... rise... and Christ will give you light was therefore a song of our first brothers and sisters in faith: and this cannot leave us indifferent. Thus, we better understand the beginning of the text: it simply serves to explain the words of that hymn. It is as if, after a baptismal celebration, someone had asked the theologian on duty — Paul, or one of his disciples (since it is not entirely certain that the Letter to the Ephesians was written by him personally) —: "What do the words we sang during baptism mean?" And the answer is this: thanks to baptism, a new life has begun, a radically new life. So much so that the newly baptised were called neophytes, meaning 'new plants'. The author explains the song in this way: the new plant that you have become is profoundly different. When a graft is made, the fruit of the grafted tree is different from the original one; and that is precisely why the graft is made. The colour makes it easy to distinguish what belongs to the new plant and what is a remnant of the past. It is the same with baptism: the fruits of the new man are works of light; before the grafting, you were darkness, and your fruits were works of darkness. But old habits may resurface: this is why it is important to recognise them. For the author, the distinction is simple: the fruits of the new man are goodness, justice and charity. Anything that is not goodness, justice and charity is a sprout from the old tree. Who can make you bear fruits of light? Jesus Christ. He is all goodness, all justice, all charity. Just as a plant needs the sun to bloom, so we must expose ourselves to his light. The song expresses both the work of Christ and the freedom of man: 'Awake, arise' — it is freedom that is called into question. 'Christ will enlighten you' — only he can do this. For St Paul, as for the prophets of the Old Testament, light is an attribute of God. To say 'Christ will enlighten you' means two things: first of all, Christ is God. The only way to live in harmony with God is to remain united to Christ, that is, to live concretely in justice, goodness and charity. The text of Isaiah (Is 58) comes to mind: share your bread with the hungry, welcome the poor, clothe the naked... Then your light will rise like the dawn. This is the glory of the Lord, his light that we are called to reflect. As Paul says in his second letter to the Corinthians (2 Cor 3:18): we reflect the glory of the Lord and are transformed into his image. To reflect means that Christ is the light; we are its reflection. This is the vocation of the baptised: to reflect the light of Christ. For this reason, at baptism, a candle lit from the Paschal candle is given. Secondly, a light does not shine for itself: it illuminates what surrounds it. In his letter to the Philippians, Paul writes: 'You shine like stars in the world' (Phil 2:14-16). This is his way of translating the words of Jesus Christ: 'You are the light of the world'. The Letter to the Ephesians, written directly by Paul or by one of his disciples (according to the then common practice of "pseudepigraphy"), remains for the Church a fundamental testimony of the baptismal vocation, called to pass from darkness to light.

*From the Gospel according to John (9:1-41)

The worst blindness is not what one thinks. Here we hear an illustration of what St John writes at the beginning of his Gospel, in the so-called Prologue:

"The Word was the true light, the light that enlightens every man... He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not recognise him" (Jn 1:9-10). This is what we might call the drama of the Gospels. But John continues: 'Yet to all who did receive him, he gave them the right to become children of God'. This is exactly what happens here: the drama of those who oppose Jesus and stubbornly refuse to recognise him as the One sent by God; but also, fortunately, the salvation of those who have the grace to open their eyes, like the man born blind.

John insists on making us understand that there are two kinds of blindness: physical blindness, which this man had from birth, and, much more serious, blindness of the heart.

Jesus meets the blind man for the first time and heals him of his natural blindness. He then meets him a second time and opens his heart to another light, the true light. It is no coincidence that John takes care to explain the meaning of the name 'Siloam', which means 'Sent'. In other cases, he does not translate the terms: here he does so because it is important. Jesus is truly the One sent by the Father to enlighten the world. Yet we return to the same question: why was the one who was sent to bring God's light rejected by those who awaited him most fervently? The episode of the man born blind takes place immediately after the Feast of Tabernacles, a great solemnity in Jerusalem, during which the coming of the Messiah was ardently invoked. And the danger of certainties can be great. At the time of Jesus Christ, the expectation of the Messiah was very intense. There was only one question: is he truly the Father's Envoy or is he an impostor? Is he the Messiah, yes or no? His actions were paradoxical: he performed the works expected of the Messiah — he restored sight to the blind and speech to the mute — but he did not seem to respect the Sabbath. And it was precisely on the Sabbath that he healed the blind man. Now, if he were truly sent by God, many thought, he should observe the Sabbath. It was 'obvious'. But it is precisely this 'obviousness' that is the problem. Many had too rigid ideas about what the Messiah should be like and were not ready for God's surprise. The blind man, on the other hand, is not a prisoner of preconceptions. To the Pharisees who ask him for explanations, he simply replies: "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes... I washed and gained my sight." The Pharisees are divided: He is not from God, because he does not observe the Sabbath. How can a sinner perform such signs? The blind man reasons with simplicity and freedom: If this man were not from God, he could do nothing (cf. Jn 9:31-33). It is always the same story: those who close themselves off in their own certainties end up seeing nothing; those who take a step in faith are ready to receive grace. And then they can receive true light from Jesus. This episode takes place in a context of controversy between Jesus and the Pharisees. Twice Jesus had rebuked them for  "judging by appearances" (Jn 7:24; 8:15). It is natural to recall the episode of David's choice: "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart" (1 Sam 16:7). The worst blindness, therefore, is not that of the eyes, but that of a heart that does not want to be enlightened. The man born blind does not only receive sight: he receives a new way of seeing. At first he sees Jesus as "a man"; then as a "prophet"; finally he recognises him as "Lord" and prostrates himself before him. The real miracle is not only the opening of the eyes, but the opening of the heart. Here we also find the wisdom of The Little Prince (novel by A.M. de Saint-Exupéry): "What is essential is invisible to the eye." The Pharisees see with their eyes, but remain blind inside; the beggar, on the other hand, passing through rejection and trial, comes to see the Invisible. The conclusion is this: faith is a journey from external light to inner light. One can have healthy eyes and remain in darkness; or one can have been blind and become a witness to the light. The man born blind teaches us that true sight is recognising Christ as the Light of the world and allowing our hearts to be illuminated.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

(Jn 5:1-3.5-16)

In the ‘devotion’ of competitive trophies, only the quickest heals, not the neediest.

Jesus prefers to transgress the law than to align himself with the merciless world that marginalizes the wretched.

In the holy places the cult of sacrifices required a lot of water [for the animals to be washed, then slaughtered], especially in the great feasts.

Large cisterns collected rainwater, and public baths agglomerated the sick waiting for help or recovery.

The pools outside were used to clean the lambs before the sacrifice to the Temple, and this old practise gave the water itself an aura of healing sanctity.

Many sick people flocked to bathe in the «motion of the water» [v.3: perhaps due to an intermittent source].

It was said that an angel stirred the waters of the popular baths and that the first person to enter them in the one moment the same waters became restless would be healed.

Symbol of a religion that offers false hopes to the excluded masses. 

Vain expectations attracted the imagination of the sick who did not know the man-God of their destiny.

«But he who had been healed did not know who He was, because Jesus had gone away, there being crowd in that place» (v.13).

The Face of the Son is unrecognisable in the masses pressing around, which is only distracting and content with habitual, exaggeratedly solemn forms.

Abundant conducts purified the Temple and neglected the people. The water flowed, but did not cure anyone - on the contrary, it made the situation worse.

An icon of a rich and miserable religiosity: vain, useless, harmful; that abandons those it is called upon to support.

Scribes taught the law to students in the sacred precincts, and the rabbis received clients under Solomon's porch: at the top the Torah and its trade, at the bottom and outside - close by - the treachery of the poor.

Official institution kept the unsteady at a safe distance, revealing only a ridiculous and brutal caricature of the Father's friendly, hospitable and sympathetic Face.

Crowd of the needy who were given ‘magic’ water [only randomly and by surprise] is a parable of destitute humanity, dramatically lacking everything - even genuine spiritual comfort.

On the other hand, Jesus approaches them on his own initiative (vv. 6.14).

And gets involved - at the risk of his life - with those who are most alone, awkward and clumsy; unables even to receive miracles.

We are ‘sent’ not to deserving and self-sufficient, but to those who are not able to use their ownn means to come forward.

Christ himself does not work in order to be recognized and acclaimed: «He had gone away» (v,13). Nor does He care for us, only to trigger a religious conversion.

He heals by perceiving the need, not so that the sick person ‘believes in God’.

We leave people free to go through their seasons, not stereotypes.

We enter the heart of Lent.

[Tuesday 4th wk. in Lent, March 17, 2026]

(Jn 5:1-3.5-16)

"On the other hand, he performs several gestures on him: first of all he led him away from the crowd. On this occasion, as on others, Jesus always acts with discretion. He does not want to impress people, He is not seeking popularity or success, but only wishes to do good to people. With this attitude, He teaches us that good is to be done without clamour, without ostentation, without "blowing the trumpet". It must be done in silence.

[...] The healing was for him an 'opening' to others and to the world.

This Gospel story emphasises the need for a twofold healing. First, healing from sickness and physical suffering, to restore the health of the body; even if this goal is not completely attainable on the earthly horizon, despite so many efforts of science and medicine. But there is a second healing, perhaps more difficult, and that is healing from fear. Healing from the fear that drives us to marginalise the sick, to marginalise the suffering, the disabled. And there are many ways of marginalising, even with a pseudo-pity or with the removal of the problem; we remain deaf and dumb in the face of the pain of people marked by illness, anguish and difficulty. Too many times the sick and the suffering become a problem, while they should be an opportunity to manifest the solicitude and solidarity of a society towards the weakest".

[Pope Francis, Angelus 9 September 2018].

Jesus would rather transgress the law than align himself with the ruthless world and the inviolable society outside, which marginalises the unfortunate.

In the religion of competitive trophies, of real abandonments and false or trivial hopes, someone by lottery is healed, everyone else is not. Only the quickest heals, not the neediest.

In any case, the vast majority stand by, paralysed by loneliness - conversely, those afflicted ask for life, refreshment; the bubbling song of an authentically sacred story.

At that time, in the 'holy' places, the cult of sacrifices demanded a lot of water [for the animals to be washed, then slaughtered and butchered] especially on the great feasts.

Large cisterns collected rainwater, and public baths (to the north) agglomerated the sick awaiting help or recovery from the very isolation to which they were condemned - according to purity rules.

Pools outside were used to bathe lambs before sacrifice at the Temple, and this method of use gave the water itself an aura of healing sanctity.

Many sick people flocked to bathe in the 'motion of the water' (v.3).

It was said that an angel stirred the waters of the popular baths [perhaps for an intermittent spring] and that the first person to enter them in the one moment they became restless would be cured.

A symbol of a religion that holds out bogus hopes to the shaky, which also attract the imagination of the excluded masses, harassed by calamities - who do not know the man-God of their destiny.

"But he who was healed did not know who he was, because Jesus had gone away, there being a crowd in that place" (v.13).

The Face of the Son is unrecognisable in the throng around, despite the plethora of impeccable guides and devotees - who are only distracting, and content with the customary forms of organisation, exaggeratedly solemn.

Abundant conduct purified the Temple and neglected the people.

An icon of a rich and miserable religiosity: vain, useless, harmful; which abandons to itself those it is called upon to support.

The scribes taught the law to students in the sacred precincts and the rabbis received clients under Solomon's porch, on the Temple esplanade, to the east.

Above the Torah and its trade; below and outside - nearby - the treachery of the poor.

The water flowed into the Temple, but it did not cleanse anyone - on the contrary, it made things worse.

This persisted for an entire era - a "generation" (v.5). Symbology of the 38 years (Deut 2:14) that precisely lacked a welcoming mentality.

The official religious institution kept the crowd at a safe distance, revealing only a ridiculous and brutal caricature of the friendly, hospitable and sharing Face of the Father.

The crowd of needy who were only randomly and surprisingly given magic water is precisely a parable of destitute humanity, dramatically lacking everything - even genuine spiritual comfort.

Jesus, on the other hand, approaches the needy on his own initiative (vv.6.14) and involves himself - at the risk of his life - with those who are most lonely, awkward and clumsy.

He in us: welcoming faces and active presence of the Father, instinctively approaching not the people who matter, but the neglected, the sick - unable even to receive miracles.

We are sent not to the worthy and self-sufficient, but precisely to those unable to use their own means to come forward. 

Those who wobble - and on this there is no need for imprimatur: such a rule is of divine right.

No joy from the authorities - only enquiries.

No matter: no reverential fear. God is not eager to be obeyed; rather, to fulfil us.

Christ himself does not work in order to be recognised and acclaimed ['he had turned away']. Nor does he care for us, only to trigger a religious conversion.

He heals by perceiving the need, not so that the sick person believes in God.

The Tao Tê Ching [x] says: "Let creatures live and feed them, let them live and not keep them as your own". "To speak much and scrutinise rationally is worth less than to keep empty" (v).

Let people be free to go through their seasons, not stereotype them.

Only, let us help open doors that are more genuine and commensurate with the personal journey, even if it is unplanned or uncontrolled.

We are challenged and sent to accompany each one in the unprecedented, all original - guiding not to an already drafted sacredness, but to the plasticity of healthy awareness.

Let us enter the heart of Lent.

To internalise and live the message:

How is it that you live in the Christian community and this Gospel surprises you?

Have you been without help for a long time? Does the Eucharist make you "someone for everyone" and spend yourself, or do you fall back into vain devotions?

Specialists in closure. Psychology of doctors of the law

Lent is a propitious time to ask the Lord, "for each one of us and for the whole Church", for "conversion to the mercy of Jesus". Too often, in fact, Christians "are specialists in closing doors to people" who, weakened by life and their mistakes, would instead be willing to start again, "people to whom the Holy Spirit moves the heart to move forward".

The law of love is at the heart of Pope Francis' reflection on the liturgy of the day at Mass on Tuesday 17 March at Santa Marta. A word of God that starts from an image: "the water that heals". In the first reading, the prophet Ezekiel (47:1-9.12) in fact speaks of the water that flows from the temple, 'a blessed water, the water of God, abundant as the grace of God: abundant always'. The Lord, in fact, the Pope explained, is generous 'in giving his love, in healing our wounds'.

Water returns in John's Gospel (5:1-16) where it tells of a pool - "in Hebrew it was called betzaetà" - characterised by "five porticoes, under which lay a great number of the sick: blind, lame and paralytic". In that place, in fact, "there was a tradition" according to which "from time to time, an angel came down from heaven" to move the waters, and the sick "who threw themselves there" at that moment "were healed".

Therefore, the Pontiff explained, "there were many people". And therefore there was also "a man who had been sick for thirty-eight years". He was there waiting, and to him Jesus asked, 'Do you want to be healed?' The sick man answered, "But, Lord, I have no one to immerse me in the pool when the water is stirring, when the angel comes. For as I am about to go there, another descends before me". Jesus, that is, is presented with "a defeated man" who "had lost hope". Sick, but - Francis emphasised - "not only paralytic": he was in fact sick with "another very bad disease", acedia.

"It was acedia that made him sad, lazy," he noted. Another person would in fact have 'sought the way to get there in time, like that blind man in Jericho who cried out, cried out, and they wanted to silence him and he cried out more: he found the way'. But he, prostrated by illness for thirty-eight years, "had no desire to heal himself", he had "no strength". At the same time, he had 'bitterness in his soul: "But the other comes before me and I am left behind"'. And he also had "some resentment". She was "truly a sad, defeated soul, defeated by life".

"Jesus has mercy" on this man and invites him, "Get up! Get up, let's finish this story; take your stretcher and walk". Francis then described the following scene: 'Instantly the man was healed and took his stretcher and began to walk, but he was so sick that he could not believe and perhaps walked a little doubtfully with his stretcher on his shoulders'. At this point other characters come into play: "It was the Sabbath and what did the man find? The doctors of the law', who ask him: 'But why do you bring this? You can't, today is the Sabbath". It is the man who replies: "But you know, I have been healed!". He adds: "And the one who healed me said to me, 'bring your stretcher'".

A strange thing then happens: "these people instead of rejoicing, of saying: 'How nice! Congratulations!", they ask: "But who is this man?". The doctors, that is, begin "an investigation" and discuss, "Let us see what has happened here, but the law.... We must keep the law'. The man, for his part, continues to walk with his stretcher, "but a little sad". The Pope commented: 'I am bad, but sometimes I think about what would have happened if this man had given a big cheque to those doctors. They would have said: 'But, go ahead, yes, this time go ahead!'".

Continuing in the Gospel reading, one encounters Jesus who "finds this man one more time and says to him, 'Behold, you are healed, but do not go back - that is, do not sin any more - lest something worse happen to you. Go on, keep going'". And the man goes to the doctors of the law, to say, "The person, the man who healed me is called Jesus. That's the one." And we read: 'This is why the Jews persecuted Jesus, because he did such things on the Sabbath'. Again Francis commented: 'Because he also did good things on the Sabbath, and it could not be done'.

This story, the Pope said, bringing his reflection up to date, "happens many times in life: a man - a woman - who feels sick in his soul, sad, who has made so many mistakes in life, at a certain moment he feels the waters move, there is the Holy Spirit moving something; or he hears a word". And he reacts: "I would like to go!". So he "takes courage and goes". But that man "how many times today in Christian communities he finds the doors closed". Perhaps he hears himself saying: 'You can't, no, you can't; you are wrong here and you can't. If you want to come, come to mass on Sunday, but stay there, but do no more'. So it happens that 'what the Holy Spirit does in people's hearts, Christians with a psychology of doctors of the law destroy'.

The Pontiff said he was sorry for this, because, he emphasised, the Church 'is the house of Jesus and Jesus welcomes, but not only welcomes: he goes to visit people', just as 'he went to visit' that man. "And if people are hurt," he wondered, "what does Jesus do? Does he rebuke them, because they are hurt? No, he comes and carries her on his shoulders". This, the Pope stated, 'is called mercy'. This is precisely what God is talking about when he 'rebukes his people: "Mercy I want, not sacrifice!"'.

As usual, the Pontiff concluded his reflection by suggesting a commitment for daily life: 'We are in Lent, we must convert'. Someone, he said, might admit: 'Father, there are so many sinners on the road: those who steal, those who are in the Roma camps...'. - to say one thing - and we despise these people'. But to him it must be said: 'And you? Who are you? And who are you, that you close the door of your heart to a man, to a woman, who wants to improve, to re-enter the people of God, because the Holy Spirit has stirred her heart?" Even today there are Christians who behave like the doctors of the law and "do the same as they did with Jesus", objecting: "But this, this says heresy, this cannot be done, this goes against the discipline of the Church, this goes against the law". And so they close the doors to many people. Therefore, the Pope concluded, "let us ask the Lord today" for "conversion to the mercy of Jesus": only then "will the law be fully fulfilled, because the law is to love God and our neighbour, as ourselves".

(Pope Francis, S. Marta homily, in L'Osservatore Romano 18/03/2015)

[Different opinion].

In all the Gospel commentaries that I know of, this episode of the pool of Bethsaida (John 5:1-16) is a symbol of the PERSEVERANCE of this poor man who remains there, at the edge of the water for thirty-eight years in the hope of being healed, without ever leaving it.

It is also a symbol of the patience we must have with ourselves in our inner struggle against prevailing faults.

One author, referring to this passage from the Gospel, explained that the Lord can ask us even thirty-eight years to grow in a virtue by being patient with our faults.

If the paralytic had been a lazy indolent complainer (and a bit of a hypochondriac, we seem to understand...), the Lord would not have helped him.

The man protagonist of today's Gospel PERSEVERED thirty-eight years, he did not FEAR ACCIDENT for thirty-eight years.

Not only that, he would have remained there until the end of his days, had he not had the reward of meeting Jesus, precisely because of his constancy.

Again, this episode explains the importance of evangelisation (proselytism for Pope Bergoglio).

In fact, this Gospel passage has always been used to explain that no one should confess 'Lord I have none', since the Gospel passage refers to - and must be interpreted as referring to - the sick in spirit.

The expression of the paralytic "HOMINEM NON HABEO" ("I have no man") has become, or perhaps always has been over the centuries, in every Gospel commentary, the meaning of SPIRITUAL INDIFFERENCE towards one's neighbour in need in the soul.

It means that everyone has been indifferent to the needs of his soul, except the Saviour.

(https://www.marcotosatti.com/2020/03/25/ics-al-papa-il-paralitico-a-betsaida-non-era-pigro-ipocondriaco/)

39. To suffer with the other and for others; to suffer for the sake of truth and justice; to suffer out of love and in order to become a person who truly loves—these are fundamental elements of humanity, and to abandon them would destroy man himself. Yet once again the question arises: are we capable of this? Is the other important enough to warrant my becoming, on his account, a person who suffers? Does truth matter to me enough to make suffering worthwhile? Is the promise of love so great that it justifies the gift of myself? In the history of humanity, it was the Christian faith that had the particular merit of bringing forth within man a new and deeper capacity for these kinds of suffering that are decisive for his humanity. The Christian faith has shown us that truth, justice and love are not simply ideals, but enormously weighty realities. It has shown us that God —Truth and Love in person—desired to suffer for us and with us. Bernard of Clairvaux coined the marvellous expression: Impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis—God cannot suffer, but he can suffer with. Man is worth so much to God that he himself became man in order to suffer with man in an utterly real way—in flesh and blood—as is revealed to us in the account of Jesus's Passion. Hence in all human suffering we are joined by one who experiences and carries that suffering with us; hence con-solatio is present in all suffering, the consolation of God's compassionate love—and so the star of hope rises. Certainly, in our many different sufferings and trials we always need the lesser and greater hopes too—a kind visit, the healing of internal and external wounds, a favourable resolution of a crisis, and so on. In our lesser trials these kinds of hope may even be sufficient. But in truly great trials, where I must make a definitive decision to place the truth before my own welfare, career and possessions, I need the certitude of that true, great hope of which we have spoken here. For this too we need witnesses—martyrs—who have given themselves totally, so as to show us the way—day after day. We need them if we are to prefer goodness to comfort, even in the little choices we face each day—knowing that this is how we live life to the full. Let us say it once again: the capacity to suffer for the sake of the truth is the measure of humanity. Yet this capacity to suffer depends on the type and extent of the hope that we bear within us and build upon. The saints were able to make the great journey of human existence in the way that Christ had done before them, because they were brimming with great hope.

[Spe salvi]

1. A text by Saint Augustine offers us the key to interpreting Christ's miracles as signs of his saving power: "The fact that he became man for us has been of much greater benefit to our salvation than the miracles he performed among us; and it is more important than the fact that he healed the diseases of the body destined to die" (S. Augustini, In Io. Ev. Tr., 17, 1). In order to this health of the soul and the redemption of the whole world, Jesus also performed miracles of a corporal order. And so the theme of this catechesis is as follows: through the "miracles, wonders and signs" that he performed, Jesus Christ manifested his power to save man from the evil that threatens the immortal soul and his vocation to union with God.

9. At the end of our catechesis, we return once again to the text of St Augustine: "If we now consider the deeds wrought by our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, we see that the eyes of the blind, miraculously opened, were shut by death, and the limbs of the paralytic, loosed by the miracle, were again immobilised by death: all that was temporally healed in the mortal body, was in the end undone; but the soul that believed, passed into eternal life. With this sick man the Lord wished to give a great sign to the soul that would believe, for whose remission of sins he had come, and to heal whose weaknesses he had humbled himself" (S. Augustini, In Io. Ev. Tr., 17, 1).

Yes, all of Christ's "miracles, wonders and signs" are in function of the revelation of him as the Messiah, of him as the Son of God: of him who alone has the power to deliver man from sin and death. Of him who truly is the Saviour of the world.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 11 November 1987]

Lent is a propitious time to ask the Lord, "for each one of us and for the whole Church", for "conversion to the mercy of Jesus". Too often, in fact, Christians "are specialists in closing doors to people" who, weakened by life and their mistakes, would instead be willing to start again, "people to whom the Holy Spirit moves the heart to move forward".

The law of love is at the heart of Pope Francis' reflection on the liturgy of the day at Mass on Tuesday 17 March at Santa Marta. A word of God that starts from an image: "the water that heals". In the first reading, the prophet Ezekiel (47:1-9.12) in fact speaks of the water that flows from the temple, 'a blessed water, the water of God, abundant as the grace of God: abundant always'. The Lord, in fact, the Pope explained, is generous 'in giving his love, in healing our wounds'.

Water returns in John's Gospel (5:1-16) where it tells of a pool - "in Hebrew it was called betzaetà" - characterised by "five porticoes, under which lay a great number of the sick: blind, lame and paralytic". In that place, in fact, "there was a tradition" according to which "from time to time, an angel came down from heaven" to move the waters, and the sick "who threw themselves there" at that moment "were healed".

Therefore, the Pontiff explained, "there were many people". And therefore there was also "a man who had been sick for thirty-eight years". He was there waiting, and to him Jesus asked, 'Do you want to be healed?' The sick man answered, "But, Lord, I have no one to immerse me in the pool when the water is stirring, when the angel comes. For as I am about to go there, another descends before me". Jesus, that is, is presented with 'a defeated man' who 'had lost hope'.

[...] he had "bitterness in his soul: 'But the other comes before me and I am left behind'". And he also had "some resentment". She was "truly a sad, defeated soul, defeated by life".

"Jesus has mercy" on this man and invites him, "Get up! Get up, let's finish this story; take your stretcher and walk". Francis then described the following scene: 'Instantly the man was healed and took his stretcher and began to walk, but he was so sick that he could not believe and perhaps walked a little doubtfully with his stretcher on his shoulders'. At this point other characters come into play: "It was the Sabbath and what did the man find? The doctors of the law', who ask him: 'But why do you bring this? You can't, today is the Sabbath". It is the man who replies: "But you know, I have been healed!". He adds: "And the one who healed me said to me, 'bring your stretcher'".

A strange thing then happens: "these people instead of rejoicing, of saying: 'How nice! Congratulations!", they ask: "But who is this man?". The doctors, that is, begin "an investigation" and discuss, "Let us see what has happened here, but the law.... We must keep the law'. The man, for his part, continues to walk with his stretcher, "but a little sad". The Pope commented: 'I am bad, but sometimes I think about what would have happened if this man had given a nice cheque to those doctors. They would have said: 'But, go ahead, yes, this time go ahead!'".

Continuing in the Gospel reading, one encounters Jesus who "finds this man one more time and says to him, 'Behold, you are healed, but do not go back - that is, do not sin any more - lest something worse happen to you. Go on, keep going'". And the man goes to the doctors of the law to say, "The person, the man who healed me is called Jesus. That's the one." And we read: 'This is why the Jews persecuted Jesus, because he did such things on the Sabbath'. Again Francis commented: 'Because he also did good things on the Sabbath, and it could not be done'.

This story, said the Pope, bringing his reflection up to date, "happens many times in life: a man - a woman - who feels sick in his soul, sad, who has made so many mistakes in life, at a certain moment he feels the waters move, there is the Holy Spirit moving something; or he hears a word". And he reacts: "I would like to go!". So he "takes courage and goes". But that man "how many times today in Christian communities he finds the doors closed". Perhaps he hears himself saying: 'You can't, no, you can't; you're wrong here and you can't. If you want to come, come to mass on Sunday, but stay there, but do no more'. So it happens that 'what the Holy Spirit does in people's hearts, Christians with a psychology of doctors of the law destroy'.

The Pontiff said he was sorry for this, because, he emphasised, the Church 'is the house of Jesus and Jesus welcomes, but not only welcomes: he goes to visit people', just as 'he went to visit' that man. "And if people are hurt," he wondered, "what does Jesus do? Does he rebuke them, because they are hurt? No, he comes and carries them on his shoulders'. This, said the Pope, "is called mercy". This is precisely what God is talking about when he "rebukes his people: "Mercy I want, not sacrifice!"".

As usual, the Pontiff concluded his reflection by suggesting a commitment for daily life: 'We are in Lent, we must convert'. Someone, he said, might admit: 'Father, there are so many sinners on the road: those who steal, those who are in the Roma camps...'. - to say one thing - and we despise these people'. But to him it must be said: 'And you? Who are you? And who are you, that you close the door of your heart to a man, to a woman, who wants to improve, to re-enter the people of God, because the Holy Spirit has stirred her heart?" Even today there are Christians who behave like the doctors of the law and "do the same as they did with Jesus", objecting: "But this, this says heresy, this cannot be done, this goes against the discipline of the Church, this goes against the law". And so they close the doors to many people. Therefore, the Pope concluded, "let us ask the Lord today" for "conversion to the mercy of Jesus": only then "will the law be fully fulfilled, because the law is to love God and our neighbour, as ourselves".

[Pope Francis, S. Marta homily, in L'Osservatore Romano 18/03/2015]

«If you do not see signs and wonders, you do not believe»

(Jn 4:43-54)

Jesus takes the rhythm of the catechumen's interior journey (v.47) to introduce us in his Vision, which regenerates our flesh and puts us back to the Exodus (v.50) unleashesing a whole dynamism around (v.51).

On the Way, every creature is returned to itself and to the radical goodness of the original project - rediscovered first inside, then outside of itself.

Having Faith is leaving, and letting oneself be traumatized. «In fact, Jesus had testified that a prophet in his own country has no honor» (v.44).

After showing in the episode of the Samaritan woman (vv.1-42) the meaning of Christ as a new Temple for both Jews and "heretics", Jn illustrates its sense for the pagans.

As if the dimension of Resurrection [«after the two days»: v.43] moved the House of God to the whole world.

The fundamentalists of Judaism were forbidden to go through Samaria and stay with the Samaritans (cf. Jn 4:9) considered mestizos [theologically polygamous: Jn 4:17-18].

Jesus is not limited to his own lineage, and not even to his religion.

In Galilee the Lord receives a super-pagan, who begs for help because realizes that the world he comes from is unable to generate life (vv.46-47.49.53).

The banal auspices of cultural baggage block the freedom of thought from what is not yet foreseen, setting stereotypes.

The impregnated with idols no longer sees anything; he does not even meet himself and his closests.

And experiences no unknown forces. At best, he believes in the pagan protector god, who works miracles according lottery.

Whoever adjusts himself with the naked eye... supposes to see the Lord who heals through extraordinary gestures [v. 48: «if you do not see signs and wonders, do not believe»].

The life-giving power of the Word escapes him: Logos that touches without being seen but makes Jesus Present in his work and in his incisive, effective entirety.

Christ is interested in making people understand how Faith “flows” in its pure quality: what dynamisms it activates - not the show of the spectacle-religion, all external.

The epidermal expressions close the crowd in intimism, or arouse interest in oddities that shake the senses, triggering a moment of enthusiasm, not the center of each person.

The newness of Christ is not transmitted by contact, but by fully welcoming his unexpected Word-event. It is not subject to a locality principle or other ‘guarantee’.

The outward gaze is convinced by miracles, but does not grasp the profound meaning of the Sign that speaks to us of the Son’s Person - the true ‘spectacle’. All yet to be tested.

The curious are waiting to see and notice. Thus they die of relative hopes, without ‘root’ in themselves.

Only in Faith does one discover what is not yet seen with the naked eye, nor did we know it existed.

To internalize and live the message:

How does adherence to the Word of Christ help to overcome the banal desire for clamor or escape?

[Monday 4th wk. in Lent, March 16, 2026]

«If you do not see signs and wonders, you do not believe»

(Jn 4:43-54)

Starting from the fourth week, the path of the Lenten liturgy takes a decisive step towards Jerusalem, which is already outlined in the Easter light.

The evangelist wants to introduce us into a more intimate familiarity with the mystery of the person and the story of the Son of God; a communion on the plane of being that bathes other lands.

He takes the rhythm of the catechumen's inner journey (v.47) to introduce us into his Vision, which regenerates our flesh and puts us back into the Exodus (v.50) that unleashes a whole dynamism around it (v.51).

On the Way, each creature is restored to itself and to the radical goodness of the original project - rediscovered first within, then without.

To have Faith is to depart, and to allow oneself to be traumatised. "For Jesus himself had testified that a prophet in his own country has no honour" (v.44). Why?

By the term "homeland" the synoptics imply Nazareth.

The fourth Gospel, on the other hand, alludes to a more theological dimension: that of the Word that transcends local privileges, targeting the ideology of the religious centre as well as the national institution.

After showing in the episode of the Samaritan woman (vv.1-42) the significance of Christ as the new Temple for both Jews and "heretics", Jn illustrates its meaning for pagans.

As if the Resurrection dimension ("after the two days": v.43) displaces the House of God to the whole world.

The observants of Judaism were forbidden to pass through Samaria and stay with the Samaritans (cf. Jn 4:9) who were considered mestizos (theologically polygamous: Jn 4:17-18).

Jesus does not limit himself to his own lineage, nor even to his religion.

In Galilee, he receives a super-pagan, who begs for help because he realises that the world he comes from is unable to generate life (vv.46-47.49.53).

Often our piety prevents friendship between different cultures and neutralises the power of intimate self-healing that everyone - of whatever ethnicity or creed - carries.

The trivial auspices of cultural baggage block freedom of thought from what is not yet foreseen, fixing stereotypes.

The idol-impregnated person no longer sees anything; he does not even meet himself and his intimates.

Nor does he experience unknown forces. At most, he believes in the pagan protector god, who performs miracles by lottery.

He who regulates himself with the naked eye... supposes he sees the Lord who heals through extraordinary deeds (v.48: "if you do not see signs and wonders, do not believe").

He misses the life-giving power of the Word, which touches without being seen, but makes Jesus present in his work and in his incisive, effective wholeness.

Christ is interested in making us understand how Faith 'works' in its pure quality: what dynamisms it activates - not the show of spectacle religion, all external, rhyming with impression, evasion, sensation, devotion.

These epidermic expressions lock the crowd into intimism, or arouse interest in oddities that jolt the senses, arousing a moment's enthusiasm, but not the core of each person.

The newness of Christ is not conveyed by contact, but by thoroughly accepting his unexpected Word-event. It is not subject to a principle of locality or any other religious guarantee.

The external gaze is convinced by miracles, but does not grasp the profound meaning of the Sign that speaks to us of the Person of the Lord - the true spectacle. All yet to be experienced.

Commenting on the Tao Tê Ching (xii), Master Wang Pi says: "He who is for the eye, becomes a slave to creatures. That is why the saint is not for the eye'.

Master Ho-shang Kung adds: 'The lover of colour harms the essence and loses enlightenment (...) The disordered gaze causes the essence to overflow outwards'.

The curious wait to see and ascertain. Thus they die of relative hopes, without root in themselves.

Only in Faith do we discover what we cannot yet see with the naked eye, nor did we know was there.

To internalise and live the message:

How does adherence to the Word of Christ help overcome the trivial desire for hype or escapism?

Returning to "your home", did you discover what you did not know was there? Has someone announced the Newness to you?What I didn't know was there: Faith, the naked eye, assurance

"Unless you see signs and wonders, you do not believe"

(Jn 4:43-54)

Starting from the fourth week, the path of the Lenten liturgy takes a decisive step towards Jerusalem, which is already outlined in the Easter light.

The evangelist wants to introduce us into a more intimate familiarity with the mystery of the person and the story of the Son of God; a communion on the plane of being that bathes other lands.

He takes the rhythm of the catechumen's inner journey (v.47) to introduce us into his Vision, which regenerates our flesh and puts us back into the Exodus (v.50) that unleashes a whole dynamism around it (v.51).

On the Way, each creature is restored to itself and to the radical goodness of the original project - rediscovered first within, then without.

To have Faith is to depart, and to allow oneself to be traumatised. "For Jesus himself had testified that a prophet in his own country has no honour" (v.44). Why?

By the term "homeland" the synoptics imply Nazareth.

The fourth Gospel, on the other hand, alludes to a more theological dimension: that of the Word that transcends local privileges, targeting the ideology of the religious centre as well as the national institution.

After showing in the episode of the Samaritan woman (vv.1-42) the significance of Christ as the new Temple for both Jews and "heretics", Jn illustrates its meaning for pagans.

As if the Resurrection dimension ("after the two days": v.43) displaces the House of God to the whole world.

The observants of Judaism were forbidden to pass through Samaria and stay with the Samaritans (cf. Jn 4:9) who were considered mestizos (theologically polygamous: Jn 4:17-18).

Jesus does not limit himself to his own lineage, nor even to his religion.

In Galilee, he receives a super-pagan, who begs for help because he realises that the world he comes from is unable to generate life (vv.46-47.49.53).

Often our piety prevents friendship between different cultures and neutralises the power of intimate self-healing that each person - of whatever ethnicity or creed - carries.

The trivial auspices of cultural baggage block the freedom of thought from what is not yet foreseen, fixing stereotypes.

The idol-impregnated person no longer sees anything; he does not even meet himself and his intimates.

Nor does he experience unknown forces. At most he believes in the pagan protector god, who performs miracles by lottery.

He who regulates himself with the naked eye... supposes he sees the Lord who heals through extraordinary deeds (v.48: "if you do not see signs and wonders, do not believe").

He misses the life-giving power of the Word, which touches without being seen, but makes Jesus present in his work and in his incisive, effective wholeness.

Christ is interested in making us understand how Faith 'works' in its pure quality: what dynamisms it activates - not the show of spectacle religion, all external, rhyming with impression, evasion, sensation, devotion.

These epidermic expressions lock the crowd into intimism, or arouse interest in oddities that jolt the senses, arousing a moment's enthusiasm, but not the centre of each person.

The newness of Christ is not conveyed by contact, but by thoroughly accepting his unexpected Word-event. It is not subject to a principle of locality or any other religious guarantee.

The external gaze is convinced by miracles, but does not grasp the profound meaning of the Sign that speaks to us of the Person of the Lord - the true spectacle. All yet to be experienced.

Commenting on the Tao Tê Ching (xii), Master Wang Pi says: "He who is for the eye, becomes a slave to creatures. That is why the saint is not for the eye'.

Master Ho-shang Kung adds: 'The lover of colour harms the essence and loses enlightenment (...) The disordered gaze causes the essence to overflow outwards'.

The curious wait to see and ascertain. Thus they die of relative hopes, without root in themselves.

Only in Faith do we discover what we cannot yet see with the naked eye, nor did we know was there.

To internalise and live the message:

How does adherence to the Word of Christ help overcome the banal desire for hype or escapism?

Returning to "your home", did you discover what you did not know was there? Has someone announced the Newness to you?

Faith and Touch

(Mt 8:5-17)

"The essential thing is to listen to what is coming up from within.
Our actions are often nothing more than imitation, hypothetical duty, or misrepresentation of what a human being should be.
But the only true certainty that touches our lives and our actions can only come from the springs that gush deep within ourselves.
One is at home under the heavens one is at home anywhere on this earth if one carries everything within oneself.
I have often felt, and still feel, like a ship that has taken on board a precious cargo: the ropes are cut and now the ship goes, free to sail everywhere".[Etty Hillesum, Diary].

Says the Tao Tê Ching (LIII): 'The great Way is very flat, but people prefer the paths'.

Commenting on the passage, masters Wang Pi and Ho-shang Kung point out: "winding paths".

The incipient faith of a pagan convert is the example Jesus sets before that of the observant Israelites.

What heals is believing in the efficacy of his Word alone (vv.8-9.16), an event that possesses generating and recreating power.

The Lord shows care, usually by touching the sick or laying his hands on them, as if to absorb what was imagined to be impurity, an alteration from normality [a 'fever' or paralysis that was thought to render the needy unworthy in the eyes of God].

In the Judaizing communities of Galilee and Syria, the question was still being asked in the mid-1970s: does the new Law of God proclaimed on 'the Mount' of the Beatitudes create exclusions?

Or does it correspond to the hopes and deep feelings of the human heart, of every place and time (vv.10-12)?

Those far away possessed a keen intuition for the novelties of the Spirit, and discovered the experience of Faith from other positions - not installed, less tied to conformist concatenations; perhaps uncomfortable.

Not infrequently, it was precisely the newcomers who stood out for their freshness of substantive insight - and they saw clearly.

It was enough to communicate face to face with the Lord, in a sense of secure friendship (v.6).

There is no need to add to this secret, to be born again. God is immediate Action (v.7).

The personal relationship between the ordinary man and the Father in Christ is sober and instantaneous.

Starting from his simple experience, the centurion understands the 'distant' value of the Word and the 'calamitous effect' of true Faith [which does not claim 'contacts' or material and local elements: vv.8-9].

In short, the cultural heritage and ancient religious conformity remained a burden.

Both the experience of the personal Christ the Saviour and the complete discovery of the power of full Life contained in the new total and creative proposal of "the Mount" were missing here and there.

Mt wrote his Gospel to encourage community members and stimulate mission to the Gentiles, which precisely the Judeo-Christians were not yet ready to make their own.

But to say "Faith" (vv.10.13) is to advocate a deeper adherence, and [at the same time] a less strong manifestation.

Expression of personal Faith is not to repeat or sweeten a learned doctrine, nor the conviction of others.

There is no need to fear: God has gone before us; the different and distant is not a stranger, but a brother.

Therefore, what saves is not belonging to a tradition or fashion of thought and worship.

Not demanding that the Lord comes in a certain form means not imagining him bound to an external expression.

One reaches and grasps Him only intimately, by certain vision - unencumbered by indispensable imagined convictions - whatever happens.

It will reveal itself time after time in the way that best suits our limitations.

Those distant from us are totally 'worthy' creatures, albeit faltering and fallible at times.

Not autonomous, insufficient, like everyone else - for they do not realise that God is in their flesh and hearth.

Thanks to such a clear awareness in the Son, they can finally understand the supreme Love of the Father, gratuitous, unreserved; that astounds, overcomes and launches them.

The pagan is conditioned by his pyramid world, but on encountering Christ he discovers himself to be a totally adequate and fulfilled person.

Not because he has merited or granted favours to the chosen people, or fulfilled a special kind of observances (reciting imprimatur formulas).

In the Lord, he himself is taught to expand the horizon of the usual religion - made up of external vertical relationships.

Although he recognises himself as lacking [v.8 Greek text] he realises that his relationship with God does not depend on an exchange of favours.

This immediate and spontaneous personal friendship does not become subordinate to works of law, nor does it spring from fulfilled norms of purity.

Nor does it subject itself to a headlong religious relationship.

The 'distant' includes love. In this way, he is already emancipated from a conspicuous, epidermal, common mentality.

In the Lord, he himself is educated to expand the horizon of the usual religion.

He believes precisely that the Word of the Lord - by Way, out of synchronised or established places and times - produces what he affirms.

And it accomplishes it even at a distance; without even resounding, peremptory signs that make a racket.

Rather, by releasing the mysterious Energy [still captive] of the "Logos" (v.7).

Unconventional Word, which does not run amok.

This, despite the fact that this Power can be found mixed with sometimes contradictory convictions:

He is already far from a magical and carnal mentality.

But he still has to take the decisive step, which will make him grow further - and it concerns us closely.

Self-esteem must be the attitude of even remote children, no matter what.Not by vague or emotional recondite feeling, but by Presence guaranteed regardless - even already operating, though sometimes unconscious.

Internalising it will be the work - and the "more" - of mature Faith, which sees, grasps, penetrates the preparatory energies at work.

And actualises them, anticipating the future.

"I am not worthy" is, together with "Have mercy on me" or "Son of David" - one of the most unfortunate expressions of spiritual and missionary life.

Formulas that Jesus abhors, although they have become customary in some expressions of the liturgy.

The prodigal son tries with the same rambling expression ["I am no longer worthy"] to move the Father, who precisely does not allow him to finish his absurd tirade.

Rather he prevents him from considering himself "one of his servants" and getting down on his knees before Him [Lk 15:21ff].

This would really be the only danger that endangers the whole of life; not just a small stretch of existence.

By Faith in Christ, from incomplete we become not only worthy, but we are so here and now Perfect to fulfil our Vocation.

Of course, some ideologues or white-mill purists might consider us unfashionable, or even paganising.

Our great and only risk is precisely that of absorbing such oppressive views from the environment, and allowing ourselves to be conditioned.

Every contour works not infrequently with the logic of hierarchies and power relations, whereby e.g. the inferior should not consider himself on the same level as the superior.

But at this rate, one can no longer perceive the divine Conspect.

The Face of the Eternal One is within us and in our homes; not in the chain of command with conditioning influences, but in our environment and in those who stand beside us - even across borders.

Family, friends, loved ones and others are on the same level. It is also true with God: we are face to face.

Not even the 'I and Thou' scheme with the Son counts any more: because - widely incarnated - he has planted his Heaven as well as his own therapeutic [even self-healing] capacity 'in' us.

Thanks to the Master, we are no longer within an ideology of the submissive - identical to that which prevailed in the empire - nor in a well-disciplined barracks, with distinct roles and confined areas.

External propriety does not belong in the Gospels.

In short, the Father no longer asks anyone to obey 'authorities', but to 'resemble' Him.

This is achieved simply by corresponding - each one of us - to this kind of superior Presence that dwells in us and loves us.

It is the end of the empty rigmarole: we are intimate and consanguineous with our own innermost Self, the super-eminent Face.

There is absolutely no need to "avert" God (v.5) as if we were "underlings" (v.9).

Our work is to unearth and acquire a new 'eye', not to submit to organisation charts.

The reborn eye is intuitive of other virtues - it does not submit to nomenclatures incapable of immediate fruitfulness.

Enough with the senses of shortcomings!

They end up introducing us into hoods and spire dynamics (v.9) typical of every stagnant feudalism.

Swamps that annihilate the new power of love - chronicling arrangements.

Configurations congealed by too many boring concatenations and local monarchies [such as we see in the provinces].

In natural listening to oneself and events, genuine esteem and divine Gratuity guide us wave upon wave towards a new way of living and exchanging gifts.

Impassable road for habit; for the obviousness that does not move thoughts, and does not perceive.

A path inaccessible to those who act out of duty - an enigmatic, opaque, devious and very 'tortuous' path.

To internalise and live the message:

How do you understand and cultivate the certain and free Coming of Jesus in your House?

Catholic

The Church is Catholic because Christ embraces all humanity in his mission of salvation. While Jesus' mission in his earthly life was limited to the Jewish people, "to the lost sheep of the house of Israel" (Mt 15:24), it was nevertheless oriented from the beginning to bring the light of the Gospel to all peoples and to bring all nations into the Kingdom of God. Confronted with the faith of the Centurion in Capernaum, Jesus exclaims: "Now I tell you that many will come from the east and the west and sit down at table with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven" (Mt 8:11). This universalistic perspective emerges, among other things, from the presentation that Jesus made of himself not only as "Son of David", but as "son of man" (Mk 10:33), as we also heard in the Gospel passage just proclaimed. The title "Son of Man", in the language of the Jewish apocalyptic literature inspired by the vision of history in the Book of the Prophet Daniel (cf. 7:13-14), recalls the person who comes "with the clouds of heaven" (v. 13) and is an image that heralds an entirely new kingdom, a kingdom supported not by human powers, but by the true power that comes from God. Jesus uses this rich and complex expression and refers it to Himself to manifest the true character of His messianism, as a mission destined for the whole man and every man, overcoming all ethnic, national and religious particularism. And it is precisely in following Jesus, in allowing oneself to be drawn into his humanity and thus into communion with God, that one enters into this new kingdom, which the Church announces and anticipates, and which overcomes fragmentation and dispersion.

[Pope Benedict, address Consistory 24 November 2012].

The Power of the Word and the Creativity

of the Healing Touch of Jesus (feminine)

In the communities of Judaizing Galilee and Syria, the question was still being asked in the mid-1970s: does the new Law of God proclaimed on "the Mount" of the Beatitudes create exclusions? Or does it correspond to the hopes and deep feelings of the human heart, of every place and time (vv.10-12)?

The pagans possessed a keen intuition for the novelties of the Spirit, and discovered the experience of Faith from other positions (not installed, less tied to conformist concatenations; perhaps uncomfortable).

It was not infrequently the newcomers who possessed the freshness of substantive insight, and saw clearly. This was in comparison to the veterans - more tied to the leaves than to the seed - to whom they offered healthy jolts of outspoken Trust, married to the Newness of God.

Unlike those from habitual or markedly ethnic religiosity (even of Israel) they had already realised that it was not necessary to explicitly ask for Christ's intervention - as was done with the ancient gods (and according to customary thinking). 

It was enough to communicate face-to-face with the Lord, in a sense of secure friendship (v.6) - not to solicit Him for a miracle: a fundamental acquisition, in order to be able to activate a new course even today, and finally emerge from the idea of a well-chiselled (and chosen) organic culture.

It is the Risen One who authentically does the opportune good... and all the rest: as in Jesus - strengthened by the intimate experience of the Father in the Spirit - all we need is Faith, that is to say, nuptial and fertile confidence in the Word, effective and inventive.

There is no need for any additions to this secret, to be born again.

God is Immediate Action (v.7): he does not like to be "prayed to and reprimanded" - as if he were any kind of sovereign, who takes pleasure in forcing his subjects into deference (with a view to a consequent paternalism of relations).

The relationship between the common man and the Father in Christ is sober and instantaneous, without any mediation means: the work of Grace is not at all conditioned by acknowledgements and formulas, or 'internal' titles, veteran rank; nor targeted bows, prior 'bribes', or rigmarole.

Starting from his simple experience, the centurion understands the 'distant' value of the Word and the calamitous effect of true Faith (which does not demand 'contacts' or material and local elements: vv.8-9).

It is not like magic: the intimate sensitivity of the relationship of Faith communicates to the eye of the soul a Vision of new genesis. Not doctrine, discipline, morals, ritual appointments and so on.

It is a picture of the future (strongly existential) that does not serve to anticipate (v.13) a selfish result, useful only for the believing subject, or from nomenclature: it is for the promotion of life, everywhere.

This corresponds to the deepest yearning of our heart.

In fact, another great novelty of the new Rabbi's proposal - which was spreading - was the acceptance of women as the "deaconesses" (cf. v.15 Greek verb) of the Church here in the figure of the House of Peter (v.14).

This was what had been happening since the middle of the first century (cf. Rom 16:1) and still has much to teach us. With God, one cannot get used to (multi)secular formalities emptied of life.

But religious traditions resisted the onslaught of the Faith-Love experience: even in the mid-1970s, communities did not feel free to gather those in need of care until the evening (v.16).    

According to the parallel passage in Mk 1.21.29-34 (source of the passage in Mt) it was in fact the Sabbath day - and after leaving the synagogue. The same impediment and delay is described in the Magdalene's episode at the tomb on Easter morning.

Cultural heritage and sacred religious conformity remained a great burden for the experience of the personal Saviour Christ, and the complete discovery of the power of full Life contained in the new total and creative proposal of 'the Mount'.

The Tao writes (xxviii): "He who knows that he is male, and keeps himself female, is the strength of the world; being the strength of the world, virtue never separates from him, and he returns to being a child. He who knows himself to be white, and keeps himself dark, is the model of the world; being the model of the world, virtue never departs from him; and he returns to infinity. He who knows himself to be glorious, and keeps himself in ignominy, is the valley of the world; being the valley of the world, virtue always abides in him; and he returns to being crude [genuine, not artificial]. When that which is crude is cut off, then they make instruments of it; when the holy man uses it, then he makes them the first among ministers. For this the great government does no harm'.

And this is how Master Wang Pi comments: "That of the male is here the category of those who precede, that of the female is the category of those who follow. He who knows that he is first in the world must put himself last: that is why the saint postpones his person and his person is premised. A gorge among the mountains does not seek out creatures, but these of themselves turn to it. The child does not avail itself of wisdom, but adapts itself to the wisdom of spontaneity'.

In the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas we read in Nos. 22-23:

"Jesus saw little ones taking milk.

And he said to his disciples:

"These little sucklings resemble those

Who are entering the Kingdom.

They asked him:

"If we are like those babies, will we enter the Kingdom?"

Jesus answered them:

"When you make two things one and make

The inner equal to the outer and the outer equal to the inner

And the superior equal to the inferior,

When you reduce the male and the female to one being

So that the male is not only male

And the female does not remain only female,

When you consider two eyes as a unit of eye

But one hand as a unit of hand

And one foot as a unit of foot,

A vital function in place of a vital function

Then you will find the entrance to the Kingdom'".

"Jesus said:

"I will choose you one from a thousand and two from ten thousand.

And these shall be found to be one individual'".