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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm 126 (127)  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+Giovanni D’Ercole

The scandal of waiting

(Lk 18:1-8)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It becomes Reading and Intuition that meets the deep states.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scandal of waiting and the kidnapping of the prelates

(Lk 18:1-8)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It becomes Reading and Intuition encountering the profound states.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

S. Augustine, "Letter to Proba"

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

Failing without failing: unceasing struggle with ourselves and with God

(Mt 7:7-12)

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

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

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

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

The demands diminish, until they almost cease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This process shifts the conditional emphasis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Sunday's Liturgy offers us a fundamental teaching: the need to pray always, without tiring. At times we grow weary of praying, we have the impression that prayer is not so useful for life, that it is not very effective. We are therefore tempted to throw ourselves into activity, to use all the human means for attaining our goals and we do not turn to God. Jesus himself says that it is necessary to pray always, and does so in a specific parable (cf. Lk 18: 1-8). 

This parable speaks to us of a judge who does not fear God and is no respecter of persons: a judge without a positive outlook, who only seeks his own interests. He neither fears God's judgement nor respects his neighbour. The other figure is a widow, a person in a situation of weakness. In the Bible, the widow and the orphan are the neediest categories, because they are defenceless and without means. The widow goes to the judge and asks him for justice. Her possibilities of being heard are almost none, because the judge despises her and she can bring no pressure to bear on him. She cannot even appeal to religious principles because the judge does not fear God. Therefore this widow seems without any recourse. But she insists, she asks tirelessly, importuning him, and in the end she succeeds in obtaining a result from the judge. At this point Jesus makes a reflection, using the argument a fortiori: if a dishonest judge ends by letting himself be convinced by a widow's plea, how much more will God, who is good, answer those who pray to him. God in fact is generosity in person, he is merciful and is therefore always disposed to listen to prayers. Therefore we must never despair but always persist in prayer. 

The conclusion of the Gospel passage speaks of faith: "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" (Lk 18: 8). It is a question that intends to elicit an increase of faith on our part. Indeed it is clear that prayer must be an expression of faith, otherwise it is not true prayer. If one does not believe in God's goodness, one cannot pray in a truly appropriate manner.
Faith is essential as the basis of a prayerful attitude.

[Pope Benedict, homily for the canonisation of the blessed, 17 October 2010]

To all people of good will who feel a living and active part of the parish community, I say: do not tire of seeking all the opportunities that the Lord offers you to expand contacts and carry out that work of promotion based on truth, justice and respect for the person of others, which constitutes, for those who feel distant from the faith, the necessary preamble to the knowledge of Christ, which you are fortunate enough to profess with your life and with the practice of the sacraments of faith.

9. Be living praise of God in the eyes of those who seek the Lord, but have not yet found him. Repeat with the psalmist: "Praise, my soul, the Lord your Creator". Dear brothers and sisters! Learn to praise God; give glory to him on behalf of all creatures. Learn to do so in the spirit of the "poor widow" of today's liturgy, that the sacrifice of glory may find its evangelical "resonance" in the heart of Christ. Learn - again and again - to participate in the Eucharist so that your Christian life may mature and be enriched through "poverty in spirit".

[Pope John Paul II, homily 6 November 1988]

The Gospel parable which we have just heard (cf. Lk 18:1-8) contains an important teaching: we “ought always to pray and not lose heart” (v. 1). This means, then, pray constantly, not just when I feel like it. No, Jesus says that we ought “always to pray and not lose heart”. And he offers the example of the widow and the judge.

The judge is a powerful person, called to issue judgment on the basis of the Law of Moses. That is why the biblical tradition recommended that judges be people who fear God, who are worthy of faith, impartial and incorruptible (cf. Ex 18:21). However, this judge “neither feared God nor regarded man” (Lk 18:2). As a judge, he was unfair, unscrupulous, who did not take the Law into account but did whatever he wanted, according to his own interests. It was to him that a widow turned for justice. Widows, along with orphans and foreigners, were the most vulnerable groups of society. The rights afforded them by the Law could be easily disregarded because, being isolated and defenceless, they could hardly be assertive. A poor widow, there, alone, with no one to defend her, might be ignored, might even be denied justice. Just as the orphan, just as the foreigner, the migrant: in that time this was a very serious problem. Faced with the judge’s indifference, the widow has recourse to her only weapon: to bother him incessantly with her request for justice. And because of her insistence, she achieves her end. At a certain point, the judge grants her request, not because he is moved by mercy or because his conscience has been working on him; he simply admits: “because this widow bothers me, I will vindicate her, or she will wear me out by her continual coming” (v. 5).

From this parable Jesus draws two conclusions: if the widow could manage to bend the dishonest judge with her incessant requests, how much more will God, who is the good and just Father, “vindicate his elect, who cry to him day and night”; moreover, will not “delay long over them”, but will act “speedily” (vv. 7-8).

That is why Jesus urges us to pray and “not to lose heart”. We all go through times of tiredness and discouragement, especially when our prayers seem ineffective. But Jesus assures us: unlike the dishonest judge, God promptly answers his children, even though this doesn’t mean he will necessarily do it when and how we would like. Prayer does not work like a magic wand! It helps us keep faith in God, and to entrust ourselves to him even when we do not understand his will. In this, Jesus himself — who prayed constantly! — is our model. The Letter to the Hebrews reminds us that “In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him [God] who was able to save him from death, and he was heard for his godly fear” (5:7). At first glance this statement seems far-fetched, because Jesus died on the Cross. Yet, the Letter to the Hebrews makes no mistake: God has indeed saved Jesus from death by giving him complete victory over it, but the path to that [victory] is through death itself! The supplication that God has answered referred to Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane. Assailed by looming anguish, Jesus prays to the Father to deliver him of this bitter cup of the Passion, but his prayer is pervaded by trust in the Father and he entrusts himself entirely to his will: “not as I will,” Jesus says, “but as thou wilt” (Mt 26:39). The object of prayer is of secondary importance; what matters above all is his relationship with the Father. This is what prayer does: it transforms the desire and models it according to the will of God, whatever that may be, because the one who prays aspires first of all to union with God, who is merciful Love.

The parable ends with a question: “when the Son of man comes, will he find faith on earth?” (v. 8). And with this question we are all warned: we must not cease to pray, even if left unanswered. It is prayer that conserves the faith, with out it faith falters! Let us ask the Lord for a faith that is incessant prayer, persevering, like that of the widow in the parable, a faith that nourishes our desire for his coming. And in prayer let us experience that compassion of God, who like a Father comes to encounter his children, full of merciful love.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 25 May 2016]

Among corpses and vultures: different in Depth

(Lk 17:26-37)

There is a very simple essential discernment: where life is extinguished, is not favored, not rejoiced or promoted, the earth becomes an early cemetery, and the "sky" is populated by flocks of vultures.

It is the bitter result of a culture from which unfortunately the clear Presence of the One who has clothed the world of Beauty does not emerge. 

Mentality that appears totally inert: unable to make us recognize - we without a voice - as the real Reason and End of God’s initiative. Even the only authentic Sanctuaries.

We should be like Relationships that fill the heart with dreams. And centers of irradiation, icons of full satisfaction; places of not static passions, but respectful of the intimate nature of things.

But these convictions and the pastoral approach do not seem to hold up. And perhaps they fail to make an impact because they have lost their inner magic: that which connects with what stirs within each person’s journey.

Here there is a more subtle discernment - feature of today’s Gospel passage: Judgment is presented in the form of surprise.

The slightest problems of daily existence can become so absorbent that we lose the very meaning of imperfections - and, in general, the dimension of depth.

The frontiers of the Kingdom are in the world, in the people, in their laments and joys, in the events. The place of ‘judgment’ is everywhere.

Jesus' invitation is not to let oneself be distracted, not even by the minutiae of religiosity.

The manifestation of the last times - that is, the possibility of starting a new world - continually comes: it must be received and brought aware.

Kept alive personally.

The decisive Encounter does not happen in dedicated spaces and times: it is re-proposed in a thousand channels, moments and places, but - here is the other salient datum - there is someone who notices, others do not.

The "division" between those who are associated with divine life and those who cannot be, does not concern the etycisms on capital vices, but the living discernment.

It is also about the minute reality (vv.31.34-35) and its message.

Faith in the turns and the union with Christ that pulsates in the soul and dreams - intimate Brother of each one and shining measure of many other things - wants to open up the Vision to us.

We also read it in our hearts in revolt, which want to awaken us from the loculi and the dictatorship of pre-packaged thoughts.

The hidden Self thirsts to understand the appeal of what is daily and precarious, of the "defects"; the call of the bifrontality nature of situations.

The "symmetries" that seemed so reassuring do not make virtue grow, within the weaknesses.

Here then we reach the sting of the troubles, even epochal: the idea of perfection would not make us move the gaze, to make exodus, to grow, and bloom.

The active ‘Judgment’ in Christ instead conveys the ability to grasp a scenario that we did not know.

The advent of the «Son of Man» (vv.26.30) calls into question, and his Judgement looms over those who are distracted, those set in their habit.

On the contrary, it captures the very essence of existence: we shall be recognised as different… not so much in morality, but in terms of Depth.

[Friday 32nd wk. in O.T.  November 13, 2026]

Between corpses and vultures: different ones in depth

(Lk 17:26-37)

There is a very simple essential discernment: where life is extinguished, not fostered, not cheered nor promoted, the earth becomes an early graveyard, and 'heaven' is populated with whole flocks of vultures.

Photograph of the ageing, stagnant, (accustomed) spiritual monopoly of the West, which no longer makes anything bloom.

It is the bitter result of a religious structure that is perhaps devout, certainly adept at satisfying the senses, but indolent; certainly capillary, expert, and pronouncing on everything, but disjointed in parochialisms of all kinds.

A spectacular institution, yet folded, inwardly estranged and sometimes hostile [which extinguishes the creative urge and does not mix with the hopes of today's woman and man]; from which, unfortunately, the clear presence of the One who clothed the world in Beauty does not transpire. 

The hierarchical pyramid on the ground remains exaggerated, perhaps for the very purpose of self-validation, tightening ranks to make a better body.

The resulting mentality appears totally inert: unable to make us - we voiceless ones - recognise ourselves as the real Reason and End of God's initiative. Even the only authentic Sanctuaries.

We should be living and speaking Relations, filling the heart with dreams. And centres of irradiation, icons of full fulfilment; places of passions that are not static, but respectful of the intimate nature of things.

Conversely, we catch around us flashes of life, yes, young and exuberant and trying to blossom, but obscurely suffocated by too many ties, past or disembodied ideas, established group interests, and overlords.

Here is the crisis of meaning, the truly human time that is failing; as in an anticipation of perdition - out of perspective with the Father, the lover of life.

Convictions and pastoral proposal seem incapable of constituting: they do not hold up, they pale, they do not affect, they do not seek uniqueness.

All this, in spite of the (distracted) army of institutional and capillary realities, which sucks vocations even from lands in the midst of Mission.

All the more reason to start building a profoundly different ecclesiality, one that does not expect to be merely fed by the programmes of professionals of the sacred.

Kingdom of God starting from real life bare and raw; yet, with magic within: befriending what is in each one's journey.

Here there is a more subtle discernment - a feature of today's Gospel passage: the Judgement comes as a surprise.

The smallest problems of everyday existence (the nostalgias of the traditionalists, like the same disembodied ideas of the sophisticates) can become so absorbing that we lose the very sense of imperfection - and in general, the dimension of depth.

The frontiers of the Kingdom are in the world, in people, in their grievances and joys, in happenings - if read as turning points.

Not in convocations where circles of initiates self-represent themselves with a plethora of signs unsupported by life.

The place of 'Judgement' is everywhere.

Especially outside the sacristies: "we want to be a Church that serves, that leaves home, that leaves its temples, its sacristies, to accompany life, sustain hope, be a sign of unity [...] to build bridges, break down walls, sow reconciliation" [from a September 2015 homily in Santiago de Cuba, cited in: Brothers All n.276].

Jesus' invitation is not to be distracted, not even by the minutiae of religiosity.

The manifestation of the end times - that is, the possibility of starting a new world - continually comes: it must be received and made aware.

Kept alive personally.

The decisive Encounter does not happen in prearranged spaces and times: it recurs in a thousand guises, moments and places, but - here is the other salient fact - there are some who become aware, others do not.

The 'division' between those who are associated with the divine life and those who cannot be, does not concern ethics on capital vices, but rather living discernment

It is about even minute reality (vv.31.34-35) and its message - what the person of Faith feels is indestructible consistency, and is total self-revelation.

Without the turning point Faith, the alienating cultic sense fills humanity with appearances, with garments that have become masks and dross - incapable by now of questioning us. Devastating attitude.

Devotion then, which only cares for details or grand visions of the world and shoots straight, fights the reversals of existence and does not grasp its appeals, its richness for us.

Even in the time of the emergency, the leaps forward, the malaise of habituation or petty error, are stopping even the most exuberant spiritual festivals where they were.

That is, in the graves in which we have willingly allowed ourselves to be buried, and we can see this dramatically.The union with Christ pulsating in the soul, and dreaming - everyone's intimate Brother and dazzling measure of much more - wants to open up the Vision to us.

A Vision of alternative heavens and earth. A vision today often enraptured by vain expectations of restoration to 'the way we were'.

We also read it in our hearts in revolt, which want to awaken us from the loculi and the dictatorship of pre-packaged thoughts.

The hidden self thirsts to understand the appeal of the summary, of the 'defects', the call of the two-facedness of situations.

Duplicities that are unfortunately scarcely cultivated in the congealed or one-sided realities, those without prodigy, and which we do not want.

The 'symmetries' that seemed so reassuring do not grow virtues, within weaknesses.

Here then comes the sting of annoyances, even epochal ones: the idea of perfection would not do us as much to shift our gaze, to exodus, to grow, to flourish.

The active 'Judgement' in Christ, on the other hand, conveys the ability to grasp a scenario that we did not know, and to overturn a whole vintage, accustomed approach to existence.

Even reacting suddenly (v.31).

In short, Jesus is calling his own not to walk on air:

Many pious conquests will be at a loss. Many risks of love, both in ordinary and extraordinary events, will be calculated at "gain".

In this way we will be ready to receive the God-in-One.

This is true both in our relations with men, and in the signs of the times and personal events.

We will not be caught unawares by retrospective thinking alone - or the result of opposing attachments - which is satisfied with external practicalities, but does not watch.

The advent of the "Son of Man" (vv.26.30) calls into question. And his Judgement overpowers the distracted, the contracted by habit; with no more capacity for deep reading and intuition.

The Lord conversely grasps the core of existence.

His theology of Incarnation wants to create alliance between our varied primordial powers [all genuine in themselves].

We will thus be recognised as different [living or not]... not in the mannerisms or petty places of 'morality' (vv.31.34).

Not even in the laborious (epidermal) elaboration of the admitted virtues: 'He who seeks to keep his life will lose it; but he who loses it will keep it alive' (Lk 17.33).

All this, rather, in the depth of perception.

To internalise and live the message:

Are you being coached by others or are you edifying yourself and your understanding?

Do you feel secure for assuming the dreams, virtues, hopes, successes of others? That is, for having experienced and recognised them - as a true love story - yourself?

What profound difference do you bring with you in the time of attachments and upheavals?

Love embraces the whole of existence in each of its dimensions, including the dimension of time. It could hardly be otherwise, since its promise looks towards its definitive goal: love looks to the eternal. Love is indeed “ecstasy”, not in the sense of a moment of intoxication, but rather as a journey, an ongoing exodus out of the closed inward-looking self towards its liberation through self-giving, and thus towards authentic self-discovery and indeed the discovery of God: “Whoever seeks to gain his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will preserve it” (Lk 17:33), as Jesus says throughout the Gospels (cf. Mt 10:39; 16:25; Mk 8:35; Lk 9:24; Jn 12:25). In these words, Jesus portrays his own path, which leads through the Cross to the Resurrection: the path of the grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies, and in this way bears much fruit. Starting from the depths of his own sacrifice and of the love that reaches fulfilment therein, he also portrays in these words the essence of love and indeed of human life itself.

[Pope Benedict, Deus Caritas est, n.6]