The room of Happiness, in the decisive horizon

(Lk 12:54-59)

"Now why do you not also judge for yourselves what is right?" (v.57).

From nature and happenings we need to know how to draw lessons-even for the horizon of Mystery.

In Christ we have capacity for thought and are made autonomous: from the externality of things we are brought back to the Origin of what happens.

Jesus' call on the Signs of Time was Pope John's inspirational text for the convocation of the Second Vatican Council, so that the Church would finally be the one to question itself, paying more attention to God's Callings in history and the hopes of humanity.

Self-celebratory security and the pomp of grand forms had dampened the ardent feeling and liberating enthusiasm of the Risen One.

Predictability did not change spiritual pace; in each, its predictability did not allow the soul to see far ahead.

The certainties of the codes extinguished the charge and caused the faithful to be overwhelmed only by routine and problems.

Even today, the certainties of structure and circumstance-all established-weaken the blossoming into the present; they do not allow one to perceive and experience what is made Event.

Commonplaces are capable of displacing Vocation from the magical territory where it arises (and knocks within), turning it to a sacramental everydayness all predicted-approved by the established social or ecclesial contour on the ground.

Instead, our foundational Eros must be spent now and outgoing, for it lives on passions, not staleness; it rests on desire and complicity with the Spirit, who with his Fire renews the face of the earth.

But it is extinguished if we allow ourselves to be carried away by thoughtful assessments about the forces in the field: give-and-take calculations, opportunistic situationalism ... even other people's intentions, or purist, and circumstantial.

Convincing and personal momentum pales in the forcing, scheduling, control obsessions and verifications, without decisive breakthroughs-as if we were in kindergarten.

For Love is never according to concatenated, normal expectations or convictions, without new, jaw-dropping satisfactions - nor does it retrace mass ideas distracted by usual conformist, gaze-drying thoughts.

Beliefs never screened nor tested place character impulses on dead tracks.

Inculcated certainties generate ways that go around, suspend noticing, dim any ability to perceive possibilities of the inner world; as well as opportunities for communion.

It is the heart that sees the least possibilities. It grasps them on perennial questions in reciprocal relationship with the meaning of present life.

And Jesus wants our plant to sprout new leaves again, all green (unseasoned). 

Not mold: what we think belongs to us is already lost.

Then the invitation to Conversion - instead of stranding the soul and thought on ancient models or abstract, one-sided utopias - makes us attentive to the polyhedron of Friendship with ourselves, with our brothers and sisters even far away, and all things, now.

World of relationship that nothing deems irrelevant - and can make us enriched (unblocked) with adventurous, fresh, lively dissimilarities, which emerge from free energies that do not want standard life, nor too much the binding of memories, but radical change, together.

As the encyclical Brothers All points out, "this implies the habitual capacity to recognize the other's right to be himself and to be different" (no. 218).

Radical change is ... not to think only of the quick consensus, of one's own near (even trivial) gain, which after all we do not really desire - and we know does not work: it would not change anything.

Such intimate and social Appeal must be grasped immediately, here and now, while the human time of grace lasts-God's moment on our behalf.

The Moment to discover the contents and not leave us dazed, the present chance, the spirit of the pilgrim, the recognition of cultures... have a decisive character for the evolution of life in the Spirit.

It does not rest on codified, enlisted protagonism, which already knows where to arrive -- and thus strands, adapts, loses sight of us, makes us interdicted; reaps victims of illusions, of external friction; intoxicating the road of muscular approaches and thoughts.

Fallacious things, e.g., the fixed and unglamorous idol that often stalks souls: the "what we've achieved"-with its conformist goals, ripped promotions, others watching us...

Compliments outside do not bring the "I" and the "you" back to the Roots, nor do they explode for the real future, the one to be lived intensely, that will vibrate.

The "Present Moment" is simply the door to open to usher in the room of happy energy, which lingers magmatically -- unceasing gift, "anointing" and Vision we do not know.Awe that invites and leads far beyond the homogenizing, one-sided, pigtailed aspect -- of phrasing, cliché, tacticism, or other people's age to reproduce.

"Theatricals! The appearance of earth and heaven you know how to discern, but this time how do you not know how to discern?" (Luke 12:56).

To internalize and live the message:

How do you live the tension between the vision of the genius of time and the present moment?

What relationship do you grasp between God's Promise and our hopes?

Faith and the sign of the times

Faith is not a kind of object nor an ideology (which one may or may not have), but a Relationship.

It proceeds from a God who reveals himself, challenges us and calls us by name.

His varied and rich Face does not collide with common thought, but intercepts our desire for fullness of life, and in this way corresponds and conquers us.

It is not a punctual affair, but one that gushes and proceeds from wave to wave in the course of existence -- with all the load of its surprises over time [they from time to time challenge, sabotage, or astound us].

In said relationship, the Faith that precisely arises from listening is kindled when the Father's initiative, which is manifested and revealed in a proposal that comes to us, is accepted and not rejected.

In evolution, such a dynamic establishes an invisible Presence in the concealed Self, unquenchable fire of our foundational Eros; Echo perceptible-even in the genius of time, in the furrows of personal history, in the folds of events and relationships, advice, opposing evaluations and even ruptures.

The Relationship of Faith has several approaches. A first stage is that of Faith Assent: the person recognizes himself in a world of knowledge that corresponds to him. This is a very dignified level, but common to all religions and philosophies.

Scrutinizing the Word, one understands that the specificity of biblical Faith is much more about concrete existence than about thought or discipline: it has a different character from the codes, it is Sponsal.

Faith already in the First Testament is typically that reliance of the Bride [in Hebrew Israèl is a feminine gender term] who has full confidence in the Bridegroom.

She knows that resting on the God-Con she will flourish authentically and enjoy fullness of life, even passing through unpleasant events.

Faith lived in the Spirit of the Risen One enjoys other facets, which are decisive in giving color to our going in the world and our full maturation and joy in life.

[Crucial in all is both listening to Sacred Scripture and moving from the jumble of thoughts that fragment our inner eye to perception, that is, to a contemplative gaze that knows how to rest on ourselves and things].

The third step of Christological faith is precisely a kind of Appropriation: the subject identifies himself and-sure of the friendly reciprocity experienced in the Gifts-takes possession of the Lord's meek and strong heart with a stroke of the hand and without any prescribed merit.

Quoting St. Bernard, Alphonsus Maria de' Liguori states, "That merit which I lack to enter Paradise, I usurp from the merits of Jesus Christ." No rigmarole or discipline of the arcane.

Mind you, these are not "trials" of vicarious substitution, as if Jesus had to make good a debt of sins because the Father needed blood and at least one to pay dearly for it.

The person becomes intimate with Christ not simply by communal belief, but by personal inner action.

God recovers us by educating us.

It is true that by sending a lamb among wolves its end is marked. But it is also the only way to teach men -- still in a prehuman condition -- that that of competition is not the life of people, but of ferocious beasts.

The lamb is the tame being that gives even wolves pause: only by fully appropriating it do the beasts realize that they are such.

Thus we can begin to say, "I" as men instead of beasts. 

Of course, only people reconciled with their own affairs do good. But the authentic and full best is beyond our reach; not one's own production. We are not omnipotent.

A further stage in the journey of life in Christ and the Spirit is that of Faith-Calamite.

It too takes the form of an Action, for the soul-bride reads the sign of the times, interprets the surrounding reality and her own inclinations. And grasping the scope of the Future, she anticipates and actualizes it.

Thus we avoid wasting life in support of dead branches.

But the ultimate and perhaps even more perfect stage (I would say the pinnacle) of such Faith-Enchantment is that of Faith-Wonderfulness.

It is the specific belief of the Incarnation, for it recognizes precisely the Treasures that lie behind our dark sides.

Such Pearls will descend in the course of existence [they will do what they must when necessary] and it will be a wonder to discover them.

The pierced cocoon will generate our Butterfly, which is not construction approved to prototypes, but Astonishment.

Dear friends, never desist from this educational task, even when the road becomes difficult and your efforts seem to be unproductive. Carry it out in fidelity to the Church and with respect for the identity of your institutions, using the means that history has consigned to you and that “‘creativity’ in charity” will suggest to you for the future, as Blessed John Paul II said. 

In the past four decades, you have been able to deepen, experience and put into practice a working method based on three interrelated and synergetic forms of attention: listening, observing and discerning, employing them in your mission service through the charitable animation of the communities on your respective territories. This is a style that makes possible not only pastoral action but also to follow up a profound and fruitful dialogue with the various milieus of ecclesial life, with associations and movements and with the variegated world of organized volunteer service.

This means listening in order to know, of course, but at the same time to become close, to support Christian communities in caring for those who need to feel God’s warmth through the open and willing hands of Jesus’ disciples. It is important that suffering people be able to feel God’s warmth and that they feel it through our hands and our open-heartedness. In this way Caritas branches must be like “watchmen” (cf. Is 21:11-12) who can become aware and make others aware, who can predict and forestall, who can provide support and suggest solutions in the sure wake of the Gospel and of the Church’s social teaching. 

The individualism of our time, the presumed sufficiency of technology, and the relativism that influences everyone are all seeking to invite people and communities to higher forms of listening, to a capacity for a broader vision and more open heart concerning needs and resources, to community forms of discernment on how to be and act in a world that is profoundly changing. 

In scanning the pages of the Gospel, we are struck by Jesus’ actions: actions that communicate grace, teach faith and the “sequela”; actions of healing and acceptance, of mercy and hope, of a future and of compassion; actions that begin or perfect a call to follow him and that flow into recognition of the Lord as a single reason for the present and for the future.

Gestures and signs are connatural to Caritas’ pedagogical function. It is in fact through concrete signs that you speak, evangelize and educate. A charitable work speaks of God, proclaims hope, induces people to question themselves. I hope you will be able to foster in the best possible way the quality of the institutions you have been able to create. Make them, as it were, “eloquent”, concerned above all with the inner inspiration that motivates them and the quality of the witness they radiate. They are institutions born of faith. They are Church institutions, an expression of attention to those whose life is more of a struggle. They are pedagogical actions because they help the poorest people grow in dignity, Christian communities walk in the footsteps of Christ and civil society consciously assume its obligations.

Let us remember what the Second Vatican Council taught: “The demands of justice must first of all be satisfied; that which is already due in justice is not to be offered as a gift of charity” (Decree on the Apostolate of Lay People, Apostolicam Actuositatem, n. 8).

The humble, material service that the Church offers is not intended to replace or even less to dull the collective and civil conscience. It is backed by a spirit of sincere collaboration, within the proper autonomy and in the full awareness of subsidiariety.

From the very beginning of your pastoral journey you were given as a priority commitment the faculty to create a far-reaching presence in Italy, especially through the Diocesan and Parish branches of Caritas. Today too this is a goal to aim for. I am sure that your Pastors will be able to support and guide you, especially by helping the communities to understand the proprium of the pastoral animation that Caritas brings to the life of every particular Church. Moreover, I am certain that you will listen to your Pastors and follow their instructions.

Attention to the country and to its animation then gives rise to the ability to interpret the evolution of the life of its inhabitants, their difficulties and their worries, as well as their opportunities and prospects. Charity requires open-mindedness, a broad outlook, intuition and foresight, “a heart that sees” (cf. Encyclical Deus Caritas Est, n. 25).

Responding to needs not only means giving bread to the hungry; it also means letting oneself be challenged by the reasons causing their hunger, with the gaze of Jesus who could see the deep reality of the people who came to him. It is in this perspective that the present day calls into question your method of being animators and agents of charity. One cannot but also think of the vast world of migration. Natural disasters and wars often create emergency situations. The global economic crisis is a further sign of the times that demands the courage of brotherhood.

The gap between the north and the south of the world and the damaged human dignity of so many people, appeal for a charity that can spread out gradually from the small to the great economic systems. The increasing hardship and weakening of families and the uncertainty of the condition of youth, point to the risk of a loss of hope. Humanity does not only need benefactors but also humble, practical people who, like Jesus, are able to stand beside their brethren, sharing a little of their struggle. In a word, humanity seeks signs of hope. The source of our hope is the Lord. This is the reason why Caritas is necessary; not in order to delegate the service of charity to it, but so that it may be a sign of Christ’s Charity, a sign that brings hope. Dear friends, help the whole Church to make God’s love visible. Give freely and encourage others to do so. Recall everyone to the essentiality of love that becomes a service. Accompany our weaker brothers and sisters. Inspire Christian communities. Tell the world of the word of love that comes from God. Seek love as a synthesis of all the gifts of the Spirit (cf. 1 Cor 14:1).

May the Blessed Virgin Mary who on her visit to Elizabeth brought the sublime gift of Jesus in the humility of her service (cf. Lk 1:39-43) be your guide. I accompany you with my prayers and I gladly impart to you the Apostolic Blessing, extending it to all those whom you meet every day in your many activities. Many thanks.

[Pope Benedict, Address to Caritas Italiana on the 40th anniversary of its foundation, Nov. 24, 2011]

12.It is not difficult to see that in the modern world the sense of justice has been reawakening on a vast scale; and without doubt this emphasizes that which goes against justice in relationships between individuals, social groups and "classes," between individual peoples and states, and finally between whole political systems, indeed between what are called "worlds." This deep and varied trend, at the basis of which the contemporary human conscience has placed justice, gives proof of the ethical character of the tensions and struggles pervading the world. 

The Church shares with the people of our time this profound and ardent desire for a life which is just in every aspect, nor does she fail to examine the various aspects of the sort of justice that the life of people and society demands. This is confirmed by the field of Catholic social doctrine, greatly developed in the course of the last century. On the lines of this teaching proceed the education and formation of human consciences in the spirit of justice, and also individual undertakings, especially in the sphere of the apostolate of the laity, which are developing in precisely this spirit. 

And yet, it would be difficult not to notice that very often programs which start from the idea of justice and which ought to assist its fulfillment among individuals, groups and human societies, in practice suffer from distortions. Although they continue to appeal to the idea of justice, nevertheless experience shows that other negative forces have gained the upper hand over justice, such as spite, hatred and even cruelty. In such cases, the desire to annihilate the enemy, limit his freedom, or even force him into total dependence, becomes the fundamental motive for action; and this contrasts with the essence of justice, which by its nature tends to establish equality and harmony between the parties in conflict. This kind of abuse of the idea of justice and the practical distortion of it show how far human action can deviate from justice itself, even when it is being undertaken in the name of justice. Not in vain did Christ challenge His listeners, faithful to the doctrine of the Old Testament, for their attitude which was manifested in the words: An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth."111 This was the form of distortion of justice at that time; and today's forms continue to be modeled on it. It is obvious, in fact, that in the name of an alleged justice (for example, historical justice or class justice) the neighbor is sometimes destroyed, killed, deprived of liberty or stripped of fundamental human rights. The experience of the past and of our own time demonstrates that justice alone is not enough, that it can even lead to the negation and destruction of itself, if that deeper power, which is love, is not allowed to shape human life in its various dimensions. It has been precisely historical experience that, among other things, has led to the formulation of the saying: summum ius, summa iniuria. This statement does not detract from the value of justice and does not minimize the significance of the order that is based upon it; it only indicates, under another aspect, the need to draw from the powers of the spirit which condition the very order of justice, powers which are still more profound. 

The Church, having before her eyes the picture of the generation to which we belong, shares the uneasiness of so many of the people of our time. Moreover, one cannot fail to be worried by the decline of many fundamental values, which constitute an unquestionable good not only for Christian morality but simply for human morality, for moral culture: these values include respect for human life from the moment of conception, respect for marriage in its indissoluble unity, and respect for the stability of the family. Moral permissiveness strikes especially at this most sensitive sphere of life and society. Hand in hand with this go the crisis of truth in human relationships, lack of responsibility for what one says, the purely utilitarian relationship between individual and individual, the loss of a sense of the authentic common good and the ease with which this good is alienated. Finally, there is the "desacralization" that often turns into "dehumanization": the individual and the society for whom nothing is "sacred" suffer moral decay, in spite of appearances.

14.Jesus Christ taught that man not only receives and experiences the mercy of God, but that he is also called "to practice mercy" towards others: "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."120 The Church sees in these words a call to action, and she tries to practice mercy. All the beatitudes of the Sermon on the Mount indicate the way of conversion and of reform of life, but the one referring to those who are merciful is particularly eloquent in this regard. Man attains to the merciful love of God, His mercy, to the extent that he himself is interiorly transformed in the spirit of that love towards his neighbor. 

This authentically evangelical process is not just a spiritual transformation realized once and for all: it is a whole lifestyle, an essential and continuous characteristic of the Christian vocation. It consists in the constant discovery and persevering practice of love as a unifying and also elevating power despite all difficulties of a psychological or social nature: it is a question, in fact, of a merciful love which, by its essence, is a creative love. In reciprocal relationships between persons merciful love is never a unilateral act or process. Even in the cases in which everything would seem to indicate that only one party is giving and offering, and the other only receiving and taking (for example, in the case of a physician giving treatment, a teacher teaching, parents supporting and bringing up their children, a benefactor helping the needy), in reality the one who gives is always also a beneficiary. In any case, he too can easily find himself in the position of the one who receives, who obtains a benefit, who experiences merciful love; he too can find himself the object of mercy. 

In this sense Christ crucified is for us the loftiest model, inspiration and encouragement. When we base ourselves on this disquieting model, we are able with all humility to show mercy to others, knowing that Christ accepts it as if it were shown to Himself.121 On the basis of this model, we must also continually purify all our actions and all our intentions in which mercy is understood and practiced in a unilateral way, as a good done to others. An act of merciful love is only really such when we are deeply convinced at the moment that we perform it that we are at the same time receiving mercy from the people who are accepting it from us. If this bilateral and reciprocal quality is absent, our actions are not yet true acts of mercy, nor has there yet been fully completed in us that conversion to which Christ has shown us the way by His words and example, even to the cross, nor are we yet sharing fully in the magnificent source of merciful love that has been revealed to us by Him. 

Thus, the way which Christ showed to us in the Sermon on the Mount with the beatitude regarding those who are merciful is much richer than what we sometimes find in ordinary human opinions about mercy. These opinions see mercy as a unilateral act or process, presupposing and maintaining a certain distance between the one practicing mercy and the one benefitting from it, between the one who does good and the one who receives it. Hence the attempt to free interpersonal and social relationships from mercy and to base them solely on justice. However, such opinions about mercy fail to see the fundamental link between mercy and justice spoken of by the whole biblical tradition, and above all by the messianic mission of Jesus Christ. True mercy is, so to speak, the most profound source of justice. If justice is in itself suitable for "arbitration" between people concerning the reciprocal distribution of objective goods in an equitable manner, love and only love (including that kindly love that we call "mercy") is capable of restoring man to Himself. 

Mercy that is truly Christian is also, in a certain sense, the most perfect incarnation of "equality" between people, and therefore also the most perfect incarnation of justice as well, insofar as justice aims at the same result in its own sphere. However, the equality brought by justice is limited to the realm of objective and extrinsic goods, while love and mercy bring it about that people meet one another in that value which is man himself, with the dignity that is proper to him. At the same time, "equality" of people through "patient and kind" love122 does not take away differences: the person who gives becomes more generous when he feels at the same time benefitted by the person accepting his gift; and vice versa, the person who accepts the gift with the awareness that, in accepting it, he too is doing good is in his own way serving the great cause of the dignity of the person; and this contributes to uniting people in a more profound manner. 

Thus, mercy becomes an indispensable element for shaping mutual relationships between people, in a spirit of deepest respect for what is human, and in a spirit of mutual brotherhood. It is impossible to establish this bond between people, if they wish to regulate their mutual relationships solely according to the measure of justice. In every sphere of interpersonal relationships justice must, so to speak, be "corrected " to a considerable extent by that love which, as St. Paul proclaims, "is patient and kind" or, in other words, possesses the characteristics of that merciful love which is so much of the essence of the Gospel and Christianity. Let us remember, furthermore, that merciful love also means the cordial tenderness and sensitivity so eloquently spoken of in the parable of the prodigal son,123 and also in the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin.124 Consequently, merciful love is supremely indispensable between those who are closest to one another: between husbands and wives, between parents and children, between friends; and it is indispensable in education and in pastoral work. 

Its sphere of action, however, is not limited to this. If Paul VI more than once indicated the civilization of love"125 as the goal towards which all efforts in the cultural and social fields as well as in the economic and political fields should tend. it must be added that this good will never be reached if in our thinking and acting concerning the vast and complex spheres of human society we stop at the criterion of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth"126 and do not try to transform it in its essence, by complementing it with another spirit. Certainly, the Second Vatican Council also leads us in this direction, when it speaks repeatedly of the need to make the world more human,127 and says that the realization of this task is precisely the mission of the Church in the modern world. Society can become ever more human only if we introduce into the many-sided setting of interpersonal and social relationships, not merely justice, but also that "merciful love" which constitutes the messianic message of the Gospel. 

Society can become "ever more human" only when we introduce into all the mutual relationships which form its moral aspect the moment of forgiveness, which is so much of the essence of the Gospel. Forgiveness demonstrates the presence in the world of the love which is more powerful than sin. Forgiveness is also the fundamental condition for reconciliation, not only in the relationship of God with man, but also in relationships between people. A world from which forgiveness was eliminated would be nothing but a world of cold and unfeeling justice, in the name of which each person would claim his or her own rights vis-a- vis others; the various kinds of selfishness latent in man would transform life and human society into a system of oppression of the weak by the strong, or into an arena of permanent strife between one group and another. 

For this reason, the Church must consider it one of her principal duties-at every stage of history and especially in our modern age-to proclaim and to introduce into life the mystery of mercy, supremely revealed in Jesus Christ. Not only for the Church herself as the community of believers but also in a certain sense for all humanity, this mystery is the source of a life different from the life which can be built by man, who is exposed to the oppressive forces of the threefold concupiscence active within him.128 It is precisely in the name of this mystery that Christ teaches us to forgive always. How often we repeat the words of the prayer which He Himself taught us, asking "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us," which means those who are guilty of something in our regard129 It is indeed difficult to express the profound value of the attitude which these words describe and inculcate. How many things these words say to every individual about others and also about himself. The consciousness of being trespassers against each other goes hand in hand with the call to fraternal solidarity, which St. Paul expressed in his concise exhortation to "forbear one another in love."130 What a lesson of humility is to be found here with regard to man, with regard both to one's neighbor and to oneself What a school of good will for daily living, in the various conditions of our existence If we were to ignore this lesson, what would remain of any "humanist" program of life and education? 

Christ emphasizes so insistently the need to forgive others that when Peter asked Him how many times he should forgive his neighbor He answered with the symbolic number of "seventy times seven,"131 meaning that he must be able to forgive everyone every time. It is obvious that such a generous requirement of forgiveness does not cancel out the objective requirements of justice. Properly understood, justice constitutes, so to speak, the goal of forgiveness. In no passage of the Gospel message does forgiveness, or mercy as its source, mean indulgence towards evil, towards scandals, towards injury or insult. In any case, reparation for evil and scandal, compensation for injury, and satisfaction for insult are conditions for forgiveness. 

Thus the fundamental structure of justice always enters into the sphere of mercy. Mercy, however, has the power to confer on justice a new content, which is expressed most simply and fully in forgiveness. Forgiveness, in fact, shows that, over and above the process of "compensation" and "truce" which is specific to justice, love is necessary, so that man may affirm himself as man. Fulfillment of the conditions of justice is especially indispensable in order that love may reveal its own nature. In analyzing the parable of the prodigal son, we have already called attention to the fact that he who forgives and he who is forgiven encounter one another at an essential point, namely the dignity or essential value of the person, a point which cannot be lost and the affirmation of which, or its rediscovery, is a source of the greatest joy.132

The Church rightly considers it her duty and the purpose of her mission to guard the authenticity of forgiveness, both in life and behavior and in educational and pastoral work. She protects it simply by guarding its source, which is the mystery of the mercy of God Himself as revealed in Jesus Christ. 

The basis of the Church's mission, in all the spheres spoken of in the numerous pronouncements of the most recent Council and in the centuries-old experience of the apostolate, is none other than "drawing from the wells of the Savior"133 this is what provides many guidelines for the mission of the Church in the lives of individual Christians, of individual communities, and also of the whole People of God. This "drawing from the wells of the Savior" can be done only in the spirit of that poverty to which we are called by the words and example of the Lord: "You received without pay, give without pay."134 Thus, in all the ways of the Church's life and ministry-through the evangelical poverty of her-ministers and stewards and of the whole people which bears witness to "the mighty works" of its Lord-the God who is "rich in mercy" has been made still more clearly manifest.

[Pope John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia]

"Times change, and we Christians must continually change." Pope Francis repeated this invitation to change several times during the Mass celebrated Friday morning, Oct. 23, in the chapel of Casa Santa Marta. An invitation to act "without fear" and "with freedom," keeping away from tranquilizing conformisms and remaining "firm in faith in Jesus" and "in the truth of the Gospel," but moving "continually according to the signs of the times."

The cue for reflection was offered to the Pontiff by the readings of this last part of the liturgical year, which offer in particular the letter to the Romans. "We emphasized," he recalled in this regard, "how Paul preaches so powerfully, the freedom that we have in Christ. It is, the Pope explained, "a gift, the gift of freedom, that freedom that saved us from sin, that made us free, children of God like Jesus; that freedom that leads us to call God Father." So Francis added that "to have this freedom we must open ourselves to the power of the Spirit and understand well what is happening within us and outside of us." And if in "the past few days, last week," there had been a focus on "how to distinguish what happens within us: what comes from the good Spirit or what does not come from him," that is, on discerning what "happens within us," in the day's liturgy the Gospel passage from Luke (12:54-59) exhorts us to "look outside," making us "reflect on how we evaluate the things that happen outside of us."

Here then is the need to question "how we judge: are we capable of judging?" For the Pope, "we have the capacity" and Paul himself "tells us that we will judge the world: we Christians will judge the world." The apostle Peter also says something similar when he "calls us a chosen race, a holy priesthood, a nation chosen precisely for holiness."

In short, the pontiff clarified, we Christians "have this freedom to judge what happens outside of us." But, he warned, "in order to judge we must know well what is happening outside of us." And so, Francis wondered, "how can we do this, which the Church calls 'knowing the signs of the times'?"

In this regard, the Pope noted that "times change. It is proper Christian wisdom to know these changes, to know the different times and to know the signs of the times. What means one thing and what another." Of course, the Pope is aware that this "is not easy. Because we hear so many comments, 'I heard that what happened there is this or what happens there is the other; I read this, I was told this...'" However, he quickly added, "I am free, I have to make my own judgment and understand what it all means." Whereas "this is a job that we don't usually do: we conform, we reassure ourselves with 'I've been told; I've heard; people say; I've read...'. And so we are quiet." When instead we should ask ourselves, "What is the truth? What is the message the Lord wants to give me with that sign of the times?"

As usual, the Pope also offered practical suggestions "for understanding the signs of the times." First of all, he said, "silence is necessary: be silent and watch, observe. And afterwards to reflect within ourselves. An example: why are there so many wars now? Why did something happen? And to pray." So "silence, reflection and prayer. Only in this way can we understand the signs of the times, what Jesus wants to tell us."

And in this sense there are no alibis. Although in fact each of us may be tempted to say, "But, I didn't study that much.... I didn't go to college or even middle school...," Jesus' words leave no room for doubt. For he does not say, "Look at how university students do it, look at how doctors do it, look at how intellectuals do it...." On the contrary, he says, "Look to the peasants, to the simple: they, in their simplicity, know when the rain comes, how the grass grows; they know how to distinguish the wheat from the weeds." Consequently, "that simplicity - if it is accompanied by silence, reflection and prayer - will make us understand the signs of the times." Because, he reiterated, "times change and we Christians must change continually. We must change steadfast in our faith in Jesus Christ, steadfast in the truth of the Gospel, but our attitude must continually move according to the signs of the times."

At the end of his reflection, the pontiff returned to his initial thoughts. "We are free," he said, "because of the gift of freedom that Jesus Christ has given us. But our work is to examine what happens within us, to discern our feelings, our thoughts; and to analyze what happens outside of us, to discern the signs of the times." How? "With silence, with reflection and with prayer," he repeated at the conclusion of his homily.

[Pope Francis, s. Marta, in L'Osservatore Romano 24/10/2015]

Flame and Peace, Diving and Division. Not tactical quietism

(Lk 12:49-53)

Difference “religiosity vs Faith” becomes evident in the comparison between mentality that identifies biblical Fire with punishment, and that of a sacred Flame poured out with passion of love (v.49) that evokes the Gift in our favor.

St Francis proclaimed: «Laudato sie, mi Signore, per frate focu,/ per lo quale ennalumini la notte:/ et ello è bello e iocundo/ et robustoso et forte».

[«Praise be to you, my Lord, for brother fire, / through whom you light the night: / and he is beautiful and playful / and strong and powerful»].

For the little poor man of Assisi, fire was a «noble and useful element among the creatures of the Most High» [Legenda antiqua].

He had with «friar fire» a disconcerting relationship of courtesy. Certainly it didn’t drive out the night in the same way as the Sun, but brought light.

On the contrary, the disciples’ blaze was not very wise: James and John wanted it to incinerate opponents (Lk 9:54).

Before Jesus, John the baptizer awaited a Messiah who still would immerse everyone in a devouring and executioning bonfire (Lk 3:17).

The «fire» of Faith announced by the Person and activity of the Son does not consume, does not corrode.

On the contrary, it is like a ‘Bread’: fullness of energy for a «complete life», not a destructive or separating element.

All this revives people, relationships and surrounding realities. It changes our Relationship with God, with ourselves and our neighbour.

Such is the ‘division’ proclaimed (v.51): discrimination of our Call.

In common devotion the error of evaluation or the condition of weakness is considered an infirmity, to be pointed out, corrected, punished.

"Impurities" should not be ‘melted’ into divine and providential Fire: they should only be normalised according to atavistic prescriptions or more recent sophisticated ideas [à la page].

For life in the Spirit, on the other hand, attention is elsewhere: personal oscillations become possibilities; the fellings, a new Force.

Sense of incapacity, failure and impediments arouse intensity, exchange, dialogue, new elaborations, search for other processes.

Faith is kindled wave upon wave, in welcoming and responding to God who reveals himself, calls and continues to propose – even cross-cultural mixtures that entangle purisms.

Food and Flame are also… our unsatisfactory situations: boulders that seemed to crush and make us negative are taken on board, hired, becoming gasoline that animates and propels us forward.

«Incarnation» is the recovery of opposing sides.

On this path, imperfection becomes a driving force, with its Treasures that we cannot see, hidden behind dark sides.

They are those slopes that will then dominate our Desire.

In this way, Baptism is not a procedure or a coat of grey colour and common opinion.

It is not even a device that labels, immediately cornering personalities and tensions - but rather an «Immersion» (see v. 50 Greek text).

By taking care of the neglected parts and merging the "extraneous" or different sides, from the exteriority of things we are brought back to the Origin of what happens.

[Thursday 29th wk. in O.T.  October 23, 2025]

Flame and Peace, Immersion and Division. Not tactical quietism

(Lk 12:49-53)

"I have come to cast a fire on the earth, and how I wish it had already blazed!" (Lk 12:49).

The difference between religiosity and Faith is made evident in the comparison between the mentality that identifies the biblical Fire with punishment, and that of a sacred Flame poured out with a passion of love (v.49) that evokes the Gift on our behalf.

Francis proclaimed: "Laudato sie, mi Signore, per frate focu,/ per lo quale ennalumini la notte:/ et ello è bello e iocundo/ et robustoso et forte".

For the Poverello of Assisi, fire was a "noble and useful element among the creatures of the Most High" [Legenda antiqua].

He had with "frate focu" a disconcerting relationship of courtesy. Certainly it did not drive out the night in the same way as the Sun, but it brought light into it.

By contrast, the disciples' blaze was not much: James and John wanted it to incinerate adversaries or unfortunates (Lk 9:54).

Before Jesus, John the Baptizer was still waiting for a Messiah who would immerse everyone in a devouring and executing bonfire (Lk 3:17).

In the passage of e.g. Mt 19:13-15, the same theme is mixed up with the purist and fundamentalist ardour of the apostles, who at all costs wanted to detach Jesus from his beloved ones, who had not the slightest intention of being submissive.

The fire of Faith announced by the Person and activity of the Son does not consume, it does not corrode; on the contrary, it is like food: fullness of energy for a complete life, not a destructive or separating element.

It revives people, relationships and the surrounding reality. It changes our relationship with God, with ourselves and our neighbour. Such is the division proclaimed (v.51): the dividing line of our Calling.

In common devotion the error of judgement or weak condition is considered an infirmity, to be pointed out, corrected, punished.

Doctrine and discipline constitute the outer armour of consciences, and worship celebrates and inculcates them [not infrequently, in a conformist and shoddy, albeit pretentious, manner].

The "impurities" should not be "merged" into the divine and providential Fire: only normalised according to atavistic prescriptions, or sophisticated ideas à la page.

For life in the Spirit, on the other hand, the focus is elsewhere: personal fluctuations become possibilities; break-downs a new Force.

Sense of incapacity, failure and hindrances arouse intensity, exchange, dialogue, new elaborations, the search for other processes; even rages of indignation that flare up and stimulate redemption.

Faith ignites wave after wave, in welcoming and corresponding God who reveals himself, calls and still proposes - even cross-mixing, entangling abstract purisms.

"We dream as one humanity" - underlines the encyclical Fratelli Tutti (n.8), rejoicing "in the diversity" that inhabits us (cf. n.10).

In the imperfection of critical situations, the Father does not throw stones at us, but Bread [not stale - as in ancient ideologies].

Our unsatisfactory situations are also Food and Flame: the boulders that seemed to crush us and made us negative are taken up, they become petrol that projects; jubilation, which - instead of 'settling' us - makes us grow again.

Called to collaborate, we participate in the same creative, free and cheering action of the Lord.

He directs us to the unprecedented Peace of becoming wholeness, of all-round humanisation yet to be acquired.

The Plan of Love evolves and strengthens through concrete events, not excluding the enthralling dynamics that arise from the awareness of one's own boundary - of which one should not be rid of.

Faith does not create disintegrating idols, equating eccentricity and sin, it only rests its gaze on them to understand, allowing them to melt and blossom from that mouldable energetic magma, transfiguring us.

For old beliefs it was unimaginable that the Most High did not feel repugnance for our condition - and precisely on the folds of carnal precariousness wanted to build a story of salvation.

Instead, the Son is our accomplice. He even winks at those aspects that the conformist gaze dismisses as imbalances, disorders, illnesses.

He wants to make of each one of us not a censor or a do-gooder, but an unrepeatable masterpiece - not built in a test-tube, but which you do not expect.

The Lord does not standardise or sterilise, demanding acting or climbing out of nature. It is He who humanises Himself - even in our quirks.

He recognises Himself in that which is steeped in expectation and sweat, even though it is deemed unbecoming of the [even devout, or conversely, sophisticated] man who yearns to elevate himself.

Do we feel settled and 'arrived'? Only here there is no 'fire', no passion, no discovery, no genesis, no therapy - and we are not even at the threshold of Faith.

"Incarnation" is the recovery of opposite sides: imperfection becomes a spring, with its treasures we cannot see, hidden behind dark sides.It is those sides that will then dominate our Desire.

That's the whole game: we start from where we are, and attention to the occasions of the imperfect present - which we must not rush to disinfect - will make us wince at the unexpected life that re-emerges there.

The Flame of the Spirit that is building the Newness of God lurks in the embers and sides deemed inconclusive or opposing - it does not place itself in the shop window to stifle instinct at once.

Thus the Church: not 'functional', but life-giving. Kingdom and territory not marked by tactical pacifism, which anaesthetises.

In this way, Baptism is not a rubric or a hand of grey and common opinion, nor a device that brands, immediately cornering personalities and tensions - but an Immersion (v.50 Greek text).

"Now why do you not also judge for yourselves what is right?" (v.57).

In Christ we are empowered to think and are made autonomous, for a solid fraternity with ourselves, which has 'stopped' - and which unfolds by revitalising Oneness.

By tending the neglected parts and merging the extraneous or dissimilar sides, from the exteriority of things we are brought back to the Origin of what happens.

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

In this Sunday's Gospel there is an expression of Jesus that always attracts our attention and needs to be properly understood. 

While he is on his way to Jerusalem, where death on a cross awaits him, Christ asked his disciples: "Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division". And he adds: "[H]enceforth in one house there will be five divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against her mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law" (Lk 12: 51-53). 

Anyone who has even the slightest knowledge of Christ's Gospel knows that it is a message of peace par excellence; as St Paul wrote, Jesus himself "is our peace" (Eph 2: 14), the One who died and rose in order to pull down the wall of enmity and inaugurate the Kingdom of God which is love, joy and peace. 

So how can his words be explained? To what was the Lord referring when he said he had come - according to St Luke's version - to bring "division" or - according to St Matthew's - the "sword" (Mt 10: 34)? 

Christ's words mean that the peace he came to bring us is not synonymous with the mere absence of conflicts. On the contrary, Jesus' peace is the result of a constant battle against evil. The fight that Jesus is determined to support is not against human beings or human powers, but against Satan, the enemy of God and man. 

Anyone who desires to resist this enemy by remaining faithful to God and to good, must necessarily confront misunderstandings and sometimes real persecutions. 

All, therefore, who intend to follow Jesus and to commit themselves without compromise to the truth, must know that they will encounter opposition and that in spite of themselves they will become a sign of division between people, even in their own families. In fact, love for one's parents is a holy commandment, but to be lived authentically it can never take precedence over love for God and love for Christ. 

Thus, following in the footsteps of the Lord Jesus, in accordance with St Francis of Assisi's famous words, Christians become "instruments of peace"; not of a peace that is inconsistent and only apparent but one that is real, pursued with courage and tenacity in the daily commitment to overcome evil with good (cf. Rom 12: 21) and paying in person the price that this entails. 

The Virgin Mary, Queen of Peace, shared until his martyrdom her Son Jesus' fight with the Devil and continues to share in it to the end of time. Let us invoke her motherly intercession so that she may help us always to be witnesses of Christ's peace and never to sink so low as to make compromises with evil.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 19 August 2007]

1. The World Day of Peace this year is being celebrated in the shadow of the dramatic events of 11 September last. On that day, a terrible crime was committed: in a few brief hours thousands of innocent people of many ethnic backgrounds were slaughtered. Since then, people throughout the world have felt a profound personal vulnerability and a new fear for the future. Addressing this state of mind, the Church testifies to her hope, based on the conviction that evil, the mysterium iniquitatis, does not have the final word in human affairs. The history of salvation, narrated in Sacred Scripture, sheds clear light on the entire history of the world and shows us that human events are always accompanied by the merciful Providence of God, who knows how to touch even the most hardened of hearts and bring good fruits even from what seems utterly barren soil.  

This is the hope which sustains the Church at the beginning of 2002: that, by the grace of God, a world in which the power of evil seems once again to have taken the upper hand will in fact be transformed into a world in which the noblest aspirations of the human heart will triumph, a world in which true peace will prevail.

Peace: the work of justice and love 

2. Recent events, including the terrible killings just mentioned, move me to return to a theme which often stirs in the depths of my heart when I remember the events of history which have marked my life, especially my youth.  

The enormous suffering of peoples and individuals, even among my own friends and acquaintances, caused by Nazi and Communist totalitarianism, has never been far from my thoughts and prayers. I have often paused to reflect on the persistent question: how do we restore the moral and social order subjected to such horrific violence? My reasoned conviction, confirmed in turn by biblical revelation, is that the shattered order cannot be fully restored except by a response that combines justice with forgiveness. The pillars of true peace are justice and that form of love which is forgiveness.

[Pope John Paul II, Message for the xxxv World Day of Peace]

The Gospel for this Sunday (Lk 12:49-53) is part of Jesus’ teachings to the disciples during his journey to Jerusalem, where death on the cross awaits him. To explain the purpose of his mission, he takes three images: fire, baptism and division. Today I wish to talk about the first image: fire.

Jesus expresses it with these words: “I came to cast fire upon the earth; and would that it were already kindled!” (v. 49). The fire that Jesus speaks of is the fire of the Holy Spirit, the presence living and working in us from the day of our Baptism. It — the fire — is a creative force that purifies and renews, that burns all human misery, all selfishness, all sin, which transforms us from within, regenerates us and makes us able to love. Jesus wants the Holy Spirit to blaze like fire in our heart, for it is only from the heart that the fire of divine love can spread and advance the Kingdom of God. It does not come from the head, it comes from the heart. This is why Jesus wants fire to enter our heart. If we open ourselves completely to the action of this fire which is the Holy Spirit, He will give us the boldness and the fervor to proclaim to everyone Jesus and his consoling message of mercy and salvation, navigating on the open sea, without fear.

In fulfilling her mission in the world, the Church — namely all of us who make up the Church — needs the Holy Spirit’s help so as not to let herself be held back by fear and by calculation, so as not to become accustomed to walking inside of safe borders. These two attitudes lead the Church to be a functional Church, which never takes risks. Instead, the apostolic courage that the Holy Spirit kindles in us like a fire helps us to overcome walls and barriers, makes us creative and spurs us to get moving in order to walk even on uncharted or arduous paths, offering hope to those we meet. With this fire of the Holy Spirit we are called to become, more and more, communities of people who are guided and transformed, full of understanding; people with expanded hearts and joyful faces. Now more than ever there is need for priests, consecrated people and lay faithful, with the attentive gaze of an apostle, to be moved by and to pause before hardship and material and spiritual poverty, thus characterizing the journey of evangelization and of the mission with the healing cadence of closeness. It is precisely the fire of the Holy Spirit that leads us to be neighbours to others, to the needy, to so much human misery, to so many problems, to refugees, to displaced people, to those who are suffering.

At this moment I am thinking with admiration especially of the many priests, men and women religious and lay faithful who, throughout the world, are dedicated to proclaiming the Gospel with great love and faithfulness, often even at the cost of their lives. Their exemplary testimony reminds us that the Church does not need bureaucrats and diligent officials, but passionate missionaries, consumed by ardour to bring to everyone the consoling word of Jesus and his grace. This is the fire of the Holy Spirit. If the Church does not receive this fire, or does not let it inflame her, she becomes a cold or merely lukewarm Church, incapable of giving life, because she is made up of cold and lukewarm Christians. It will do us good today to take five minutes to ask ourselves: “How is my heart? Is it cold? Is it lukewarm? Is it capable of receiving this fire?”. Let us take five minutes for this. It will do everyone good.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 14 August 2016]

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [19 October 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us. Once again, a strong reminder of how to live our faith in every situation in life.

First Reading from the Book of Exodus (17:8-13)

 The test of faith. On Israel's journey through the desert, the encounter with the Amalekites marks a decisive stage: it is the first battle of the people freed from Egypt, but also the first great test of their faith. The Amalekites, descendants of Esau, represent in biblical tradition the hereditary enemy, a figure of evil who tries to prevent God's people from reaching the promised land. Their sudden attack on the rear of the caravan — the weakest and most tired — reveals the logic of evil: to strike where faith falters, where fatigue and fear open the door to doubt. This episode takes place at Rephidim, the same place as Massah and Meribah, where Israel had already murmured against God because of the lack of water. There the people had experienced the trial of thirst, now they experience the trial of combat: in both cases, the temptation is the same — to think that God is no longer with them. But once again God intervenes, showing that faith is purified through struggle and that trust must remain firm even in danger. While Joshua fights in the plain, Moses climbs the mountain with God's staff in his hand — a sign of his presence and power. The story does not focus on the movements of the troops, but on Moses' gesture: his hands raised towards the sky. It is not a magical gesture: it is prayer that sustains the battle, faith that becomes strength for the whole people. When Moses' arms fall, Israel loses; when they remain raised, Israel wins. Victory therefore depends not only on the strength of weapons, but on communion with God and persevering prayer. Moses grows tired, Aaron and Hur support his hands: this is the image of spiritual brotherhood, of the community that bears the weight of faith together. Thus, prayer is not isolation, but solidarity: those who pray support others, and those who fight draw strength from the prayers of their brothers and sisters. This episode thus becomes a paradigm of spiritual life: Israel, fragile and still on its journey, learns that victory does not come from human strength, but from trust in God. Prayer, represented by Moses' raised hands, does not replace action but accompanies and transfigures it. The person who prays and the person who fights are two faces of the same believer: one fights in the world, the other intercedes before God, and both participate in the one work of salvation. Finally, the praying community becomes the living sign of God's presence at work in his people, and when a believer no longer has the strength to pray, the faith of his brothers and sisters sustains him. The story of Amalek at Rephidim is not just a page in history, but an icon of Christian life: we all live our battles knowing that victory belongs to God and that prayer is the source of all strength and the guarantee of God's presence.

Responsorial Psalm (120/121) 

Psalm 120/121 belongs to the group of 'Psalms of Ascents' (Ps 120-134), composed to accompany the pilgrimages of the people of Israel to Jerusalem, the holy city situated on high, symbol of the place where God dwells among his people. The verb 'to ascend' indicates not only geographical ascent but also and above all a spiritual movement, a conversion of the heart that brings the believer closer to God. Each pilgrimage was a sign of the Covenant and an act of faith for Israel: the people, travelling from all parts of the country, renewed their trust in the Lord. When the psalm speaks in the first person — "I lift up my eyes to the mountains" — it actually gives voice to the collective "we" of all Israel, the people marching towards God. This journey is an image of the entire history of Israel, a long march in which fatigue, waiting, danger and trust are intertwined. The roads that lead to Jerusalem, in addition to being stone roads, are spiritual paths marked by trials and risks. Fatigue, loneliness, external threats — robbers, animals, scorching sun, cold nights — become symbols of the difficulties of faith. In this situation, the words of the psalm are a profession of absolute trust: "My help comes from the Lord: he   made heaven and earth." These words affirm that true help comes not from human powers or mute idols, but from the living God, Creator of the universe, who never sleeps and never abandons his people. He is called "the Guardian of Israel": the one who watches over us constantly, who accompanies us, who is close to us like a shadow that protects us from the sun and the moon. The Hebrew expression "at your right hand" indicates an intimate and faithful presence, like that of an inseparable companion. The people who pray this psalm thus remember the pillar of cloud and fire that guided Israel in the desert, a sign of God who protects day and night, accompanying them on their journey and guarding their lives. Therefore, the psalmist can say: 'The Lord will guard you from all evil; he will guard your life. The Lord will guard you when you go out and when you come in, from now on and forever." The pilgrim who "goes up" to Jerusalem becomes the image of the believer who entrusts himself to God alone, renouncing idols and false securities. This movement is conversion: turning away from what is vain to turn towards the God who saves. In the New Testament, Jesus himself was able to pray this psalm as he "went up to Jerusalem" (Lk 9:51). He walks the path of Israel and of every human being, entrusting his life to the Father. The words "The Lord will guard your life" find their full fulfilment at Easter, when the pilgrim's return becomes resurrection because it is a return to new and definitive life. Thus, Psalm 121 is much more than a prayer for travel: it is the confession of faith of a people on a journey, the proclamation that God is faithful and that his presence accompanies every step of existence. In it, historical memory, theological trust and eschatological hope come together. Israel, the believer and Christ himself share the same certainty: God guards life and every ascent, even the most difficult, leads to communion with Him.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul to Timothy (3:14-4:2)

In this passage from the second letter to Timothy (3:14-4:2), Paul entrusts his disciple with the most precious legacy: fidelity to the Word of God. It is a text written at a difficult time, marked by doctrinal confusion and tensions in the community of Ephesus. Timothy is called to be a 'guardian of the Word' in the midst of a world that risks losing the truth it has received. The first words, 'Remain faithful to what you have learned', make it clear that others have abandoned the apostolic teaching: fidelity then becomes an act of spiritual resistance, a remaining anchored to the source. Paul speaks of 'dwelling' in the Word: faith is not an object to be possessed, but an environment in which to live. Timothy entered into it as a child thanks to his mother Eunice and his grandmother Lois, women of faith who passed on to him a love for the Scriptures. Here we have a reference to the communal and traditional character of faith: no one discovers the Word on their own, but always in the Church. Access to Scripture takes place within the living Tradition, that 'chain' that starts with Christ, passes through the apostles and continues in believers. 'Tradere' in Latin means 'to transmit': what is received is given. In this fidelity, Scripture is a source of living water that regenerates the believer and roots him in the truth. Paul affirms that the Holy Scriptures can instruct for the salvation that is obtained through faith in Christ Jesus (v. 15). The Old Testament is the path that leads to Christ: the entire history of Israel prepares for the fulfilment of the Paschal mystery. 'All Scripture is inspired by God': even before it became dogma, it was the deep conviction of the people of Israel, from which arose respect for the holy books kept in the synagogues. Divine inspiration does not cancel out the human word, but transfigures it, making it an instrument of the Spirit. Scripture, therefore, is not just another book, but a living presence of God that forms, educates, corrects and sanctifies: thanks to it, the man of God will be perfect, equipped for every good work (vv. 16-17). From this source springs the mission, and Paul entrusts Timothy with the decisive command: "Proclaim the Word, insist on it at the opportune and inopportune moment" (v. 4:2) because the proclamation of the Gospel is a necessity, not an optional task. The solemn reference to Christ's judgement of the living and the dead shows the gravity of apostolic responsibility. Proclaiming the Word means making present the Logos, that is, Christ himself, the living Word of the Father. It is He who communicates himself through the voice of the preacher and the life of the witness. But proclamation requires courage and patience: it is necessary to speak when it is convenient and when it is not, to admonish, correct, encourage, always with a spirit of charity and a desire to build up the community. Truth without love hurts; love without truth empties the Word. For Paul, Scripture is not only memory, but the dynamism of the Spirit. It shapes the mind and heart, forms judgement, inspires choices. Those who dwell in it become "men of God," that is, persons shaped by the Word and made capable of serving. Timothy is invited not only to guard the doctrine, but to make it a source of life for himself and for others. Thus, the Word, accepted and lived, becomes a place of encounter with Christ and a source of renewal for the Church. The apostle does not found anything of his own, but transmits what he has received; in the same way, every believer is called to become a link in this living chain, so that the Word may continue to flow in the world like water that quenches, purifies and fertilises. In summary: Scripture is the source of faith, Tradition is the river that transmits it, and proclamation is the fruit that nourishes the life of the Church. To remain in the Word means to remain in Christ; to proclaim it means to let Him act and speak through us. Only in this way does the man of God become fully formed and the community grow in truth and charity.

From the Gospel according to Luke (18:1-8)

The context of this parable is that of the 'end times': Jesus is walking towards Jerusalem, towards His Passion, death and Resurrection. The disciples perceive the tragic and mysterious epilogue, feel the need for greater faith ('Increase our faith') and are anxious to understand the coming of the Kingdom of God. The term 'Son of Man', already present in Daniel (7), indicates the one who comes on the clouds, receives universal and eternal kingship, and also represents, in the original sense, a collective being, the people of the Saints of the Most High. Jesus uses it to refer to himself, reassuring his disciples about God's ultimate victory, even in a context of imminent difficulties. The reference to judgement and the Kingdom emphasises the eschatological perspective: God will do justice to his chosen ones, the Kingdom has already begun, but it will be fully realised at the end. The parable of the persistent widow is at the heart of the message: before an unjust judge, the widow is not discouraged because her cause is just. This example combines two virtues essential to Christians: humility, recognising one's poverty (first beatitude: 'Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God'), and perseverance, confident insistence in prayer and justice. The widow's persistence becomes a paradigm for faith in waiting for the Kingdom: our cause, too, based on God's will, requires tenacity. The text also recalls the connection with the episode in the Old Testament: during the battle against the Amalekites, Moses prays persistently on the hill while Joshua fights on the plain. The victory of the people depends on the presence and intervention of God, supported by Moses' persevering prayer. The parable of the widow has the same function: to remind believers, of all times, that faith is a continuous struggle, a test of endurance in the face of difficulties, opposition and doubts. Jesus' concluding question, "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?", is a universal warning: faith should never be taken for granted; it must be guarded, nurtured and protected. From the early morning of the Resurrection until the final coming of the Son of Man, faith is a struggle of constancy and trust, even when the Kingdom seems far away. The widow teaches us how to face the wait: humble, stubborn, confident, aware of our weakness but certain of God's justice and saving will, which never disappoints those who trust in him totally. Luke seems to be writing to a community threatened by discouragement, as suggested by the final sentence: 'When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?'. This phrase, while appearing pessimistic, is actually a warning to be vigilant: faith must be guarded and nurtured, not taken for granted. The text forms an inclusion: the first sentence teaches what faith is — 'We must always pray without losing heart' — and the final sentence calls for perseverance. Between the two, the example of the stubborn widow, treated unjustly but who does not give up, shows concretely how to practise this faith. The overall teaching is clear: faith is a constant commitment, an active resistance, which requires stubbornness, humility and trust in God's justice, even in the face of difficulties and the apparent absence of a response.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole