Despite the fact that illness is part of human experience, we do not succeed in becoming accustomed to it, not only because it is sometimes truly burdensome and grave, but also essentially because we are made for life, for a full life. Our "internal instinct" rightly makes us think of God as fullness of life indeed, as eternal and perfect Life. When we are tried by evil and our prayers seem to be in vain, then doubt besets us and we ask ourselves in anguish: what is God's will? We find the answer to this very question in the Gospel. For example, in today's passage we read that Jesus "healed many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons" (Mk 1: 34); in another passage from St Matthew it says that Jesus "went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and preaching the Gospel of the Kingdom and healing every disease and every infirmity among the people" (Mt 4: 23). Jesus leaves no room for doubt: God whose Face he himself revealed is the God of life, who frees us from every evil. The signs of his power of love are the healings he performed. He thus shows that the Kingdom of God is close at hand by restoring men and women to their full spiritual and physical integrity. I maintain that these cures are signs: they are not complete in themselves but guide us towards Christ's message, they guide us towards God and make us understand that man's truest and deepest illness is the absence of God, who is the source of truth and love. Only reconciliation with God can give us true healing, true life, because a life without love and without truth would not be life. The Kingdom of God is precisely the presence of truth and love and thus is healing in the depths of our being. One therefore understands why his preaching and the cures he works always go together: in fact, they form one message of hope and salvation.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 8 February 2009]

1. A text by Saint Augustine offers us the key to interpreting Christ's miracles as signs of his saving power: "Becoming man for us has benefited our salvation far more than the miracles he performed among us; and it is more important than healing the diseases of the body destined to die" (St Augustine, In Io. Ev. Tr., 17, 1). For the sake of this salvation of the soul and the redemption of the whole world, Jesus also performed miracles of a physical nature. The theme of this catechesis is therefore the following: through the "miracles, wonders and signs" he performed, Jesus Christ manifested his power to save man from the evil that threatens the immortal soul and its vocation to union with God.

2. This is revealed in a special way in the healing of the paralytic in Capernaum. The people who brought him, unable to enter through the door of the house where Jesus was teaching, lowered the sick man through an opening in the roof, so that the poor man found himself at the feet of the Master. "Jesus, seeing their faith, said to the paralytic, 'Son, your sins are forgiven.'" These words aroused suspicion of blasphemy in some of those present: "This man is blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?" As if in response to those who had thought this, Jesus addressed those present with the words: "Which is easier: to say to the paralytic, 'Your sins are forgiven,' or to say, 'Get up, take your bed and walk'? Now, so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins, I say to you," he said to the paralytic, "get up, take your bed and go home. The man got up, took his bed and went away in the presence of everyone" (cf. Mk 2:1-12 and also Mt 9:1-8; Lk 5:18-26; Lk 5:25).

Jesus himself explains in this case that the miracle of healing the paralytic is a sign of the saving power by which he forgives sins. Jesus performs this sign to show that he has come as the Saviour of the world, whose main task is to free man from spiritual evil, the evil that separates man from God and prevents salvation in God, which is precisely sin.

3. The same key can be used to explain that special category of Christ's miracles which is 'casting out demons'. 'Come out of this man, unclean spirit!' Jesus commands, according to the Gospel of Mark, when he encounters a demon-possessed man in the country of the Gerasenes (Mk 5:8). In that circumstance, we witness an unusual conversation. When the 'unclean spirit' feels threatened by Christ, he cries out against him: 'What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, in the name of God, do not torment me!'. In turn, Jesus 'asked him, "What is your name?" "My name is Legion," he replied, "for we are many" (cf. Mk 5:7-9). We are therefore on the edge of a dark world, where physical and psychological factors are at play that undoubtedly have their weight in causing the pathological conditions in which that demonic reality is inserted, represented and described in various ways in human language, but radically hostile to God and therefore to man and to Christ who came to free him from that evil power. But despite itself, even the "unclean spirit," in that clash with the other presence, bursts out in that admission coming from a perverse but lucid intelligence: "Son of the Most High God!"

4. In Mark's Gospel, we also find a description of the event usually described as the healing of the epileptic. In fact, the symptoms reported by the evangelist are also characteristic of this disease ("foaming at the mouth, grinding his teeth and stiffening"). However, the epileptic's father presents his son to Jesus as possessed by an evil spirit, which shakes him with convulsions, causes him to fall to the ground and roll around foaming at the mouth. It is quite possible that in a state of infirmity such as this, the evil one infiltrates and works, but even if we admit that this is a case of epilepsy, from which Jesus heals the boy considered possessed by his father, it is nevertheless significant that he performs this healing by commanding the "deaf and mute spirit": "Come out of him and never enter him again" (cf. Mk 9:17-27). It is a reaffirmation of his mission and his power to free man from the evil of the soul down to its roots.

5. Jesus makes clear his mission to free man from evil and, first and foremost, from sin, which is spiritual evil. It is a mission that involves and explains his struggle with the evil spirit, who is the first author of evil in human history. As we read in the Gospels, Jesus repeatedly declares that this is the meaning of his work and that of his apostles. Thus in Luke: "I saw Satan fall from heaven like lightning. Behold, I have given you power over all the enemy's power; nothing will harm you" (Lk 10:18-19). And according to Mark, after appointing the Twelve, Jesus sent them out "to preach and to have authority to drive out demons" (Mk 3:14-15). According to Luke, the seventy-two disciples, after returning from their first mission, also report to Jesus: "Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name" (Lk 10:17).

Thus is manifested the power of the Son of Man over sin and the author of sin. The name of Jesus, in whom even demons are subjugated, means Saviour. However, his saving power will have its definitive fulfilment in the sacrifice of the cross. The cross will mark the total victory over Satan and sin, because this is the plan of the Father, which his only Son carries out by becoming man: to conquer in weakness and attain the glory of the resurrection and life through the humiliation of the cross. Even in this paradoxical fact, his divine power shines forth, which can rightly be called the "power of the cross."

6. Part of this power, and belonging to the mission of the Saviour of the world manifested in "miracles, wonders and signs", is also the victory over death, the dramatic consequence of sin. The victory over sin and death marks the path of the messianic mission of Jesus of Nazareth to Calvary. Among the "signs" that particularly indicate his path towards victory over death are above all the resurrections: "the dead are raised" (Mt 11:5), Jesus replies to the question about his messianic identity posed to him by John the Baptist's messengers (cf. Mt 11:3). Among the various "dead" raised by Jesus, Lazarus of Bethany deserves special attention, because his resurrection is like a "prelude" to the cross and resurrection of Christ, in which the definitive victory over sin and death is accomplished.

7. The evangelist John has left us a detailed description of the event. It suffices for us to refer to the final moment. Jesus asks for the stone covering the tomb to be removed ("Take away the stone"). Martha, Lazarus' sister, observes that her brother has been in the tomb for four days and that his body has certainly begun to decompose. However, Jesus cries out in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" "And the dead man came out," attests the evangelist (cf. Jn 11:38-43). This event arouses faith in many of those present. Others, however, go to the representatives of the Sanhedrin to report what has happened. The chief priests and Pharisees are concerned, thinking of a possible reaction from the Roman occupiers ("the Romans will come and destroy our holy place and our nation" (cf. Jn 11:45-48). It was then that Caiaphas uttered his famous words to the Sanhedrin: "You know nothing at all, and you do not consider how it is better for one man to die for the people than for the whole nation to perish." And the evangelist notes: "He did not say this of his own accord, but as high priest he prophesied." What prophecy is this? Here, John gives us the Christian interpretation of those words, which are of immense significance: "Jesus had to die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but also to gather together the children of God who were scattered abroad" (cf. Jn 11:49-52).

8. As we can see, the description of Lazarus also contains essential indications concerning the salvific meaning of this miracle. These are definitive indications, because it is precisely then that the Sanhedrin takes the decision on Jesus' death (cf. Jn 11:53). And it will be the redemptive death "for the nation" and "to gather together the children of God who were scattered": for the salvation of the world. But Jesus has already said that this death will also be the definitive victory over death. On the occasion of Lazarus' resurrection, he assured Martha: "I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live; whoever lives and believes in me will never die" (Jn 11:25-26).

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

Yes, all the "miracles, wonders and signs" of Christ are at the service of his revelation as Messiah, as Son of God: of him who alone has the power to free man from sin and death. Of him who truly is the Saviour of the world.

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

1. "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (Jn 11:21). Martha's words sum up the universal longing for a presence that will defeat this implacable enemy, before whom every attempt to make man absolute inevitably collapses: death.

Today, dear brothers and sisters, we pray for the dead: in these days we visit cemeteries as prayerful pilgrims to implore eternal peace for our loved ones. Before those tombs, the aspiration to conquer death is affirmed within us, and the breath of eternity that dwells in our hearts takes shape.

We decorate, adorn and beautify those tombs because our hearts tell us that a body wrapped in the cold immobility of death is not, cannot be, the last word of a life. An immense web of plans, of potential only partially expressed, the hopes for a more just and humane world, the warmth of affection, the effort of daily fidelity, all this treasure of goodness cannot be walled up in the implacable silence of nothingness.

2. That is why the whole of humanity rejoiced when a stone was rolled away from the new tomb in a garden in Jerusalem, and a word announced one day and awaited for millennia of history became reality: "I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die" (Jn 11:25-26).

The glorious Lord who throws open the gates of life finally gives meaning to this need for eternity, fulfilment and fullness that each of us feels pulsing within us: the faithful God, who raises his Son in solidarity with humanity even unto death, instils in us the consoling certainty of immortality.

Today, death continues to reap its victims; suffering and pain wound the battered body of humanity every day. Yet, amid the darkness of physical and moral evil, the light of a sure promise shines in the eyes of believers: "I am the resurrection and the life." These words make our waiting firm, our patience constant, our hope certain.

3. Over such an immense multitude of the dead, the Church today pronounces her act of faith in life, in the name of the One who is life. Over those who died almost imperceptibly in a wise old age, such as children welcomed into the bosom of the Father before their eyes were opened to the light; over those whom sickness consumed, associating them with the sacrifice of the Lamb, such as those pierced by murderous violence; over all of them, the voice of hope rises decisively: "As all die in Adam, so all will receive life in Christ" (1 Cor 15:22).

We are certain of this: Christ, who loves us, has gone to prepare a place for us. He will return and take us with him in an eternal embrace. For this reason, today the prayer of the Church, sister and mother, witness of the Risen One, rises unceasingly for all the deceased, whatever time or people they belong to, so that from the grain of wheat that fell into the earth, a hope rich in immortality may sprout.

On this day, we wish to remember in a special way all the victims of hatred and violence, imploring the Lord to grant humanity the peace for which it so longs.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus, 2 November 1986]

"How do I follow Jesus?" This is the simple question every Christian should ask themselves in order to understand whether their faith is authentic and sincere, or in some way "self-serving." The risk, in fact, is that of watering down one's adherence to Christ with calculations of convenience. Pope Francis emphasised this in his homily during Mass celebrated on the morning of Monday, 16 April, at Santa Marta. Commenting on the liturgy of the word, the Pontiff identified two possible paths that lie before every baptised person: that of the protomartyr Stephen, who, "full of grace and the Holy Spirit," acted "without weighing the consequences" of his choices, and that of the crowd that allowed itself to be won over by miracles.

There are, therefore, Francis explained, "different ways, different manners of following Jesus." The people described in John's Gospel (6:22-29), who had just witnessed the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves, followed Jesus not only "because they were hungry for the word of God and felt that Jesus touched their hearts, warmed their hearts," but also "because Jesus performed miracles; they also followed him to be healed, to gain a new vision of life." So much so that, the Pope recalled, in another passage of the same evangelist (4:48), Jesus rebukes them: "You, unless you see miracles, you do not believe." As if to emphasise that "miracles are not important; what is important is the word of God, it is faith." Therefore, Jesus "praises the people who approach him with faith." In fact, "to the father who asked for his son's healing," he said, "Everything is possible for those who believe."

So the people who "followed Jesus to hear him" after the multiplication of the loaves even wanted to "make him king." Therefore, he went away "alone to pray." Summarising the Gospel story, the Pope described what happened, with the people seeking the Lord and finding him the next day on the other side of the lake. Why this insistent search? To listen to Jesus, but above all "out of interest." In fact, the Lord's rebuke comes immediately: "Truly, truly, I say to you, you are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves." Francis entered into the psychology of the crowd: "good people" who want "to hear the word of Jesus and feel how that word touches their hearts," but who are also driven by interest. Theirs is therefore a faith that combines "two things: a faith, a desire to love Jesus, but also a little self-interest."

They are not the only ones in the Gospel to have this attitude. The Pontiff recalled, for example, the episode of the demoniac of Gerasa narrated by Luke (8:26-39), in which the herdsmen, when they saw that because of that miracle "they had lost their pigs," made "calculations and said: 'Yes, yes, this man is a miracle worker, but he is not good for us; we are losing money because of him,' and they told him politely, 'Go away, go back to your own place.'" Or we can think of the ten lepers mentioned again by Luke (17:11-19), who "were healed and went away, but only one returned to give thanks: the others had been healed and so they forgot Jesus."

Faced with a faith conditioned by self-interest, Jesus rebukes them and says, "Work not for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you." The food is the word of God and the love of God.

[Pope Francis, at St. Martha's, in L'Osservatore Romano, 17 April 2018]

(Mt 8:23-27)

Our adventure proceeds like on a boat tossed by seisms. We go hopeful, but sometimes adversities threaten drowning us, and with us seem to drag down all life.

Using paraphrases from the book of Exodus, Mt tries to help his communities understand the Mystery of the Person of Jesus.

Not a few converted Jews considered Christ a character all in line with their mentality and tradition, in agreement with prophecies and figures of the First Testament.

Elsewhere, some pagans who had accepted the Lord advocated an understanding with the worldly mentality - a kind of agreement between Jesus and the Empire.

But Who could appease the storms?

The situation of the tiny Christian families of Galilee and Syria was still dark. Christ seemed not entirely present, and the sea rough, the wind against.

Could the Exodus be re-created?

Precisely in the condition of tossed pilgrims, in approaching his Person,  a strange and different stability was experienced: the against the current enduring.

A crossing towards freedom that came from clinging to Jesus alone, in the chaos of security. For a discordant permanence.

As the disciples caressed nationalist desires, the Master began to make it clear that He’s not the vulgarly awaited Messiah, restorer of the late empire of David or the Caesars.

The Kingdom of God is open to all humanity, which in those times of upheaval sought security, acceptance, points of reference. Everyone could find home and shelter there (Mt 13:32c; Mk 4:32b).

But the apostles and church veterans seemed averse to Christ’s proposal; they remained insensitive to an overly broad idea of fraternity - which was crowding them out.

The teaching and call imposed on the disciples is that of passing to the other shore (cf. Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22), that is, not to hold God’s treasures in favour of themselves.

The Apostles have the task of communicating the Father’s riches even to the pagans, considered impure and infamous.

Yet it were precisely the intimates of the Master who didn’t want to know about risky disproportions, which would actually the wide-meshed action of the Son of God bring out.

They were willingly calibrated to habits of common religiosity, and an (circumscribed) ideology of power.

Already in the 70s, resistance to divine proposal as well as the tearing internal debate that had ensued from it, had unleashed a great storm in the assemblies of believers.

«And behold, there came a great agitation into the sea, so that the boat was covered by the waves» (Mt 8:24).

The storm were concerning the disciples, the only dismayed; not Jesus: «but He was asleep» (v.24c) [it’s the Risen Lord].

What happened "inside" the little boat of the Church was not the simple reflection of what happened "outside"! This is the mistake to be corrected.

Emotionally relevant situations make sense, carry a meaningful appeal, introduce a different introspection, the decisive change; a new 'genesis'.

Trial in fact activates souls in the most effective way, because it disengages us from the idea of stability, and brings us into contact with dormant energies, initiating the new dialogue with events.

In Him, we are therefore imbued with a different vision of danger.

[Tuesday 13th wk. in O.T.  July 1st, 2025]

(Mt 8:23-27)

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni

"Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni" - with these and similar words the Church's liturgy repeatedly prays [...].

These invocations were probably formulated in the period of the decline of the Roman Empire. The disintegration of the supporting orders of law and of the basic moral attitudes, which gave them strength, caused the breaking of the banks that had hitherto protected peaceful coexistence between men. A world was passing away. Frequent natural cataclysms further increased this experience of insecurity. No force could be seen to halt this decline. All the more insistent was the invocation of God's own power: that He would come and protect men from all these threats.

"Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni". Today, too, we have many reasons to associate ourselves with this prayer [...] The world with all its new hopes and possibilities is, at the same time, distressed by the impression that the moral consensus is dissolving, a consensus without which legal and political structures do not function; consequently, the forces mobilised to defend these structures seem doomed to failure.

Excita - the prayer is reminiscent of the cry addressed to the Lord, who was sleeping in the disciples' storm-tossed boat that was close to sinking. When His powerful word had calmed the storm, He rebuked the disciples for their little faith (cf. Mt 8:26 and par.). He wanted to say: in yourselves faith has slept. He also wants to say the same thing to us. Even in us so often faith sleeps. Let us therefore pray to Him to awaken us from the sleep of a faith that has become weary and to restore to faith the power to move mountains - that is, to give right order to the things of the world.

[Pope Benedict, to the Roman Curia 20 December 2010].

Our life proceeds as on a small boat tossed about by earthquakes. We go hopeful, but sometimes adversity threatens to drown us, and with us it seems to drag our whole life down.

Episodes that nevertheless make us realise how much Christ's friendship is worth to us and what it conveys to us.

For we experience that only the Lord overcomes the fear of upheavals.

But he does so without rushing, and without any set patterns that would frame him forever (it would be like making him perish).

If we welcome Him in a simple and forthright manner, we realise that there is another realm, that every element is in His power.

On such a wave that has become vital, everything will serve to reactivate us - even the headwind and the pitfalls of evil.

The Invisible Friend guides and fulfils us infallibly. And he brings us to Riva. Landing that is the ultimate condition.

Dry land that the force of the waves cannot affect, even when we have the feeling of being swept away by the waves.

Using paraphrases from the book of Exodus, Mt tries to help his communities understand the Mystery of the Person of Jesus.

Not a few Jewish converts considered Christ to be a person in line with their mentality and tradition, in agreement with First Testament prophecies and figures.

Elsewhere, some pagans who had accepted the Lord advocated an understanding with the worldly mentality - a kind of agreement between Jesus and the Empire.

But who could calm the storms?

The situation of the tiny Christian families in Galilee and Syria was still dark. Christ seemed not quite present, and the sea was rough, the wind contrary.

Could the Exodus be re-created?

Faith in Him was shaken, not relaxed. The disciples did not possess the Master's same calm trust in the Father.

And yet, in the very condition of shaken pilgrims, in approaching His Person they experienced a strange and different stability: the perseverance against the tide.

A crossing towards freedom that came from clinging to Jesus alone, in the chaos of security. A discordant permanence.

Even today, it is the unaccustomed and critical path of growth that reveals Him capable of manifesting His quiet strength, restoring the disrupted elements to calm.

The direction of travel imposed by Jesus on His disciples seems to go against the grain, and brazenly breaks the rules accepted by all.

While the disciples fondle nationalist desires, the Master begins to make it clear that He is not the vulgarly expected Messiah, restorer of the defunct empire of David or the Caesars.

The Kingdom of God is open to all mankind, who in those turbulent times sought security, acceptance, points of reference. Everyone could find home and shelter there (Mt 13:32c; Mk 4:32b).

But the apostles and church veterans seemed averse to Christ's proposals; they remained insensitive to an overly broad idea of fraternity - which displaced them. This is still a live and very serious problem.

The teaching and call imposed on the disciples is to cross to the other shore (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22), that is, not to keep to oneself.

The Apostles have the task of communicating the riches of the Father to the pagans, who are considered impure and infamous.

Yet it was precisely the Master's intimates who did not want to know about risky disproportions that would actually make the Son of God's wide-ranging action stand out.

They were willingly tarred by common religiosity, and a circumscribed ideology of power.

The resistance to the divine commission, and the resulting lacerating internal debate, had already stirred up a great storm in the assemblies of believers in the 1970s.

"And behold, there came great turmoil in the sea, so that the boat was covered with waves" (Matthew 8:24).

The storm concerned the disciples alone, the only ones who were dismayed; not Jesus: "but he was asleep" (v.24c) [this is about the Risen One].

What was happening "inside" the little boat of the Church was not a mere reflection of what was happening "outside"! This is the error to be corrected.

For us too, such identification can block and make life chronic, precisely from the handling of emotionally relevant situations - which have their own meaning.

They always carry a meaningful appeal, introduce a different eye, introspection, dialogue.

In short, from the peace of the divine condition that dominates chaos, the Lord calls attention to and rebukes the apostles, accusing them of lacking Faith.

Though devout, they lack an ounce of risk. They lack love - like a mustard seed (v.26) - to bring to humanity to renew it.

And are we believers still confused, embarrassed? Is the chaos of patterns still raging - not excluding selfishness, which inexorably peeps out?

We paradoxically go the way of the Exodus, of the experience of the first; right 'knowledge', because it is direct. The only caveat: we must not be taken in by fear.

In Him, we are imbued with a different vision of danger.

Says the Tao Tê Ching (xxii): "The saint does not see by himself, therefore he is enlightened". Even in straits.

At all times it seems that Jesus expressly wanted the dark moments of confrontation and doubt for the apostles (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22b). First and foremost, it will be some church leaders who will be called upon to cleanse themselves of repetitive convictions. Only in this way will their proclamation not remain misplaced.

For textbook expectations (and the habit of setting up conformist harmonies) block the flowering of what we are and hope for.

Especially what is annoying or even 'against' has something decisive to tell us.

Even in the boat of the assemblies [cf. Mk 4:36] discomfort must express itself.

"And they drew near and awoke him, saying, Lord, save us, we are lost!" (v.25).

The peril is an opportunity to revive the essence of each person and of the community itself.

The trial introduces change (hidden or repressed) and activates it in the most effective way.

Novelty comes from natural contact with hidden, primordial energies.

More than opposing frictions and conflicting external events, anxiety, impression, anguish, arise from the very fear of facing the normal or decisive questions of existence.

This can happen out of distrust: feeling the danger perhaps only because we perceive ourselves to be intimately undeveloped, and incapable of other conversation; of discovering and reworking, converting, or remodelling.

The fatigue of questioning ourselves and the suffering that the adventure of Faith holds, will also fade amidst the discomfort of the rough sea - which precisely does not want us to return to 'those of before'.

It is enough to disengage from the idea of stability, even religious stability, and listen to life as it is, embracing it.

Even in its throng of bumps, bitterness, shattered hopes for harmony, sorrows - engaging with this flood of new emergencies, and encountering one's own deep nature.

The best vaccine against the anxieties of adventuring together with Christ on the changing waves of the unexpected. will be precisely not to avoid worries upstream - on the contrary, to go towards them and welcome them; to recognise them, to let them happen.

Even in times of global crisis, the apprehensions that seem to want to devastate us, come to us as preparatory energies of other joys that wish to break through. New cosmic attunements; for wonderment from within ourselves - and guidance from beyond.

Our little boat is in an inverted, inverted, unequal stability; uncertain, unseemly - yet energetic, prickly, capable of reinventing itself.

And it may even be excessive, but it is disruptive.

For a proposal of Tenderness (not corresponding) that is not a relaxation zone, because it rhymes with terrible anxiety and... still unfulfilled suburbs!

To internalise and live the message:

On what occasions have you found easy what before seemed impossible? Do you ever raise your voice to Jesus? By what Name did He reveal Himself to you? By what title would you call Him? Have you crossed waters you did not foresee in your plans and intentions? Who has calmed your storms? How do you experience harmony?Some other providence, which you ignore

"It is good not to fall, or to fall and rise again. And if you happen to fall, it is good not to despair and not to become estranged from the love the Sovereign has for man. For if he wills, he can do mercy to our weakness. Only let us not turn away from him, let us not be distressed if we are forced by the commandments, and let us not be disheartened if we come to nothing (...).

Let us neither hurry nor retreat, but always begin again (...).

Wait for him, and he will show you mercy, either by conversion or by trials, or by some other providence that you do not know."

[Peter Damascene, Second Book, Eighth Discourse, in La Filocalia, Turin 1982, I,94]

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni. Repeatedly during the season of Advent the Church’s liturgy prays in these or similar words. They are invocations that were probably formulated as the Roman Empire was in decline. The disintegration of the key principles of law and of the fundamental moral attitudes underpinning them burst open the dams which until that time had protected peaceful coexistence among peoples. The sun was setting over an entire world. Frequent natural disasters further increased this sense of insecurity. There was no power in sight that could put a stop to this decline. All the more insistent, then, was the invocation of the power of God: the plea that he might come and protect his people from all these threats.

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni. Today too, we have many reasons to associate ourselves with this Advent prayer of the Church. For all its new hopes and possibilities, our world is at the same time troubled by the sense that moral consensus is collapsing, consensus without which juridical and political structures cannot function. Consequently the forces mobilized for the defence of such structures seem doomed to failure.

Excita – the prayer recalls the cry addressed to the Lord who was sleeping in the disciples’ storm-tossed boat as it was close to sinking. When his powerful word had calmed the storm, he rebuked the disciples for their little faith (cf. Mt 8:26 et par.). He wanted to say: it was your faith that was sleeping. He will say the same thing to us. Our faith too is often asleep. Let us ask him, then, to wake us from the sleep of a faith grown tired, and to restore to that faith the power to move mountains – that is, to order justly the affairs of the world.

[Pope Benedict, to the Roman Curia 20 December 2010]

The storm calmed on the Lake of Genesaret can be reread as a "sign" of Christ's constant presence in the "boat" of the Church, which many times throughout history is exposed to the fury of the winds during stormy hours. Jesus, awakened by the disciples, commands the winds and the sea to be becalmed. Then he says to them, "Why are you so fearful? Have you no faith yet?" (Mk 4:40). In this, as in other episodes, one can see Jesus' desire to inculcate in the apostles and disciples faith in his operative and protective presence even in the most stormy hours of history, in which doubt about his divine assistance could infiltrate the spirit. In fact, in Christian homiletics and spirituality, the miracle has often been interpreted as a 'sign' of Jesus' presence and a guarantee of trust in him on the part of Christians and the Church.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 2 December 1987]

Today’s liturgy tells the episode of the storm calmed by Jesus (Mk 4:35-41). The boat in which the disciples are crossing the lake is beaten by the wind and the waves and they fear they will sink. Jesus is with them on the boat, yet he is in the stern asleep on the cushion. Filled with fear, the disciples cry out to him: “Teacher, do you not care if we perish?” (v. 38).

And quite often we too, beaten by the trials of life, have cried out to the Lord: “Why do you remain silent and do nothing for me?”. Especially when it seems we are sinking, because love or the project in which we had laid great hopes disappears; or when we are at the mercy of unrelenting waves of anxiety; or when we feel we are drowning in problems or lost amid the sea of life, with no course and no harbour. Or even, in moments in which the strength to go forward fails us, because we have no job, or an unexpected diagnosis makes us fear for our health or that of a loved one. There are many moments when we feel we are in a storm; when we feel we are almost done in.

In these situations and in many others, we too feel suffocated by fear and, like the disciples, risk losing sight of the most important thing. In the boat, in fact, even if he is sleeping, Jesus is there, and he shares with his own all that is happening. If on the one hand his slumber surprises us, on the other, it puts us to the test. The Lord is there, present; indeed, he waits — so to speak — for us to engage him, to invoke him, to put him at the centre of what we are experiencing. His slumber causes us to wake up. Because to be disciples of Jesus, it is not enough to believe God is there, that he exists, but we must put ourselves out there with him; we must also raise our voice with him. Hear this: we must cry out to him. Prayer is often a cry: “Lord, save me!”. I was watching, on the programme “In his Image”, today, the Day of Refugees, many who come in large boats and at the moment of drowning cry out: “Save us!”. In our life too the same thing happens: “Lord, save us!”, and prayer becomes a cry.

Today we can ask ourselves: what are the winds that beat against my life? What are the waves that hinder my navigation, and put my spiritual life, my family life, even my psychological life in danger? Let us say all this to Jesus; let us tell him everything. He wants this; he wants us to grab hold of him to find shelter from the unexpected waves in life. The Gospel recounts that the disciples approach Jesus, wake him and speak to him (cf. v. 38). This is the beginning of our faith: to recognize that alone we are unable to stay afloat; that we need Jesus like sailors need the stars to find their course. Faith begins from believing that we are not enough for ourselves, from feeling in need of God. When we overcome the temptation to close ourselves off, when we overcome the false religiosity that does not want to disturb God, when we cry out to him, he can work wonders in us. It is the gentle and extraordinary power of prayer, which works miracles.

Jesus, begged by the disciples, calms the wind and waves. And he asks them a question, a question which also pertains to us: “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” (v. 40). The disciples were gripped with fear, because they were focused on the waves more than on looking at Jesus. And fear leads us to look at the difficulties, the awful problems, and not to look at the Lord, who many times is sleeping. It is this way for us too: how often we remain fixated on problems rather than going to the Lord and casting our concerns to him! How often we leave the Lord in a corner, at the bottom of the boat of life, to wake him only in a moment of need! Today, let us ask for the grace of a faith that never tires of seeking the Lord, of knocking at the door of his Heart. May the Virgin Mary, who in her life never stopped trusting in God, reawaken in us the basic need of entrusting ourselves to him each day.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 20 June 2021]