Today's Gospel insists precisely on the universal kingship of Christ the Judge, with the stupendous parable of the Last Judgment, which St Matthew placed immediately before the Passion narrative (25: 31-46). The images are simple, the language is popular, but the message is extremely important: it is the truth about our ultimate destiny and about the criterion by which we will be evaluated. "I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me" (Mt 25: 35) and so forth. Who does not know this passage? It is part of our civilization. It has marked the history of the peoples of Christian culture: the hierarchy of values, the institutions, the multiple charitable and social organizations. In fact, the Kingdom of Christ is not of this world, but it brings to fulfilment all the good that, thank God, exists in man and in history. If we put love for our neighbour into practice in accordance with the Gospel message, we make room for God's dominion and his Kingdom is actualized among us. If, instead, each one thinks only of his or her own interests, the world can only go to ruin.

Dear friends, the Kingdom of God is not a matter of honours and appearances but, as St Paul writes, it is "righteousness and peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit" (Rm 14: 17). The Lord has our good at heart, that is, that every person should have life, and that especially the "least" of his children may have access to the banquet he has prepared for all. Thus he has no use for the forms of hypocrisy of those who say: "Lord, Lord" and then neglect his commandments (cf. Mt 7: 21). In his eternal Kingdom, God welcomes those who strive day after day to put his Word into practice. For this reason the Virgin Mary, the humblest of all creatures, is the greatest in his eyes and sits as Queen at the right of Christ the King. Let us once again entrust ourselves to her heavenly intercession with filial trust, to be able to carry out our Christian mission in the world.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 23 November 2008]

“Heaven" as the fullness of intimacy with God

Reading: 1 Jn 3:2-3

1. When the form of this world has passed away, those who have welcomed God into their lives and have sincerely opened themselves to his love, at least at the moment of death, will enjoy that fullness of communion with God which is the goal of human life.

As the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches, “this perfect life with the Most Holy Trinity — this communion of life and love with the Trinity, with the Virgin Mary, the angels and all the blessed — is called ‘heaven’. Heaven is the ultimate end and fulfilment of the deepest human longings, the state of supreme, definitive happiness” (n. 1024).

Today we will try to understand the biblical meaning of “heaven”, in order to have a better understanding of the reality to which this expression refers.

2. In biblical language “heaven”, when it is joined to the “earth”, indicates part of the universe. Scripture says about creation: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” (Gn 1:1).

Metaphorically speaking, heaven is understood as the dwelling-place of God, who is thus distinguished from human beings (cf. Ps 104:2f.; 115:16; Is 66:1). He sees and judges from the heights of heaven (cf. Ps 113:4-9) and comes down when he is called upon (cf. Ps 18:9, 10; 144:5). However the biblical metaphor makes it clear that God does not identify himself with heaven, nor can he be contained in it (cf. 1 Kgs 8:27); and this is true, even though in some passages of the First Book of the Maccabees “Heaven” is simply one of God's names (1 Mc 3:18, 19, 50, 60; 4:24, 55).

The depiction of heaven as the transcendent dwelling-place of the living God is joined with that of the place to which believers, through grace, can also ascend, as we see in the Old Testament accounts of Enoch (cf. Gn 5:24) and Elijah (cf. 2 Kgs 2:11). Thus heaven becomes an image of life in God. In this sense Jesus speaks of a “reward in heaven” (Mt 5:12) and urges people to “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (ibid., 6:20; cf. 19:21).

3. The New Testament amplifies the idea of heaven in relation to the mystery of Christ. To show that the Redeemer's sacrifice acquires perfect and definitive value, the Letter to the Hebrews says that Jesus “passed through the heavens” (Heb 4:14), and “entered, not into a sanctuary made with hands, a copy of the true one, but into heaven itself” (ibid., 9:24). Since believers are loved in a special way by the Father, they are raised with Christ and made citizens of heaven. It is worthwhile listening to what the Apostle Paul tells us about this in a very powerful text: “God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up with him, and made us sit with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus” (Eph 2:4-7). The fatherhood of God, who is rich in mercy, is experienced by creatures through the love of God's crucified and risen Son, who sits in heaven on the right hand of the Father as Lord.

4. After the course of our earthly life, participation in complete intimacy with the Father thus comes through our insertion into Christ's paschal mystery. St Paul emphasizes our meeting with Christ in heaven at the end of time with a vivid spatial image: “Then we who are alive, who are left, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air; and so we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words” (1 Thes 4:17-18).

In the context of Revelation, we know that the “heaven” or “happiness” in which we will find ourselves is neither an abstraction nor a physical place in the clouds, but a living, personal relationship with the Holy Trinity. It is our meeting with the Father which takes place in the risen Christ through the communion of the Holy Spirit.

It is always necessary to maintain a certain restraint in describing these “ultimate realities” since their depiction is always unsatisfactory. Today, personalist language is better suited to describing the state of happiness and peace we will enjoy in our definitive communion with God.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church sums up the Church's teaching on this truth: “By his death and Resurrection, Jesus Christ has ‘opened’ heaven to us. The life of the blessed consists in the full and perfect possession of the fruits of the redemption accomplished by Christ. He makes partners in his heavenly glorification those who have believed in him and remained faithful to his will. Heaven is the blessed community of all who are perfectly incorporated into Christ” (n. 1026).

5. This final state, however, can be anticipated in some way today in sacramental life, whose centre is the Eucharist, and in the gift of self through fraternal charity. If we are able to enjoy properly the good things that the Lord showers upon us every day, we will already have begun to experience that joy and peace which one day will be completely ours. We know that on this earth everything is subject to limits, but the thought of the “ultimate” realities helps us to live better the “penultimate” realities. We know that as we pass through this world we are called to seek “the things that are above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God” (Col 3:1), in order to be with him in the eschatological fulfilment, when the Spirit will fully reconcile with the Father “all things, whether on earth or in heaven” (Col 1:20).

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 21 July 1999]

But the Christian paradox is that the Judge is not vested in the fearful trappings of royalty, but is the shepherd filled with meekness and mercy.

In fact, in this parable of the final judgement, Jesus uses the image of a shepherd, recalling images of the prophet Ezekiel who had spoken of God’s intervention in favour of his people against the evil shepherds of Israel (cf. 34:1-10). They had been cruel exploiters, preferring to feed themselves rather than the flock; therefore, God himself promises to personally take care of his flock, defending it from injustice and abuse. This promise God made to his people is fully accomplished in Jesus Christ, the Shepherd. He is indeed the Good Shepherd. He too says of himself: “I am the good shepherd” (Jn 10:11, 14).

In today’s Gospel passage, Jesus identifies himself not only with the king-shepherd, but also with the lost sheep, we can speak of a “double identity”: the king-shepherd, Jesus identifies also with the sheep: that is, with the least and most needy of his brothers and sisters. And he thus indicates the criterion of the judgement: it will be made on the basis of concrete love given or denied to these persons, because he himself, the judge, is present in each one of them. He is the judge. He is God-Man, but he is also the poor one. He is hidden and present in the person of the poor people that he mentions right there. Jesus says: “Truly, I say to you, as you did it (or did it not) to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it (you did it not) to me” (cf. vv. 40, 45). We will be judged on love. The judgement will be on love, not on feelings, no: we will be judged on works, on compassion that becomes nearness and kind help. Do I draw near to Jesus present in the persons of the sick, the poor, the suffering, the imprisoned, of those who hunger and thirst for justice? Do I draw near to Jesus present there? This is the question for today.

Therefore, at the end of the world, the Lord will inspect the flock, and he will do so not only from the perspective of the shepherd, but also from the perspective of the sheep, with whom he has identified. And he will ask us: “Were you a little bit like a shepherd as myself?” “Were you a shepherd to me who was present in those people who were in need, or were you indifferent?”. Brothers and sisters, let us look at the logic of indifference, of those who come to mind immediately. Looking away when we see a problem. Let us remember the parable of the Good Samaritan. That poor man, wounded by the brigands, thrown to the ground, between life and death, was there alone. A priest passed by, saw, and went on his way. He looked the other way. A Levite passed by, saw and looked the other way. Before my brothers and sisters in need, am I indifferent like this priest, like this Levite and look the other way? I will be judged on this: on how I drew near, how I looked on Jesus present in those in need. This is the logic, and it is not I who is saying this: Jesus says it. “What you did to that person and that person and that person, you did it to me. And what you did not do to that person and that person and that person, you did not do it to me, because I was there”. May Jesus teach us this logic, this logic of being close, of drawing near to him, with love, in the person who is suffering most.

Let us ask the Virgin Mary to teach us to reign by serving. Our Lady, assumed into Heaven, received the royal crown from her son because she followed him faithfully — she is the first disciple — on the way of Love. Let us learn from her to enter God’s Kingdom as of now through the door of humble and generous service. And let us return home only with this phrase: “I was present there. Thank you!”. Or: “You forgot about me”.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 22 November 2020].

But he comes to us every day

The Gospel passage opens with a grandiose vision. Jesus, addressing his disciples, says: “When the Son of man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne” (Mt 25:31). It is a solemn introduction to the narrative of the Last Judgment. After having lived his earthly existence in humility and poverty, Jesus now shows himself in the divine glory that pertains to him, surrounded by hosts of angels. All of humanity is summoned before him and he exercises his authority, separating one from another, as the shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.

To those whom he has placed at his right he says: “Come, O blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me” (vv. 34-36). The righteous are taken aback, because they do not recall ever having met Jesus, much less having helped him in that way, but he declares: “as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me” (v. 40). These words never cease to move us, because they reveal the extent to which God’s love goes: up to the point of taking flesh, but not when we are well, when we are healthy and happy, no; but when we are in need. And in this hidden way he allows himself to be encountered; he reaches out his hand to us as a mendicant. In this way Jesus reveals the decisive criterion of his judgment, namely, concrete love for a neighbour in difficulty. And in this way the power of love, the kingship of God is revealed: in solidarity with those who suffer in order to engender everywhere compassion and works of mercy.

The Parable of the Judgment continues, presenting the King who shuns those who, during their lives, did not concern themselves with the needs of their brethren. Those in this case too are surprised and ask: “Lord, when did we see thee hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to thee?” (v. 44). Implying: “Had we seen you, surely we would have helped you!”. But the King will respond: “as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me” (v. 45). At the end of our life we will be judged on love, that is, on our concrete commitment to love and serve Jesus in our littlest and neediest brothers and sisters. That mendicant, that needy person who reaches out his hand is Jesus; that sick person whom I must visit is Jesus; that inmate is Jesus, that hungry person is Jesus. Let us consider this.

Jesus will come at the end of time to judge all nations, but he comes to us each day, in many ways, and asks us to welcome him. May the Virgin Mary help us to encounter him and receive him in his Word and in the Eucharist, and at the same time in brothers and sisters who suffer from hunger, disease, oppression, injustice. May our hearts welcome him in the present of our life, so that we may be welcomed by him into the eternity of his Kingdom of light and peace.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 26 November 2017]

VI Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [15 February 2026]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. The theme of the two paths, so dear to the prophets, touches on the theme of human freedom and responsibility. This Sunday's readings help us to better understand how not to go astray in life.

First Reading from the Book of Sirach (15:15-20 NV 15:16-21) 

God created us free, and Ben Sira the Wise offers us here a reflection on human freedom that is divided into three points: FIRST, evil is external to man; SECOND, man is free to choose between evil and good; THIRD, choosing good also means choosing happiness. FIRST: evil is external to man because it is not part of our nature, and this is already great news; because if evil were part of our nature, there would be no hope of salvation: we could never free ourselves from it. This, for example, was the conception of the Babylonians. In contrast, the Bible is much more optimistic: it affirms that evil is external to man; God did not create evil, and it is not he who drives us to commit it. He is therefore not responsible for the evil we commit. This is the meaning of the last verse of this reading: 'God has not commanded anyone to be wicked, nor has he given anyone permission to sin'. Shortly before this passage, Ben Sira writes: 'Do not say, "The Lord has led me astray... Do not say, "He has caused me to go astray"' (Sir 15:11-12).

If God had created Adam as a being who was partly good and partly evil, as the Babylonians imagined, evil would be part of our nature. But God is only love, and evil is totally foreign to him. The account of the fall of Adam and Eve in the book of Genesis was written precisely to make it clear that evil is external to man, since it is introduced by the serpent and spreads throughout the world when man begins to distrust God. We find the same statement in the letter of St James: 'No one, when tempted, should say, 'Temptation comes from God'; for God cannot be tempted by evil, and he himself tempts no one'. In other words, evil is totally foreign to God: he cannot push us to do it. And St James continues: 'Each person is tempted when they are dragged away and enticed by their own desire' (Jas 1:13-14). SECOND: man is free and can choose evil or good. This certainty was slowly acquired by the people of Israel; yet, here too, the Bible is unequivocal: God created man free. For this certainty to mature in Israel, it was necessary for the people to experience God's liberating action at every stage of their history, beginning with the experience of liberation from Egypt. The entire faith of Israel was born from its historical experience: God is its liberator; and little by little it was understood that what is true today was already true at the moment of creation, and therefore it was deduced that God created man free. We must therefore learn to reconcile these two biblical certainties: that God is almighty and that, nevertheless, man is free before him. And it is precisely because man is free to choose that we can speak of sin: the very notion of sin presupposes freedom; if we were not free, our mistakes could not be called sins. Perhaps, in order to enter a little into this mystery, we must remember that God's omnipotence is that of love: we know well that only true love makes the other free. To guide man in his choices, God gave him his Law, and the book of Deuteronomy emphasises this strongly (cf. Dt 30:11-14).  THIRD: choosing good means choosing happiness. We read in the text: "Before men lie life and death, good and evil: to each will be given what he has chosen." In other words, it is in fidelity to God that man finds true happiness. To turn away from him means, sooner or later, to bring about one's own unhappiness. Figuratively speaking, man is constantly at a crossroads: two roads open up before him (the Bible speaks of two 'ways'). One way leads to light, joy and life: blessed are those who follow it. The other is a way of night and darkness and ultimately leads only to sadness and death. Unhappy are those who stray onto it. Here too, one cannot help but think of the story of the fall of Adam and Eve: their bad choice led them down the wrong path. The theme of the two paths is very common in the Bible, particularly in the book of Deuteronomy (30:15-20). According to the theme of the two paths, we are never definitively prisoners, even after making wrong choices, because it is always possible to turn back. Through Baptism, we are grafted onto Christ, who at every moment gives us the strength to choose the right path again: this is why we call him Redeemer, that is, Liberator. Ben Sira said that it is up to us to remain faithful and, as baptised persons, we must add: we remain faithful with the grace of Jesus Christ.

Responsorial Psalm (118/119)

This psalm perfectly echoes the first reading from Ben Sira: it is the same meditation that continues; the idea developed (in a different way, of course, but in full coherence) in these two texts is that humanity finds its happiness only in trust in God and obedience to his commandments: "Blessed is the one who is upright in his way and walks in the Law of the Lord". Misfortune and death begin for man when he strays from the path of serene trust. In fact, allowing suspicion of God and his commandments to enter our hearts and, as a result, doing as we please means taking a bad road with no way out. This is precisely the problem of Adam and Eve in the story of the fall in the Garden of Eden. We find, as if in filigree, the theme of the two paths mentioned in the first reading: if we listen to Ben Sira, we are perpetual travellers, forced to constantly check our path... Blessed among us are those who have found the right path! Because, of the two paths that constantly open up before us, one leads to happiness, the other to unhappiness. The believer experiences the sweetness of fidelity to God's commandments: this is what the psalm wants to tell us. It is the longest psalm in the Psalter (176 verses with 22 stanzas of 8 verses) and the few verses proposed today constitute only a very small part of it, the equivalent of a single stanza. Why twenty-two stanzas? Because there are twenty-two letters in the Hebrew alphabet: each verse of each stanza begins with the same letter, and the stanzas follow each other in alphabetical order. In literature, we speak of an 'acrostic', although here it is not a matter of literary virtuosity, but of a true profession of faith: this psalm is a poem in honour of the Law, a meditation on God's gift, which is the Law, that is, the commandments. Indeed, rather than a psalm, it would be better to speak of a litany in honour of the Law: something that is rather foreign to us. In fact, one of the characteristics of the Bible, which is somewhat surprising to us, is the true love for the Law that dwells in the biblical believer. The commandments are not endured as a domination that God would exercise over us, but as advice, the only valid advice for leading a happy life. "Blessed are those who are upright in their ways, who walk according to the Law of the Lord": when the biblical man utters this phrase, he means it with all his heart. Obviously, this is not magic: men who are faithful to the Law may encounter all sorts of misfortunes in the course of their lives; but, in these tragic cases, the believer knows that only the path of trust in God can give him peace of mind. The Law is accepted as a gift that God gives to his people, warning them against all false paths; it is an expression of the Father's concern for his children, just as we sometimes warn a child or a friend against what we think is dangerous for them. It is said that God gives his Law, and it is truly considered a gift. In fact, God did not limit himself to freeing his people from slavery in Egypt; left to its own devices, Israel would have risked falling back into other forms of slavery that might have been even worse. By giving his Law, God was in a way offering a user manual for freedom. The Law is therefore an expression of God's love for his people. It must be said that we did not have to wait for the New Testament to discover that God is Love and that, ultimately, the Law has no other purpose than to lead us on the path of love. The entire Bible is the story of the chosen people's learning in the school of love and fraternal life. The book of Deuteronomy stated: "Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength" (Deut 6:4). And the book of Leviticus continued: 'You shall love your neighbour as yourself' (Lev 19:18). Later, Jesus, combining these two commandments, was able to say that they summarise the entire Jewish Law. Let us return to the Beatitude of the first verse of this psalm: 'Blessed is the man who follows the Law of the Lord'. The word "blessed," as we have already learned, can be translated as "on the way," so the meaning of this verse would be: "Walk with confidence, man who observes the Law of the Lord." The biblical man is so convinced that his life and happiness are at stake that this litany I mentioned earlier is actually a prayer. After the first three verses, which are statements about the happiness of men faithful to the Law, the remaining 173 verses address God directly, in a style that is sometimes contemplative, sometimes supplicatory, with invocations such as: "Open my eyes, that I may behold the wonders of your Law". And the litany continues, repeating almost the same formulas over and over again: for example, in Hebrew, the same eight terms are always used in each stanza to describe the Law. Only lovers dare to repeat themselves like this, without risking weariness. Eight words that are always the same and also eight verses in each of the twenty-two stanzas: the number eight, in the Bible, is the number of the new Creation. The first Creation was accomplished by God in seven days; the eighth day will therefore be that of the renewed Creation, of the 'new heavens and the new earth', according to another biblical expression. It will finally be able to manifest itself when all humanity lives according to God's Law, that is, in love, since it is the same thing. Other elements of the symbolism of the number eight: there were four human couples (eight people) in Noah's ark; Christ's resurrection took place on Sunday, which is both the first and eighth day of the week. For this reason, the baptisteries of the early centuries were often octagonal; even today, we still see numerous octagonal bell towers.

FURTHER INSIGHT: the eight terms in the vocabulary of the Law, considered synonyms that express the different facets of God's love that is given in his Law: Commandments: to order, to command; Law: derives from a root that does not mean 'to prescribe' but 'to teach'; it indicates the way to God. It is a pedagogy, an accompaniment that God offers us: a gift; Word: the Word of God is always creative, a word of love: 'God said... and so it came to pass' (Gen 1). We know well that 'I love you' is also a creative word; Promise: the Word of God is always promise and faithfulness; Judgements: dealing with justice; Decrees: from the verb 'to engrave', 'to write on stone' (the tablets of the Law); Precepts: what God has entrusted to us; Testimonies: of God's faithfulness.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians (2:6-10)

Last Sunday, St Paul already contrasted human wisdom with the wisdom of God: 'Your faith', he said, 'is not based on human wisdom, but on the power of God'. And he insisted that the mystery of Christ has nothing to do with our reasoning: in the eyes of men, the Gospel appears to be madness, and those who stake their lives on it are foolish. This insistence on the term 'wisdom' may surprise us, but Paul is addressing the Corinthians, that is, the Greeks, for whom wisdom is the most precious virtue.

Today, Paul continues along the same lines: the proclamation of the mystery of God may seem like folly in the eyes of the world, but it is an infinitely higher wisdom, the wisdom of God. 'Among those who are perfect, we do speak of wisdom, but of a wisdom that is not of this world... we speak instead of the wisdom of God'. It is up to us to choose whether to live according to the wisdom of the world, the spirit of the world, or according to the wisdom of God: two totally contradictory wisdoms. Here we return to the theme of the other readings for this Sunday: the first reading from the book of Sirach and Psalm 118/119 both developed, each in its own way, the theme of the two paths: man is placed at the crossroads of two paths and is free to choose his own way; one path leads to life and happiness; the other sinks into darkness, death, and ultimately offers only false joys. 'The wisdom of God that has remained hidden' (v. 7): one of the great affirmations of the Bible is that man cannot understand everything about the mystery of life and creation, nor the mystery of God himself. This limitation is part of our very being. In this regard, we read in Deuteronomy: 'The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the revealed things are for us and our children forever, that we may put into practice all the words of this Law' (Deut 29:28). This means that God knows everything, and we know only what he has chosen to reveal to us, beginning with the Law, which is the key to everything else. Let us return once more to the book of Genesis, which tells of the Garden of Eden, where there were trees of every kind, 'pleasing to the eye and good for food' (Gen 2:9); and there were also two special trees: one, located in the middle of the garden, was the tree of life; the other, located in an unspecified place, was called the tree of the knowledge of what makes one happy or unhappy. Adam was allowed to eat the fruit of the tree of life; indeed, it was recommended, for God had said, "You may eat of every tree in the garden... except one." Only the fruit of the tree of knowledge was forbidden. This is a figurative way of saying that man cannot know everything and must accept this limitation: Hidden things belong to the Lord our God, says Deuteronomy. On the contrary, the Torah, the Law, which is the tree of life, is entrusted to man: practising the Law means nourishing ourselves day after day with what will make us live.

I return to this expression: Wisdom kept hidden, established by God before the ages for our glory (cf. v7). Paul insists several times in his letters that God's plan has been established from all eternity and there has never been a rethinking or a change because the unfolding of God's plan does not change according to the behaviour of humanity: we cannot imagine that God first created a perfect world until the day Adam committed his sin and then, to make amends, decided to send his Son. Against this conception, Paul develops in many of his letters the idea that the role of Jesus Christ has been planned from all eternity and that God's plan precedes all human history. He says this clearly in his letter to the Ephesians (cf. Eph 1:9-10) and in his letter to the Romans (cf. Rom 16:25-26). The fulfilment of this plan, as Paul says, is 'to give us glory': glory is an attribute of God and God alone, and our vocation is to share in his glory. For Paul, this expression is another way of speaking about God's plan to bring us all together in Jesus Christ and make us share in the glory of the Trinity, as we read in the letter to the Ephesians. St Paul writes again: But as it is written: 'What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, God has prepared for those who love him' (v. 9). When he says 'as it is written', he is referring to the prophet Isaiah, who says: "Never before has anything like this been heard or seen, nor has any eye seen a god who acts on behalf of those who trust in him" (Is 64:3). Here is the amazement of the believer gratified by the revelation of God's mysteries. And he continues: "God has prepared these things for those who love him". But could there be people for whom this would not have been prepared? Are there therefore privileged and excluded people? Certainly not: God's plan is for everyone; but only those who have an open heart can participate in it, and each person is the sole master of their own heart. It is the theme of trust in God because the mystery of his providential plan is revealed only to the little ones, as Jesus says: "You have hidden these things from the wise and learned and revealed them to little ones" (cf. Mt 11:25 and Lk 10:21). Since we are all little ones, we need only recognise this humbly and with trust in God. 

From the Gospel according to Matthew (5:17-37)

The Kingdom advances slowly but surely. This Gospel of Matthew 5 allows us to understand how the Kingdom of God advances in history: not by breaking, but by fulfilling. The key verb that St Matthew puts on Jesus' lips is 'I have not come to abolish, but to fulfil'. The whole Bible, from Abraham onwards, is oriented towards a progressive fulfilment of God's benevolent plan. Christians, in fact, do not live in nostalgia for the past, but in active expectation: they judge history not on the basis of immediate successes, but on the progress of the Kingdom. This is why we can say that Sunday Mass is the 'meeting of the Kingdom's construction site': the place where we see whether the Gospel is really transforming life. It is a slow growth, inscribed in the Law.  The evangelist shows that this slowness is not a defect, but God's own method. The Law given to Moses represented the first steps: indicating the minimum necessary for coexistence to be possible – do not kill, do not steal, do not lie. It was already a decisive step forward from the law of the strongest. Jesus does not cancel these achievements; on the contrary, he brings them to maturity. The antitheses ('You have heard that it was said... but I say to you...') manifest this advancement of the Kingdom: not only avoiding murder, but eradicating anger; not only avoiding adultery, but purifying the gaze; not only avoiding false oaths, but living in the truth of the word. Each time the Kingdom takes a step forward, because the human heart is slowly converted. And so the Kingdom grows through relationships. The text highlighted a decisive point: the commandments renewed by Jesus all concern relationships with others: reconciliation with one's brother, respect for women, trustworthy speech, love of one's enemy. If God's merciful plan is, as Paul says, to reunite everyone in Christ, then every step towards a truer brotherhood is already an advance of the Kingdom. This is why Jesus does not limit himself to teaching us to pray 'Thy Kingdom come', but shows us how to bring it about: through concrete, daily choices, often hidden but real. At the beginning of his discourse, Matthew presents the Beatitudes that describe those who allow the Kingdom to advance: not the powerful, but the poor in spirit, the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers. It is to the little ones that the Father reveals his mysteries. Here too, the Kingdom does not advance by force or spectacle, but by humility and fidelity.

The Kingdom advances like salt that disappears and like light that shines without noise. It is growth that is measured over the long term, not in the immediate. This is why Jesus can say at the end of the chapter: 'Be perfect' (Mt 5:48), that is, brought to fulfilment. It is not an unattainable ideal, but the goal of a journey that God himself accompanies. The Kingdom of God does not burst in, but grows; it does not eliminate the past, but brings it to fulfilment; it does not advance by force, but by conversion of heart. Every step forward in love, every reconciled relationship, every word made true: this is how, slowly but surely, the Kingdom comes.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

A few days ago, I read in the newspaper about another case of a 22-year-old girl being stabbed. She was stabbed because she was listening to music at too high a volume, annoying her attacker.

Recently, several similar incidents have been reported in the media, all involving young people and all for trivial reasons. Some were for looking too long at the girl of their dreams, others for a slightly risqué compliment, etc.

Unfortunately, many young people these days attack their peers with knives they carry with them. 

It should be noted that, like all objects, knives do not only have a negative value. They are used in the kitchen, for work; in the hands of a skilled chef, they become something precious. 

In primitive societies, they were used to defend against animals and enemies.

Today, in the world of young people and beyond, if we think of the numerous cases of femicide where women are killed with unprecedented ferocity, it seems to be becoming a kind of status symbol.

This tool is perceived as a sign of toughness and strength, especially among young people who feel marginalised. 

The episodes of violence that occur between two individuals have no valid reasons, but the spark that triggers them is a trivial, sometimes frivolous motive.

Often, the use of knives – weapons that are easy to obtain – is inherent in individuals associated with youth gangs, in order to  become part of them and become affiliated. Here, it is as if this object could be a 'magic wand' against feelings of inner malaise and emotional and social disappointments. And this weapon would make us feel invincible, or perhaps just stronger. 

Except for professionals, getting used to carrying a weapon with us can have repercussions on our way of being. We get used to it, and we may increasingly tend towards episodes of aggression towards others. 

Leaving the house and carrying a knife with us - sooner or later, at the slightest provocation, we are tempted to use it, thus fuelling fear and increasing the likelihood of becoming a victim ourselves. In the long run, our psyche 'brings out' aspects of ourselves that may have been 'dormant' in hidden corners of our unconsciousness.

The individual ends up engaging in antisocial behaviour. And in the many goals they try to achieve, this behaviour can sometimes be harmful to themselves.

These are individuals who have a normal intellectual level, sometimes even above average.

In my experience of similar cases, referred by the Juvenile Court to the Child Neuropsychiatry Service, episodes of knife violence were associated with a low intellectual level.

These individuals often encounter failure in every initiative they take, thus increasing their sense of frustration.

They generally tend to lie and often exploit others, giving little importance to moral values.

They habitually almost never tell the truth, even when they make a promise (which they usually do not keep), showing no distress and coldly maintaining their positions.

They may be influenced by films and ancestral cultures, which can reinforce their inclination to use such weapons, without being aware of the possible consequences and the potential escalation of violence. 

We 'young people of the past' were taught and passed on the ability to react constructively to the difficulties and humiliations that life inevitably brings. 

Today, however, it seems that everything is owed to us, that deprivation of anything in this excess of well-being is unbearable. 

And so, especially in emotionally unstable individuals, something triggers them to do harm; we are moving towards an insane, sick aggression. Not towards that 'healthy determination' that helps us overcome life's obstacles.

I have often heard from people who came before me, and perhaps also from some reading that I now cannot remember, that the most cruel beast is man. Two souls lurk in his heart: one made of sociability and a drive towards others, the other of jealousy and rivalry, of cruelty towards others.

People with these issues tend to be dishonest, to lie and deceive others, to try to exploit them, forgetting the moral principles they have learned.

These people always consider themselves 'the best'. If this is not perceived, anger rises - consciously or unconsciously.

When they cause harm, they feel no remorse and no guilt.

The line between what is legal and what is not becomes blurred. We tend to act impulsively, without considering the effect of our actions on others.

As a result, we sink lower and lower. We believe that others are only there to help us get what we want.

Often, violent or even sadistic behaviour is associated with a certain pleasure.

And here we also tend to participate in clashes with 'power'.

On a collective level, just look at the recent events in Turin, where violence is directed at law enforcement officers, those who represent the rules and seek to restore legality.

Without adhering to any ideology, I am personally convinced, leaving aside party politics, that limits must be restored from childhood. In this way, a child can grow up with a clear distinction between what is good and what is evil.

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi, Psychologist-Psychotherapist.

5th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A) [8 February 2026]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us! We are approaching Lent. Let us begin to prepare ourselves spiritually. After the sixth Sunday, on 15 February, we will enter Lent.

*First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (58:7-10)

At first glance, this text might seem like a nice moral lesson, which would already be something. In reality, however, it says much more. The context is that of the end of the 6th century BC: the return from exile has taken place, but deep wounds remain, 'the devastation of the past' and ruins to be rebuilt. In Jerusalem, religious practice has been re-established and, in good faith, people are trying to please God. However, the prophet has a delicate message to convey: the worship that pleases God is not what the people imagine. The fasts are spectacular, but daily life is marked by quarrels, violence and greed. For this reason, Isaiah denounces a worship that claims to obtain God's favour without conversion of heart: 'You fast for strife and self-defeating arguments... Is this the fast that I choose?' (Isaiah 58:4-5).

We are faced with one of the strongest texts in the Old Testament, which shakes our ideas about God and religion and answers with great clarity a fundamental question: what does God expect of us? These few biblical verses are the fruit of a long maturation in the faith of Israel. From Abraham onwards, people sought what pleased God: first human sacrifices, then animal sacrifices, then fasting, offerings and prayers. But throughout this history, the prophets never ceased to remind the people that true worship cannot be separated from the daily life of the Covenant. This is why Isaiah proclaims: the fast that God desires is to loose the chains of injustice, to free the oppressed, to break every yoke. In God's eyes, every gesture that frees a brother or sister is worth more than the most austere fast. This is followed by a list of concrete actions: feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming the homeless poor, clothing the naked, and helping all human misery. It is here that the truth of faith is measured. Three observations conclude the message: First, these actions are an imitation of God's own work, which Israel has always experienced as liberating and merciful. Human beings are truly called to be the image of God, and the way they treat others reveals their relationship with Him. Second: when Isaiah promises 'the glory of the Lord' (v. 8) to those who care for the poor, he is not speaking of an external reward, but of a reality: those who act like God reflect His presence, becoming light in the darkness, because 'where there is love, there is God'. Thirdly, every gesture of justice, liberation and sharing is a step towards the Kingdom of God, that Kingdom of justice and love that the Old Testament awaits and that the Gospel of the Beatitudes presents as being built day by day by the meek, the peaceful and those who hunger for justice.

*Responsorial Psalm (111/112)

Every year, during the Feast of Tabernacles, a feast that still lasts a week in autumn, the whole people made what we might call their "profession of faith": they renewed their Covenant with God and recommitted themselves to respecting the Law. Psalm 111/112 was certainly sung on this occasion. The entire psalm is in itself a short treatise on life in the Covenant: to understand it better, you have to read it from the beginning. I will read you the first verse: 'Hallelujah! Blessed is the man who fears the Lord, who loves his will with all his heart!'. First of all, the psalm begins with the word Hallelujah, literally "Praise God," which is the key word of believers: when the man of the Bible invites us to praise God, it is precisely because of the gift of the Covenant. Then, this psalm is an alphabetical psalm: that is, it contains twenty-two verses, as many as there are letters in the Hebrew alphabet; the first word of each verse begins with a letter of the alphabet in alphabetical order. It is a way of affirming that the Covenant with God concerns the whole of man's life and that God's Law is the only path to happiness for the whole of existence, from A to Z. Finally, the first verse begins with the word 'blessed', addressed to the man who knows how to remain on the path of the Covenant. This immediately brings to mind the Gospel of the Beatitudes, which echoes the same term 'blessed': Jesus uses a word here that is very common in the Bible, but which unfortunately our English translation does not fully convey. In his commentary on the Psalms, André Chouraqui observed that the Hebrew root of this word (blessed is the man Ashrê hā'îsh) has as its fundamental meaning the path, the man's steps on the unobstructed road that leads to the Lord. It is therefore 'less about happiness than about the path that leads to it'. For this reason, Chouraqui himself translated 'Blessed' as 'On the way', implying: you are on the right path, continue. Generally, in the Bible, the word 'blessed' does not stand alone: it is contrasted with its opposite 'unhappy' (blessed is barùk and cursed is 'arūr). The general idea is that in life there are false paths to avoid; some choices or behaviours lead to good, others, on the contrary, lead only to unhappiness. And if we read the entire psalm, we realise that it is constructed in this way. Even the better-known Psalm 1 is structured in the same way: first it describes the good paths, the path to happiness, and only briefly the bad ones, because they are not worth dwelling on. Here, the good choice is already indicated in the first verse: 'Blessed is the man who fears the Lord!'. We find this expression frequently in the Old Testament: the 'fear of God'. Unfortunately, in the liturgical reading, the second part of the verse is missing; I will read it to you in its entirety: 'Blessed is the man who fears the Lord, who loves his will with all his heart.' Here, then, is a definition of 'fear of God': it is love of his will, because one acts in trust. The fear of the Lord is not fear in a negative sense: in fact, a little further on, another verse makes this clear: "The righteous man... trusts in the Lord. His heart is secure" (vv. 7-8). The "fear of God" in the biblical sense is both an awareness of God's holiness, a recognition of all that He does for man and, since He is our Creator, a concern to obey Him: only He knows what is good for us. It is a filial attitude of respect and trusting obedience. Israel thus discovers two truths: God is the All-Other, but He also makes Himself All-Near. He is infinitely powerful, but this power is that of love. We have nothing to fear, because He can and wants our happiness! In Psalm 102/103 we read: "As a father's compassion is toward his children, so the Lord's compassion is toward those who fear Him." To fear the Lord means to have a respectful and trusting attitude toward Him. It also means "to lean on Him." This is the right attitude towards God, the one that puts man on the right path: "Blessed is the man who fears the Lord!" And this is also the right attitude towards others: "The righteous man, merciful, compassionate and just... he gives generously to the poor" (vv. 4, 8). The previous psalm (110/111), very similar to this one, uses the same words "justice, tenderness and mercy" for God and for man. Daily observance of the Law, in everyday life, from A to Z, as symbolised by the alphabet of the psalm, shapes us in God's likeness. I say likeness, because the psalmist reminds us that the Lord remains the All-Other: the formulas are not identical. For God, it is said that He is justice, tenderness and mercy, while for man, the psalmist says "he is a man of justice, tenderness and mercy", that is, these are virtues that he practises, not his intrinsic being. These virtues come from God, and man reflects them in some way. And because his actions are in the image of God, the righteous man becomes a light for others: 'he springs up in the darkness, a light for the upright' (v. 4). Here we hear an echo of the first reading from the prophet Isaiah: 'Share your bread with the hungry, bring the homeless poor into your house, clothe the naked... then your light will rise like the dawn' (58:7). When we give and share, we are more in the image of God, who is pure gift. To the extent that we are able, we reflect his light.

*Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians (2:1-5)

 Saint Paul, as he often does, proceeds by contrasts: the first contrast is that the mystery of God is completely different from the wisdom of men; the second contrast concerns the language of the apostle who proclaims the mystery, which is very different from beautiful human speech and eloquence. Let us take up these two contrasts: the mystery of God / human wisdom; Christian language / eloquence or oratory. First contrast: the mystery of God or human wisdom. Paul says that he came 'to proclaim the mystery of God'; by mystery we mean God's 'merciful plan', which will be developed later in the Letter to the Ephesians (Eph 1:3-14): this plan is to make humanity a perfect communion of love around Jesus Christ, founded on the values of love, mutual service, gift and forgiveness. Jesus already puts this into practice throughout his earthly life. We are therefore very far from the idea of a powerful God in the military sense, as some sometimes imagine. This mystery of God is realised through a 'crucified Messiah', which is completely contrary to human logic, almost a paradox. Paul affirms that Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah, but not as expected: he was not expected to be crucified; according to our logic, the crucifixion seemed to prove the opposite, because everyone remembered a famous phrase from Deuteronomy: whoever was condemned to death by the law was considered cursed by God (Dt 21:22-23). Yet, this plan of the almighty God is nothing less than Jesus Christ, as Paul says. In witnessing to his faith, Paul has nothing to proclaim but Jesus Christ: He is the centre of human history, of God's plan and of his faith. He wants to know nothing else: "For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ." Behind this phrase we can glimpse the difficulties of resisting the pressures, insults and persecutions already present. This crucified Messiah shows us true wisdom, the wisdom of God: gift and forgiveness, rejection of violence... the whole message of the Gospel of the Beatitudes. In the face of this divine wisdom, human wisdom is reasoning, persuasion, strength and power; this wisdom cannot understand the message of the Gospel. In fact, Paul experienced failure in Athens, the centre of philosophy (Acts 17:16-34). Second opposition: the language of the preacher or the art of oratory. Paul makes no claim to eloquence: this already reassures us, if we are not skilled orators. But he goes further: for him, eloquence, oratory, and the ability to persuade are actually obstacles, incompatible with the message of the Gospel. Proclaiming the Gospel does not mean showing off knowledge or imposing arguments. It is interesting to note that the word 'convince' contains the word 'win': perhaps we are in the wrong place if we think we are proclaiming the religion of Love. Faith, like love, cannot be persuaded... Try to convince someone to love you: love cannot be demonstrated, it cannot be reasoned. The same is true of the mystery of God: it can only be penetrated gradually. The mystery of a poor Messiah, a Messiah-Servant, a crucified Messiah, cannot be proclaimed by means of power: that would be the opposite of the mystery itself! It is in poverty that the Gospel is proclaimed: this should give us courage! The poor Messiah can only be proclaimed by poor means; the Messiah-Servant only by servants. Do not worry if you are not a great speaker: our poverty of language is the only one compatible with the Gospel. Paul goes further and even says that our poverty is a necessary condition for preaching: it leaves room for God's action. It is not Paul who convinces the Corinthians, but the Spirit of God, who gives preaching the power of truth, enabling Christ to be discovered. It follows that it is not the power of our reasoning that convinces: faith is not based on human wisdom, but on the power of the Spirit of God. We can only lend him our voice. Obviously, as with Paul, this requires an enormous act of faith: It was in my weakness, trembling and fearful, that I came to you. My language, my preaching had nothing to do with convincing wisdom; but the Spirit and his power were manifested, so that your faith might not be based on human wisdom, but on the power of God. When it seems that the circle of believers is shrinking, when we dream of powerful media, electronic or financial tools, it is good for us to feel that the proclamation of the Gospel is best suited to poor means. But to accept this, we must admit that the Holy Spirit is the best preacher, and that the witness of our poverty is the best preaching.

*From the Gospel according to Matthew (5:13-16)

If a lamp is beautiful, that is better, but it is not the most important thing! What is required first and foremost is that it gives light, because if it does not give good light, nothing can be seen. As for salt, its vocation is to disappear while performing its task: if it is missing, the dish will be less tasty. On closer inspection, salt and light do not exist for their own sake. Jesus says to his disciples: 'You are the salt of the earth... You are the light of the world': what matters is the earth, the world; salt and light matter only in relation to the earth and the world! By telling his disciples that they are salt and light, Jesus puts them in a missionary situation: you who receive my words become, for this very reason, salt and light for the world: your presence is indispensable. In other words, the Church exists only to evangelise the world. This puts us in our place! The Bible already reminded the people of Israel that they were the chosen people, but at the service of the world; this lesson also applies to us. Returning to salt and light: one may ask what the two elements to which Jesus compares his disciples have in common. We can answer that both are revelatory: salt enhances the flavour of food, light reveals the beauty of people and the world. Food exists before it receives salt; the world and beings exist before they are illuminated. This tells us a lot about the mission that Jesus entrusts to his disciples, to us: no one needs us in order to exist, but we have a specific role to play. Salt of the earth: we are here to reveal to people the flavour of their lives. People do not wait for us to perform acts of love and sharing, which are sometimes wonderful. Evangelising means saying that the Kingdom is among you, in every gesture, in every word of love, and "where there is love, there is God." Light of the world: we are here to enhance the beauty of this world. It is the gaze of love that reveals the true face of people and things. The Holy Spirit has been given to us precisely to be in tune with every gesture or word that comes from Him. But this can only happen with discretion and humility. Too much salt ruins the taste of food; too strong a light crushes what it wants to illuminate. To be salt and light, one must love deeply, truly love. Today's readings repeat this to us in different but consistent ways. Evangelisation is not a conquest; the New Evangelisation is not a reconquest. The proclamation of the Gospel takes place only in the presence of love. Let us remember Paul's warning to the Corinthians in the second reading: only the poor and the humble can preach the Kingdom. This presence of love can be very demanding, as the first reading shows: the connection between Isaiah and the Gospel is very significant. To be the light of the world means to be at the service of our brothers and sisters; Isaiah is concrete: sharing bread or clothing, breaking down all obstacles that impede human freedom. This Sunday's Psalm also says the same thing: 'the righteous man', that is, the one who generously shares his riches, is a light for others. Through his words and gestures of love, others will discover the source of all love: as Jesus says. Seeing the good that the disciples do, people will give glory to the Father in heaven, that is, they will discover that God's plan for humanity is a plan of peace and justice. On the contrary, how can people believe in God's plan of love if we, his ambassadors, do not multiply the gestures of solidarity and justice that society requires? Salt is always in danger of losing its flavour: it is easy to forget the powerful words of the prophet Isaiah, heard in the first reading; and it is no coincidence that the liturgy offers them to us just before the beginning of Lent, a time when we will reflect on what kind of fasting God prefers. One last observation: today's Gospel (salt and light) immediately follows the proclamation of the Beatitudes in Matthew last Sunday. There is therefore a link between the two passages, which can illuminate each other. Perhaps the best way to be salt and light is to live according to the spirit of the Beatitudes, that is, in opposition to the spirit of the world: to accept humility, gentleness, purity, justice; to be peacemakers in all circumstances; and, above all, to accept poverty and lack, with a single goal: 'so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven'. Additions: According to the Second Vatican Council document on the Church, Lumen Gentium, we are not the true light of the world; Jesus Christ is. By telling his disciples that they are light, Jesus reveals that it is God himself who shines through them, because in Scripture, as in the Council, it is always made clear that all light comes from God.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

Presentation of Jesus at the Temple [2 February 2026]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us! Here is also a brief commentary on the texts of the liturgy for the feast of the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple.

*First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Malachi (3:1-4)

Malachi's text was written in a context of crisis: there was no longer a Davidic king, the people were subjugated by the Persians, and authority was in the hands of the priests. For this reason, the prophet insists on the covenant with the Levites, recalling its divine origin and denouncing its present corruption. The central announcement is the imminent coming of the Lord to his temple, also called the Angel of the Covenant: not a simple messenger, but God himself who comes to re-establish the Covenant. This coming is both desired and feared, because it is a coming of judgement that purifies: it does not destroy man, but eliminates the evil that is in him. Before this coming, God sends a messenger who prepares the way by calling for conversion. The New Testament will recognise John the Baptist as this precursor and Jesus himself as the Angel of the Covenant announced by Malachi. The message remains relevant today: God enters his temple to renew the Covenant, purify worship and lead his people back to fidelity of heart.

*Responsorial Psalm (23/24, 7, 8, 9, 10)

The poetic expression "Lift up your heads, O gates" (v. 9) is a hyperbole that celebrates the majesty of the "King of Glory," that is, God himself, who solemnly enters the Temple of Jerusalem. The gates do not simply open: they are lifted up, as if the building itself had to become larger to accommodate the divine presence. The psalm refers to the solemn dedication of the first Temple by Solomon (around 950 BC), when the Ark of the Covenant was carried in procession to the Holy City, accompanied by singing, music and sacrifices. The Ark, placed in the Holy of Holies under the wings of the cherubim, represented the invisible throne of God in the midst of his people. The cherubim, far from the imagery of little angels, were majestic and symbolic figures, a sign of divine sovereignty. The psalm seems to be structured as a liturgical dialogue between two choirs: one invites the gates to open, the other proclaims the identity of the king of glory as the strong and victorious Lord. The warrior titles remind us that God accompanied Israel in its struggles for freedom and survival: the Ark was the sign of his presence in the people's battles. Even after the disappearance of the Ark, especially after the Babylonian Exile, this psalm continued to be sung in the Temple. It was precisely the absence of the Ark that increased its spiritual value: Israel learned that God's presence is not tied to an object, however sacred and laden with memory. Over the centuries, the psalm took on a messianic meaning: the invocation 'let the King of glory enter' became an expression of the expectation of the Messiah, the definitive king who would defeat evil and inaugurate a renewed humanity. The 'Lord of hosts' came to be understood progressively as the God of the universe, no longer just the God of Israel but the Lord of all humanity. This is why the Christian liturgy sings this psalm on the feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple: it is a profession of faith that recognises in that child the true king of glory, God himself who enters his Temple and comes to meet his people.

*Second Reading from the Letter to the Hebrews (2:14-18)

The Letter to the Hebrews was written in a climate of controversy: Christians of Jewish origin were accused of following a Messiah who could not be a priest according to the Law. The author responds by showing that Jesus fulfils the priesthood in a new and definitive way. Although he does not belong to the tribe of Levi, Jesus is a priest according to the order of Melchizedek, that is, in a more ancient and universal form. He does not reproduce the priesthood of the Old Testament, but brings it to fulfilment, realising its profound purpose. Jesus is a true priest because: he is fully in solidarity with humanity, sharing its weakness, suffering and death; he is in full communion with God, as his resurrection demonstrates; he re-establishes the Covenant, freeing humanity from fear and the slavery of death. Salvation is offered to all, but it concerns in particular the 'children of Abraham', that is, those who live in faith as trust. The Covenant is a free gift from God, but it requires a free response: to accept or reject it remains the responsibility of man.

*From the Gospel according to Saint Luke (2:22-40)

  The account of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple is constructed with great care and highlights two fundamental elements: the Law and the Spirit. In the first verses, Luke repeatedly emphasises the Law of Israel, not as a simple set of prescriptions, but as an expression of the faith and expectation of the people. Jesus' life begins within the faith of Israel: Mary and Joseph devoutly perform the prescribed gestures, placing the child within the history and hope of their people. Luke's first message is clear: the salvation of humanity is born within the Law of Israel. It is in this context that the Word of God became incarnate and that God's plan of love for humanity took shape. Immediately afterwards, Simeon enters the scene, guided by the Holy Spirit, who is also mentioned several times. It is the Spirit who reveals the identity of the child to him: Jesus is the Saviour prepared by God before all peoples. Simeon's words summarise the entire Old Testament as a long preparation for the fulfilment of salvation, which concerns not only Israel but all humanity. Israel is the 'glory' because it has been chosen as the instrument of universal salvation. The event takes place in the Temple of Jerusalem, a decisive place for Luke: here Malachi's prophecy about the Lord's sudden entry into his Temple is fulfilled. Jesus is recognised as the Angel of the Covenant, the Lord himself who comes to visit his people. The images of light and glory used by Simeon fit perfectly into this perspective. The story also recalls the Psalm of the 'king of glory': the long-awaited royal Messiah enters the Temple, not with outward power, but in the poverty of a newborn baby. Nevertheless, the scene is solemn and full of glory, because in that child is present all the expectation of Israel, represented by Simeon and Anna, figures of faithful hope. Simeon's canticle affirms that Jesus is the Messiah and the glory of God: with him, divine glory enters the Sanctuary. This means that Jesus not only brings the glory of God, but is the glory of God, is God himself present among his people. With his coming, the time of the Law reaches its fulfilment: the Angel of the Covenant has entered the Temple to give the Spirit, enlighten the nations and inaugurate the new time of universal salvation.

+Giovanni D'Ercole