The room of Happiness, in the decisive horizon

(Lk 12:54-59)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To internalize and live the message:

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

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

Faith and the sign of the times

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God recovers us by educating us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thus we avoid wasting life in support of dead branches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pope John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (120/121) 

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

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

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

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

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

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

XXVIII Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [12 October 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us! Reflecting on the gratitude that is easier to see in those who are far away is an invitation to review our personal relationship with God.

First Reading from the Second Book of Kings (5:14-17)

This Sunday's reading begins at the moment when General Naaman, apparently as docile as a lamb, immerses himself in the waters of the Jordan, on the orders of the prophet Elisha; but we are missing the beginning of the story: let me tell it to you. Naaman is a Syrian general highly esteemed by the king of Aram (present-day Damascus). Obviously, for the people of Israel, he is a foreigner and at times even an enemy, and above all, being a pagan, he does not belong to the chosen people. Even more serious: he is a leper, which means that soon everyone will avoid him, and for him it is a real curse. Fortunately for him, his wife has an Israelite slave girl who tells her mistress, 'There is a great prophet in Samaria who could surely heal Naaman'. The mistress tells her husband Naaman, who tells the king of Aram: the prophet of Samaria can heal me. And since Naaman is in great favour, the king writes a letter of introduction to the king of Samaria recommending Naaman, who is afflicted with leprosy, to go to the prophet Elisha. The king of Israel does not know that the prophet Elisha can heal him; on the contrary, he is in a panic because he thinks that the king of Syria is looking for a pretext to wage war on him. Elisha hears about this and asks Naaman to come. Naaman arrives with his entire entourage and luggage full of gifts for the healer. In reality, only a servant opens the door slightly and simply tells him that his master orders him to immerse himself seven times in the Jordan to be purified.  Naaman finds this offensive and wonders what is the point of immersing himself in the Jordan when there are rivers in Syria that are much more beautiful than the Jordan. Enraged, he sets off again for Damascus, but fortunately his servants say to him: 'Did you expect the prophet to ask you to do extraordinary things to heal you, and you would have done them? Now he is asking you to do something ordinary, so why can't you do it? Naaman allows himself to be persuaded, and this is where today's reading begins. Naaman obeys a simple order by immersing himself seven times in the Jordan and is healed. It seems simple to us, but for a great general of a foreign army, this obedience is not simple at all! The rest of the text demonstrates this. Naaman is healed and returns to Elisha to tell him two things. The first: 'Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel', and he adds that when he returns to his country, he will offer sacrifices to him. The author of this passage takes the opportunity to say to the Jews: you have had the protection of the one God for centuries, and now you see that God is also for foreigners, while you continue to be tempted by idolatry. This foreigner, on the other hand, quickly understood where his healing came from. Naaman also tells Elisha that he wants to give him a gift to thank him, but the prophet refuses emphatically: God's gifts cannot be bought. Finally, why does Naaman want to take some soil from Israel with him? He explains that he does not want to offer burnt offerings and sacrifices to other gods, but only to the God of Israel. This shows that, at the time of the prophet Elisha, all the peoples neighbouring Israel believed that the gods reigned over specific territories and, in order to offer sacrifices to the God of Israel, Naaman believed he had to take with him some soil from the land over which this God reigned.

Responsorial Psalm (97/98, 1-4)

In the first reading, Naaman, a Syrian general and therefore a pagan, is healed by the prophet Elisha and, thanks to this, discovers the God of Israel. Naaman is therefore perfectly suited to sing this psalm, which speaks of God's love both for the pagans, whom the Bible calls the nations (or peoples), and for Israel. 'The Lord has made known his salvation, he has revealed his justice in the sight of the nations' (v. 2) and immediately afterwards (v. 3): 'He has remembered his love, his faithfulness to the house of Israel', which is the consecrated expression to remember the election of Israel, the completely privileged relationship that binds this small people to the God of the universe. The simple words "his faithfulness" and "his love" are a reference to the Covenant: it is through these words that, in the desert, God made himself known to the people he chose. The phrase "God of love and faithfulness" indicates that Israel is the chosen people, but the previous phrase reminds us that if Israel has been chosen, it is not to enjoy the privilege selfishly, not to consider itself the only child, but to behave as an older brother, and its role is to proclaim God's love for all people, so as to gradually integrate all humanity into the Covenant. In this psalm, this certainty even marks the composition of the text; if you look more closely, you will notice the inclusion of verses 2 and 3. I would remind you that inclusion is a literary device often found in the Bible. It is a bit like a box in a newspaper or magazine; obviously, the purpose is to highlight the text written inside the box. In the Bible, it works the same way: the central text is highlighted, framed by two identical phrases, one before and one after. Here, the central phrase speaks of Israel, the chosen people, and is framed by two phrases that speak of the nations: the first phrase, 'The Lord has made known his salvation, he has revealed his righteousness in the sight of the nations', and the second concerns Israel: "He has remembered his love, his faithfulness to the house of Israel" and the third: "All the ends of the earth have seen the victory of our God". Here the term "the nations" does not appear but is replaced by the expression "all the ends of the earth". This means that the election of Israel is central, but we must not forget that it must radiate to all humanity. A second emphasis of this psalm is the very marked proclamation of God's kingship. For example, in the Temple of Jerusalem they sing: "Acclaim the Lord, all the earth, acclaim your king." This psalm is a cry of victory, the cry that rises on the battlefield after triumph, the teru'ah in honour of the victor. The victory of God, referred to here, is twofold: first, it is the victory of liberation from Egypt, and second, it is the victory expected at the end of time, God's definitive victory over all the forces of evil. Even then, God was acclaimed as the new king was once acclaimed on the day of his coronation, with cries of victory to the sound of trumpets, horns and the applause of the crowd. But while with the kings of the earth there was always disappointment, this time we know that we will not be disappointed; that is why this time the teru'ah must be particularly vibrant! Christians acclaim God with even greater force, because they have seen the king of the world with their own eyes: since the Incarnation of the Son, they know and affirm, against all apparent evidence to the contrary, that the Kingdom of God, that is, of love, has already begun.

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to Timothy (2:8-13)

The hymn "Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead; he is our salvation, our eternal glory" is found in its original context in the Second Letter to Timothy, where Paul writes: "Remember Jesus Christ, descendant of David". In the Jewish milieu, it was essential to affirm that Jesus was truly of the lineage of David in order to be recognised as the Messiah. Paul adds: 'He was raised from the dead: this is my Gospel'. The question is radical: either Jesus rose from the dead, or he did not. Paul, initially convinced that it was an invention, had tried to prevent the spread of this proclamation. But after his experience on the road to Damascus, he saw the Risen One and became his witness. Jesus is the conqueror of death and evil, and with him a new world is born, in which believers must participate with their whole lives. For this reason, Paul consecrates himself to proclaiming the Gospel and invites Timothy to do the same, preparing him for opposition and encouraging him to fight the good fight with courage, gentleness and trust in the Spirit he has received. The resurrection is the heart of the Christian faith. While for many Jews the resurrection of the flesh was credible, for the Greeks it was difficult to accept, as shown by the failure of Paul's preaching in Athens. Precisely because of his proclamation of the resurrection, Paul was imprisoned several times: "Christ has been raised from the dead; this is my Gospel. For his sake I suffer, even to the point of being chained like a criminal." Timothy, too, Paul warns, will have to suffer for the Gospel. Paul's chains do not stop the truth: 'I am in chains, but the Word of God is not in chains'. Jesus himself had said that if they remain silent, the stones will cry out, because nothing can stop the truth. Paul adds that he endures everything for the elect, so that they too may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. Here the opening hymn echoes and probably follows an ancient baptismal hymn introduced with the formula: "Here is a word worthy of faith: If we died with him, we will live with him; if we persevere, we will reign with him." It is the mystery of Baptism, already explained in Romans 6: with it we are immersed in the death and resurrection of Christ, united with him in an inseparable way. Passion, death and resurrection constitute a single event that inaugurated a new era for humanity. The last sentences highlight the tension between human freedom and God's faithfulness because if we deny him, he too will deny us: God respects our conscious rejection. If we lack faith, he remains faithful, because he cannot deny himself, since God always remains faithful even in the face of our frailty.

From the Gospel according to Luke (17:11-19)

Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, where his passion, death and resurrection await him. Luke emphasises the itinerary because what he narrates is linked to the mystery of salvation. During the journey, he meets ten lepers who, forced to remain at a distance according to the Law, cry out to him, calling him 'Master': this is a sign both of their weakness and of the trust they place in him. Unlike another episode (Lk 5:12), this time Jesus does not touch them, but only orders them to go and present themselves to the priests, a necessary step for official recognition of their healing. The order is already a promise of salvation. The story recalls the episode of Naaman and the prophet Elisha (2 Kings 5) in the first reading because as the ten set out on their journey, their leprosy disappears: their trust saves them. The disease had united them, but the healing reveals the difference in their hearts: nine Jews go to the priests, only one, a Samaritan, considered a heretic, returns. He recognises that life and healing come from God, glorifies God aloud, prostrates himself at Jesus' feet and gives him thanks: an attitude reserved for God. Thus he recognises the Messiah and understands that the true place to give glory to God is no longer the Temple in Jerusalem, but Jesus himself. His return is conversion, and Jesus proclaims it: "Get up and go; your faith has saved you." Jesus asks the other nine to account for themselves: they met the Messiah but did not recognise him, choosing to run immediately to the Temple to fulfil the Law without stopping to give thanks. The Gospel thus emphasises a recurring theme: salvation is for everyone, but often it is not those closest to God who welcome it: "He came among his own, and his own did not recognise him." Already the Old Testament affirmed the universality of salvation (cf. Ps 97/98). The first reading recalls the conversion of Naaman, a foreigner, and Jesus had rebuked Nazareth, citing the example of the Syrian who was healed while many lepers in Israel were not (Lk 4:27), arousing the anger of the synagogue. In Acts, Luke will again show the contrast between the rejection of part of Israel and the acceptance of the pagans. This question was alive in the early Christian communities: did one have to be Jewish to receive baptism, or could pagans also be accepted? The story of the converted Samaritan recalls three truths: the salvation brought by Christ through his passion, death and resurrection is for everyone; thanksgiving is often best performed by foreigners or heretics; the poor are the most open to encountering God. In conclusion, on the road to Jerusalem, that is, to salvation, Jesus leads all men who are willing to convert, whatever their origin or religion.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [5 October 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. Paul's recommendations to Timothy are also very useful for us. And the word of the Gospel opens our hearts to humble trust in the fulfilment of our mission.

*First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Habakkuk (1:2-3; 2:2-4) 

The prophet Habakkuk is not very popular today, but he certainly was at the time of the New Testament, since he is quoted several times. For example, the Virgin Mary's phrase in the Magnificat: "I rejoice in the Lord, I exult in God my saviour" was already found, centuries earlier, in the book of Habakkuk (Hab 3:18); it is also from him that St Paul drew and quoted several times a phrase that is part of our reading today: "The righteous shall live by his faith" (Rom 1:17; Gal 3:11). This little book is really a booklet, only three chapters, each with about twenty verses, but what a wealth of feelings! From lamentation to violence, from invocation for help to pure exultation. His cries of anguish bring to mind Job: "How long, O Lord, shall I cry for help, and you will not hear? I will cry out to you, 'Violence!' and you will not save?" (Hab 1:2). Yet hope never abandons him: when St Peter invites his readers to be patient, he repeats an expression inspired by Habakkuk: "The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise..." (2 Pt 3:9). The first verses resemble the book of Job: "How long, Lord, shall I cry for help, and you will not hear? I will cry out to you, 'Violence!' and you will not save?" It is a plea in the face of rampant violence, but above all it is a cry of extreme anguish, that of God's silence. Here, as in the book of Job and in many psalms, the Bible dares to say things in which man seems to call God to account: 'How long, O Lord, shall I cry for help, and thou wilt not hear? I will cry out to you, 'Violence!' and you will not save?" The violence Habakkuk speaks of is that of Babylon, the new emerging power in the Middle East. Since the beginning of time, the same atrocities of war have been repeated, as we can clearly see even today. Yet Habakkuk does not lose his faith. In another verse, he states: 'I will stand at my watch, I will station myself on the ramparts, and I will keep watch to see what the Lord will say to me' (Hab 2:1). There are at least two things in this expression: first of all, it is the watchman's expectation, certain that dawn will come; it is the same theme as in Psalm 129/130: 'My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the dawn." The second is the awareness that his questioning is somewhat bold: the prophet has asked God for an explanation and expects to be rebuked. Instead, God's response does not bring any condemnation; he only invites him to patience and trust: the days of the enemy's victory will not last forever (cf. Hab 2:2-3). In today's text, Habakkuk does not describe the content of the vision, which will be the subject of the following chapter, but we can already guess that it concerns the liberation of the oppressed. However, one fact remains: God has not really answered the question; he has not said why he sometimes seems deaf to our prayers. He has only reaffirmed that he never abandons us. Habakkuk's message seems to be this: in trials, even the most terrible ones, the only possible path for the believer is to keep faith in God: to accept not understanding, but not to accuse God. Any other position is destructive because distrust of God brings only pain. This is probably the meaning of the final formula: 'The righteous shall live by his faith' (Hab 2:4), or, in other words, it is trust in God that keeps us alive, otherwise suspicion and rebellion wear us down. On the contrary, it is legitimate to cry out in pain: if the Bible has us read cries of anguish and even reproaches directed at God in the book of Job and in the Psalms, it is because believers have the right to cry out in suffering, in impatience in the face of the violence that crushes them. Let us return to the final sentence: 'Behold, the unrighteous man shall perish, but the righteous shall live by his faith' (Habakkuk 2:4). The proud one is Babylon, which boasts of its conquests and thinks it can build lasting prosperity on them; the righteous one, on the other hand, knows that only God gives life. The most famous example in the history of Israel is Abraham: when he left his land and his family to respond to God's call, he did not know where he would be led. When, still obeying God, he prepared to offer his only son, he did not understand, but he continued to trust the One who had given him his son. And once again, his faith gave life to him and his son (Gen 22). Scripture says of him: 'Abraham believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness' (Gen 15:6).

*Responsorial Psalm (94/95:1-2, 6-7ab, 7d-8a, 9)

We are in the temple in Jerusalem, pilgrims are crowding the steps of the temple for a great celebration: "Come, let us sing to the Lord, let us acclaim the rock of our salvation". The rock of our salvation: this expression alone is a profession of faith. Israel has chosen to rely on God and God alone, as in the early days of the Covenant. The Bible often compares the history of the people of Israel to an engagement with their God. After the initial enthusiasm and promises, doubts and infidelities arose. God, however, always remained faithful, and after every storm and every infidelity, Israel always returned to Him, like a repentant bride grateful for the ever-renewed Covenant: Let us go to Him with thanksgiving. The Hebrew word here is tôdah: it indicates a specific moment in the worship of the Covenant, the sacrifice of tôdah, which expresses gratitude, thanksgiving, praise, repentance, and the desire to love... In modern Hebrew, thanks is still said tôdah. An English term that would sum up this psalm well is gratitude: recognising God, knowing who He is, knowing who we are, and then gratitude overwhelms us.First and foremost, recognising God: our Creator but, even more so, our liberator. It seems simple to trust in this God who guides and protects us, this God who freed us from slavery in Egypt. It is simple, as long as there are no problems. But when trials come, doubts arise. Yet it is precisely in trials that our trust is tested, and this is where the question of trust arises. In the Bible, listening means trusting; listening to his voice is also the opposite of hardening one's heart. In fact, the psalm continues: 'Today, if you hear his voice! Do not harden your hearts as at Meribah, as on the day of Massah in the desert, where your fathers tempted me, testing me even though they had seen my works'. Massa and Meriba mean, precisely, temptation and provocation. The episode of Massa and Meriba has remained famous in the memory of Israel as a symbol of the temptation to suspect God as soon as the first difficulty arises. The people began to regret slavery because their newly won freedom seemed very uncomfortable. In Egypt they were slaves, of course, but at least they survived... in the desert, the people were thirsty and a revolt broke out. The text says that the people murmured, but the term is probably stronger than in our English today, because Moses exclaims to God: "A little more and they will stone me!" (Ex 17:4). God intervenes, and water gushes from the rock (here the image returns: God, my rock). How much better it would have been to trust! In suffering, as we saw in Habakkuk in the first reading, we can cry out, beg, call on God, but never doubt Him. Massa and Meriba remain the names of that suspicion that can always resurface in our hearts.

*Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul to Timothy (1:6-8, 13-14)

When Paul writes his second letter to Timothy, he is in prison in Rome, shortly before his execution; he himself says that he is chained like a criminal and asks Timothy not to be ashamed of him, as others have been. He knows very well that he does not have much time left and feels very alone. This second letter to Timothy is therefore a kind of testament: Timothy will have to take his place and Paul gives him recommendations in this regard. It should be noted that, for reasons of style, vocabulary and even content, it is generally thought that the letters to Timothy were not written by Paul, but by one of his disciples after his death. It is not possible to settle this difficult question and, in order to be faithful to the teaching of these letters, we must not get lost in endless discussions. For the sake of convenience, we will therefore continue to refer to Paul and Timothy. After all, whether it is Paul and Timothy or their future disciples is of little importance to us now: what matters is the content of these letters, which contain Paul's recommendations to a young Christian leader, and therefore concern us closely. The first recommendation is perhaps the most important: "Revive the free gift of God"; this gift of God, if we read the rest of the text, is clearly the Holy Spirit. And, visibly, Timothy will really need it! Paul, chained for the Gospel, knows this all too well. Timothy received this gift of the Spirit through the laying on of hands: the words 'confirmation' and 'ordination' did not yet exist, but we know that, from the beginning of the Church, the gesture of laying on of hands signified the gift of the Spirit. 'Stir up the gift of God within you' means that God's gifts can therefore lie dormant within us. Elsewhere Paul says: "Do not quench the Spirit" (cf. 1 Thess 5:19). Here too, we can hear a message that encourages us to carry the fire of the Spirit within us, and even if it seems that we have covered it with ashes, it is still within us, burning under the ashes, since nothing can extinguish it. This Spirit is not a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, love and self-control. Here we find a theme dear to Paul: that of the transmission of faith. Paul passed on this precious treasure to Timothy, who in turn must pass it on, and so on: Hold fast to the pattern of sound words which you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. Guard the good deposit with the help of the Holy Spirit who dwells in us. Elsewhere, in his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul wrote: 'I have passed on to you what I myself have received' (cf. 15:3-4). This brings to mind a relay race, in which the runners pass on a baton that remains the same from the beginning to the end of the race, while the deposit of faith is inevitably expressed in different terms over the centuries. Faith, in fact, is not a neatly packaged, untouchable object. The problem, however, is knowing whether the transmission is truly faithful. Many controversies over the centuries have arisen from differences among Christians about the content of the deposit of faith. But in reality, we are not the ultimate guarantors of this fidelity: it is the Holy Spirit who is the supreme guardian of the deposit of faith. In order to faithfully pass on the torch to subsequent generations, we need only to rekindle in ourselves the gift of God, the fire of the Spirit that nothing can extinguish.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (17:5-10)

 Here we find several verses that follow one another and are not similar. It almost seems as if there are two parts to this text: in the first, a dialogue between Jesus and his apostles about faith, with Jesus' somewhat terrible formula: 'If you had faith as small as a mustard seed, you would say to this tree, "Be uprooted and planted in the sea," and it would obey you'. In the second part, there is a kind of parable about the servant, which also ends with a very strong statement by Jesus: 'When you have done all that you were commanded, say, "We are unworthy servants. We have done what we ought to have done." Jesus is certainly not trying to discourage us; on the other hand, if these verses are so close together, without any interruption, it means that there is a connection between them. Here we have a dialogue between Christ and his apostles, that is, his envoys, which means that this phrase of Jesus concerns the activity of evangelisation. The envoys say to the one who sends them: Increase our faith! This is a prayer that is also very often ours when we become aware of our weakness, our powerlessness, and it seems to us that if we were richer in faith we would be more effective. But how can we reconcile this with Paul's words: "If I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing" (1 Cor 13:2)? In his language, Jesus replies that it is not a question of measuring our faith: that is not the problem. Rather, it is a question of relying on God's power, because it is He who acts, not our faith, however small or great it may be. Jesus deliberately emphasises the paradox: the mustard seed was considered the smallest of all seeds, and the large tree he speaks of (in Greek, sycamore) was considered impossible to uproot. Jesus' statement therefore means: You don't need to have a lot of faith: a tiny mustard seed is enough to do seemingly impossible things. It could then be translated as follows: When you act in the name of the Gospel, remember that nothing is impossible for God. Then there is the expression 'useless servants' archreioi (17:10), which we can translate as follows: you are simply servants who are not even indispensable, called to serve in a task that is beyond you. And - I would say - fortunately so, because who would feel strong enough to bear the responsibility of the Kingdom of God? These words of Jesus, therefore, are not harsh or discouraging, but on the contrary, they are meant to encourage us: if we are only subordinates, the responsibility does not fall on us, but that does not make us useless: if the servant were truly useless, no master would keep him. If God takes us as servants, it is because he wants to need us. If Jesus chose the apostles and said that 'the harvest is plentiful but the labourers are few' (Mt 9:37-38), and if his words continue to resonate two thousand years later, it is because he wants our collaboration. We are what we are, and God associates us with his work of salvation. Jesus says: "When you have done all that you were commanded, say, 'We are unworthy servants. We have done what we ought to have done'" (17:10). In doing so, he suggests two attitudes: first, he invites us once again to abandon the logic of merits and rewards, but above all, he invites us to remain serene in the exercise of our mission. He is the master of the harvest, not us. Then we can better understand the connection between the two parts of this text: the message is the same: a little faith, however small, is enough for God to perform miracles. On condition, however, that we faithfully place ourselves at his service.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole