Renewal within the Church, an antidote to one-sidedness

(Mt 5:1–12)

 

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is the new Moses who ascends ‘the Mount’. But the young Lawgiver does not proclaim rules engraved on stone tablets, but rather his own experience of the Father… ‘seeing the crowds’ (v. 1).

At the crossroads between divine nature and the fullness of humanity, the new Rabbi sketches a sort of self-portrait: as the Son; in favour of his brothers and sisters. Gathered together in a spirit of family.

A bud of a welcoming world – which Matthew seeks to encourage in his small churches. Where no one is above and no one is always below; nor is there one person at the front and another at the back.

Only humanising upheavals [such as the reversal of roles and conditions] that strengthen the fabric of harmony.

Therefore, in the House belonging to all, there must be a rotation and reversal of figures, situations and criteria of eminence, and thus of chains of command – signs of the Kingdom to Come. 

A reversal capable of sharpening sensitivity to Communion [at that time, there was lively friction between Judaising experts, the top of the class, and the latest arrivals on the threshold of the brotherhoods of faith].

 

At that time, the mindset of precedence and supremacy was so deeply rooted that all religions recognised hierarchies.

Those who considered themselves entitled to precedence [within the community!] always raised a question of apparent self-evidence:

Is it not part of the natural order of things that in human society there should be firsts and last, the learned and the ignorant, rulers and subjects?

After all, the legal principle that once governed, for example, the entire law of private property in the Latin world is also the motto inscribed at the head of a well-known official Catholic daily newspaper: Unicuique Suum.

Even Leo XIII, the Pope of the social encyclicals, recognised that ‘in human society it is in accordance with the order established by God that there should be princes and subjects, masters and labourers, rich and poor, the learned and the uneducated, nobles and commoners; the duty of charity incumbent upon the rich and the property-owning classes is to provide for the poor and the needy’.

This was the mindset of a sin of mere omission: it is enough, they thought, to practise charity afterwards.

The Lord’s position is very, very different: the powerful are by no means blessed by God – just as the wealthy patriarchs of the First Testament were also supposed to be.

Their alien world – the palaces, and even their exquisite clothing – is a perfect metaphor for the inner emptiness and transience in which they revel.

Their gluttony is a sign of an inner abyss to be filled – a sort of nervous hunger, accompanied by a sense of vertigo.

And so it goes, from alienation to alienation.

On ‘the Mount’, by contrast, the discreet work of the Spirit is proclaimed, signifying the character of a modest holiness, animated by the Love that is a gift, in itself divinising and humanising [a quality manifested in the so-called ‘poor in Spirit’].

A holiness which transcends the ancient fiction of the rulers, who piled one upon the other, reciting the same script.

Until now, in fact, the masses had been left high and dry: whoever the ruler might be who seized power, the humble flock remained subjugated, sad and stifled; unworthy even to present themselves before the Lord.

All condemned and inadequate.

Even the community of disciples is heartbroken, for it does not accept the inequalities of a pyramid-shaped society, which tends to level out and annihilate the Gifts of God scattered throughout all humanity – regardless of social class.

The authentic disciple is, in fact, moved to tears: these express the dimension of inner energy that purifies external ideas; it makes us true from within, essential on the outside.

Affliction leads us back into ourselves; it restores contact with our roots and the primordial virtues, which regenerate us.

A sadness which, in the context of finitude and conscious limitation, makes us empathetic, splendidly human.

Intimately dissatisfied: opponents of injustice. For every person who is not placed in a position to express their abilities is an insult to the Plan of Salvation.

This is not a matter of charity or philanthropy: it is a deliberate, social choice (v.5).

For within every marginalised person lies, in fact, an Artist who is denied the chance to express themselves, who is neither discovered nor valued for their own sake or for the sake of others; rather, they are regarded as an outsider or a deviant.

Annalena Tonelli spoke, in fact, of the least of these, whose suffering she wished to alleviate, as ‘murdered Mozarts’: she wished to reach out to them and involve them, so that together they might enrich one another. She possessed a mother’s compassion – and her heart was with her abandoned brothers and sisters in their misery.

 

The same severity prevailed in religions, whose leaders instilled in the people a strong and vulgar nationalist horde mentality, and offered the followers mere consolation.

In the Kingdom of Jesus, however, there must be no ranks – which is why the plans of the ambitious and those who claim to be infallible do not align with His.

The Spirit of Christ identifies spontaneously not with the usual aggressive energy of wild beasts, of those who prevail because they are more cunning and stronger – but with the person who makes themselves available.

We are women and men characterised by hearts of flesh – not of beasts (Dan 7).

 

The Beatitudes – the new Decalogue of ‘the Mount’ – allude precisely to a sort of divine condition, incarnate and transmissible to anyone, as peaceful and creative as love, and therefore waiting to be discovered.

 

Blessed is the course and the outcome of the true and full development of the divine plan for humanity.

In the Gospels, this character is not hindered by those who frequent places of ill repute, but paradoxically by the regulars of sacred precincts.

According to Jesus, purity of heart is not linked to external legal purity – as was believed in all forms of devotion – but rather to a purified gaze and the absence of duplicity. 

The growth and humanisation of the people are therefore not hindered by sinners, but precisely by those whose ministry is to make the Face of God known to all!

In short, the burden of preconceptions with which they approach reality and relationships prevents the established and entrenched authorities from recognising the Lord’s calls in the events of life and in Nature itself.

The same applies to the peacemakers.

They work towards the complete restoration of Life and Brotherhood, of naturalness itself and of equitable coexistence.

All this is done in a spirit of selflessness that transcends selfishness by recognising the ‘poor We’ that extends throughout the world.

 

Jesus’ self-portrait, as revealed in the Beatitudes of Matthew, embodies the image of a young boy – who, at that time, counted for nothing.

The Lord recognises himself precisely in a household servant; a shop assistant, who nevertheless possesses within himself a mysterious and delightful divine spark.

It is the only identification that Jesus loves and wishes to impart to us: that of the one who cannot afford not to recognise the needs of others.

A dimension of sacredness without distinctive halos: not cynical, but one we can share. Because it is linked to perception and instinctive reciprocity, to spontaneous friendship towards women and men – experienced in our likeness to the Father.

Obviously: this is not a proposal compromised by the usual inexorable rigmarole [doctrine and discipline] that stifles eccentricities; on the contrary, it is thoroughly likeable and endearing, inclusive.

 

The Blessed One’s condition is therefore what makes us Unique – not the sanctity regulated by procedures, which is always bent on abhorring and exorcising the danger of the unusual.

Precisely for this reason – on the contrary – an obsession with precedents has characterised the life of the Church for centuries; just as has the feudal and monarchical idol of stability for life.

The Master does not deny our right to do something great… but he does not equate it with possession, power or appearances.

On a path towards Beatitude and Divinisation, the Master does not stir up the impulses to hold on to, climb up or dominate: these do not bring Happiness.

Rather, he relies on our spontaneous freedom to give, to come down and to serve – a freedom entrusted first and foremost to the top of the class. Those who, throughout history, have become accustomed to lording it over others through moralising and cunning.

 

God does not deny the legitimate impulses of the self to be recognised. We do not participate in life as though we were destined for failure, but rather as those who have been promoted – who do not suppress their own needs.

But not in order to win ‘the race’. In this way, the Lord leads us to reflect on authentic fulfilment.

It is not an external achievement, but an intimate one, made our own. It is thus capable of shaping our deepest inclinations, in all their richness and over the course of a journey.

Aristotle asserted that – beyond artificial circular arguments or superficial proclamations – one truly loves only oneself. This is no trivial question.

Whether one accepts this or not, the growth, development and flourishing of our qualities take place within a wise Path.

A path that may even be interrupted, yet knows how to allow itself the right pace – including to encounter new states of being.

Genuine and mature love expands the boundaries of the ego that craves supremacy, visibility and self-interest. It integrates it with primordial, dormant energies to which we have not given space – understanding the ‘You’ within the ‘I’.

A journey and a force that ultimately expands our capacities and our lives. Otherwise, in every circumstance and, sadly, at any age, we shall remain trapped in the childish game of those who jostle on the steps to prevail.

As Pope Francis said regarding mafia-like phenomena: ‘We need men and women of Love, not of honour!’

The Tao Te Ching (XL) states: ‘Weakness is what the Tao employs.’ And Master Wang Pi comments: ‘The high has the low as its base; the noble has the base as its foundation.’

 

We feel fleeting and often disappointed, yet we want to be happy, not just here and there: we are uncertain, yet we seek full and lasting joy. It is obvious that we can find it only in a disconcerting proposition.

In ancient times, it was thought that one could encounter God in the intoxicating emotions generated by experiences of success, typical of successful men. But the persecuted and crucified Son challenges this outward appearance.

Other decisive encounters were considered to be those on the summits of evocative heights, or the devout and frenzied act of throwing oneself right into the sacred precincts that Jesus intended to dismantle, forcing the people to leave them [John 10:1–16, Greek text].

Luther interprets the Son of God on the Mount as ‘Mosissimus Moses’. However, Matthew speaks of ‘the Mount’ – not a platform – as the symbol and setting of an eternal Call, intended not only for members of the most well-equipped institutes of perfection who are able to ascend.

In concrete terms, these are the moments when we ourselves, incorporated into the human wholeness of Christ, feel the fullness of being: like the soul’s passage into her sacred centre, and a special harmony of ideas, words and actions between our nature and the divine.

‘The Mountain’ is the (theological) place where one casts aside the cunning, conformist thoughts, knowledge and calculations of the worldly plain. Where the premises of fleeting, superficial happiness [that which lasts a minute or an hour] are set aside.

Therefore, ‘Blessed are the poor “in Spirit” – that is, “by the Spirit”’ – says Jesus [v.3a, Greek text].

In the Christian community, it is important (precisely) to grow together.

The Lord takes pleasure in those who embrace this orientation, where his feelings become deeply our own – and what matters is not the minutiae, but the direction of our journey.

The specific details of a life of love are left to personal creativity and the diversity of people; sensibilities, cultures and situations. 

What counts is the fundamental choice for the good and for communion, understood not as uniformity – but as the harmonious coexistence of differences.

This is not to hysterically despise wealth: it is a matter of sharing it, so that it may multiply, rather than hoarding it for oneself. Otherwise, everything becomes an insurmountable obstacle to life, and the preserve of the quickest.

Those who have freely divested themselves of the superfluous in order to share it do so ‘for the Spirit’, that is, for Love: by free choice, with passion and without distinction between those within their circle and those outside it.

Thus, the enriched person becomes a lord.

In turn, the wretched may not be poor ‘in Spirit’ if they are full of themselves, boastful, arrogant, and indifferent to others; if they lack an open heart, are averse to dialogue, and intent on improving their own condition through compromise and deceit – merely desiring to take the place of the rich only to then imitate their deceitful, subjugating and opportunistic ways.

 

The voluntary renunciation of the selfish and petty use of one’s material and intellectual resources sets us apart as children of God.

Fellow human beings; already here and now capable of experiencing the blessed life of Heaven: being with and for others, whilst remaining true to ourselves.

Indeed, the promise accompanying the first Beatitude (v.3a) does not guarantee entry into Paradise in the afterlife, in some distant future.

The exchange of gifts guarantees the experience of divine life itself, right here on earth.

In pagan religions, the state of Blessed Life was a jealously guarded and exclusive privilege of the deities, who reluctantly shared it; and, reassuringly, only after death. Yet only halfway.

In Christ and through the Way, despite our partial failures, or our possible limited abilities and natural frailties – indeed, precisely because of them – we discover a Father who is a friend of full, abundant Joy: immediate, energetic, boundless happiness. Which arises even from states of weakness.

The Father is not the God of religions that cloud and stifle life: he does not bless the greed of the few, which leaves the multitudes in need.

Did the last of the commandments require us to feel content and not covet what belongs to others?

The first of the Beatitudes proposes that we should desire that others too may have the same things and opportunities in life as we do.

The dynamics of falling in love, in all its forms, presuppose a vibrant Fullness that flows out in every direction – recognising the opposites within us and the legitimate desire for expressive fulfilment in our brothers and sisters.

 

 

To internalise and live out the message:

 

How do you overcome doubt by turning inwards? What do you proclaim through your life? Does it go beyond direct experience? Do you know of realities that manifest the Risen One? How do you point out paths brimming with hope? Or are you selective and remain silent?

 

 

 

They have passed on the Light

 

All the Saints, between religious sentiment and Faith

 

By embodying the spirit of the Beatitudes, we ask ourselves what the difference is between a common ‘religious sentiment’ and ‘living by Faith’.

In ancient devotions, the Saint is the composed, perfect and detached [yet predictable] man; and the opposite of a Saint is a ‘sinner’.

In the proposal for a life lived fully in the Lord, the ‘saint’ is a person of communicative understanding who lives for fellowship, creating it where it does not exist.

On the journey of the children of God, the saint is indeed the excellent person, but in the fullest sense of the word – complete and dynamic, multifaceted; even eccentric. Not in a one-sided, moralistic or sentimental sense.

In Latin, *perficere* means to bring to completion, to go all the way.

In this complete and integral sense, ‘perfect’ becomes an authentic, embodied value: a possible attribute of every person who is aware of their own vulnerability and does not despise it.

Women and men of faith cherish every opportunity or emotion that lays bare their state of nakedness [not guilt] in order to open up new paths and renew themselves.

From the perspective of life in the Spirit, the holy one [in Hebrew Qadosh, a divine attribute] is indeed the ‘detached’ person, but not in a partial or physical sense, rather in an ideal one.

It is not the person who, at a certain point in life, distances themselves from the human family to embark on a path of purification that would elevate them. Deluding themselves into thinking they are improving.

As the encyclical Fratelli Tutti emphasises: ‘A human being [...] does not fulfil themselves, does not develop, cannot find their own fulfilment [... and] does not come to recognise their own truth in depth unless through encounter with others’ (no. 87).

The authentic witness is not driven by contempt for existential chaos – nor is he eager to outsource the difficulties of managing his own freedom by handing it over to an alienating agency, with a detached mindset (which resolves the drama of personal choices).

In Christ, the human being is ‘set apart’ from the common mindset, insofar as they are true to themselves, to their own unquenchable Fire – to their passions, to their own irreplaceable uniqueness and Vocation.

And at the same time, ‘set apart’ from external competitive criteria: of possession, of power, of appearance. Self-destructive forces.

In their place, he concretely substitutes the brotherhood of giving, of serving and of humbling oneself [from the ‘persona’]. These are fruitful energies.

All for global communion, and in truth also with one’s own inner character – avoiding proselytising and seeking the limelight.

The true believer knows his redeemed limits; he sees the possibilities within imperfection... Thus, he replaces the assumptions of keeping things to oneself, of rising above others and dominating them, with a fundamental humanising triad: giving, the freedom to ‘come down’, and collaboration.

This is authentic Detachment, which does not shy away from one’s own or others’ inclinations, nor does it despise the complex nature of the human condition.

In this way, the ‘saint’ experiences the essential Beatitude of the persecuted (Mt 5:11–12; Lk 6:22–23) because they have the freedom to ‘lower themselves’ in order to be in harmony with their own essence, co-existing in their originality.

In terms of Faith, the Saint is therefore no longer physically ‘separated’, but rather ‘United’ with Christ – and cast out like Him, amongst the weak brothers and sisters.

In short, the Divine Plan is to form a Family of the small and the frail, not to carve out a group of ‘strong’ friends who are ‘better’ than others.

Only this vision of the Focolare spurs us on to set out.

Consequently, the opposite of a saint is not a ‘sinner’, but rather someone unfulfilled or incomplete.

 

Let us consider the reason for this once more (in terms of vocation and personal journeys).

Jesus was a friend of tax collectors and public sinners not because they were better than the ‘good’, but because, in matters of religion, the ‘righteous’ often lack spontaneity; making themselves impervious, closed off, and resistant to the action of the Spirit.

Surprisingly, the Lord himself repeatedly found that it was precisely those who were devoutly lacking who were inclined to question, take notice, rethink, and break away from habit – in order to forge new paths, even if proceeding by trial and error.

Unable to take refuge behind the cloak of social pretence, once they had become aware of their own situation (and over time) – compared with those who considered themselves ‘successful’ and friends of God – these ‘strangers’ became more truly human than the ‘flawless’ ones, and more willing to love.

 

Self-examination is fundamental from a biblical perspective.

At every turn, Scripture offers us a spirituality of the Exodus: a path of liberation from shackles, to be travelled on foot, step by step. It is a spirituality that values paths of seeking, exploration and self-discovery, as well as the newness of a God who does not repeat but creates.

The call that the Word addresses to us is to set out on a journey; this is the crux of the matter. And we have always been ‘those of the Way’ who do not pass by, nor turn our gaze away [cf. Lk 10:31–33; FT, 56ff].

 

In the classical pagan worldview, women and men are essentially ‘nature’; therefore, their existence in the world is conditioned [I recall that my professor of theological anthropology, Ignazio Sanna, even described it as ‘de-centred’], indeed determined by their birth (fortunate or otherwise).

According to the Bible, women and men are creatures, splendid and in themselves suited to their own mission, yet pilgrims and lacking.

God is the One who ‘calls’ them to become whole, restoring what is lacking.

 

To become the image and likeness of the Lord, we must develop the capacity to respond to a Vocation that makes us neither phenomena nor exceptional ‘perfect’ beings, but rather particular Witnesses.

Chosen by Name, just as we are; embracing our deepest being – even the unexpressed parts – to the point of recognising it in the ‘You’, and unfolding it in the ‘We’.

A person’s holiness is therefore intertwined with many of their states of dissatisfaction, of limitation, and even of partial failure – yet always whilst thinking and feeling reality.

For a New Covenant.

 

In the Old Testament, the believer came into contact with divine purity by frequenting sacred places, fulfilling prescriptions, reciting prayers, respecting times and spaces, avoiding embarrassing situations; and so on.

Our experience and conscience infallibly attest that strict observance is all too rare, or merely perfunctory: deep down, it often does not correspond to who we are – nor does it humanise us.

Sooner or later, it becomes a house of cards, all the more unstable the ‘higher’ it reaches. All it takes is one card placed clumsily, and the artificial structure collapses.

We realise our natural inability to meet such sterile requirements, (other people’s) blueprints and such lofty standards.

With Jesus, Perfection does not concern ‘thought’, nor the observance of an abstract Code of Conduct. Perfection refers to a quality of Exodus and Relationship.

In ancient contexts, the path of the children of God was cloaked in a mystical or ascetic proposal consisting of abstinence, fasting, retreats, a secluded life, and obsessive ritual observances… which in many situations formed the backbone of pre-Conciliar spirituality.

But in Scripture, the saints do not have halos, nor do they have wings.

They are not saints because they have performed incomparable and astonishing miracles of healing: rather, they are women and men embedded in the ordinary world and its most commonplace aspects.

They are familiar with the problems, weaknesses, joys and sorrows of daily life; the search for one’s own identity, character, or deepest calling.

And the apostolate; the family, the upbringing of children, work. Even the alluring power of evil.

 

In the First Testament, ‘Qadosh’ referred exclusively to an attribute of the Eternal One [the sole unchanging Person] – and His separateness from the tangled web of often confused earthly ambitions.

Despite our failings, however, in Christ we become capable of listening and perceiving; thus enabled to seize every opportunity to bear witness to the innate, vital, gratuitous nature of the divine and real initiative.

Ceaselessly, providential life presents itself and comes to meet us, opening up unthinkable passages that break through.

Its unprecedented paths of growth renew the whole of existence, which is interconnected and conformed.

This also causes us to marvel at our inner resources, previously unrecognised or unacknowledged and concealed, or unpredictably hidden behind dark sides.

 

That which is Distinguished is no longer pushed behind little clouds and confined within fortified enclosures.

Therefore, God’s adversary will not be transgression: rather, it becomes the lack of a spirit of communion, amidst differences.

The enemy of the history of Salvation is not religious incompleteness, but the gulf from the Beatitudes – and from the evolving spirit of the ‘wayfarer’ for whom ‘to journey’ is also [non-paradoxically] synonymous with ‘to err’.

God’s opposite is therefore not ‘sins’, but ‘Sin’ [in the singular, a theological term, not a moralistic one].

‘Sin’ is the inability to respond to a definitive Call, which acts as a catalyst to complete us, to regenerate us fully. This harmonises the opposing sides – in being ourselves and being-With.

It is here that Faith ‘saves’, right where we are – because it annihilates ‘the sin of the world’ (John 1:29), that is, low self-esteem and guilt; the humiliation of unbridgeable distances.

Indeed, Jesus does not prescribe doctrines, nor does he advocate fragmenting one’s own life into specific dogmas. Nor does he propose any religious ascent [in terms of progression] laced with effort.

Nowhere in the Gospels does Christ say to anyone, ‘Become holy’, but rather: with Him, like Him and in Him – united, to continually encounter one’s own innermost states.

Recognising them more fully, thanks also to the ‘You’ and the ‘We’.

 

The saint is the little one, not the hero who is all of one piece, uniform, predictable, and taken for granted.

A saint is one who, walking their own path in the wake of the Risen One, has learnt to ‘identify with the other, without regard to where [or] from where […] ultimately experiencing that others are their very own flesh’ (cf. FT 84).

(Mt 25:31–46)

 

    The famous passage on the Judgement presents the Risen One who is to come (v. 31) as the ‘Son of Man’ – that is, the authentic and complete fulfilment of the divine plan for humanity: his kind of ‘verdict’ follows from this.

God embraces the limited nature of his creatures; therefore, the conduct that gives meaning to our lives does not concern religious attitude in itself, but rather the attitude we have shown towards our fellow human beings.

This is the Gospel message of the recent encyclical [October 2020] on fraternity and social friendship.

Aware of the situation, the Magisterium today acts as a spur against any insular, obvious and conformist spirituality; against any form of folklore-based, parochial mysticism… empty, inward-looking, still confined within the confines of bedside-table beliefs.

 

In all ancient beliefs, the soul of the deceased was weighed on a notarial scale and judged according to whether the balance was positive or negative.

According to the rabbis, divine mercy intervened in their favour only when good and bad deeds were in balance.

Jesus does not speak of a court that pronounces immutable negative judgements on the whole person, but of aspects of a complete existence which – being indestructible in themselves because they humanise – are saved and taken up, introduced into eternal life.

‘Life of the Eternal One’ (v. 46, Greek text) alludes to a kind of life that is not biological but relational and one of wholeness of being, which we can already experience.

These are moments when our divine DNA has come to the fore, the Gold that dwells within us: when we have been able to respond to the needs not of God, but of life itself and of our brothers and sisters.

These are the moments when we have been attentive listeners to nature, to the hope and vocation of all – sensitive to the needs of others.

Opportunities that have enabled us to bring the human condition closer to the heavenly one.

 

Comparing the ‘works’ declared to be a ‘paradigm’ with those listed in classical Judaism (Isaiah 58:6–7) and other religions – even ancient Egypt [Book of the Dead, chapter 125] – we note the difference in verse 36: ‘I was in prison and you came to me’ (cf. vv. 39, 43).

The difference is striking precisely in terms of divine justice: it transcends legal considerations, for it creates justice where none exists.

The Father bestows life in every instance, for He is not merely good as is believed in all devout persuasions, but exclusively good.

The ‘righteous’, moreover, did not even realise they had done anything out of the ordinary: they responded spontaneously to their innate and transparent nature as children (v. 39).

They felt sympathy for the ‘flesh’ in the reality in which it finds itself – and wherever it may be – regarding it as familiar. They loved with and as Jesus, in Him.

They did not love for Jesus’ sake – as if the other’s condition could be set aside, and secretly regarded as a nuisance upon which to construct a fiction, however sympathetic.

The other observant believers, on the other hand, wholly absorbed in the formalities of ritual, doctrine and discipline that are of no interest to God, are surprised that the Father is not entirely where they had imagined Him to be.

That is to say, respectable but empty and stagnant like themselves, bound by the judgements of ordinary justice: ‘When did we see you […] in prison and fail to serve you?’ (v. 44).

 

The calling to reach out to others leads us spontaneously to transcend divisions: legalistic ones, those based on retribution, or prejudices and forms of worship.

This is the pre-eminent, weighty Salvation – which lies in what is direct and genuine. Not so much in organised plans; nor does it have any substance based on opinions.

 

We fulfil ourselves by responding to the instinctive call that arises from our own essential, altruistic nature: even if it is minimal, overlooked, or eccentric, unsteady and not very fulfilling – not extraordinary.

Without overly external conditions, it is recognised as being scattered throughout the soul and in the beneficent, divinising fullness of the ‘Son of Man’.

Jesus’ ultimate teaching: a distinguished, comprehensive and wholly human judgement. 

Not a complacent or contrived response, based on mere concepts and accounts.

 

Jesus’ identification with the least of these remains unique: ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did for me’ (v. 40).

Conversely: ‘you did not do it for me either’ (v. 45).

His Person holds central significance, with no distinction between friends and opponents, between the devout and the unfaithful.

Commitment to Christ is not judged on the basis of works that are detached from the humanising Core.

Fine deeds that may be performed even without a spirit of benevolence [out of duty and custom, or even for prestige and self-interest] – but rather on the basis of love.

God is under no obligation to reward merit.

Good works may be displayed or performed even against the Father: as if to tie His hands.

A misrepresentation typical of religions that promise rewards to the devout.

A misunderstanding alien to the experience of Faith, whose only certainty lies in the risk of exploration, in growth, in the quality of relationships – precisely, those that humanise.

 

Life and death are clearly distinct [‘right and left’: proverbially, fortune and misfortune] according to the characteristics of authentic piety towards God himself… because his honour is reflected in the uplifting of women and men, as they are in their concrete circumstances.

The sole non-negotiable principle is service to the good of every person. 

Works of love are an expression of true communion with Christ – thus freed from intellectual and artificial constraints: from every kind of limitation or judgement that conditions their value.

In short, we must not do things that are calculated, extraordinary or mechanical, but let God act – whilst respecting and valuing our neighbour for who they are.

Even outside the visible sphere of the apostles’ kingdom (or of a doctrine or discipline), there is an authentic ‘Christianity’: the civilisation of the children.

In short, there is no predestination to the condemnation of those who are distant, errant or imperfect, except for a lack of brotherhood that recovers the impossible – even ‘against the law’.

The authentic kingship of Christ and his own.

 

In Palestine, in the evening the shepherds used to separate the sheep from the goats, which needed shelter from the cold.

To emphasise its importance, the issue raised by the evangelist draws on the vivid imagery of rabbinic preaching.

The problem is not a question of who is saved and who is not.

The question is rather: on what occasions are we happy to be outdoors even at ‘night’, and do we act in a more human way – and on what occasions do we behave in a more beast-like, closed-off manner, yet without becoming… lambs?

In Christ, the victory over selfishness loses its meaning as the annihilation of possibilities for individual growth – which is not achieved through stubbornness.

Its power is anything but stagnant and divisive. It does not conceal the abilities we cannot see, or what we do not know.

Opposing situations are the glorious moments of one and the same victory. This is evident in the continuation of the passage, which proclaims the other extreme of love: ‘the Son of Man is to be handed over to be crucified’ (Mt 26:2).

Therefore, Matthew’s aim is not to describe the end of the world, but to provide guidance on how to live wisely [today] in order to build a Family and not be captivated by the immediate glitter of false jewellery – however well presented.

The Gospel’s call emphasises the contrast with a frivolous spirituality: the only appropriate distinction.

The man of God does not indulge in career ambitions—not even ecclesiastical ones—nor in every whim.

 

The Tao Te Ching (iii) suggests, addressing even the wise ruler: ‘Do not exalt the most capable; ensure that the people do not quarrel; do not value goods that are hard to obtain; ensure that the people do not become thieves; do not acquire what may be coveted; ensure that the hearts of the people are not troubled’.

Master Wang Pi comments: ‘When the most capable are exalted, their names are glorified; the glory extends beyond their office, and they are constantly at loggerheads, comparing their abilities. When goods are valued beyond their utility, the greedy rush upon them, fighting amongst themselves; they breach walls, break open chests, and become thieves at the risk of their lives’.

And Master Ho-shang Kung adds, regarding ‘those whom the world deems excellent’: ‘With their specious eloquence, they adapt to circumstances whilst straying from the Tao; they cling to form whilst rejecting substance.’

 

The Lord’s Call reaffirms the qualitative aspects of the Person in relationship: He illustrates how it is worth staking one’s life.

This is so that all may experience the fullness of being – which is not the result of opportunism.

Nor is it a matter of belonging: any distinction between those ‘called’ within the visible Church and those distant from it is set aside.

 

The powerful imagery of this Gospel passage serves to make us reflect, open our eyes, broaden our horizons, and impress upon our conscience just how much is worth staking: everything, when it comes to the choices we must make.

The authentic love that moves heaven and earth is that which manages to make even the wicked do what is right – through a free Gift, devoid of conditions and forms of self-love. Even free from sacred judgements.

The Tao (xxxiii) intuits: ‘Who does these things? Heaven and Earth [...] Whoever gives themselves to the Tao becomes one with the Tao’.

What is genuine arises and flourishes in a selfless and spontaneous way, without any effort or contrived purpose.

Here, man is a different, far richer Being – steadfast in himself, yet expanding into the divine and human ‘You’, even in its most destitute form.

 

‘In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus identifies not only with the shepherd-king, but also with the lost sheep. We might speak of a “dual identity”: the shepherd-king, Jesus, also identifies with the sheep, that is, with the least and most needy of his brothers and sisters. And in this way he points to the criterion of judgement: it will be based on the concrete love given or withheld from these people […] Therefore, at the end of the world, the Lord will review his flock, and he will do so not only from the shepherd’s perspective, but also from that of the sheep, with whom he has identified himself. And he will ask us: ‘Have you been a shepherd a little like me?’ […] And let us return home with just this one phrase: ‘I was there. Thank you!’ or: ‘You have forgotten me’.”

(Pope Francis)

What gives value to every moment

(John 6:35–40)

 

    Jesus’ words highlight the clear distinction between ordinary food and the Bread that does not perish.

This distinction is drawn from Deuteronomy 8:3 – in reference to the Manna, the Word of the Lord (wisdom-filled food that liberates and imparts life).

Wisdom 16:20–21, 26 acknowledges that the manna of the desert was food prepared by angels, but what truly sustains life is the Word.

Those heavenly fruits, whilst delicious and capable of satisfying every palate, do not satisfy – they do not nourish completely.

The symbolic language used by Christ also draws on cultural paradigms that identified manna with wisdom.

He thus reveals himself in this way in the discourse on the Bread of Life.

 

Coming to the Lord is not within our power. Fulfilling the works of the Law, perhaps yes – with effort – but carrying out the Work of God is not unnatural.

It does not depend on a thought, a choice or a disciplinary practice.

In short, the Subject of the journey in the Spirit is God Himself, who works within us. 

Human action is, in every instance, a response to His self-revelation and to His own action [cosmic and within the soul of each person; whether convergent or not].

The Coming from on high is crucial: it gives rise to the relationship of Faith. A personal relationship, which is not mere assent and fulfilment, but rather interpretation and vision.

Forward movement and the discovery of resurrection – in particular, of the shadowed aspects that become resources.

Thus Faith-love expands life, for it draws its impetus from divine generosity, from Grace.

In this way, it becomes a decision, a calling, a responsibility; an inescapable and decisive duty – yet, despite this, a personal one.

 

Christ is Food that must be eaten, broken down, through Faith.

This evocation becomes Eucharistic, the realisation of the ‘Life of the Eternal One’ (v. 40, Greek text), even if it differs from refined forms; here and now.

As he dies, without any delay, Jesus commends his Spirit (John 19:30), which suddenly gives rise to the sacramental experience (John 19:34).

The Life of the Eternal One is not a pious hope in the hereafter: the term denotes the very inner life of God, which unfolds and bursts into history [sometimes rather abruptly] in a multifaceted way.

Energy, Nourishment, New Clarity: it reaches out to women and men who see and believe in the Son.

It is a Faith-Vision that discerns meaning and enables direct appropriation: it soars over insurmountable obstacles.

A Faith-Gesture that gushes forth; a Faith-Action that becomes a leaven of expansion, for it has already stirred up insight, a holistic awareness, and an intimate assent.

It sharpens and expands the transformative resources of souls and of events themselves.

It bestows, in the first person, comprehensive generative abilities – both external and internal, indestructible; which lose nothing [no longer doomed to death: v.39].

 

The obtuse gaze surrounding the first communities already sealed the Mystery.

But contrary to the First Testament (Ex 33:22–23), through Faith one now sees God and lives, without fear (Ex 3:6).

Whoever ‘sees’ the Son ‘has’ the very Life of the Eternal One (v. 40).

The Vision of Faith, the Vision of the Son, the Vision of the glorious outcome of the One who was rejected by the religious authorities and deemed accursed by God, makes one become One with Him.

It is a present Resurrection, even amidst the fleeting and burdensome experience of a life scattered in many directions.

The image deemed impossible and untenable gives way to a process of interpretation, action and reorganisation that draws in the future.

It gives way to the wholeness of God’s humanising and distinct world.

This shift in perspective breaks through the web of appearances and of banal convictions, whether inherited or fashionable.

In short: grasping this becomes the driving force of salvation, a foundation that transcends the pre-human.

Perceiving it becomes an Encounter; in its own, enduring dimension. The principle of blessed eternity.

 

By the end of the first century, the churches sensed the risk of collapse.

The gradual divergence from pagan religion in general, and Judaising devotion in particular, led to a wide-ranging debate with implications for customs, internal affairs, and even liturgy.

The battle against Pharisaic purism sparked controversies of every kind, including whether or not to segregate foreigners.

Differences of opinion arose even regarding the very canon of Scripture (which, for Christians, had long been in Hellenistic Greek).

According to believers in Jesus, the Source of full and indestructible life [‘Life of the Eternal One’: v.40 Greek text] is not material bread.

Even here on earth, the all-encompassing Nourishment lies in no trivial certainty.

Rather, one must ‘see the Son’ (v. 40).

This means recognising in the Master a story that does not end in failure, for despite the leaders’ rejection, the outcome of his—and our—story is the divine state. Indestructible glory.

And ‘Believing in Him’ (v.40) does not depend on cultural background or a shared social standing, but on a unique process of understanding.

To see and to have Faith is to entrust oneself to the luminous [it seems absurd] Vision that is communicated in the innermost fibres of our being and from the very first ‘Birth’. Certain of full harmony and fulfilment in that pre-eminent Figure.

 

We do not adhere out of enthusiasm or personal initiative [the ‘Church of events’, as Pope Francis puts it].

The life of the Eternal One within us begins in the eye of the soul; an echo of the primordial Dream.

It takes root in grasping the Father’s path. He desires for His least ones a fullness of character and disposition, free from conformism.

Only through the Gift in which we recognise ourselves from our very roots and in our very essence do we sense joyful harmonies that identify the desires, words, actions and path of the Risen One himself, who beats within us.

The Person of Christ is the only Food without standardisation.

Nourished by the Bread-Person, we can avoid both the search for false certainties and the craving for crutches—such as connections, financial backers, or prestigious institutions that guarantee privileges; and so on.

Preferring the Broken Bread.

 

The food of the earth sustains physical life, but it cannot bring us back to life through unique personal genesis, nor can it open a path for us beyond death.

This gives value to every moment.

 

 

To internalise and live out the message:

 

What does it mean for you to see the Son and believe in Him?

 

 

Do not project onto God the image of a master-servant relationship

 

The multiplication of the loaves and fishes is a sign of the great gift that the Father has given to humanity, which is Jesus Himself!

He, the true ‘bread of life’ (v. 35), wishes to satisfy not only bodies but also souls, by giving the spiritual food that can satisfy the deepest hunger. For this reason, he invites the crowd to seek not food that does not last, but that which endures for eternal life (cf. v. 27). This is the food that Jesus gives us every day: his Word, his Body, his Blood. The crowd hears the Lord’s invitation, but does not understand its meaning – as so often happens to us too – and asks him: ‘What must we do to carry out the works of God?’ (v. 28). Jesus’ listeners think that he is asking them to observe the commandments in order to obtain further miracles such as the multiplication of the loaves. This is a common temptation: to reduce religion solely to the observance of laws, projecting onto our relationship with God the image of the relationship between servants and their master: servants must carry out the tasks assigned by their master in order to gain his favour. We all know this. That is why the crowd wants to know from Jesus what actions they must perform to please God. But Jesus gives an unexpected answer: ‘This is the work of God: that you believe in the one whom he has sent’ (v. 29). These words are addressed to us today as well: the work of God does not consist so much in ‘doing’ things, but in ‘believing’ in the One whom He has sent. This means that faith in Jesus enables us to carry out the works of God. If we allow ourselves to be drawn into this relationship of love and trust with Jesus, we will be able to carry out good works that reflect the Gospel, for the good and the needs of our brothers and sisters.

The Lord invites us not to forget that, whilst it is necessary to concern ourselves with bread, it is even more important to nurture our relationship with Him, to strengthen our faith in Him who is the ‘bread of life’, who came to satisfy our hunger for truth, our hunger for justice, and our hunger for love.

(Pope Francis, Angelus, 5 August 2018)

12. I think that in this very precise and permanently valid way, Augustine is describing man's essential situation, the situation that gives rise to all his contradictions and hopes. In some way we want life itself, true life, untouched even by death; yet at the same time we do not know the thing towards which we feel driven. We cannot stop reaching out for it, and yet we know that all we can experience or accomplish is not what we yearn for. This unknown “thing” is the true “hope” which drives us, and at the same time the fact that it is unknown is the cause of all forms of despair and also of all efforts, whether positive or destructive, directed towards worldly authenticity and human authenticity. The term “eternal life” is intended to give a name to this known “unknown”. Inevitably it is an inadequate term that creates confusion. “Eternal”, in fact, suggests to us the idea of something interminable, and this frightens us; “life” makes us think of the life that we know and love and do not want to lose, even though very often it brings more toil than satisfaction, so that while on the one hand we desire it, on the other hand we do not want it. To imagine ourselves outside the temporality that imprisons us and in some way to sense that eternity is not an unending succession of days in the calendar, but something more like the supreme moment of satisfaction, in which totality embraces us and we embrace totality—this we can only attempt. It would be like plunging into the ocean of infinite love, a moment in which time—the before and after—no longer exists. We can only attempt to grasp the idea that such a moment is life in the full sense, a plunging ever anew into the vastness of being, in which we are simply overwhelmed with joy. This is how Jesus expresses it in Saint John's Gospel: “I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you” (16:22). We must think along these lines if we want to understand the object of Christian hope, to understand what it is that our faith, our being with Christ, leads us to expect.

[Pope Benedict, Spe salvi]

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

1. After having celebrated yesterday the Solemnity of All Saints, today, 2 November, our prayerful gaze is directed toward those who have departed from this world and are awaiting arrival into the Heavenly City. The Church has always strongly advised that we pray for the dead. She invites believers to regard the mystery of death not as the "last word" of human destiny but rather as a passage to eternal life. As we read in the Preface of today's Mass:  "When the body of our earthly dwelling lies in death we gain an everlasting dwelling place in heaven". 

2. It is an important obligation to pray for the dead, because even if they have died in grace and in God's friendship, they may still need final purification in order to enter the joy of Heaven (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 1030). Prayer for the dead is expressed in various ways, one of which is also visiting the cemeteries. Pausing in these sacred places becomes an ideal occasion to reflect on the meaning of earthly life and at the same time to nourish hope in the blessed eternity of Paradise. 

May Mary, Gate of Heaven, help us never to forget and never to lose sight of the Heavenly Homeland, the final destination of our pilgrimage here on earth.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 2 November 2003]

Job, defeated, or rather, at the end of his life due to illness, with his skin stripped away, nearly at the point of death, almost without flesh, Job has a certitude and he states it: “I know that my Redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the earth” (Jb 19:25). At the moment in which Job is at his very lowest, there is that embrace of light and warmth that reassures him: I will see the Redeemer. I will see him with these eyes. “I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold, and not another” (19:26-27).

This certainty, precisely at nearly the final moment of life, is Christian hope. It is a hope that is a dream: we cannot have it. It is a gift we must ask for: ‘Lord, give me hope’. There are many bad things that lead us to despair, to believe that all will be a definitive loss, that after death there will be nothing... And Job’s voice returns; it returns: “I know that my Redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the earth... I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side”, with these eyes.

“Hope does not disappoint” (Rom 5:5), Paul told us. Hope draws us and gives meaning to our life. I do not see the afterlife, but hope is God’s gift that draws us toward life, toward eternal joy. Hope is an anchor that we have from the other side, and we, grasping the rope, sustain ourselves (cf. Heb 6:18-19). ‘I know that my Redeemer lives, and I shall see him’. And repeat this in times of joy and in bad times, in times of death, let us say this.

This certitude is a gift of God, because we can never have hope by our own efforts. We must ask for it. Hope is a freely given gift that we never deserve: it is given; it is offered. It is grace.

And then, the Lord confirms this, this hope that does not disappoint. “All that the Father gives me will come to me” (Jn 6:37). This is the aim of hope: to go to Jesus. And “him who comes to me I will not cast out. For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me” (Jn 6:37-38). The Lord who welcomes us there, where the anchor lies. Life in hope is to live like this: grasping, with the rope in hand, strong, knowing that the anchor is below. And this anchor does not disappoint; it does not disappoint.

Today, in the thoughts of many brothers and sisters who have passed on, it will do us good to look at the cemeteries and to look heavenward. And to repeat, like Job: ‘I know that my Redeemer lives, and I myself will see him. My eyes shall behold him, and not another’. And this is the strength that hope gives us, this freely given gift that is the virtue of hope. May the Lord give it to all of us.

[Pope Francis, homily 2 November 2020]

All Saints, between religious sense and Faith

(Mt 5:1-12)

 

Embodying the spirit of the Beatitudes, we wonder what is the difference between common ‘religious feeling’ and ‘living by Faith’.

In ancient devotions the Saint is the composed man, perfect and detached [but predictable]; and the opposite of Saint is «sinner».

In the proposal of a full life in the Lord, the «holy» is a person of communicative understanding, and whoever lives for conviviality, creating it where there is not.

In the path of the sons the Saint is indeed the excellent man, but in his complete sense - full and dynamic, multifaceted; even eccentric. Not in a one-sided meaning.

 

In Christ, true man is a «detached» [‘saint’] from the common mentality, as faithful to himself, to his own Fire that does not become extinct - to the passions, to his unrepeatable uniqueness and Vocation.

And together, «separated» from external competitive criteria: of having, of power, of appearing. Self-destructive powers.

To the latter, it concretely replaces the fraternity of giving, of serving and of diminishing oneself [from the "role"]. Fruitful energies.

In this way, the «holy» lives the essential Beatitude of the persecuted (Mt 5:11-12; Lk 6:22-23) because he has the freedom to ‘descend’ to be in tune with his own essence; coexisting in his originality.

In terms of Faith, the Saint is therefore no longer a physically «separate», but «United» to Christ - and banished like Him, in the weak brothers.

In short, the Divine Plan is to compose a Family of small ones and shaky, not to carve out a group of strong and ‘better’ friends than the others.

 

The Appeal that the Word addresses is to undertake an itinerary; this is the point. And we have always been «those of the Way» and they who do not pass beyond, do not look the other way [cf. Lk 10,31-33; FT, 56ff].

For the classical pagan mentality, woman and man are essentially ‘nature’, so their being in the world is conditioned, even determined by birth (lucky or not).

According to the Bible, woman and man are creatures, splendid and adequate in themselves for their mission, but pilgrims and lacking.

God is the One who «calls» them to complete themselves, recovering the different aspects.

Person’s holiness is therefore combined with many of dissatisfaction‘ states, border, and even of partial failure - but always thinking and feeling the reality.

For a New Alliance.

 

With Jesus, Perfection does not concern ‘thought’, nor respect for an abstract Code of Observance. Completion refers to a quality of Exodus and Relationship.

In Scripture the Saints know the problems, weaknesses, joys and sorrows of daily life, the search for their own identity-character, or deep inclination.

And the apostolate; the family, the education of children, work. Even the seduction force of evil.

Well, opposed to God are not ‘sins’, but «the» Sin [singular, theological term, not moralistic].

‘Sin’ is the inability to correspond to an indicative Call, which acts as a spring to complete us, to regenerate us as not-partial people.

This by harmonizing opposite sides - in being ourselves and being-With.

Here it is the Faith that «saves», at the point where we find ourselves - because it annihilates «the sin of the world» (Jn 1:29), that is, the disrespect and sense of guilt; the humiliation of unbridgeable distances.

 

In the Gospels, to no one Christ says «made yourself holy», but with Him, like Him and in Him - «be United», to meet unceasingly own deep states.

Recognizing them better, also thanks to the You and We: «coming to experience others as our “own flesh”» (FT n.84).

 

 

[All Saint’s Day, November 1st]

They brought the Light through

 

Embodying the spirit of the Beatitudes, we ask ourselves what is the difference between common 'religious feeling', and 'living by Faith'.

In ancient devotions, the saint is the composite man sui, perfect and detached [but predictable]; and the opposite of saint is 'sinner'.

In the proposal of full life in the Lord, the 'saint' is a person of communicative understanding and who lives for conviviality, creating it where there is none.

In the path of the sons, the saint is indeed the excellent man, but in its full sense - full and dynamic, multifaceted; even eccentric. Not in a one-sided, moralistic or sentimental sense.

In the Latin language perfìcere means to complete, to go to the end.

In such a complete and integral meaning, 'perfect' becomes an authentic embodied value: a possible attribute - of every person who is aware of his or her own condition of vulnerability, and does not despise it.

The woman and man of Faith value every occasion or emotion that exposes the condition of nakedness [not guilt] in order to open new paths and renew themselves.

From the point of view of life in the Spirit, the saint [in Hebrew Qadosh, a divine attribute] is indeed the 'detached' man, but not in a partial or physical sense, but ideal.

He is not the person who at a certain point in life distances himself from the human family to embark on a path of purification that would elevate him. Deluding himself that he is getting better.

As the encyclical Fratelli Tutti emphasises: 'A human being [...] does not realise himself, does not develop, cannot find his own fullness [... and] does not come to fully recognise his own truth except in the encounter with others' (No.87).

The authentic witness is not animated by contempt for existential chaos - nor eager to outsource the difficulties of managing one's own freedom by handing it over to an alienating agency with a secluded mentality (which solves the drama of personal choices).

In Christ, man is "disjointed" from the common mentality, insofar as he is faithful to himself, to his own Fire that is not extinguished - to the passions, to his own unrepeatable uniqueness and Vocation.

And at the same time, "separated" from external competitive criteria: of having, of power, of appearance. Self-destructive powers.

To the latter, he concretely substitutes the fraternity of giving, of serving and of diminishing [from "character"]. Fruitful energies.

All for the global Communion, and in Truth also with one's own intimate character seed - avoiding proselytising and being noticed in the catwalks.

The true believer knows his redeemed limit, sees the possibilities of imperfection.... Thus he replaces the presuppositions of keeping for oneself, of climbing over others and dominating them, with a fundamental humanising triptych: giving, freedom to 'come down', collaboration.

This is the authentic Detachment, which does not flee one's own and others' inclinations, nor does it despise the complex trait of the human condition.

In this way, the "saint" lives the essential Bliss of the persecuted (Mt 5:11-12; Lk 6:22-23) because he has the freedom to "lower himself" in order to be in tune with his own essence; co-existing in his originality.

In terms of Faith, the saint is thus no longer a physically "separate", but rather "united" to Christ - and banished like Him, into the weak brothers and sisters.

In short, the divine Design is to compose Families of the small and shaky, not to carve out a group of "strong" friends, and "better" than the others.

Only this horizon of the Hearth drives us on.

Consequently, the opposite of Saint is not "sinful", but rather unrealised or unfinished.

 

Let us see again why (vocational and personal paths).

Jesus was a friend of publicans and public sinners not because they were better than the good, but because in religion the 'righteous' are often not very spontaneous; making themselves impermeable, closed, refractory to the action of the Spirit.

Surprisingly, the Lord Himself repeatedly experienced that it was precisely the devoutly deficient people who were prone to questioning, realising, reworking, deviating from habit - for the building up of new paths, even groping.

Not being able to enjoy the respectable cloak of social screens, after an awareness of one's own situation (and over time) - compared to those who considered themselves 'arrived' and friends of God - from 'distant' they became people more than the 'impecunious' willing to love.

 

Questioning is fundamental in a biblical perspective.

At every turn, Scripture proposes a spirituality of the Exodus, that is, a road of liberation from fetters and walked as if on foot, step by step. Hence one that values paths of seeking, exploring, self-discovery and the Newness of a God who does not repeat, but creates.

The call that the Word makes is to embark on an itinerary; that is the point. And we have always been "those of the Way" and who do not pass by, do not look the other way [cf. Lk 10:31-33; FT, 56ff].For the classical pagan mentality, woman and man are essentially 'nature', therefore their being in the world is conditioned [I remember my professor of theological anthropology Ignazio Sanna even used to say 'de-centred'], even determined by birth (fortunate or not).

According to the Bible, woman and man are creatures, splendid and adequate in themselves for their mission, but pilgrim and lacking.

God is the One who 'calls' them to complete themselves, making up for their deficient aspects.

 

To come to be the image and likeness of the Lord, we must develop the capacity to respond to a Vocation that makes us not phenomena, nor exceptional 'perfect' ones, but particular Witnesses.

Chosen by Name, just as we are; who embrace their deep being - even unexpressed - to the point of recognising it in the You, and unfolding it in the We.

A person's holiness is thus combined with many states of dissatisfaction, boundary, and even partial failure - but always thinking and feeling reality.

For a New Covenant.

 

In the Old Testament, the believer came into contact with divine purity by frequenting sacred places, fulfilling prescriptions, reciting prayers, respecting times and spaces, avoiding embarrassing situations; and so on.

Our experience and conscience infallibly attest that strict observance is too rare, or mannered: within, it often does not correspond to us - nor does it humanise us.

It sooner or later becomes a house of cards, shaky the more it points 'upwards'. All it takes is to lay one of them out clumsily, and the artificial construction collapses.

We realise our natural inability to meet such high sterilisations, (other people's) maps and standards.

With Jesus, Perfection is not about 'thinking', nor is it about adherence to an abstract code of observances. Perfection is about a quality of Exodus and Relationship.

In ancient contexts, the path of the sons has been cloaked with a mystical or renunciatory proposal of abstinence, fasting, retreats, secluded living, obsessive cultic observances... which in many situations formed the backbone of pre-Conciliar spirituality.

But in Scripture, saints do not have a halo or wings.

They are not such because they performed incomparable and astounding miracles of healing: they are women and men embedded in the ordinary world and in the most ordinary aspects. 

They know the problems, weaknesses, joys and sorrows of everyday life; the search for their own identity-character, or deep inclination.

And the apostolate; the family, raising children, work. The seductive power of evil, even.

 

In the First Testament, 'Qadosh' exclusively designated an attribute of the Eternal [the only non-intermittent Person] - and its separateness from the entanglement of often confused earthly ambitions.

Despite the flaws, however, in Christ we become capable of listening, of perception; thus enabled to seize every opportunity to bear witness to the innate, vital Gratuity of divine and real initiative.

Unceasingly, providential life proposes itself and comes to open unthinkable, breaching gaps.

Its unprecedented journeys of growth renew the existence all linked and conforming.

This also makes us marvel at intimate resources, previously unconscious or unconfessed and concealed, or unforeseeably hidden behind dark sides.

 

That which is insignificant is no longer moved behind clouds and placed in fortified enclosures.

Therefore, God's adversary will not be transgression: instead, it becomes the lack of a spirit of communion, in differences.

The enemy of the Salvation story is not religious incompleteness, but the gap from the Beatitudes - and from the unfolding spirit of the 'wayfarer' for whom 'wandering' is also synonymous [not paradoxical] with 'wandering'.

God's counterpart is thus not 'sins', but 'the' Sin [in the singular, a theological term, not a moralistic one].

"Sin" is the inability to correspond to an indicative Calling, which acts as a spring to complete us, to regenerate us not to be partial. This by harmonising opposite sides - in being ourselves and being-With.

Here it is the Faith that 'saves', where we are - because it annihilates 'the sin of the world' (Jn 1:29), that is, the disbelief and guilt; the humiliation of unbridgeable distances.

In fact, Jesus does not recommend doctrines, nor does he recommend parcelling out one's life with punctual ethylisms. Nor does he envisage any religious ascent [in terms of progressiveness] peppered with effort.

To no one in the Gospels does Christ say 'become holy', but with Him, like Him and in Him - united, to encounter one's deepest states unceasingly.

Recognising them better, also through the You and the We.

 

The Saint is the little one, not the all-in-one, uniform, predictable hero.The saint is he who, walking his own path in the wake of the Risen One, has learnt to "identify himself with the other, regardless of where [or] from where [...] ultimately experiencing that others are his own flesh" (cf. FT 84).

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

Our Eucharistic celebration began with the exhortation: "Let us all rejoice in the Lord". The liturgy invites us to share in the heavenly jubilation of the Saints, to taste their joy. The Saints are not a small caste of chosen souls but an innumerable crowd to which the liturgy urges us to raise our eyes. This multitude not only includes the officially recognized Saints, but the baptized of every epoch and nation who sought to carry out the divine will faithfully and lovingly. We are unacquainted with the faces and even the names of many of them, but with the eyes of faith we see them shine in God's firmament like glorious stars. 

Today, the Church is celebrating her dignity as "Mother of the Saints, an image of the Eternal City" (A. Manzoni), and displays her beauty as the immaculate Bride of Christ, source and model of all holiness. She certainly does not lack contentious or even rebellious children, but it is in the Saints that she recognizes her characteristic features and precisely in them savours her deepest joy. 

In the first reading, the author of the Book of Revelation describes them as "a great multitude which no man could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and tongues" (Rv 7: 9). 

This people includes the Saints of the Old Testament, starting with the righteous Abel and the faithful Patriarch, Abraham, those of the New Testament, the numerous early Christian Martyrs and the Blesseds and Saints of later centuries, to the witnesses of Christ in this epoch of ours. 

They are all brought together by the common desire to incarnate the Gospel in their lives under the impulse of the Holy Spirit, the life-giving spirit of the People of God. 

But "why should our praise and glorification, or even the celebration of this Solemnity, mean anything to the Saints?". A famous homily of St Bernard for All Saints' Day begins with this question. It could equally well be asked today. And the response the Saint offers us is also timely: "The Saints", he says, "have no need of honour from us; neither does our devotion add the slightest thing to what is theirs.... But I tell you, when I think of them, I feel myself inflamed by a tremendous yearning" (Disc. 2, Opera Omnia Cisterc. 5, 364ff.). 

This, then, is the meaning of today's Solemnity: looking at the shining example of the Saints to reawaken within us the great longing to be like them; happy to live near God, in his light, in the great family of God's friends. Being a Saint means living close to God, to live in his family. And this is the vocation of us all, vigorously reaffirmed by the Second Vatican Council and solemnly proposed today for our attention. 

But how can we become holy, friends of God? We can first give a negative answer to this question: to be a Saint requires neither extraordinary actions or works nor the possession of exceptional charisms. Then comes the positive reply: it is necessary first of all to listen to Jesus and then to follow him without losing heart when faced by difficulties. "If anyone serves me", he warns us, "he must follow me; and where I am, there shall my servant be also; if any one serves me, the Father will honour him" (Jn 12: 26). 

Like the grain of wheat buried in the earth, those who trust him and love him sincerely accept dying to themselves. Indeed, he knows that whoever seeks to keep his life for himself loses it, and whoever gives himself, loses himself, and in this very way finds life (cf. Jn 12: 24-25). 

The Church's experience shows that every form of holiness, even if it follows different paths, always passes through the Way of the Cross, the way of self-denial. The Saints' biographies describe men and women who, docile to the divine plan, sometimes faced unspeakable trials and suffering, persecution and martyrdom. They persevered in their commitment: "they... have come out of the great tribulation", one reads in Revelation, "they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb" (Rv 7: 14). Their names are written in the book of life (cf. Rv 20: 12) and Heaven is their eternal dwelling-place. 

The example of the Saints encourages us to follow in their same footsteps and to experience the joy of those who trust in God, for the one true cause of sorrow and unhappiness for men and women is to live far from him. 

Holiness demands a constant effort, but it is possible for everyone because, rather than a human effort, it is first and foremost a gift of God, thrice Holy (cf. Is 6: 3). In the second reading, the Apostle John remarks: "See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are" (I Jn 3: 1). 

It is God, therefore, who loved us first and made us his adoptive sons in Jesus. Everything in our lives is a gift of his love: how can we be indifferent before such a great mystery? How can we not respond to the Heavenly Father's love by living as grateful children? In Christ, he gave us the gift of his entire self and calls us to a personal and profound relationship with him. 

Consequently, the more we imitate Jesus and remain united to him the more we enter into the mystery of his divine holiness. We discover that he loves us infinitely, and this prompts us in turn to love our brethren. Loving always entails an act of self-denial, "losing ourselves", and it is precisely this that makes us happy. 

Thus, we have come to the Gospel of this feast, the proclamation of the Beatitudes which we have just heard resound in this Basilica. 

Jesus says: Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed those who mourn, the meek; blessed those who hunger and thirst for justice, the merciful; blessed the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted for the sake of justice (cf. Mt 5: 3-10). 

In truth, the blessed par excellence is only Jesus. He is, in fact, the true poor in spirit, the one afflicted, the meek one, the one hungering and thirsting for justice, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemaker. He is the one persecuted for the sake of justice. 

The Beatitudes show us the spiritual features of Jesus and thus express his mystery, the mystery of his death and Resurrection, of his passion and of the joy of his Resurrection. This mystery, which is the mystery of true blessedness, invites us to follow Jesus and thus to walk toward it. 

To the extent that we accept his proposal and set out to follow him - each one in his own circumstances - we too can participate in his blessedness. With him, the impossible becomes possible and even a camel can pass through the eye of a needle (cf. Mk 10: 25); with his help, only with his help, can we become perfect as the Heavenly Father is perfect (cf. Mt 5: 48). 

Dear brothers and sisters, we are now entering the heart of the Eucharistic celebration that encourages and nourishes holiness. In a little while, Christ will make himself present in the most exalted way, Christ the true Vine to whom the faithful on earth and the Saints in Heaven are united like branches. 

Thus, the communion of the pilgrim Church in the world with the Church triumphant in glory will increase. 

In the Preface we will proclaim that the Saints are friends and models of life for us. Let us invoke them so that they may help us to imitate them and strive to respond generously, as they did, to the divine call. 

In particular, let us invoke Mary, Mother of the Lord and mirror of all holiness. May she, the All Holy, make us faithful disciples of her Son Jesus Christ! Amen.

[Pope Benedict, homily 1 November 2006]

1. At the end of this solemn celebration in honour of All Saints, our gaze turns upwards. Today's feast reminds us that we were made for heaven, where Our Lady has already gone and now awaits us.

The Christian life means journeying here below with our hearts turned upwards, towards our heavenly Father's House. This was how the saints journeyed, as the Virgin Mother of the Lord did first of all. The Jubilee reminds us of this essential dimension of holiness: our state as pilgrims who each day seek the kingdom of God while trusting in divine Providence. This is genuine Christian hope, which has nothing to do with fatalism or an escape from history. On the contrary, it spurs us to concrete commitment, as we look to Christ, God made man, who opens for us the way to heaven.

2. In this perspective we are preparing to celebrate All Souls Day tomorrow. We go in spirit to the graves of our loved ones, who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith and now await the support of our prayer. I promise to remember those who lost their lives this year; I am thinking especially of the victims of human violence: in God's heart may they all find the peace for which they long.

3. In this light, Mary appears even more as the Queen of saints and the Mother of our hope. It is to her that we turn, so that she will guide us on the way of holiness and assist us at every moment of our life, now and at the hour of our death.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 1 November 2000]