18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)  [2 August 2016]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (55:1–3)

We have reached the end of the second book of Isaiah, which is entirely focused on the end of the Exile and the return to the Promised Land, and is therefore called ‘the book of the consolation of Israel’. Chapter 54 heralds the long-awaited return, and this chapter specifies the spirit in which we are to return. Four major themes are evoked. The first theme is the gratuitous nature of God’s gifts: ‘Come, buy without paying’. Sometimes, it is precisely this gratuitousness that is the hardest to accept. We tend to think of merits and dignity that must be regained in order to stand before God, whilst mercy bends down to repentant sinners. Isaiah declares: ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways’ (55:8–9).    Voltaire used to say: “God made man in his own image, and man has done him a fine job of it.” He was right, because we sometimes imagine a God with the same feelings as our own – one who takes revenge and punishes – whereas in the Bible, God always shows such an abundance that is entirely free and generous that we might say that in God’s supermarket, everything is always free. But if everything is free, can we do as we please? Certainly not, because if we are touched by God’s love, our hearts change and we begin to resemble him. In a society founded more on commerce than on service, Christians must nurture the kingdom of gratuitousness, for if we stray from the path of gratuitousness, we are far from God’s ways. The second theme is the struggle against idolatry, a temptation that constantly resurfaces. Only God holds the keys to our happiness and freedom, and with Him, everything is given. We simply need to trust. The third theme is listening and trust – ‘Give ear and you shall live’  ‘Give ear and come to me; listen and you shall live’ (55:3). We lend an ear to so much commercial advertising; why, then, does this message from Isaiah – spoken in God’s name and marked by gratuitousness – fail to convince us? The way of gratuitousness stands above our ways of calculation and ‘quid pro quo’. Fourth theme: God’s faithfulness to the Covenant, another key theme in the sermons of Second Isaiah: the exiles feared they would be abandoned by God forever, yet His love is entirely gratuitous and unconditional, and He never calls His Covenant into question; indeed, He renews it at every moment.  

Responsorial Psalm (144/145)

Psalm 144/145 is an alphabetic psalm of praise for the Covenant. This Sunday’s first reading speaks of the gratuitousness and abundance of God’s gifts; this psalm says nothing other than this!  It is an alphabetic, acrostic psalm: it has as many verses as there are letters in the Hebrew alphabet, with each verse beginning with a different letter of the alphabet. This style of composition has a specific, consistent purpose: to express to God the believers’ gratitude for the gift of the Covenant. It is therefore no surprise to find in this psalm a reference to all aspects of the Covenant: the extraordinary discovery of a God who is both almighty and close to humankind. The Book of Wisdom made this clear: ‘You, Lord, who possess power, judge with gentleness; you rule us with great forbearance, for when you wish, you can use your power’ (12:16–18). Even before the Book of Wisdom, other Old Testament texts had powerfully proclaimed God’s greatness and goodness. At the outset, verse 8 of the psalm echoes God’s revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai: ‘The Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love and faithfulness’ (Ex 34:6); the burning bush: Exodus 3:1–6 presents a twofold revelation: God reveals himself to Moses in the burning bush whilst he was tending the flock of Jethro, his father-in-law, the priest of Midian (cf. Exodus 3:7). He always reveals himself to be compassionate and merciful = literally ‘a heart open to our miseries’, who takes the side of those in distress. Moses, who had previously veiled his face, realises that he need not be afraid. ‘My people’ is a reference to the Covenant with the people dating back to Abraham. Just as God had seen the misery of Abraham, an elderly man without children, so He has seen the misery of His people. In conclusion, this psalm, like the account of the Exodus, is important for the faith of Israel and therefore for our own: it reveals the dual nature of God as both the Wholly Other and the Wholly Near. He is the Wholly Other, to whom one approaches only with awe and reverence, and at the same time the Wholly Near, who sees the misery of his people and raises up a liberator. In the verses chosen from Psalm 144/145 for this Sunday, the emphasis is placed on this tenderness of God, a conviction that forever nourishes the faith of the Jewish people and our own, just as it filled the heart of Jesus of Nazareth.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (8:35, 37–39)

 Nothing can ever separate us from the love of God: this statement brings to a close Chapter 8, which we have been reading for several weeks, in which Paul marvels at God’s love. In Chapter 5 he had said: ‘The love of God has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit’ (Rom 5:5). Here he gives free rein to the exultation that fills the hearts of believers when they realise God’s work on their behalf: ‘God, who did not spare his own Son, but handed him over for us all’ (Rom 8:32). From now on, no one can break the covenant so closely bound between God and us. As the first Eucharistic Prayer of Reconciliation states, ‘with your arms outstretched on the cross, you have drawn between heaven and earth the indelible sign of the covenant’. From now on, every attempt at separation is doomed to failure. Paul takes up one of the major themes of Scripture: the very stake of the lives of the children of Adam is to remain attached to God, without allowing themselves to be separated from him by the Tempter. In the wilderness, Jesus faced the onslaught of the Tempter, who tempted him with power, ease and honours. Peter himself tempted Jesus to flee from the inevitable persecution. But nothing—neither hunger nor the mirages of success—could separate the Son from the Father. In turn, Paul and the other apostles draw from the Spirit of Christ the strength to remain grafted onto him. Paul offers us here a great profession of faith: ‘For I am convinced that neither death nor life… nor anything else will ever be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord’ (Rom 8:38–39). This is not pride, but the certainty of faith: Paul does not for a moment consider that the credit for this faithfulness lies with him. When he states, ‘In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us’, the key word is ‘through’ him. His declaration resembles that of the prophet Isaiah concerning the Servant of God: ‘The Lord God helps me; therefore I shall not be disgraced’ (Isaiah 50:7). 

From the Gospel according to Matthew (14:13–21)

The episode of the multiplication of the loaves follows immediately after the announcement of John the Baptist’s execution. Matthew recounts John’s death and concludes: ‘His disciples went and took his body, buried it, and went to tell Jesus’ (14:12).  Jesus’s first reaction, which appears to be prudence, is to withdraw: “On hearing this, Jesus got into a boat and withdrew to a deserted place by himself” (14:13). But he is immediately overtaken by the crowd’s pleas and “he had compassion on them” – literally, “he was moved to the depths of his being”, as Matthew puts it. Humanly speaking, Jesus commits an act of reckless folly. It was politically imprudent because the wise course of action at that moment would have been to keep a low profile, since his popularity would attract the hatred of the Pharisee leaders; it was folly because it was senseless to believe that five loaves and two fish would be enough to feed such a crowd. The disciples, being realists, pointed this out to him, but Jesus replied, unperturbed: ‘You yourselves give them something to eat’ (14:16). This episode brings to mind the prophet Elisha, in the Northern Kingdom, 800 years earlier, whose story was known to all. In the midst of a famine, a faithful follower had brought an offering of the first fruits of the harvest: twenty barley loaves that would normally have been Elisha’s due, but he, given the circumstances, decided to share them with everyone. Twenty loaves were too many for a single prophet, but they were a pittance for the hungry people around him: the text says there were a hundred people. Elisha had told his servant, ‘Give it to the people to eat’, but the servant could see that the numbers didn’t add up: ‘How can I set this before a hundred people?’.  And the prophet insisted: ‘Give it to the people to eat. For thus says the Lord: “They shall eat and there will be some left over.”’ And the servant distributed it: ‘They ate and there was some left over, according to the word of the Lord’ (2 Kings 4:42–44). In this miracle, too, we note the disparity between the number of diners, the few loaves and fish available, and the amount of leftovers collected. Matthew is keen to point out: ‘They all ate and were satisfied; and they carried away twelve baskets full of the fragments’ (14:20). What do Jesus and Elisha have in common? What is their secret? First of all, both believe that sharing is possible, whatever the number of diners, because both place their trust in God. They also share the mention of the leftovers and the precise statement that ‘everyone ate their fill’. This miracle brings to mind the gift of manna in the Book of Exodus: ‘I will satisfy you with bread, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God’ (Ex 16:12). Jesus, as the evangelist writes, had gone off to a deserted place on the outskirts in search of some peace and quiet, but he agrees to let himself be found, to draw near to the people, and this leads him to commit the ‘foolish recklessness’ I mentioned at the beginning. Disciples of all ages are in turn invited to nurture this reckless folly: in other words, it is enough to have faith to remember that sharing works miracles. And we must learn to rejoice in our own poverty, for it is the privileged place where God acts. When we recognise our powerlessness, we call upon God for help, and this is always the first thing to do. Whilst the first reading, taken from Isaiah, proclaims the abundance and gratuitousness of God’s gifts, Jesus’ multiplication of the loaves is a magnificent illustration of this.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

The difficult condition of the disciple in the Church and the world

(Mt 14:22-36)

Having reached the ultimate condition (v.23) Jesus does not allow the Apostles to keep the treasures of God for themselves.

He compels his own to the mission to the Gentiles (v.22). But the 'headwinds' were many.

About half a century after the Lord's death, the communities of Galilee and Syria faced a difficult crossing.

The securities of the ancient religion and the sense of rootedness in the customs of the “chosen” people were breaking down. Even small privileges of position were crumbling.

With the increasing entry of pagans into communities, third-generation believers were forced to ask themselves how they could break out of their old cultural isolation and open up to a new way of seeing things.

In addition to the persecutions, internal conflicts intensified: for example, over the position to be taken in relation to the Empire itself.

There was no shortage of heated debates about the figure and history of the Master himself - as well as on the attitude to take towards the tradition of the 'fathers' [which to some seemed a call to turn back].

Even though the situation was fraught with friction, bitterness, and rancour between Judaizers and those from paganism, as well as impetuous dangers, the Glad Tidings of unconditional Salvation could not be kept in an inner circle.

The quotation of the divine Name «I Am» (v.27) refers here to the Exodus story (3:14).

It is a reminder to the disciples. They still seemed to be in the grip of immediate fears about the real power of Life and Deliverance of Christ - so much so that they did not recognize Him (v.26).

Without ceasing, the Risen One still makes himself Present, so that we can open up and move forward; without the burden of opposition or nostalgia. There is a whole new reality waiting.

We are inhabited by the power of God (vv.28-31).

Authentic communities - «flap of his cloak» (v.36) that is of his Person - will still experience the power of the Spirit.

Through evangelization and the new way of living and helping others gratuitously, any storms that may be gathering on the horizon will clear up.

It will be replaced by an ever deeper and more acute experience of the burgeoning diversity of the 'other shore'; of one's neighbour, of oneself, of the life to come, and of God.

But the virtue that dominates the elements cannot be experienced as Peter intended, that is, as an external, immediate, decisive, and final power - but rather as mysterious and inner, animated in time, and of profound relationship.

The “victory” will be the result of Faith alone: trust in the strength that the silent Messiah gives.

Potency far greater than what we already know about ourselves - despite the fact that we often (like Simone) pretend to an easier, quicker, immediately decisive shortcut.

Emotionally relevant situations have their own meaning, they carry a significant appeal; they introduce a different introspection, the decisive change - a new 'genesis'.

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

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

[Monday 18th wk. in O.T. (year A),  August 3, 2026]

The disciple’s difficult plight in the Church and in the world

Mt 14:22–33 (22–36)

Some other providential care, of which you are unaware

‘It is good not to fall, or to fall and get back up again. And if it happens that we do fall, it is good not to despair and not to turn away from the love that the Sovereign has for mankind. For if He so wishes, He can indeed show mercy towards our weakness. Let us simply not turn away from him; let us not feel distressed if we are constrained by the commandments, and let us not lose heart if we achieve nothing […].

We must neither be in a hurry nor give up, but always start afresh […].

Wait for him, and he will show you mercy, whether through conversion, through trials, or through some other providential means of which you are unaware.’

(Peter of Damascus, Book Two, Eighth Discourse, in *The Philokalia*, Turin 1982, I,94)

Once the final state had been reached (v. 23), Jesus did not allow the Apostles to keep God’s treasures to themselves.

He compelled his followers to undertake the mission to the Gentiles (v. 22). However, there were many ‘headwinds’.

Some half a century after the Lord’s death, the communities of Galilee and Syria were facing a difficult journey.

The certainties of the ancient religion and the sense of being rooted in the customs of the ‘chosen’ people were beginning to crumble. Even the minor privileges of status were eroding.

With the increasingly marked influx of pagans into the communities, the third-generation believers were forced to ask themselves how to break out of their former cultural isolation and open themselves up to a new way of seeing things.

In addition to persecution, internal conflicts were intensifying: for example, over the stance to adopt towards the Empire itself.

There was no shortage of heated debates concerning the very person and history of the Master – as well as the attitude to adopt towards the tradition of the fathers [which to some seemed a call to turn back].

Although the situation was fraught with friction, bitterness and resentment between those of Jewish background and those from pagan origins, as well as impetuous dangers, the Good News of unconditional salvation could not be confined to a narrow circle.

The invocation of the divine Name ‘I Am’ here refers to the account in Exodus 3:14. It is a call to the disciples, who were still in the grip of immediate fears regarding Christ’s true power of life and liberation – so much so that they did not recognise him (v. 26).

Ceaselessly, the Risen One makes himself present once more, so that we may open ourselves up and move forward; free from the burden of divisions or nostalgia.

A whole new reality awaits us.

We are filled with God’s vigour (vv. 28–31), and even today, for our rebirth from the global crisis, we are called to a response of love that is personal, cultural, radical and unprecedented: a response that involves introspection, but not as intimidated subjects; one that is bold, but not as those who rush to the surface.

Authentic communities – ‘the hem of his garment’ (v. 36), that is, of his Person – will once again experience the power of the Spirit.

Through evangelisation and a new way of living and helping others freely, any storm that may be gathering on the horizon will dissipate.

It will be replaced by an ever deeper and more acute experience of the flourishing diversity on the other shore; of one’s neighbour, of oneself, of life itself as it unfolds, and of God.

But the virtue that masters the elements cannot be experienced as Peter intended—that is, as an external, immediate, decisive and final power—but rather as something mysterious and inner, brought to life over time and rooted in deep relationship.

The ‘victory’ will be the fruit of Faith alone: trust in the strength that the silent Messiah bestows.

A power far greater than that which we already know of ourselves – even though we often (like Simon) demand an easier, swifter, instantly decisive shortcut.

(Mt 8:23–27)

    The direction Jesus imposes on his followers seems to go against the grain, and brazenly breaks the rules accepted by all.

Whilst the disciples harboured nationalistic desires, the Master begins to make it clear that he is not the Messiah commonly expected, a restorer of the defunct empire of David or of the Caesars.

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

But the apostles and the church elders seemed averse to Christ’s proposals; they remained unmoved by such a broad concept of brotherhood – one that threw them off balance. This is a problem that remains very much alive and extremely serious.

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

The Apostles have the task of communicating the Father’s riches to the pagans, who were regarded as impure and disreputable.

Yet it was precisely those closest to the Master who wanted nothing to do with risky excesses that would effectively highlight the far-reaching action of the Son of God.

They were content to adhere to the customs of common religiosity and an ideology of limited power.

Resistance to the divine commission, as well as the agonising internal debate that had ensued, had already, in the 70s, unleashed a great storm within the assemblies of believers.

‘And behold, a great storm arose on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves’ (Mt 8:24).

The storm affected only the disciples, who were the only ones filled with dread; not Jesus: ‘but he was asleep’ (v. 24c) [this is the Risen One].

What was happening ‘inside’ the little boat of the Church was not merely a reflection of what was happening ‘outside’! This is the error that must be corrected.

For us too, such identification can stifle and make life stagnant, starting precisely with how we handle emotionally significant situations – which have their own meaning.

They always carry a significant appeal, introducing a different perspective, introspection and dialogue.

In short, from the peace of the divine state that reigns over chaos, the Lord draws attention to the matter and rebukes the apostles, accusing them of lacking faith.

Although devout, they lack even a shred of risk-taking. They lack love – like a mustard seed (v. 26) – to bring to humanity in order to renew it.

And are we believers still confused, at a loss? Does the chaos of preconceived notions still rage – not excluding selfishness, which inexorably rears its head?

Paradoxically, we are walking the path of the Exodus, of the experience of the first believers; true ‘knowledge’, because it is direct. One warning: we must not let fear get the better of us.

In Him, we are imbued with a different perspective on danger.

The Tao Te Ching (xxii) says: ‘The sage does not see for himself; therefore he is enlightened.’ Even in the narrowest of passages.

In fact, at all times it seems that Jesus expressly desires for the apostles those dark moments of confrontation and doubt (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22b). First and foremost, it will be certain church leaders who are called to rid themselves of repetitive convictions. Only in this way will their Proclamation remain unhindered.

Indeed, textbook expectations (and the habit of creating conformist harmonies) stifle the blossoming of who we are and what we hope for.

Above all, what is troublesome or even ‘contrary’ has something crucial to tell us.

Even in the little boat of the congregations [cf. Mk 4:36], unease must find expression.

‘And they went up to him and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!”’ (v. 25).

Peril is an opportunity to revive the essence of each individual and of the community itself.

Trial brings about change (hidden or repressed) and sets it in motion in the most effective way.

Novelty arises from natural contact with latent, primordial energies.

More than from conflicting forces or external events, anxiety, unease and anguish arise, in fact, from the very fear of facing the normal or decisive questions of existence.

This may stem from a lack of confidence: sensing danger perhaps only because we perceive ourselves, deep down, as not yet fully mature, and incapable of any other form of dialogue; of discovering and re-evaluating, converting, or reshaping ourselves.

The struggle to question oneself and the suffering that the adventure of Faith holds in store will fade even amidst the turbulence of the rough sea – which, precisely, does not want us to return to being ‘who we were before’ .

We simply need to let go of the idea of stability – even religious stability – and listen to life as it is, embracing it.

Even amidst its multitude of setbacks, bitterness, shattered hopes of harmony and sorrows – engaging with this torrent of new challenges, and encountering our own deepest nature.

The best antidote to the anxieties of our journey with Christ across the shifting waves of the unexpected is precisely not to avoid worries in advance – but rather to face them head-on and welcome them; to recognise ourselves in them, and let them run their course.

Even in times of global crisis, the anxieties that seem intent on devastating us come to us as energies preparing the way for other joys that long to burst forth. New cosmic harmonies; for wonder beginning with ourselves – and guidance from beyond.

Our little boat is in a state of inverted stability, turned upside down, impossible to balance; uncertain, unsuitable – yet energetic, sharp, capable of reinventing itself.

And it may even be excessive, but let the upheavals come.

For a proposal of Tenderness (which does not correspond) that is no relaxation zone, because it rhymes with terrible anxiety and… still neglected outskirts!

To internalise and live out the message:

On what occasions have you found easy what previously seemed impossible?

A splendid testimony:

    ‘Once, like the first disciples, we encountered the Lord and heard his word: “Follow me!” Perhaps at first we followed him somewhat hesitantly, looking back and wondering if this was truly our path. And at some point along the way, we may have had the same experience as Peter after the miraculous catch; that is, we were daunted by His greatness, by the magnitude of the task and by the inadequacy of our own humble selves, so much so that we wanted to turn back: ‘Lord, depart from me, for I am a sinner!’ (Luke 5:8) But then He, with great kindness, took us by the hand, drew us to Himself and said: ‘Do not be afraid! I am with you. I will not leave you; do not leave me!” And more than once, perhaps, the same thing has happened to each of us as it did to Peter when, walking on the water towards the Lord, he suddenly realised that the water was not supporting him and that he was about to sink. And like Peter, we cried out: “Lord, save me!” (Mt 14:30). Faced with the full fury of the elements, how could we have crossed the roaring, foaming waters of the last century and the last millennium? But then we looked to Him … and He took us by the hand and gave us a new ‘specific gravity’: the lightness that comes from faith and draws us upwards. And then He offers us the hand that sustains and carries us. He sustains us. Let us turn our gaze to Him again and again and stretch out our hands towards Him. Let us allow His hand to take hold of us, and then we shall not sink, but we shall serve the life that is stronger than death, and the love that is stronger than hatred. Faith in Jesus, the Son of the living God, is the means by which we grasp Jesus’ hand time and again, and through which He takes our hands and guides us. One of my favourite prayers is the petition that the liturgy places on our lips before Communion: ‘…never let me be separated from You’. We ask never to fall out of communion with his Body, with Christ himself, never to fall out of the Eucharistic mystery. We ask that he never let go of our hand…’.

[Pope Benedict, Chrism Mass homily, 13 April 2006]

Bread and miracles of the phantom Christ. And we, the hem of his cloak

(Mk 6:53–56 // Mt 14:34–36)

He who is devoted to the cause of non-violence and non-possession, who is driven by the search for truth and right vision, who is capable of resolving his own emotional and intellectual problems and can show others the way to overcome their emotional and intellectual problems, may wear the Master’s cloak [Acharya Mahaprajna].

Whilst crowds constantly throng around Jesus and prevent others from having a personal relationship with Him, we must find a way; at the very least, catch a glimpse of Him (v. 56).

‘And wherever He entered—whether villages, towns or hamlets—they would lay the sick out in the public squares and beg Him to let them touch even the fringe of His cloak. And all who touched Him were healed.’

In fact, the fringe of his cloak is his People – and each one of us, when by Grace we are enabled to perceive and extend his call, his spirit, his care, his action.

A ‘touch’ that is not merely a gesture: it calls for total involvement; personal faith, an inner search.

The crowds gathered around the Lord and the Church, his primary presence, seek bread and healing… but sometimes they forget to connect with the inner Person who gives and heals.

Yet even in these cases, the infallible Guide continues to offer his unbroken life-giving current – not through therapies that impose themselves upon souls like a bolt of lightning, but within real life.

God liberates, saves and creates, starting from tensions and flaws (including religious ones), because He wishes to lead us to awareness.

The Father desires to instil the value of the act of love that strengthens the weak; every re-creative, incarnate gesture, open to any sense of emptiness.

Troubles do not arise from misfortune or punishment: they come to allow us to blossom anew, precisely from the pains of the soul.

If they persist, there is no need to fear: they become more explicit messages from our own higher Self.

It means that something in our inner orchestra is out of tune or neglected, and must either fade away or be uncovered and brought into play.

Otherwise, we will not be able to grow towards the destiny that characterises a Calling and every hardship.

Even the symptoms of restlessness belong to our innate essence – which always holds the power of relevance.

The key, therefore, will not be our appearance, nor our health, but rather the very acceptance of bitterness and hardship, which come to clear away the non-essential – and to liberate trapped spiritual impulses.

These are energies of imbalance, yet they seek to be transformed into the ability to cast off ballast; as well as to better accommodate and integrate our calling into our own story, so as to build life anew.

Perhaps quite a few would prefer to await a miraculous arrival of the Master [the archetypal healer] who brings immediate benefit and instant favours.

An external salvation with a magical flavour – fleeting, even if physically palpable or even taking on an ethical guise.

A phenomenal, yet simplistic, Lord.

An Appearance that dies straight away, only for us to start all over again – were it not for the fact that He (within us, in our turning points) embraces the very uncertainties that mark us.

And the long duration of these processes, which gradually take on a more intimate significance.

Total and sacred redemption – truly messianic – is not given to superficial fanfare.

Healing is not a spectacle. It is achieved solely step by step; thus it remains profound and radical.

It becomes capable of new beginnings and acts of giving birth to energy that is still in its embryonic stage, precisely starting from individual precariousness.

His People of the inner circle – a presence no longer ineffable and mysterious – strive in closeness to erase the false image of the philosophical or legal God, who is always external. 

A sovereign or imperious driving force, distant and absent – touchy, predatory – who occasionally makes an appearance; he neither transcends nor reaffirms. He never looks upon our present.

Thus the Church rejects the idea of the Eternal One who ratifies, but also that of the mass miracle-worker, who provides immediate solutions – so dear to the merchants of miracles.

A figure who easily takes hold of our imaginations.

We proclaim his true Face through words and deeds, precisely to destroy the idea of the phantom Christ from the previous passage (v. 49), a deplorable and absurd figure.

An evanescent icon, purely apologetic, which, unfortunately, throughout history has given ample scope to those in business with the Most High.

In this way, being healed does not mean escaping transience.

For a life as the saved, a transformation from within is needed; a new beginning. A different foothold in goodness.

Jesus walks through our world like a silent wayfarer, and accepts even a rudimentary faith.

Yet, even with unassuming power, the divine impulse works within every seeker of meaning and every person in need.

It takes up residence there personally, beginning precisely with our interrupted dreams.

The Lord cannot be imprisoned or confined: he draws near to carry out a great cleansing, to shift our gaze, and to renew the stale universe.

Thus He transforms our soul, through the experience of His free communion,

a fellowship that seeks to take up residence within us, to merge with and expand the drive for life – perhaps lying dormant in our inaction. So that each of us may be amazed by ourselves, by unknown passions, by new relationships.

Believers and the community manifest, in empathetic ways, the incisive healing power of Faith in the Risen One, beginning with their own intimate lives.

We experience this alive in the monotonous, unfulfilling and precarious day-to-day – yet capable of changing the structure of existence hidden in humble neighbourhoods [v.56: ‘hamlets’] and its unspoken destiny.

Without disturbing us with special, one-sided or overbearing effects.

The Tao Te Ching (xi) states: ‘Thirty spokes meet at a single hub, and in its non-being lies the usefulness of the cart’.

Far removed from the civilisation of appearances lies the improvement of our condition and security, away from insecurity.

Not merely a superficial, indiscreet and fleeting recovery.

Phenomenal, yet merely fleeting and inconclusive, or one that ultimately fades away.

To internalise and live out the message:

How do you view Jesus? As a miracle-worker or a restorer?

How do you behave towards those who are excluded or seem to have no shepherd?

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni

“Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni” – with these and similar words, the Church’s liturgy prays repeatedly […]

These invocations were probably formulated during the twilight years of the Roman Empire. The collapse of the fundamental legal systems and the underlying moral attitudes that gave them strength led to the breaking of the defences that had hitherto protected peaceful coexistence amongst people. A world was coming to an end. Frequent natural disasters further heightened this sense of insecurity. There was no force in sight that could halt this decline. All the more insistent, then, was the invocation of God’s own power: that He might come and protect humankind from all these threats.

“Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni”. Even today we have many reasons to join in this prayer […] The world, with all its new hopes and possibilities, is at the same time troubled by the impression that the moral consensus is dissolving—a consensus without which legal and political structures cannot function; consequently, the forces mobilised to defend these structures seem destined to fail.

Excita – the prayer recalls the cry addressed to the Lord, who was sleeping in the disciples’ boat as it was being tossed about by the storm and on the verge of sinking. When his powerful word had calmed the storm, he rebuked the disciples for their lack of faith (cf. Mt 8:26 and parallels). He meant to say: faith has been sleeping within you. He means the same thing to us too. In us, too, faith so often lies dormant. Let us therefore pray to Him to rouse us from the slumber of a faith that has grown weary, and to restore to faith the power to move mountains – that is, to put the affairs of the world in their proper order.

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

Once, like the first disciples, we encountered the Lord and heard his words:  "Follow me!" Perhaps, to start with, we followed him somewhat hesitantly, looking back and wondering if this really was the road for us. And at some point on the journey, we may have had the same experience as Peter after the miraculous catch; in other words, we may have been frightened by its size, by the size of the task and by the inadequacy of our own poor selves, so that we wanted to turn back. "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord" (Lk 5: 8). 

Then,  however,  with  great  kindness, he took us by the hand, he drew us  to  himself  and  said  to  us:   "Do not fear! I am with you. I  will not abandon you, do not leave me!". 

And more than just once, the same thing that happened to Peter may have happened to us:  while he was walking on the water towards the Lord, he suddenly realized that the water was not holding him up and that he was beginning to sink. And like Peter we cried, "Lord, save me!" (Mt 14: 30). Seeing the elements raging on all sides, how could we get through the roaring, foaming waters of the past century, of the past millennium? 

But then we looked towards him... and he grasped us by the hand and gave us a new "specific weight":  the lightness that derives from faith and draws us upwards. Then he stretched out to us the hand that sustains and carries us. He supports us. Let us fix our gaze ever anew on him and reach out to him. Let us allow his hand to take ours, and then we will not sink but will serve the life that is stronger than death and the love that is stronger than hatred. 

Faith in Jesus, Son of the living God, is the means through which, time and again, we can take hold of Jesus' hand and in which he takes our hands and guides us. 

One of my favourite prayers is the request that the liturgy puts on our lips before Communion:  "...never let me be separated from you". Let us ask that we never fall away from communion with his Body, with Christ himself, that we do not fall away from the Eucharistic mystery. Let us ask that he will never let go of our hands...

[Pope Benedict, Chrism Mass homily, 13 April 2006]

4. In turn, the calming of the storm on the Sea of Galilee can be reinterpreted as a ‘sign’ of Christ’s constant presence in the ‘boat’ of the Church, which has often, throughout history, been exposed to the fury of the winds in times of storm. Jesus, roused by the disciples, commands the winds and the sea, and a great calm ensues. Then he says to them: ‘Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?’ (Mk 4:40). In this, as in other episodes, we see Jesus’ desire to instil in the apostles and disciples faith in his active and protective presence, even in the stormiest hours of history, when doubt about his divine assistance might creep into their hearts. Indeed, in Christian homiletics and spirituality, miracles have often been interpreted as ‘signs’ of Jesus’ presence and as a guarantee of the trust placed in him by Christians and the Church.

5. Jesus, walking on the water towards his disciples, offers another ‘sign’ of his presence and assures them of his constant watchful care over the disciples and the Church. ‘Take heart; it is I; do not be afraid,’ says Jesus to the apostles, who had taken him for a ghost (cf. Mk 6:49–50; cf. Mt 14:26–27; Jn 6:16–21). Mark notes the apostles’ amazement ‘because they had not understood the miracle of the loaves and their hearts were hardened’ (Mk 6:52). Matthew records Peter’s request to step out onto the water to go and meet Jesus, and notes his fear and his cry for help when he felt himself sinking: Jesus saves him, but gently rebukes him: “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” (Mt 14:31). He also adds that “those in the boat fell down before him, exclaiming: ‘Truly, you are the Son of God’” (Mt 14:33).

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

Today’s Gospel recounts a particular prodigious deed of Jesus: He walks at night on the waters of the lake of Galilee toward his disciples who are crossing the lake in a boat (cf. Mt 14:22-33). The question is: Why did Jesus do this? Like a show? No! But why? Maybe because of an urgent, unforeseeable need to help his disciples who were blocked by a headwind? No, because he himself had planned everything, he had made them depart that evening. The text even says he “made them” (cf. v. 22). Maybe he did it to give them a demonstration of his greatness and power? But this is not like him, who is such a humble person. So, why did he do it? Why did he want to walk on the waters?

Behind the walking on water there is a message that is not evident, a message we need to grasp. In fact, at that time, great expanses of water were held to be the haunts of evil powers that man was not able to master. Particularly when storms made them turbulent, these abysses were symbols of chaos and recalled the darkness of the underworld. Now, the disciples found themselves in the middle of the lake when it was dark. They are afraid of sinking, of being sucked in by evil. And here comes Jesus who walks on the water, that is, over the powers of evil. He walks over the forces of evil and says to his disciples: “Take heart, it is I; have no fear” (v. 27). This is the message Jesus gives us. This is the meaning of the sign: the powers of evil that frighten us, that we cannot master, immediately take on smaller proportions with Jesus. By walking on the waters, He wants to say, “Do not be afraid. I put your enemies under my feet” — a beautiful message — I put your enemies under my feet — not people! — not that type of enemy, but death, sin, the devil. These are the enemies of the people, our enemies. And Jesus tramples on these enemies for us.

Today, Christ repeats to each of us, “Take heart, it is I; have no fear!” Take heart because I am here, because you are no longer alone on the turbulent waters of life. And so, what should we do when we find ourselves on the open sea at the mercy of headwinds? What should we do when we face the fear of the open sea, when we see only darkness and we feel we are going under? We need to do two things that the disciples do in the Gospel. What do the disciples do? They call onand welcome Jesus. At the worst moments, in the darkest of storms, call on Jesus and welcome Jesus.

The disciples call on Jesus: Peter walks a little on the waters towards Jesus, but then gets frightened. He sinks and then cries out: “Lord, save me!” (v. 30). Invoke Jesus, call on Jesus. This prayer is beautiful. It expresses the certainty that the Lord can save us, that he conquers our evil and our fears. I invite you to repeat it now all together. Three times together: Lord, save me! Lord, save me! Lord, save me!

And then the disciples welcome. First they call on, then they welcome Jesus into the boat. The text says that as soon as he got into the boat, “the wind ceased” (v. 32). The Lord knows that the boat of our life, as well as the boat of the Church, is threatened by headwinds, and that the sea on which we sail is often turbulent. He does not spare us the hard work of sailing; rather — the Gospel emphasizes — he pushes his disciples to depart. He invites us to face difficulties so they too might become salvific places , so Jesus can conquer them, so they become opportunities to meet him. In fact, in our moments of darkness, he comes to meet us, asking to be welcomed like that night on the lake.

So, let us ask ourselves: How do I react when I am afraid, in difficulties? Do I go ahead alone, with my own strength, or do I call on the Lord with trust? And what is my faith like? Do I believe that Christ is stronger than the adversarial waves and winds? But above all: Am I sailing with him? Do I welcome him? Do I make room for him in the boat of my life — never alone, always with Jesus? Do I hand the helm over to Jesus?

In the dark crossings, may Mary, the mother of Jesus, Star of the Sea, help us to seek the light of Jesus.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 13 August 2023]

(Mt 14:13-21)

Jesus wants that contributions, resources and abilities make synergy; that they offer themselves in service and come unite for the life of multitudes (vv.13-15.19).

The Eucharistic gesture - “breaking the existence” - says: new heavens and earth do not correspond to the world in which everyone hastens to reap for himself or his circle, in order to grab the maximum of resources.

Even the Apostles - called by Jesus and still at a safe distance from Him - are not the owners of the Bread, but those who must feed everyone (v.16), to create abundance where it is not.

They must share, not command. And, in order to avoid impoverishment and damage to happiness, they must place themselves in a logic of overcoming.

The Son reflects God’s plan in compassion for the crowds in need of everything. Yet his solution does not fly over us - simply by wiping tears or erasing humiliations.

He invites us to use what we have, although it may seem ridiculous. But He teaches that shifting energies creates prodigious results.

Thus we respond in Christ to the great problems of the world: recovering the condition of ‘viator’ man - being in passing - and sharing goods.

Our real nakedness, the vicissitudes and experience of many brothers, different ones, are resources not to be evaluated with mistrust.

And the Lord disagrees with the idea that each gets off on his own (v.15).

He imposes on his intimates that «the crowds» (plurals) lie down in an atmosphere of abundance (v.19) as did the gentlemen and free people at solemn banquets.

He wants and insists that it is first of all the disciples to serve (v.19), not other slaves.

And perhaps the most astounding detail is that to none of those present imposes preventive gestures of purification, as was customary in selective religiosity.

Before the meal it postulated the ritual ablution: a ceremony that emphasized a sacral detachment between pure and impure.

The only task of the disciples is to distribute Food to be shredded, sifted and assimilated personally, to build a new world.

In order to present ourselves before God, in religion we have a long rigmarole of fulfilments to observe, which sometimes normalise us.

On the journey of Faith, it is the gratuitous Encounter with the Lord that makes us grow and complete, making each one perfect and unconditionally pure.

In this, extracting authentic Pearls; just from our eccentricities character - those that are detached from the millimeter manners.

His Kingdom? Reign of invited and brothers, also disagree. No master or ruler - even if quicker and more able to manage himself.

The Eucharist thus remains an Appeal to real Conviviality [of differences as they are] and an evergreen Call not to be satisfied with individual devotions or with a harmonisable but empty spirituality.

We must not limit ourselves in multiplying Life.

There must be no limits when spreading the ‘nourishment of wisdom’: the five «loaves», that is, the Pentateuch as ‘staple food’…

And two «fishes», that is, the Historical Books and the Prophets, feedings that accompany the Torah.

All to be «broken» for everyone - and shared, for the benefit of each person.

To internalize and live the message:

How does the Eucharistic gesture speak to you of the Revolution of Tenderness, and of your Call by Name through the Church?

[18th Sunday in O.T. (year A)  August 2nd, 2026]

Multiplying by dividing

(Mt 14:13-21)

«Man is a limited being who is himself limitless» (Fratelli Tutti [Brethren All] n.150).

In our hearts we have a great longing for fulfilment and Happiness. The Father has introduced it, He Himself satisfies it - but He wants us to be associated with His work - inside and outside.

The Son reflects God's design in compassion for the crowds in need of everything and - despite the plethora of teachers and experts - lacking any authentic teaching (cf. Mt 9:36).

His solution is very different from that of all 'spiritual' guides, because he does not overlook us with an indirect paternalism (cf. Mt 14:16) that wipes away tears, heals wounds, erases humiliations.

It invites us to make use of what we are and have, even though it may seem ridiculous. But it teaches in no uncertain terms that by shifting energies we achieve prodigious results.

This is how we respond in Christ to the world's great problems: by recovering the condition of the man viator - a being of passage, his essential mark - and sharing goods; not letting everyone make do (v.15).

Our real nakedness, the vicissitudes and the experience of our many brothers and sisters, who are different, are resources not to be evaluated with distrust, "as dangerous competitors or enemies" of our fulfilment (FT no.151).

Not only will the little we bring be enough to satiate us: it will advance for others and with identical fullness of truth, human, epochal [v.17: the particular passage insists on the well-known Semitic symbolism of the number "seven"].

In Christ, everyone can inaugurate a new Time, and Salvation is already at hand, because people gather spontaneously around Him, coming as they are, with the burden of so many different needs.

The new people of God are not a crowd of chosen and pure people. Everyone brings with them problems, which the Lord heals - but healing not with proxy measures (v.16), as if from above or from without.

In short: another world is possible, but through breaking one's own (even miserable) bread and companion (vv.17-19).

An authentic solution, if one brings it out from within, and by standing in the middle - not in front, not at the top (v.15c).

The place of God's revelation was supposed to be the place of lightning, on a "mountain" smoking like a furnace (Ex 19:18)... but finally even Elijah's violent zeal had to recant (1 Kings 19:12).

Even to the pagans, the Son reveals a Father who does not simply erase infirmities (v.14): he makes them understood as a place that is preparing a personal development, and that of the Community.

He imagined that in the time of the Messiah, the lame, the deaf and the blind would disappear (Is 35:5ff.). Golden age: everything at the top, no abyss.

In Jesus - distributed Bread - an unusual fullness of time is manifested, apparently nebulous and fragile, but real and able to reboot everyone, and relationships.

The Spirit of God acts not by descending like lightning from on high, but by activating in us capacities that appear intangible, yet are capable of regrouping our dispersed being, classified as insubstantial - involving the everyday summary - and re-evaluating it.

The Incarnation reweaves our hearts, in dignity and promotion; it truly unfolds, because it not only drags obstacles away: it rests on them and does not erase them at all: thus it overpowers them but transmutes them - posing new life.

Lymph that draws juice and sprouts Flowers from the one muddy, fertile soil, and communicates them. Solidarity to which all are invited, not just those deemed to be in a state of 'perfection' and compactness.

Our shortcomings make us attentive, and unique. They are not to be despised, but taken up, placed in the Son's hands and energised (v.18).

Falls themselves can be a valuable sign: in Christ, they are no longer reductive humiliations, but rather path markers. Perhaps we are not making the best use and investment of our resources.

Thus, collapses can quickly turn into rises - different, not packaged - and a search for total completion in Communion.

Therefore, in the ideal of realising the Vocation and sensing the type of contribution to be made, nothing is better than a living environment that does not clip the wings: a lively fraternity in the exchange of resources, and coexistence.

Not so much to dampen the jolts, but so that we are enabled to build stores of wisdom not calibrated by nomenclature - which everyone can draw on, even those who are different and far from us.

If a shortcoming is found here too, it will be to teach us to be present in the world in (perhaps) other and further directions, or to bring out mission and creative maturity - not to remain fixated on partiality and minutiae.The allusion to the seven foods (multiplied because they are divided) supports the quotations regarding the malleable magma of biblical icons, such as those of Moses and Elijah: figures from the five Books of the Pentateuch [the basic Loaves], plus the two sections of Prophets and Writings [which act as 'companions'].

The first "five" are the essential fullness of food and wisdom for the soul, which is called to proceed beyond the surrounding hedges, breaking through the embankments of the boundary-subjugated mentality.

It is the basic nourishment of the human-divine spirit, to which, however, is added a young and fresh companion food, which precisely involves us (v.17.19).

[As St Augustine said: "The Word of God that is daily explained to you and in a certain sense 'broken' is also daily Bread" (Sermo 58, IV: PL 38, 395). Complete food: basic food and 'companion' - historical and ideal, in code and in deed].

We become in Christ as an actualised and propulsive corpus of sensitive witnesses (and Scriptures!); admittedly reduced, not yet established and lacking in heroic phenomena, but accentuatedly sapiential and practical.

Announcers and sharers without clamorous proclamations of self-sufficiency, never enclosed within archaic fences - always in the making - therefore able to perceive unknown tracks.

And to break the Bread... that is, to be active, to go further, to share the little - to nourish, to overflow (multiplying the listening and the action of God) and to make even the desperate regain esteem.

We are children: like few and little fish (vv.17.19), who do not wallow in competitions that make life toxic - rather: called in the first person to write a singular, empathic and sacred Word-event.

Infants in the Lord, we swim in this different Water - sometimes perhaps outwardly veiled or muddy and murky; finally made transparent if only because it is yielding, compassionate and benevolent.

The old exclusive puddle of religion that does not dare the risk of Faith (v.13) would not have helped us to assimilate the proposal of Jesus the Messiah, Son of God, Saviour - acrostic of the Greek word "Ichtys" (fish: vv.17.19 diminutive).

He is the Father's Initiative-Response, support in the (unethereal) journey in search of the Hope of the poor - of all of us destitute people waiting.

It seems strange, for those of us who have grown accustomed to it: the working Faith has as its emblem the fractional Eucharist, a revolution of sacredness.

Indeed, the purpose of evangelisation is to participate in and emancipate the complete being from all that threatens it, not only in its extreme limitation: also in its everyday action - to the point of seeking communion of goods.

The prodigy is placed after the rejection in Nazareth (Mt 13:53-57), Herod's ambiguous and superstitious questioning (vv.1-2), and the execution of the Baptist (vv.3-12).

In short, the Source and Summit Sign of the community of sons is a creative gesture that imposes a shift in vision and action, an absolutely new eye and gesture.

[In this way, faced with the destitution of the many - caused by the greed of the few - the attitude of the authentic Church does not take pleasure in emblems and fervour, nor in partial calls to distinction].

The breaking of the Bread takes over from the Manna dropped from above in the desert (Mt 14:15; 15:33; Mk 8:4) and entails its distribution - not only in particular situations.

There is no settling, in multiplying life for all.

This is the attitude of the living Body of the thaumaturgic Christ [not the miracle-worker] who feels called to be active in every circumstance.

Grateful adherence must lead us to the gift and sharing of 'bread'.

If it is not punctual alms-giving, external pietism, mannerist welfarism, there is the result:

Women and men will eat, they will remain full, and there will be food left over for others. Indeed, not all of God's intended guests are yet present....

We note that it had not even occurred to the disciples that the solution might come from the people themselves and their spirit - not from the patented leaders or some individual benefactor.

Unexpected solution: the question of food is solved not from above, but from within the people and with the few loaves they brought with them.

There is no solution with the verb 'to multiply' - i.e. 'to increase' ... what? relationships that count, increase property, pile up wiles.

The only therapy is the coexistence of 'breaking', 'giving', 'offering' (v.19). And everyone is involved, no one privileged.

At that time, competitiveness and class mentality characterised the pyramid society of the empire - and began to infiltrate even the small community, just starting out.

As if the Lord and the God of retribution could live side by side, yet.

It is the communion of the needy that conversely rises to the top in the non-artisanal Church.

Real sharing acts as the professor of the ubiquitous veteran, pretentious people, the only ones yet to be converted.The germ of their 'durability' should be not altitude and role, but love.

Such is the only meaning of sacred gestures; not other projects tinged with prevarication, or appearance.

The 'belonging' astound.

For the Lord, the distant (though still poised in their choices) are full participants in the messianic banquet - without preclusions, nor disciplines of the arcane with nerve-racking expectations.

Conversely, that Canteen presses in favour of others who have yet to be called. For a kind of re-establishment of the original Unity.

In short, the Redemption does not belong to elites concerned with the stability of their rule - which it is even the weak who must sustain.

Saved life comes to us by incorporation.

To internalise and live the message:

Have you ever broken your bread, passed on happiness and made recoveries that renew relationships, putting people who do not even have self-esteem back on their feet? Or have you favoured attitudes of the monarchical elite?

Appendix

Jesus wants contributions, resources and skills to work in synergy; to serve and unite for the life of the multitudes (vv.13-15.19).

The Eucharistic gesture - breaking of life - says: new heavens and new earth do not correspond to the world in which each one hurries to reap for himself or his circle, in order to grab the maximum of resources.

Even the Apostles - called by Jesus but still remaining at a safe distance from Him - are not the owners of the Bread, but those who are to give nourishment to all (v.16), to create abundance where there is none.

They are to share, not to rule - least of all over the opinions or situations of others. And, in order to avoid impoverishment and damage to happiness, place themselves in a logic of overcoming.

The Son reflects God's design in compassion for the needy crowd. However, his solution does not gloss over us - simply wiping away tears or erasing humiliation.

It invites us to use what we have, although this may seem ridiculous. But it teaches that shifting energies creates prodigious results.

This is how we respond in Christ to the world's great problems: by recovering the condition of the man viator - a being of passage, his essential mark - and by sharing goods.

Our real nakedness, the vicissitudes and experiences of our many brothers and sisters, who are different, are resources not to be evaluated with distrust, "as dangerous competitors or enemies" of our fulfilment (FT no.151).

The Lord does not agree with the idea of everyone making do (v.15); neither does he like alms, or the old idol of "buying" (v.15).

He imposes on his own that "the crowds" (plural) lie down in abundance (v.19 Greek text) as the lords and free people did at solemn banquets.

He wants and insists that it is primarily the disciples who serve (v.19), not other slaves.

And perhaps the most astounding thing is that he does not impose prior gestures of purification on any of those present, as was the custom in traditional, hypocritically sterilised and selective religiosity.

Before the meal, it required ablution: a ceremony that emphasised a sacred detachment between the pure and the impure.

The disciples' only task is to distribute the Food - then to be chopped up, sifted and assimilated personally, to build a new world - not to X-ray it beforehand; much less to be interested in it.

In religion we have a long rigmarole of fulfilments to observe in order to present ourselves before God, which unfortunately normalise us.

In the path of Faith, it is the free encounter with the Lord that makes us grow and complete, making us perfect and uncontaminated, unconditionally... extracting authentic Pearls, precisely from our character eccentricities (those that depart from millimetric agreements).

His Kingdom? All invited and brothers (even not in agreement), no one master or ruler - destined to lead the humble by his own hand, always standing in front or above - because he is quicker and more able to manage himself.

The Eucharist remains a Call to Real Conviviality (of differences as they are) and an evergreen Reminder not to settle for individual devotions or a twinnable but empty spirituality.

The working Faith thus has the Eucharist as its emblem, a revolution of sacredness. It seems strange, for us who have grown accustomed to it.

The aim of evangelisation is to emancipate from everything that threatens life, not only in its extreme limitation, but also in its everyday action - to the point of seeking the communion of goods.

In Matthew 14 the prodigy is placed after Jesus was rejected from Nazareth, Herod's concern, the murder of the Baptist.

The Source and Summit Sign of the community of sons is a creative gesture that imposes a shift of vision, an absolutely new eye.In the face of the destitution of the many - caused by the greed of the few - the attitude of the authentic Church does not take pleasure in emblems and fervour, nor in partial calls to distinguish itself in almsgiving.

The breaking of the Bread takes the place of the Manna dropped from above in the desert and involves its distribution - not only in special situations (v.15).

We must not limit ourselves in multiplying Life.

There must be no limits when spreading the nourishment of wisdom: 

the five «loaves», that is, the Pentateuch as ‘staple food’, 

and two «fishes», that is, the Historical Books and the Prophets, 

foods that accompany the Torah.

All to be «broken» for everyone 

and shared, for the benefit of each person.

This is the attitude of the living Body of the thaumaturgic Christ [not the miracle-worker] who feels called to be active in every circumstance.

Eucharistic participation must lead us to the gift and sharing of bread.

The result: women and men will eat, remain full, and there will be food left over for others [not all of God's intended guests are still present...].

We note that it had not even occurred to the disciples that the solution might come from the people themselves and their spirit - not just the paternalism of the leaders or some individual benefactor.

Unexpected solution: the question of food is solved not from above, but only from within the people and with the few loaves they brought with them (vv.15-17).

There is no solution with the verb 'multiply' - i.e. 'increase' ... relationships that count, increase property, pile up wiles.

The only therapy is 'to break', 'to give', 'to distribute' (vv.16-19 Greek text).

And everyone is involved, no one privileged.

At that time, competitiveness and class mentality characterised the society of the empire - and began to infiltrate even the small community, just starting out.

As if the Lord and the God of retribution could live side by side, yet.

It is the communion of the needy that conversely takes centre stage in the authentic Church.

Real sharing acts as the professor of the ubiquitous veteran, pretentious and pretentious, the only ones who have yet to be converted.

The germ of their 'longevity' should be not altitude and role, but love.

Such is the only meaning of sacred gestures, not other projects tinged with bullying, or appearance.

The 'belonging' and veterans astound.

For the Lord, the distant (though still poised in their choices) are full sharers in the messianic banquet - without preclusions, nor disciplines of the arcane or nerve-wracking expectations.

Conversely, that Canteen cries out in favour of others who have yet to be called, for a kind of re-establishment of the original Unity.

In short, the Redemption does not belong to the (pyramidal monarchical) elites who are concerned about the stability of their dominance - which it is even the weak who must sustain.

[As St. Augustine said: "The Word of God that is daily explained to you and in a certain sense 'broken' is also daily Bread" (Sermo 58, IV: PL 38,395). Complete food: basic food and "companion" - historical and ideal, in code and in deed].

To internalise and live the message:

How does the Eucharistic gesture speak to you of the Revolution of Tenderness, and of your Calling by Name through the Church?

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

This Sunday’s Gospel describes the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves that Jesus worked for a great throng of people who had followed him to listen to him and to be healed of various illnesses (cf. Mt 14:14).

As evening fell the disciples suggested to Jesus that he send the crowds away so that they might take some refreshment. But the Lord had something else in mind: “You give them something to eat” (Mt 14:16). However they had “only five loaves... and two fish”. Jesus’ subsequent action evokes the sacrament of the Eucharist: “He looked up to heaven, and blessed, and broke and gave the loaves to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds” (Mt 14:19).

The miracle consists in the brotherly sharing of a few loaves which, entrusted to the power of God, not only sufficed for everyone but enough was left over to fill 12 baskets. The Lord asked this of the disciples so that it would be they who distributed the bread to the multitude; in this way he taught and prepared them for their future apostolic mission: in fact, they were to bring to all the nourishment of the Word of life and of the sacraments.

In this miraculous sign the incarnation of God and the work of redemption are interwoven. Jesus, in fact, “went ashore” from the boat to meet the men and women (cf. Mt 14:14). St Maximus the Confessor said that the Word of God made himself present for our sake, by taking flesh, derived from us and conformed to us in all things save sin, in order to expose us to his teaching with words and examples suitable for us” (Ambigua 33: PG 91, 1285 C).

Here the Lord offers us an eloquent example of his compassion for people. We are reminded of all our brothers and sisters in the Horn of Africa who in these days are suffering the dramatic consequences of famine, exacerbated by war and by the lack of solid institutions. Christ is attentive to material needs but he wished to give more, because man always “hungers for more, he needs more” (Jesus of Nazareth, Doubleday, New York 2007, p. 267 (English translation). God’s love is present in the bread of Christ; in the encounter with him “we feed on the living God himself, so to speak, we truly eat the ‘bread from Heaven’” (ibid. p. 268).

Dear friends. “in the Eucharist Jesus also makes us witnesses of God’s compassion towards all our brothers and sisters. The Eucharistic mystery thus gives rise to a service of charity towards neighbour” (Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation Sacramentum Caritatis, n. 88).

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 31 July 2011]