The scandal of waiting and the kidnapping of the prelates

(Lk 18:1-8)

In the 80s, communities in Asia Minor suffered persecution because the emperor of Rome [the divine Domitian] demanded to be worshipped.

The official religious institution - servile and flattering - complies with the diktats of the Caesar on duty. 

Christians do not - aware of their own dignity and alternative world project, linked to a new face of God: no longer legislator and judge, but Creator and Redeemer of our intelligence, development and freedom.

The assemblies of the early believers are thus faced with hardships, discrimination and weariness that may be beyond their strength, but not their conscience.

Lk encourages believers and communities that are victims of abuse, with a narrative catechesis that emphasises how to arrive at the most effective disposition, capable of undermining the blackmail of social estrangement.

In fact, a kind of marginalisation (devious rather than violent) imposed by the religious and political authorities, by all the cliques in power.

If our gaze is obscured by conventions, the 'silence of God' in the face of abuses and the domination of bullies raises questions and raises reservations of faith.

[Today also for the kind of Church nostalgic for Constantine, or vice versa à la page; of later cynicism or disembodied superimpositions, and of many mists - not catacombs].

Certainly prayer does not force the Father to obey us, but our insistence is a sign of a living relationship, not a formal one.

This is the case even when it may happen that we become exhausted and (while remaining on the surface) do not consider the Creator entirely innocent in the face of evil and degradation.

But such an approach would cause us to miss the course of the King who reveals himself within... hiding in the furrows of events, and surfacing in hearts.

In the parable, the irresponsible judge is not the Father!

The unjust 'jurist' - a man of power - is an icon that dramatises the condition in which the disciples find themselves, deprived of the Master.

The authentic witnesses find themselves in a world of cunning, impregnated with ideology and the practice of having, power, appearing. Configurations that suffocate any yearning for genuine life.

Here is the "widow": the community of the new 'Anawim, Yahweh's poor [in the Gospels "ptōchôis"], that is, defenceless, exposed to abuse, deprived of worldly support - who have the Lord as their only hope.

Despite their shaky condition, the masses, though deprived of energy, do not desire conformity. They do not linger in adapting themselves to wiles - by dislodging themselves - without a Fire, a vital wave; without within a travelling companion to perceive, to welcome, to listen.

They reason and act from the hidden core of being and evolving. They do not remain at the bark of situations. They desire to be reborn.

They grasp the signs of the new emerging kingdom - of an alternative humanity - and yearn for them.

Should they lose the core, the meaning, they should return to learning to see in everything a calling, an infinity, an outside of time.

And a way of looking at themselves that is different from common sense. Us too: as if we were all lying on the foundational energy of our Dream - unique, personal, integral - that truly belongs to us.

Lk says: the only way to find ourselves and not lose the game of our character identity as children and critical witnesses is Prayer.

It is not the devout, predictable chanting that would put us to sleep (vv.3.7). Nor is it understood as religious duty: performance, formula, nerve-racking obligation; recognition of the honour due to the Master, or retreat.

It is evident from the tone of the narrative: the children's tu-per-tu is not an avalanche of pious emotions, rather an action forward.

A kind of leap that becomes magnetic and finally seizes powerfully on his deep desire.

An undue appropriation, but a corroborated one; not set up, or by our own merits, but through those of Christ - through the tenacious intuition he instils.

As St Bernard said: 'How much I miss the usurpation from the side of Christ'!

I recall the account of a great Roman parish priest ordained a priest by Paul VI who confided to me that he had participated in a blitz in the very Seminary I know so well. At the end of the celebration of a Eucharist (!) with distinguished guests, the students in revolt against the traditionalist prelates and professors of the Lateran - not at all intimidated by the rank of the sequestered - locked them in the sacristy, to force the various beautiful names present to yield to their demands for freedom [of readings and other]. They won the game shamelessly, unceremoniously - and some of the professors present changed their line on the spot (cf. v.8). Today those former seminarians are landmarks in the capital, all in the pastoral vanguard, people determined to follow their Calling. Real tough faces, who do not resign themselves. Impertinent, but imposing the appropriate developments, for everyone. They know: to lose sight of one's mission would mean losing the meaning of life, no longer knowing how to be with oneself, with others and with reality; finally, falling ill, because one would otherwise choose to live in a swamp, compulsorily slumbering.

Christian Prayer has the same pace as Faith, not only peacefully dialoguing - and in such nodal traits it can be described through its own multifaceted facets.

So it does not plant us on the spot: it becomes a Source that induces reckless, brazen and inappropriate actions; totally inappropriate.

Why? At certain times, things change. In the 'world', just by calculation - but having said that, even the most trivial interests move something (vv.4-5).

There are aspects of our relationship with God characterised by traits of assent.

But the colourful part of prayer comes when we enter into a spousal atmosphere - of listening, intuition; also of personal struggle and quarrelling.

Such true moments result in a kind of reading of the weight of one's own story, of the genius of the time, of the footholds for actualisation.

Vision and 'pulse' that takes us out of mediocrity. Exodus dynamics corroborated by unrepeatable sensibilities and inclinations.

In short, we are not qualunquists, nor do-gooders, but ourselves: take it or leave it.

Even if in prayer we are not triggered by a pious disposition but by anger, that wrath will be embodied in our hands.

That same 'wrath' will become energy to build the prophetic present - and to critically anticipate the future - without, however, 'raging' [v.1 Greek text].

In short, prayer is a concrete gesture: it puts us in contact with a Vision that gives direction.

Living Prayer brings us closer to the world, through the inner gaze: in the perception of an innate Image that is our clear mirror and Vocation at all costs.

Here, a kind of primordial energy arises; to heal and direct situations.

Not only is it the great tool not to lose one's head, and a means not to discourage.

Rather than fall back, here is a prickly and annoying action, which recovers the whole being dispersed in a thousand questing events, with an attractive, positively uplifting effect - a magnet.

The dynamic, not very reassuring nest of prayer takes us back to the Core of the essence, to the eminent Self; into the realm of the Calling by Name.

It becomes Reading and Intuition encountering the profound states.

It is in such a shift of gaze and Vision that we actualise the future.

In this way, prayer itself guides us to the realisation of our individual and ministerial-ecclesial [or para-ecclesial] being.

For it creates: it suddenly [v.8 Greek text] places the fitting conditions, the acute moments of the turning point - because it lives Elsewhere, and in the base of the soul.

It discerns God in history, therefore it activates the energies of becoming: it drags reality, it attracts it.

He sanctions and actualises what is coming; he questions and stirs the institution that tends to wither.

With his helm, even in the midst of too much fog, he ploughs through the storms of ageing toxins, he flies over anguish, he unravels the world and our whole life.

"The gift is so great that no eye has ever seen it, for it is not colour; no ear has ever heard it, for it is not sound; nor has it ever entered the heart of man (cf. 1 Cor 2:9), for it is there that the heart of man must enter. We shall receive it with all the greater ability, the firmer our faith, the firmer our hope, the more ardent our desire. We therefore always pray in this same faith, hope and charity, with unceasing desire. But at certain times and in certain circumstances, we also address God with words, so that, through these signs, we may stimulate ourselves and at the same time realise how far we have progressed in our holy aspirations, spurring us on with greater ardour to intensify them. For the more vivid the desire, the richer the effect. And therefore, what else do the words of the Apostle mean: "Pray unceasingly" (1 Thess 5:17) if not this: Desire, without tiring, from him who alone can grant it, that blessed life, which would be worth nothing if it were not eternal?".

S. Augustine, "Letter to Proba"

Continuous Prayer: a condition of grace and strength, which does not fail.

Failing without failing: unceasing struggle with ourselves and with God

(Mt 7:7-12)

Sometimes we put the Father in the dock, because he seems to let things go as our freedom directs them.

But his design is not to make the world work to the perfection of transistors (of yesteryear) or integrated circuits (in their respective 'packages') or 'chips' [various 'bits']...

God wants us to acquire a New Creation mindset. His Action moulds us to the Son, transforming projects, ideas, desires, words, standard behaviour.

At first, prayer may perhaps seem tinged with mere requests. The more one proceeds in the experience of prayer in the Spirit of Christ, the less one asks.

The demands diminish, until they almost cease.

Desires for accumulation, or revenge and triumph, give way to listening and perception.

The penetrating eye becomes aware of what is at hand and of the unusual - in the increasingly conscious welcoming, which becomes real contemplation and union.

We do not know how long, but the 'result' comes suddenly: not only certain, but disproportionate.

But as if extracted from a process of continuous incandescence, where there are no logical networks, no easy shortcuts.

We receive the ultimate and complete Gift. And we can host it with dignity. A new Creation in the Spirit, a different Face.

An unexpected Face - not simply the fantasised or well-arranged one (as passed on by the family or expected on the side).

God allows events to take their own course, seemingly distant from us; therefore prayer can take on dramatic overtones and provoke irritation - as if it were an open dispute between us and Him.

But He chooses not to be the guarantor of our outer dreams. He does not allow Himself to be introduced into petty limits.

He wants to involve us in more than just our goals, which often conform too much to what is right under our noses.

It invents expanded horizons, but in this labour it must be clear that we must not fail ourselves. That is, to the character of our essence and vocation.

All this, precisely by failing ourselves - that is, by surrendering the rigid point of view and dialoguing with our deepest layers.

This process shifts the conditional emphasis.

It is not that God delights in being relentlessly prayed to and bent over by the poor.

It is we who need time to meet our own souls and allow ourselves to be introduced to another kind of agenda that is not conformist and predictable.

Reading happenings according to totally 'inadequate', eccentric or excessive views, less contracted within the usual armour (and so on) can open the mind.

The expansion of the gaze increases intuition, modifies feelings, transforms, activates. It grasps other designs, opens up different horizons - with intermediate results that are already prodigious, certainly unpredictable.

When someone believes he has understood the world, he already conditions further, more intense desires that would like to invade our space.

This artificial 'nature' of spurious set-ups, external or other, blocks the itinerary towards the nature of character, the true personal call and mission.

Prayer must be insistent, because it is like a view laid upon oneself; not as we thought: authentically. 

The inner eye serves to make a kind of clear, individual space within, which opens to our and others' Presence, all to be looked at (in the way that counts).

It will be the wisest, strongest and most reliable travelling companion... carrying our identity-character and not pulling the essential self of the person elsewhere.

The conscious emptying out of the piled-up junk (by ourselves or others) must be filled over time by an intensity of Relation.

Here is the interpersonal dialogue-listening with the Source of being.

In it is nested our particular Seed: there the difference of face that belongs to us is seated and in bloom.

It will be the radical depth of the relationship with our Root - perhaps lost in too many regular, even elevated or functioning expectations - that will confer another, more convincing Way.

And it will uncover the unique tendency and destination that belongs to us, for Happiness we did not think of.

Goals, resolutions, disciplines, memories of the past, dreams of the future, searches for reference points, habitual evaluations of possibilities, piles of merit... are sometimes ballasts.

They distract from the soil of the soul, where our grain would like to take root to become what is in the heart.

And from the kernel make one understand the proposal of Mission received - not conquered, nor possessed - so that it grants another prodigious character (not: visibility).

Often the mental and affective system recognises itself in an album of thoughts, definitions, gestures, forms, problems, titles, tasks, characters, roles and things already dead.

Such a morphology of interdiction loses the authentic present, where, on the contrary, the divine Dream that completes - realising us in specificity - takes root.

So, here is the therapy of the absolute present in Listening - of non-planning; starting with each one.

This in the conscious gap of that part of us that seeks security, approval, and panders to trivialities.Through unceasing dialogue with the Father in prayer, we make space for the roots of Being, which (in the meantime) is already filling us with views and opportunities for a different fate.

By reactivating the exploratory charge stifled in the gears, we create the right gap and start again in the Exodus.

To settle, to stop, to settle in one spot, would turn even qualitative conquests into a land of new slavery.

It would oblige us to recite and retrace milestones that have already been conquered - which conversely we are by vocation called upon to cross.

Exodus... within a springing, cosmic and identifying Relationship, singularly foundational.

Through prolonged Listening in prayer, we children acquire knowledge of the soul and the Mystery.

We dwell long in the House of our very special essence.

Thus we plant it - or root it even deeper - in order to understand it and recover it completely, clear and full.

Now freed from the destiny mapped out in a narrow environment, already marked but devoid of dreams.

When we are ready, Oneness will come into the field with a new solution, even an extravagant one.

It will give birth to what we really are, at our best - within that chaos that solves real problems. And from wave to wave it will leap to Goal.

Away with the definitions and aspirations of nomenclature, in a kind of coming undone of ourselves - in a state of 'discharge' but full of potential energy - we will give space to the new Germ that knows best.

Already here and now our distinctive and unmistakable Plant wants to touch the divine condition.

Continuous prayer (incessant listening and perception) excavates and disposes of the volume of trivial redundant thoughts in this space.

Opportunities open up in this interstice and 'emptiness'. Inner cleansing is created so that the Gift - not second-hand - arrives.

Do we desire a decisive conversion? Do we desire the call to the totality of humanising existence, without limitations and in our uniqueness?

[Then divine action can reach anyone? Does it touch any face? And how does one not break it?].

Why not now the new beginning? Prayer and the 'new fullness' of the Spirit become for us - growing children - the milk of the soul.

In meditating on the biblical Readings for this Sunday and thinking of the situation of Naples, I was struck by the fact that today the main theme of the Word of God is prayer; indeed, we "ought always to pray and not lose heart", as the Gospel says (cf. Lk 18: 1). At first sight, this might seem a message not particularly relevant, unrealistic, not very incisive with regard to a social reality with so many problems such as yours. But, if we think about it, we understand that this Word contains a message that certainly goes against the tide and yet is destined to illuminate in depth the conscience of this Church and city of yours. I would sum it up like this: the power that changes the world and transforms it into the Kingdom of God, in silence and without fanfare, is faith - and prayer is the expression of faith. When faith is filled with love for God, recognized as a good and just Father, prayer becomes persevering, insistent, it becomes a groan of the spirit, a cry of the soul that penetrates God's Heart. Thus, prayer becomes the greatest transforming power in the world. In the face of a difficult and complex social reality, as yours certainly is, it is essential to strengthen hope which is based on faith and expressed in unflagging prayer. It is prayer that keeps the torch of faith alight. Jesus asks, as we heard at the end of the Gospel: "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" (Lk 18: 8). It is a question that makes us think. What will be our answer to this disturbing question? Today, let us repeat together with humble courage: Lord, in coming among us at this Sunday celebration you find us gathered together with the lamp of faith lit. We believe and trust in you! Increase our faith! 

The biblical Readings we have heard present several models to inspire us in our profession of faith, which is also always a profession of hope because faith and hope open the earth to divine power, to the power for good. They are the figures of the widow, whom we encounter in the Gospel parable, and of Moses, of whom the Book of Exodus speaks. The widow of the Gospel (cf. Lk 18: 1-8) makes us think of the "little", the lowliest, but also of so many simple, upright people who suffer because of abuse, who feel powerless in the face of the perduring social malaise and are tempted to despair. To them Jesus repeats: look at this poor widow, with what tenacity does she insist and in the end succeeds in being heard by a dishonest judge! How could you imagine that your Heavenly Father, who is good and faithful and powerful, who desires only his children's good, would not do justice to you in his own time? Faith assures us that God hears our prayers and grants them at the appropriate moment, although our daily experience seems to deny this certainty. In fact, in the face of certain events in the news or of life's numerous daily hardships which the press does not even mention, the supplication of the ancient Prophet: "O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not hear? Or cry to you, "Violence!' and you will not save?" (Heb 1: 2) wells up in the heart spontaneously. There is one answer to this heartfelt invocation: God cannot change things without our conversion, and our true conversion begins with the "cry" of the soul imploring forgiveness and salvation. Christian prayer is not, therefore, an expression of fatalism or inertia; on the contrary, it is the opposite of evasion from reality, from consoling intimism. It is the force of hope, the maximum expression of faith in the power of God who is Love and does not abandon us. The prayer Jesus taught us which culminated in Gethsemane has the character of "competitiveness", that is, of a struggle because we line up with determination at the Lord's side to fight injustice and conquer evil with good; it is the weapon of the lowly and the poor in spirit, who reject every type of violence. Indeed, they respond to it with evangelical non-violence, thereby testifying that the truth of Love is stronger than hatred and death. 

This also emerges in the First Reading, the famous account of the battle between the Israelites and Amalek's men (cf. Ex 17: 8-13a). It was precisely prayer, addressed with faith to the true God, that determined the fate of that harsh conflict. While Joshua and his men were tackling their adversaries on the battlefield, Moses was standing on the hilltop, his hands uplifted in the position of a person praying. These raised hands of the great leader guaranteed Israel's victory. God was with his people; he wanted them to win but made Moses' uplifted hands the condition for his intervention.
It seems incredible, but that is how it is: God needs the raised hands of his servant! Moses' raised arms are reminiscent of the arms of Jesus on the Cross: the outspread, nailed arms with which the Redeemer won the crucial battle against the infernal enemy. His fight, his arms raised to the Father and wide open for the world, ask for other arms, other hearts that continue to offer themselves with his same love until the end of the world.

[Pope Benedict, homily in Naples, 21 October 2007]

To all people of good will who feel they are an active and living part of the parish community, I say: do not tire of seeking all the opportunities that the Lord offers you to broaden your contacts and carry on that work of promotion based on truth, justice and respect for others, which constitutes, for those who feel distant from the faith, the necessary prelude to knowing Christ, whom you are fortunate enough to profess with your lives and with the practice of the sacraments of faith.

9. Be a living praise of God in the eyes of those who seek the Lord but have not yet found him. Repeat with the psalmist: "Praise the Lord, O my soul, your creator." Dear brothers and sisters! Learn to praise God; give glory to him on behalf of all creatures.
Learn to do so in the spirit of the "poor widow" of today's liturgy, so that the sacrifice of glory may find its evangelical "resonance" in the heart of Christ. Learn - again and again - to participate in the Eucharist so that your Christian life may mature and be enriched through "poverty of spirit".

[Pope John Paul II, homily, 6th November 1988]

The Gospel parable which we have just heard (cf. Lk 18:1-8) contains an important teaching: we “ought always to pray and not lose heart” (v. 1). This means, then, pray constantly, not just when I feel like it. No, Jesus says that we ought “always to pray and not lose heart”. And he offers the example of the widow and the judge.

The judge is a powerful person, called to issue judgment on the basis of the Law of Moses. That is why the biblical tradition recommended that judges be people who fear God, who are worthy of faith, impartial and incorruptible (cf. Ex 18:21). However, this judge “neither feared God nor regarded man” (Lk 18:2). As a judge, he was unfair, unscrupulous, who did not take the Law into account but did whatever he wanted, according to his own interests. It was to him that a widow turned for justice. Widows, along with orphans and foreigners, were the most vulnerable groups of society. The rights afforded them by the Law could be easily disregarded because, being isolated and defenceless, they could hardly be assertive. A poor widow, there, alone, with no one to defend her, might be ignored, might even be denied justice. Just as the orphan, just as the foreigner, the migrant: in that time this was a very serious problem. Faced with the judge’s indifference, the widow has recourse to her only weapon: to bother him incessantly with her request for justice. And because of her insistence, she achieves her end. At a certain point, the judge grants her request, not because he is moved by mercy or because his conscience has been working on him; he simply admits: “because this widow bothers me, I will vindicate her, or she will wear me out by her continual coming” (v. 5).

From this parable Jesus draws two conclusions: if the widow could manage to bend the dishonest judge with her incessant requests, how much more will God, who is the good and just Father, “vindicate his elect, who cry to him day and night”; moreover, will not “delay long over them”, but will act “speedily” (vv. 7-8).

That is why Jesus urges us to pray and “not to lose heart”. We all go through times of tiredness and discouragement, especially when our prayers seem ineffective. But Jesus assures us: unlike the dishonest judge, God promptly answers his children, even though this doesn’t mean he will necessarily do it when and how we would like. Prayer does not work like a magic wand! It helps us keep faith in God, and to entrust ourselves to him even when we do not understand his will. In this, Jesus himself — who prayed constantly! — is our model. The Letter to the Hebrews reminds us that “In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him [God] who was able to save him from death, and he was heard for his godly fear” (5:7). At first glance this statement seems far-fetched, because Jesus died on the Cross. Yet, the Letter to the Hebrews makes no mistake: God has indeed saved Jesus from death by giving him complete victory over it, but the path to that [victory] is through death itself! The supplication that God has answered referred to Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane. Assailed by looming anguish, Jesus prays to the Father to deliver him of this bitter cup of the Passion, but his prayer is pervaded by trust in the Father and he entrusts himself entirely to his will: “not as I will,” Jesus says, “but as thou wilt” (Mt 26:39). The object of prayer is of secondary importance; what matters above all is his relationship with the Father. This is what prayer does: it transforms the desire and models it according to the will of God, whatever that may be, because the one who prays aspires first of all to union with God, who is merciful Love.

The parable ends with a question: “when the Son of man comes, will he find faith on earth?” (v. 8). And with this question we are all warned: we must not cease to pray, even if left unanswered. It is prayer that conserves the faith, with out it faith falters! Let us ask the Lord for a faith that is incessant prayer, persevering, like that of the widow in the parable, a faith that nourishes our desire for his coming. And in prayer let us experience that compassion of God, who like a Father comes to encounter his children, full of merciful love.

[Pope Francis, General Audience, 25 May 2016]

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

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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (97/98, 1-4)

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

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

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

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

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

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [28 September 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. We continue our teaching on wealth and our relationship with the poor, a subject that is particularly relevant for our reflection in the face of the injustices, both large and small, that we see in the news every day.

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Amos (6:1a, 4-7)

In the Bible, Amos is the first 'writing' prophet, that is, the first of whom a book remains. Other great prophets before him remained very famous: Elijah, for example, or Elisha, or Nathan... but we do not have their written sermons, only memories handed down by those around them. Amos preached around 780-750 BC and certainly had to say things that not everyone liked, since he was eventually expelled after being denounced to the king.  Originally from the south, he preached in the north during a period of great economic prosperity. Last week we read one of his texts in which he rebuked some rich people for building their wealth at the expense of the poor. Today's passage gives us an idea of the luxury that reigned in Samaria: 'Lying on beds of ivory... they eat lambs from the flock and calves from the stall... they sing to the sound of the harp like David and anoint themselves with the finest ointments, but they do not worry about Joseph's ruin'. The rulers do not know or do not want to know that a terrible threat hangs over them: 'they do not care about the ruin of Joseph'. They will then be deported, indeed they will be the first to be deported, and the band of revellers will no longer exist. This prophet of doom, who sought to warn the powerful and the ruling class, was not listened to; on the contrary, he was silenced by getting rid of him. But what he feared came true. Amos therefore addresses the rich and powerful, those in charge. What exactly does he reproach them for? The first sentence gives us the key: 'Woe to those who feel secure on the mountain of Samaria'. In other words: you are comfortable, satisfied with your well-being and even your luxury... well, I pity you because you have understood nothing: you are like people who hide under the covers so as not to see the cyclone coming, and this whole society will collapse, crushed a few years later by the Assyrians, with many dead and the survivors deported. Woe to those who feel secure on the mountain of Samaria'... But what are they doing wrong? The wrong is to base their security on what is passing: some ephemeral military success, economic prosperity and the appearances of piety... so as not to displease God and his prophet. They even boast of their successes, believing they deserve some credit, when everything comes from God. Now, Israel's only security is fidelity to the Covenant. This is the great insistence of all the prophets, as Micah will do a few years later when he preaches in Jerusalem. Hypocrisy reigned in Samaria: when they offer sacrifices, they turn the banquet that follows into a revelry... because the meals that Amos describes are probably sacred meals, like those that followed certain sacrifices. Sacrilegious meals, therefore, that have nothing to do with the Covenant. The difficulty of this passage lies in its conciseness: in fact, to understand it, one must have in mind the whole of prophetic preaching; Amos' logic, like that of all the prophets, is as follows: the happiness of individuals and peoples inevitably depends on fidelity to the Covenant with God; and fidelity to the Covenant means social justice and trust in God, and if one departs from these two points, one is lost. This is what Amos is talking about, and we need only reread last Sunday's text, in which he rebuked the rich for enriching themselves on the backs of the poor. In today's text, the luxury banquets described obviously do not benefit everyone, and the need for God is no longer felt. Isaiah will also say: 'This people honours me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me' (Is 29:13). Samaria was covered with luxurious palaces, built by some at the expense of others; once they had become rich, thanks to flourishing trade, it was easy to expropriate small landowners, reducing some of the poorest to slavery, as in last Sunday's text. Archaeology also provides interesting details on this point: while in the tenth century the houses were all of the same model and represented identical standards of living, in the eighth century, on the contrary, there was a clear distinction between rich and poor neighbourhoods.

*Responsorial Psalm (145/146, 6c.7, 8.9a, 9bc-10)

This splendid litany is only part of Psalm 145/146, and today's liturgy does not include the Alleluias that frame it in the Hebrew text, as it is an Alleluia psalm. This means that, as last Sunday, we are faced with a psalm of praise. Speaking in this psalm are the oppressed, the hungry, the blind, the bent over, the strangers, the widows, and the orphans who recognise God's concern for them. In reality, it is the people of Israel who speak of themselves: it is their own history that they recount and give thanks for God's protection, having experienced all these situations: oppression in Egypt, from which God freed them with a mighty hand and outstretched arm, and oppression in Babylon, where once again God intervened. They experienced hunger in the desert, and God sent manna and quails. God opens the eyes of these blind people, revealing himself progressively through his prophets. It is these broken people that God tirelessly lifts up and makes stand; they are the people seeking justice that God guides. It is therefore a song of gratitude: The Lord brings justice to the oppressed, gives bread to the hungry, frees prisoners, opens the eyes of the blind, lifts up those who have fallen, loves the righteous, protects the stranger and supports the widow and the orphan. The Lord, who returns in a liturgical manner, is the translation of the Name of God in four letters, the Tetragrammaton: YHVH, which speaks of his active and liberating presence. The verse preceding today's verses sums them all up: 'Blessed is he who has the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord (YHVH) his God': the secret of happiness is to rely on God and expect everything from Him. This psalm is chosen for this Sunday as a response to the text of Amos, who warned the people of Samaria to know well in whom to place their trust, fleeing false securities because only God is trustworthy. Recognising our dependence on God and living it with complete trust, because He is total benevolence: this is the definition of faith and the secret of happiness, as the prophets preach.  We must not forget the unique experience that the children of Israel had the privilege of enjoying: throughout their journey to freedom, they experienced the presence of the One they recognised as the Lord who led them in their search for freedom and justice for all, indeed for greater justice, respect and defence of the small and the weak. If we look more closely, we see that the law of Israel has no other goal: to make Israel a free people, respectful of the freedom of others. God leads his people on this long journey of liberation. It is good for us to reread this psalm not only to recognise what God does for his people, but also to give us a course of action: if God has acted in this way towards Israel, we, who are heirs to this long journey of Covenant, are in turn obliged to do the same for others.

*Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to Timothy (6:11-16)

One could not imagine a more complete summary of everything that constitutes the faith and life of a Christian. At the same time, Paul's solemn formulas are surprising: 'Before God and... Christ Jesus, I charge you'. At first reading, one seems to perceive echoes of difficulties in the community of Ephesus, where Timothy had responsibilities: 'Fight the good fight of faith'. A little earlier in the same letter, Paul had already spoken of the fight for the faith in the first chapter (1 Tim 1:18-19). There is therefore a battle to be fought in order to affirm one's faith. The moment is serious, which explains the solemn tone: the fidelity of the young Christian community to its baptism is at stake. The passage we read today is framed by two very similar texts that further clarify the two dangers to be avoided: false doctrines and the pursuit of riches. We must believe that there were real problems with false doctrines: Timothy, guard the deposit, avoid ungodly chatter and pseudo-scientific objections. Because they professed it (meaning this pseudo-science), some strayed from the faith (cf. 1 Tim 6:20-21). And in the same vein, a few verses earlier: If anyone teaches a different doctrine, if he does not adhere to the words of the Lord Jesus Christ and to the doctrine in accordance with godliness, he is blinded by pride. He is ignorant, sick, seeking controversy and verbal disputes (1 Tim 6:3-4). This problem had already appeared at the beginning of the letter, and Paul had recommended that Timothy remain in Ephesus (cf. 1 Tim 1:3-4). He then insists with the same force on the risk of seeking riches because the root of all evil is the love of money (cf. 1 Tim 6:10). These, then, are the two worst dangers to the faith in Paul's eyes, and he invites Timothy to remain faithful to his baptism. In Paul's time, baptisms were administered in front of the entire community, and in the baptismal rite itself, the profession of faith was a very important moment because the 'yes' of our baptism is rooted in Christ's 'yes' to the Father, and we must be able to repeat this 'yes' day after day. Timothy will need all his strength, which is why Paul multiplies his recommendations that he persevere in fighting for the faith in order to obtain eternal life. The weapons of combat are faith, love, perseverance and gentleness, which is the main weapon. True combat has nothing to do with religious wars, and history shows that religious wars have never converted anyone. The goal on which we must always keep our eyes fixed is eternal life, which is also the manifestation ('epiphany') of Christ. Paul concludes with a kind of profession of faith, which is precisely what Timothy must continue to affirm against all adversity: 'God is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, the only one who possesses immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no man has ever seen or can see'. God is the All-Other, a theme we find in the Old Testament: it is the transcendence of God, the All-Other who nevertheless draws close to us and, at the appointed time, will reveal the Lord Jesus Christ.

From the Gospel according to Luke (16:19-31)

The last sentence is doubly terrible: "If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead."  This statement seems desperate, as if nothing can change a heart of stone, and it is even more terrible coming from the mouth of Jesus. When Luke wrote the Gospel, he knew full well that Christ's Resurrection had not converted everyone; on the contrary, it had hardened the hearts of some even more. Let us move on to the story of the rich man and poor Lazarus: we do not know much about the rich man, not even his name; it is not said that he is evil; on the contrary, later he will think of saving his brothers from misfortune in the afterlife. However, he lives in his own world, so immersed in his comfort, like the Samaritans mentioned by Amos in the first reading, that he does not even see the beggar dying of hunger at his door who would be content with his leftovers. The poor man's name is Lazarus, which means 'God helps', and this already says a lot: God helps him, not because he is virtuous, but simply because he is poor. This is perhaps the first surprise that Jesus has in store for his listeners: this story was a well-known tale from Egypt, about two characters, a rich man full of sins and a poor man full of virtues: when they arrive in the afterlife, they are weighed on the scales, and the good and bad deeds of both the rich and the poor are evaluated. The good, both rich and poor, were rewarded, while the bad, rich or poor, were punished. Even the rabbis before Jesus told similar stories: the rich man was the son of a sinful tax collector, while the poor man was a very devout man; they too were weighed on the scales and the merits of each were carefully evaluated, with the devout man proving to be more deserving than the tax collector's son. Jesus upsets this logic somewhat: he does not calculate merits and good deeds because it is not said that Lazarus is virtuous and the rich man evil, but simply notes that the rich man remained rich all his life, while the poor man remained poor at his door: this signifies the abyss of indifference that was created between rich and poor, simply because the rich man never opened his door. Another important detail in Jesus' story: it is not entirely true that we know nothing about the rich man, because he tells us how he was dressed: in purple and linen, a clear allusion to the clothes of priests. The colour purple, originally the colour of royal clothing, had become the colour of the high priests because they served the king of the world; linen was the fabric of the high priest's tunic. Jesus means that you can be the High Priest, but if you despise your brothers, you do not deserve the title of children of Abraham. In fact, Abraham is mentioned seven times and is certainly a key to the text. Jesus' question is: "Who is truly a son of Abraham?" and he answers that if you do not listen to the Law and the Prophets, if you are indifferent to the suffering of your brothers, you are not a son of Abraham. And he goes further: the poor man would have liked to eat the rich man's crumbs, but it was the dogs that licked his sores. Dogs were unclean animals... so even if the pious rich man had taken the trouble to open the door, he would still have been scandalised and would have fled from that unclean man licked by dogs... Jesus' lesson is therefore: You worry about merits, you try to remain pure, you are proud to be descendants of Abraham... but you forget the essential... No extraordinary signs are needed to convert: the Law with the Prophets is enough, and for us the Gospel is enough: but we must live them!

+ Giovanni D'Ercole