13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [28 June 2026]

First Reading from the Second Book of Kings (4:8–11, 14–16a)

Here is a brief overview of this Sunday’s biblical readings, beginning with this story of a beautiful human friendship. In Shunem, a village in the Northern Kingdom around 850 BC, Elisha, at the start of his ministry, forms a strong and lasting friendship with a wealthy family. The biblical authors do not recount this story merely as an anecdote: they have a theological purpose and show that the covenant between Elisha and the Shunammites is a reflection of the Covenant between God and Israel. This story unfolds in four acts: 1. The promise of a son: Elisha announces to the barren woman: ‘Next year, at this very time, you will be holding a son in your arms.’ She does not believe him and replies: ‘No, my lord, man of God, do not lie to your servant.’ Like Sarah at Mamre, she doubts. But the following year the child is born. 2. The resurrection: Years later, the child dies in the fields, struck down by heatstroke. Without losing faith, the mother lays the body on Elisha’s bed, in the room on the terrace, and runs to find him. She reminds him: ‘I had not asked you for anything; do not take this son from me.’ Elisha prays and raises the child from the dead. 3. The warning of famine: True to this friendship, Elisha warns the Shunammite woman of seven years of famine and advises her to leave for the land of the Philistines. She obeys and goes into exile. 4. The restoration of her property. On her return, her house and fields had been confiscated by the king’s officials. Elisha intervenes once more and restores her lands to her. But what theological lesson does this text offer us? This friendship illustrates five aspects of the Covenant between God and Israel: 1. A permanent covenant and faithfulness: God remains faithful even in the face of unbelief.  2. Constant care: Just as Elisha did for his hostess, God watches over his people without ceasing.  3. God dwells with us: Elisha accepts the room on the terrace: God wishes to dwell amongst his people, as in Solomon’s Temple.  4. God restores: Elisha restores the land; God promises to restore the land to Israel – a key message written during the Babylonian Exile.  5. God is the God of life: A promise of the child’s birth and resurrection, for God gives life. The Shunammite woman becomes a model of faith for us: she welcomes the prophet ‘as a prophet’, as Jesus will say in the Gospel of Matthew (10:41). Her trust is complete: she dares to tell God her needs and even her anger. She recognises Elisha as a ‘holy man of God’. Here is a practical application: God dwells in the heart of every person, and it is important to recognise this. 

Responsorial Psalm (88/89)

Here is a clear message: we must never doubt. The first reading recounts the long friendship between a family from Shunem and the prophet Elisha, the ‘man of God’. Through this human relationship, we reflect on the eternal Covenant between God and his people, and with all humanity. Psalm 88/89, which is proclaimed today, seems to be a song written in the midst of trial.  Although the few verses of the responsorial psalm seem full of joy, the complete psalm, comprising no fewer than 53 verses, was probably composed during the Babylonian Exile. It is a synthesis of the entire history of Israel: the beginning of the Covenant, the promises to David, the expectation of the Messiah… and then the collapse: no more kings in Jerusalem, no heir, and therefore no Messiah. Hence the anguished question in verse 50: ‘Where, O Lord, is your first love, the one you swore to David concerning your faithfulness?’. What is asserted with such force is, in reality, what one fears to have lost. The psalm is, moreover, the last in the third book of the Psalms and concludes with: ‘Blessed be the Lord for ever! Amen! Amen!’. It therefore has the character of a conclusion. On closer inspection, this psalm presents itself as a skilful composition. The first stanza is very carefully crafted, with parallel structures: I will sing of the Lord’s love without end; I will proclaim your faithfulness from age to age. Love/faithfulness, song/proclamation, without end/from age to age, established/stable, for ever/the heavens: a marvellous parallelism between time and space that invites us to cherish the singing of the Psalms.  The heart of the message is Love and faithfulness. In the complete psalm, the pairing ‘love and faithfulness’ occurs seven times, a symbolic number. It is the translation of the revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai: ‘A God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love and faithfulness’ (Ex 34:6) .   In Hebrew, ‘love’—that is, ‘God’s acts of love’—indicates that God does not love merely in words, but ‘in deed and in truth’, as St John will say in the New Testament.  It is precisely during the exile that Israel remembers, more than ever, ‘God’s acts of love’ so as not to fall into the temptation of thinking that God has forgotten them. In short, the psalm presents a group of believers composing hymns to commemorate the faithfulness of God, who has never ceased to be the King of Israel. The phrase “for the Lord is our shield, our King, the Holy One of Israel” is sung precisely at a time when there is no longer a human king. And it is interesting that the psalm uses royal and martial vocabulary: ‘shout of triumph/terouah, power, strength, vigour, shield’ – because the king led the army. These are victorious expressions spoken in a time of defeat. And the psalm concludes by recalling the insults suffered by the Messiah: ‘ Remember, Lord, your servants who have been humiliated… your enemies have humiliated, Lord, your Messiah”.   Moral: it is precisely in the night, in the darkness of exile and trial, that we must believe in the light and in the reaffirmation of God’s promises.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (6:3… 11)

St Paul points to a new way of life and responds to the objection  of those who reproach him, saying that by placing too much emphasis on the free gift of salvation, he is encouraging sin. He retorts: grace does not render sin irrelevant, but it no longer has power over the believer because, from Baptism, the believer is a ‘new creation’: ‘If anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation’ (2 Cor 5:17). Paul explains the meaning of the key word ‘death’, which is not biological, and uses this word in a theological sense: all of us who have been baptised into Christ Jesus have been baptised into his death… we have therefore died to sin, and now we live for God in Christ Jesus. It is a radical break with the past, one that no longer fears physical death. Paul speaks from experience: on the road to Damascus, he ‘died’ to the old self, to his former way of seeing, acting and believing. The ‘baptism’ of Israel thus serves as a key for Paul to explain Christian Baptism, as he clearly recalls in his First Letter to the Corinthians (cf. 1 Cor 10:1–2) . Israel, ‘baptised’ by Moses in the cloud and the sea during the crossing of the Red Sea, experienced the death of Egyptian slavery: forced labour, massacres, the Pharaoh’s bad faith – and thus a clean break with the machinery of oppression.  In this way, Christ brings about the decisive break: the person enslaved by sin, by doubts, by violence, is set free. Jesus, ‘obedient unto death, even death on a cross’ (Phil 2:8), breaks the vicious circle. His death is a triumph: ‘dead to sin once and for all, alive to God’. To live in the manner of Christ is therefore ‘to die to sin’—that is, to die to the old way of life: hatred, violence, the thirst for power and money—in order to ‘live for and in God’, that is, to choose Christ as the one Lord and to enter into a new life made up of love and service to one’s brothers and sisters. Baptism marks the beginning of this radical change: it is true liberation. Paul says to the baptised: “Consider yourselves dead to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus”. The gift has already been granted, but it remains to be put into practice every day. And here lies the challenge that arises from it: whilst entering into salvation is simple—for it is enough simply to believe—living it out becomes extremely demanding, as it requires us to model our daily lives on the Spirit of Christ. He repeats this in his letter to the Ephesians: ‘Put off the old self… be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, created according to God in righteousness and true holiness’ (Eph 4:22–24). There is but one secret: to keep our eyes fixed on the cross of Christ. Only his obedience and gentleness break the chain of violence. As Jesus says: ‘Abide in me, and I in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, neither can you unless you remain in me’ (Jn 15:4).

From the Gospel according to Matthew (10:37–42)

This text helps us to learn how to accept the necessary sacrifices. At first glance, Matthew 10:37–42 seems like a list of unrelated maxims. In reality, it is a single invitation: these are the detachments required by fidelity to the Gospel. After the Sermon on the Mount on love, Jesus speaks here of other demands. We must learn to love God in times of persecution of the Church: ‘Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me’. Loving God does not mean ceasing to love one’s family, even though he had warned shortly before: ‘Brother will turn against brother and father against son, and children will rise up against their parents and put them to death’ (cf. Mt 10:21). ‘I have not come to bring peace, but a sword… I will set a man against his father’ (Mt 10:34–35; cf. Micah 7:6). How can this be explained?  Every persecution gives rise to personal tragedies because one is forced to choose between faithfulness and death. Even without violence, it is within the family and amongst friends that bearing witness is most difficult and can lead to heart-wrenching conflict. To learn to love is therefore to take up one’s cross: “Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds their life will lose it; whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.”  For Jesus and his listeners, crucifixion was a humiliating form of mass execution carried out along Roman roads, as it exposed the condemned to horror, disgrace and derision. In Deuteronomy we read that the crucified person is ‘cursed by God’ (Deut 21:22–23). And in Psalm 21/22, Jesus proclaims: ‘I am a worm and not a man, scorned by men, rejected by the people’, although the interpretation of this passage helps us to better understand what Jesus meant (in the footnote, I have taken the liberty of including a text I came across). Jesus knows that he and his disciples will be persecuted, despised and humiliated. “A servant is not greater than his master. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you” (John 15:20). “Taking up the cross” means accepting being marginalised, losing one’s reputation for the sake of faithfulness to Christ. Finally, here is the only reward that answers all our objections: “ Whoever welcomes you welcomes me; whoever welcomes me welcomes the One who sent me… Whoever welcomes a prophet because he is a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; whoever welcomes a righteous person because he is righteous will receive a righteous person’s reward. And whoever gives even a single glass of cool water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple will not lose his reward”.  It sounds like a ‘give-and-take’, but it is not. We are not in the realm of ‘having’, but of ‘being’. God does not give quantities of goods, but eternal life: life in his very presence. All the saints bear witness to a quality of happiness, not a quantity.  Jesus himself promises: “ ‘Whoever has left houses, brothers, sisters, father, mother, children or fields for my sake will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life’ (Mt 19:29).  Paul lived this out: ‘Whatever gains I once had, I have come to regard as a loss for the sake of Christ… so that I may know Christ, share in his sufferings, and become like him in his death’ (Phil 3:7–10). ‘Being seized by Christ’ is what is at stake. If one seeks a common thread running through this text, it can easily be found in the link between all these phrases, precisely in this verb; ‘being seized by Christ’ as an inner fire that makes possible all acts of renunciation out of fidelity to the Gospel: renunciation of affection, of esteem, of possessions, of life itself. The Beatitudes resound powerfully within our hearts: ‘Blessed are you when they revile you… Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great! ” (Mt 5:11–12).

Note: Jesus, the “worm” on the cross. On the cross, JESUS COMPARED HIMSELF TO AN INSECT TO REVEAL THE SECRET OF HIS DEATH. THIS IS THE MYSTERY OF PSALM 22… As he was dying on the cross, Jesus recited Psalm 22. It is the quintessential prophetic psalm of the crucifixion. But in verse 6 there is a humiliating and bewildering phrase: ‘Yet I am a worm and not a man, scorned by everyone, despised by the people’ . Why does the King of the universe, at the most glorious moment of redemption, describe himself as a ‘worm’?  Middle Eastern zoology reveals one of nature’s most moving portraits of love. The TOLA’ATH SHANI תּוֹלַעַת שָׁנִי, the Hebrew word used by David, is not the common term for ‘earthworm’. He used Tola’ath Shani, meaning ‘crimson worm’, from which a red dye was extracted. When the female of this crimson worm is ready to give birth, she performs an instinctive and radical act: she seeks out a tree trunk and attaches herself to it forever. It clings to it with such force that, if anyone tries to pry it loose, its body is torn apart.  There, still attached to the wood, it gives birth to its young. To protect them from predators, the mother secretes a crimson-red fluid that covers her entire body, stains the wood red and completely envelops her young. In this act of giving life and protection, the mother dies.  

Here is the extraordinary phenomenon: three days later, the mother’s lifeless body, still attached to the tree, loses its red colour, turns as white as snow and falls gently to the ground (Isaiah 1:18). JESUS NAILED HIMSELF TO THE TREE TO GIVE YOU LIFE: Jesus was not using a metaphor of humiliation, but was proclaiming his mission, and this is a message for us.  Jesus was saying to you from the cross: ‘I am the Tola’ath Shani’. He chose to go to the tree of his own free will. He allowed himself to be nailed to the cross, knowing that if he had come down from it, his ‘children’ – us – would have died at the hands of the predator. He shed his crimson fluid – his blood – to cover you, protect you and give you life, by offering up his own.  When you feel worthless, when you think that nobody cares about you or that the enemy will devour you, look at the wood of the cross. You have a Saviour who chose to die nailed to a tree rather than lose you. His blood has covered you entirely and, three days later, He rose again to make you as white as snow. You are the fruit of His perfect sacrifice!

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul  [29 June 2026]

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (12:1–11)

The central theme of this text is: ‘God always delivers for the sake of the mission’. At that time, the young Church was under pressure, and the miracle of Peter’s deliverance must not make us forget the atmosphere of the early Church. Jesus died around AD 30, and at the beginning the disciples were few in number and harmless. The problems began with ‘too spectacular’ healings, which led to Peter being imprisoned twice by the religious authorities: the first time alongside John, involving a trial and threats, whilst the second time alongside other apostles, who were freed at night by an angel: ‘Go, stand in the Temple and proclaim to the people all these words of life’ (Acts 5:17–20).  Then came the execution of Stephen and the persecution that drove the ‘Hellenists’ to flee from Jerusalem towards Samaria and the coast. James, Peter and John remained. In the episode in Acts 12, it is the political authorities who take action. We are under Herod Agrippa I, grandson of Herod the Great, who reigned alone from 41 to 44 AD. This is why we can date the episode precisely.  Agrippa, ‘a Roman in Caesarea, a Jew in Jerusalem’, sought to curry favour with both Rome and the Jews. In both cases, the Christians were enemies to be eliminated. To please the Jews, he has James, son of Zebedee, put to death and imprisons Peter during the Jewish Passover, the Week of Unleavened Bread. What interests Luke is the mission, not just Peter, who once again escapes miraculously, because for Luke the central point is evangelisation. The angel does not set them free to save them, but because ‘the world needs them’. God does not abandon the apostles: no blind tyranny can halt the proclamation of the Word of life. There is a parallel between Easter, the Exodus and the Passion. In a sense, the story of the Jewish Passover is repeated: Israel, enslaved and threatened with genocide, is miraculously freed by God. From century to century, the people remember that liberation is God’s work. And what of this paradox: can those called to proclaim and carry out God’s liberating work become complicit in a new form of domination? No Church is immune. Jesus died precisely because of the perversion of the religious power of his time: during Easter, the memorial of the liberating God, the Son of God is killed by the ‘defenders of God’. Yet it is the love and forgiveness of the ‘meek and humble of heart’ God that triumphs: Jesus rises from the dead. Now it is the young Church that faces religious and political power, just as Jesus did 10–15 years earlier, again during Passover in Jerusalem.  The angel says to Peter: ‘Get up quickly! Put on your belt, fasten your sandals…’. These are the very same words given to Israel on the night of the Exodus: ‘Gird your loins, put sandals on your feet, and take your staff in your hand. You shall eat it in haste’ (Ex 12:11). Luke is saying: God continues the work of liberation.  The entire narrative is structured on the model of Christ’s Passion and Resurrection: night, prison, soldiers, the ‘steamroller’ of domination. Peter sleeps passively, like Jesus in the sleep of death. For both of them, light dawns in the night: God is at work. And here is the conclusion: Jesus had said to Peter: ‘The forces of death—that is, of hatred—will not prevail’, and this teaches us that the miraculous is not an end in itself. God sets us free so that the mission may continue through the ages. The deliverance from Egypt, Christ’s Passover, Peter’s imprisonment: it is a single plan of God who saves in order to send us forth to proclaim the life that no one can destroy.

Responsorial Psalm (33/34)

In this psalm, we are guided by this central theme: God hears the cry of the poor and responds with the Spirit and with brothers and sisters.  After Peter’s deliverance, the psalm reminds us: ‘The angel of the Lord encamps round those who fear him, to deliver them’. And we realise that, whilst the whole Church was praying fervently for Peter in prison, the Lord set him free: ‘The poor cry out,’ says the psalm, ‘and the Lord hears…’. This is what faith is: daring to cry out to God, knowing that, in every circumstance, He hears our cry. The community cried out, and Peter was set free. Yet one question always remains: what if deliverance does not come? Jesus on the cross did not escape death. Peter himself, years later, would be imprisoned in Rome and executed. So was God no longer listening then? It is the question we keep asking ourselves: where is God when we suffer? What is the point of praying, and if we are not answered as we would like, does that mean we have prayed badly? Too many people say, ‘If you pray properly, everything will work out’, but we know that is not always the case. How many have prayed, made novenas and gone on pilgrimages for a healing that never came? This psalm offers us three answers. 1. God hears our cry. As at the burning bush: ‘I have seen the misery of my people in Egypt; I have heard their cry under their oppressors. I know their sufferings’ (Ex 3:7). The believer knows that the Lord is near in suffering, ‘on our side’. Psalm 33/34 says: ‘I sought the Lord, and he answered me… he delivered me. He listens, he saves; his angel encamps round us, he is a refuge’. 2. God responds by giving us his Spirit. “Ask, and it will be given to you… Which father… would give a snake to a son who asks for a fish?” (Luke 11:9–13). Jesus does not promise that everything will be resolved “as if by magic”. When we pray, God does not remove the problem, but fills us with his Spirit. With the Spirit, we can face our trials. Every prayer offered in faith opens us up to the transforming action of the Spirit. The answer to the desperate cry is therefore the inner strength of the Spirit to change the situation, to overcome the trial. “The poor man cries out; the Lord hears him: he saves him from all his troubles… I sought the Lord, and he answered me: he delivered me from all my fears.” Whatever blow may come, the believer knows they are heard, and their anguish can subside. 3. God raises up brothers and sisters around us.  Here is the second lesson from the burning bush: as soon as God says to Moses, ‘I have seen… I have heard the cry… I know their sufferings’, he stirs within Moses the impulse to free the people: “Go, I am sending you to Pharaoh; bring my people out of Egypt” (Ex 3:9–10).  Israel has experienced this pattern many times: suffering, a cry, prayer, and God raising up prophets and leaders to take their destiny back into their own hands. This is precisely the historical experience of Israel. 4. Faith is like a double word, a double cry: man cries out his misery to God, like Job. God listens and frees him from his anguish. And man speaks again to give thanks.  Israel’s vocation throughout the centuries has been to give voice to this polyphony of suffering, praise and hope, and throughout the course of its history nothing has been able to extinguish Israel’s hope. This is what characterises the believer:  ‘I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall ever be on my lips. I take pride in the Lord: let the poor hear and rejoice!’

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to Timothy (4:6–8, 17–18)

Not everyone agrees that the Letters to Timothy were written by Paul, but these lines are certainly his: indeed, they are his testament, his final farewell as a prisoner in Rome. He knows that he will be released only to be put to death. The ‘time of departure’ has come: he uses the Greek term anàlysis, ‘to cast off the moorings, to weigh anchor’.  Viewing life as a marathon, Paul takes stock using the sporting image dear to him: the long-distance runner crossing the finish line. The time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now all that remains is for me to receive the crown of righteousness.  In Rome, the victor did not receive a cup, but a laurel wreath. There is a crown for everyone, so Paul does not boast: he knows that the Lord, the righteous judge, will award it on that day; not only to me, but also to all those who have lovingly awaited his glorious appearing. God, the impartial judge, sees the intentions of the heart, and all the apostles, all the believers who have longed with love for the coming of Christ, will receive the crown. It is therefore not presumption, but unshakeable trust in God’s goodness. For the very strength to run comes from Him: ‘The Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that I might fulfil the proclamation of the Gospel and all the nations might hear it’. We must learn to expect everything from God: it is He who gives the strength to run, and it is He who gives the reward to all who run, for life is not a competitive race. Each in their own place, at their own pace; it is enough to ‘long with love for the coming of Christ’. Is this not the ‘blessed hope’ we profess at Mass: ‘We await your coming in glory’? For Paul, the definitive ‘manifestation’ of Christ has always been the horizon towards which to run, and he acknowledges that he has been forsaken by men, yet always sustained by the Lord. Like Christ on the cross and later Stephen, Paul forgives because it was precisely in his abandonment by men that he experienced the presence and strength of the Lord.  The final sentences are striking: he knows he will die, yet he says, ‘The Lord will deliver me from every evil and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom’. He is not, therefore, speaking of physical death, which he expects from one day to the next; he is speaking of the worst danger: giving up, abandoning the race, losing faithfulness. The Lord has preserved him from this ‘lion’. His faithfulness is not his own doing, but a strength he has received; and for him, death is merely biological, rather than the passage into glory, for which he is already singing the hymn of joy: ‘To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen’.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (16:13–19)

At Caesarea, a turning point is reached; an important shift takes place in the vision of Christ: from the powerful Jesus to Jesus, the Son of God, crucified.  For Matthew, the episode at Caesarea Philippi is a decisive stage: immediately afterwards, Jesus began to explain to the disciples that he had to go to Jerusalem, suffer greatly at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the scribes, be killed and rise again on the third day. ‘From this moment on’: thus a phase comes to an end, and what is surprising is that nothing new occurs in the titles, but everything is placed in a new light. Nothing unprecedented is said: Jesus gives himself the title ‘Son of Man’, which he has already used nine times in Matthew. Peter proclaims him ‘Son of God’, a title already used before. What is new is the leap in understanding: the ‘Son of Man’ in the Bible is the leader of God’s people, a title taken from the Book of Daniel: ‘Behold, one like a Son of Man was coming with the clouds of heaven… power, glory and a kingdom were given to him; all peoples, nations and languages served him. His power is eternal; his kingdom will never be destroyed’ (Dan 7:13–14). Daniel makes it clear that the ‘Son of Man’ is not merely an individual, but a people: ‘The saints of the Most High shall receive the kingdom and possess it for ever… the kingdom, the power and the greatness of the kingdoms under the whole heaven shall be given to the people of the saints of the Most High’ (Dan 7:18, 27) .  When Jesus applies this title to himself, he presents himself as the one who stands at the head of God’s people. ‘Son of God’, on the other hand, is a title that expresses trust, not power.  This title has already been used: in chapter 4, when the devil tempts Jesus: ‘If you are the Son of God’. He is right about the title, but wrong about its meaning: he imagines a powerful and invulnerable Son who uses his power for himself. For Jesus, ‘being the Son of God’ means trusting the Father completely and drawing strength from his Word.  After Jesus walks on the water, the disciples say to him: ‘Truly, you are the Son of God’. They were struck by his power over the sea. They were still one step away from understanding who Jesus truly is. What is new at Caesarea is that Peter proclaims, ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God’, not in response to a miracle; thus the ambiguity is dispelled and the journey towards true faith begins. “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah: it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.”  The novelty lies in the combination of the two titles: “Who is the Son of Man?” asks Jesus, and Peter replies, “He is the Son of God.” Jesus will make the same connection before the high priest: “You have said so. But I tell you: from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven” (Mt 26:63). Here there is no longer any room for error: God reveals himself not as power and majesty, but as Love entrusted into the hands of humankind. As soon as Peter discovers who Jesus is,  Jesus entrusts him with a mission  for the Church: ‘You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church’. The Son of Man is a people, not an isolated individual.  On what does Christ—God made man—build his Church? On Peter, a fragile person whose only virtue is having listened to what the Father revealed to him. The sole pillar of the Church is faith in Jesus Christ.  ‘I will give you the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven: whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven’. This does not mean that Peter and his successors are omnipotent. It means that God is committed to them. If we remain in communion with the Church, we are in communion with God. The final reassurance is that Christ builds the Church, and herein lies the ultimate reason for our trust: Jesus says, ‘I will build my Church’. It is not our task to build it, but only to listen to what the living God wishes to reveal to us. And because it is the risen Christ, the Son of the living God, who builds it, we can be certain: “The gates of hell shall not prevail against it”.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Reputation and obedience: crossroads of the Truth of Faith

Mt 10:37-42 (34-42)

We ask ourselves: what prevents growth? What conversely makes us intimate with the Father?

To bear the Cross is to become "obedient" to one's personal Mission. Christ wants new and free people; not celebrities.

The apostle's identification is with the life of Jesus of Nazareth, the public rebel against official authorities, friend of publicans and sinners (Mt 11:19) condemned for lack of conformity.

Only by pushing down and meeting the same rejection, do we encounter God (v.40) in Freedom from all forms of conditioning.

The faithful is not recognized by heroic deeds (vv.41-42), or prestige - but in social choice.

It is an instinctive predilection for the lower class; the one that does not resist the Newness of God.

The missionary is not characterised by extraordinary qualities: he stands out in smallness (v.42).

Those who only appreciate great things do not build the new Kingdom, because underneath they cultivate the old ideology of power, that condemns only by proclamations.

A comparison of the parallel Greek-language texts of Mt 10:38 and Lk 14:27 (Jn 12:26) gives insight into the meaning of «taking up» or «lifting up the cross» for a disciple who relives Christ and communicates Him in human history.

The friend of Jesus stakes his honour. His source of life achieves total self-giving even in terms of public consideration.

After the court sentence, the condemned man was forced to carry the horizontal arm of the gallows on his shoulders.

It was the most harrowing moment, because of utmost loneliness and perceived failure.

The unfortunate and already shamed man had to thus proceed to the place of crucifixion, passing between two wings of the crowd who, out of religious duty, mocked and battered the wretch - deemed cursed by God.

Therefore, to his intimates Jesus does not point to the Cross in the corny sense of a necessary endurance of life's inevitable contrarieties, which then through forced exercise would chisel out souls more capable of coping [today we say: resilient].

Compared to the usual proposals of healthy outer and inner discipline, which are the same for everyone and only useful to keep things as usual, the Master is instead suggesting a much more radical behaviour.

The Lord points to an asceticism totally different from that of the many ancient beliefs, even inverted: the paradoxical opportunity of contemptuous rejection in public opinion.

The Father does not give any 'cross', nor are we obliged to accept it out of obedience or force majeure: the disciple «takes it up» (v.38) in a non-passive manner, regardless of the credit he expects!

In short, the follower of Christ renounces reputation and any outward showcase of consensus.

It is an essential, propulsive, diriment cue of the person of Faith. Commitment to renown is totally incompatible; it does not spread life without limits.

He who is tied to his good reputation, to the roles, to the character to play, to the task, to the level he has acquired, will never resemble the Lord.

So even today, the announcement of the authentic Messiah creates divisions.

The «sword» of his Person (v.34) separates each one's affair from the world of values of the clan to which he belongs, or from the idea of respectability.

And it charges every apostle of the Cross with consequent mockery.

Yet the 'night' that is pressing in can make us live more daringly, prepared for action and dialogue.

So: no bond of domestication - not even with God.

[13th Sunday in O.T.  June 28, 2026]

Reputation and obedience: crossroads of the Truth of Faith

Mt 10:37-42 (34-42)

We ask ourselves: what prevents growth? What conversely makes one intimate with the Father?

Carrying the Cross... in the sense of being a devoted and submissive son... or... "obedient" to one's Mission?

Christ wants new and free people.

The identification of the apostle is not with celebrities and people of social or ascetic prominence, but with the life of Jesus of Nazareth, the public rebel against official authorities, the friend of publicans and sinners (Mt 11:19) condemned for lack of conformity.

Only by pushing down and encountering the same rejection, here - from the proponents of sacred values - do we encounter God (v.40) in Freedom from all forms of conditioning, religious, affective, mental.

The believer is not recognised for heroic and magnificent deeds (vv.41-42), excellence and visibility of office, charisma and credit, weight and prestige - but in social choice.

It is a matter of an instinctive predilection towards the lower rank on the scale, even ecclesial; that which does not resist the Newness of God.

The missionary is not characterised by extraordinary qualities: he stands out in smallness (v.42).

He who appreciates only great things does not build the new Kingdom, because underneath he cultivates the old ideology of power, which he condemns with proclamations.

A comparison of the parallel texts in the Greek language of Mt 10:38 and Lk 14:27 (Jn 12:26) gives insight into the meaning of "taking up" or "lifting up the cross" for a disciple who relives Christ and expands him into human history.

The friend of Jesus takes up the honour.

Immersed in his Source of Life, he achieves total self-giving - even in terms of public consideration.

After the court sentence, the condemned man was forced to carry the horizontal arm of the gallows on his shoulders.

It was the most harrowing moment, because it was one of utmost loneliness and perceived failure.

The wretched and already shamed man had to proceed to the place of crucifixion, passing between two wings of the crowd who, out of religious duty, mocked and battered the one deemed cursed by God.

Therefore, Jesus does not point out the Cross to his intimates in the corny sense of a necessary endurance of life's inevitable contrarieties, which then through forced exercise would chisel out souls more capable of coping [today we say: resilient].

Compared to the usual proposals of healthy exterior and interior discipline, the same for all and useful only to keep the situation (of other people's privilege) at bay, the Master is on the contrary suggesting a much more radical behaviour.

The Lord points to an asceticism totally different from that of the many ancient beliefs, even inverted: the paradoxical appropriateness of chastisement and scourge [deviance of the God of religions] and the contemptuous rejection of public opinion.

The Father does not give any 'cross', nor are we obliged to accept it out of obedience or force majeure: the disciple 'takes it up' (v.38) in a non-passive manner, regardless of the credit he expects!

In short, the follower of Christ very often has to renounce reputation and every outward showcase of consent - even devout and in itself appropriate [such as that of teachers, countrymen and family members].

It is an essential, propulsive and diriment cue of the person of Faith. The striving for prestigious renown - kept to oneself - is totally incompatible, it spreads life without limit (not even for oneself).

He who is tied to his good name, to the roles, to the character to be played, to the task, to the level he has acquired, will never resemble the Lord - and neither will he who does not dilute the tribal dimension of 'kinship' interest.

From the earliest times, the proclamation of the authentic Messiah created divisions: the "sword" of his Person (v.34) separated each person's affair from the world of values of the clan to which he belonged, or from the idea of respectability, even national respectability.

Today, the same thing happens where someone proclaims the Gospel as it is, and attempts to renew the jammed mechanisms of the fashionable Church, or of the habitual, outdated, hypocritical, faux-blue-blood Church in the territory. Charging itself with the cross of consequent mockery.

A very clear separation and cut, for the new unity: that which is the crossroads of Truth without duplicity.

We don't realise it, but milestones and intermediate stages absorbed through the influence of civilisation from outside are not really ours - despite the fact that this epidermal 'second brain' tends to invade our being.

Conformity on the side seems a refuge that attracts, but becomes only a den of flattery.

According to Chinese thought, in order to gain polish and escape a polluted and worn-out servility, the saints 'are taught by beasts the art of avoiding the harmful effects of domestication, which life in society imposes'.

Indeed: 'Domesticated animals die prematurely. And so do men, whom social conventions forbid to obey spontaneously the rhythm of universal life'.

"These conventions impose continuous, self-interested, exhausting activity [whereas it is appropriate] to alternate between periods of slow life and jubilation".

"The saint does not submit himself to retreat or fasting except in order to achieve, through ecstasy, to escape for long journeys. This liberation is prepared by life-giving games, which nature teaches".

"One trains oneself for the paradisiacal life by imitating the amusements of animals. In order to sanctify oneself, one must first brutalise oneself - meaning: learn from children, from beasts, from plants, the simple and joyful art of living only in view of life' [M. Granet, The Chinese Thought, Adelphi 2019, kindle pp. 6904-6909].

The suggestion of the past to perpetuate, the lace of narrow or glamorous judgements, and club ties, can rob us of hidden wealth, stealing the present and the future: this is the real mistake to avoid!

What matters is not to be cool or to copy the ancients, and to identify ourselves in order to be quiet and not make mistakes, but to renew ourselves in order to evolve, to grow, to expand, to amaze in a personal way. 

Otherwise our awkward problems will always be the same - and there will be no exuberant Path nor Promised Land, but only a vicious circle of fantasies or regrets, and fake reassurances.

To live the Faith of the real moment - an adventure that does not give up and puts things in line - one cannot be a repeating schoolboy of the place, the time, or the day before.

If we are forced to remove or hide our authentic emotions from the homologising opinions of the 'best', we will vainly resemble them - dissipating the richness of the Vocation.

When the expert instead of helping to broaden the view imposes no character changes, the person does not regain his or her simplicity.

And life [even that spent most nobly, in the gift of self] sooner or later becomes a nightmare.

Enough of managers pretending to intervene with their conformisms and 'adequate' or inadequate lifestyles!

Managers not infrequently place under an asphyxiating cloak of manner, the very path that is ours according to nature.

Earthly Faith: Our life is not played out on the initiative of what we are already able to set up and practise - or interpret, design and predict - but on Attention.

Here the dimension 'Gospel discernment' takes over from the clichés of ideas and doing.

The illusion of feeling in the light instead of in the underworld - or vice versa - jams the unseen mechanisms, absorbs the being that we are, its eye and the high (non-brain) reflexivity of our consciousness.

The obtuse gaze under the influence of official approval [or easy success at court and in society] clutters one's own and others' essence with epidermal clichés, dependent impulses, which are the true impurity of life.

Thus the conventional person finds himself unable to produce fundamental changes, the more real the less immediately apparent.

Disorders enlightened by deep nature, on the other hand, have much to teach.

Personal and sibling issues do not come to us in order to be hastily placed under the cloak of a qualitative evaluation, but rather to make us a proposition of new visions that could make us more independent - only so intimate with the Lord.

The soul calls to oneness and the One, to diversity and Conviviality - in a radical relationship of interest between giver and receiver.

The 'night' that presses in can make us live more boldly, prepared for action and Dialogue.

So: no domestication ties - not even with God.

To internalise and live the message:

What changes do you feel as your Calling?

Does the reputation and opinion of others in the community favour or block you? For what reason?

Is your 'family' closed in on itself or does it motivate openness of horizon?

On what is martyrdom founded? The answer is simple: on the death of Jesus, on his supreme sacrifice of love, consummated on the Cross, that we might have life (cf. Jn 10: 10). Christ is the suffering servant mentioned by the Prophet Isaiah (cf. Is 52: 13-15), who gave himself as a ransom for many (cf. Mt 20: 28). He urges his disciples, each one of us, to take up his or her cross every day and follow him on the path of total love of God the Father and of humanity: "he who does not take his cross and follow me", he tells us, "is not worthy of me. He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for my sake will find it" (Mt 10: 38-39). It is the logic of the grain of wheat that dies in order to sprout and bring new life (cf. Jn 12: 24). Jesus himself "is the grain of wheat which came from God, the divine grain that lets itself fall to the ground, that lets itself sink, be broken down in death and precisely by so doing germinates and can thus bear fruit in the immensity of the world" (Benedict XVI during his Visit to the Evangelical Lutheran Community at the "Christuskirche", Rome, 14 March 2010). The martyr follows the Lord to the very end, freely accepting death for the salvation of the world in a supreme test of love and faith (cf. Lumen Gentium, n. 42). 

Once again, where does the strength to face martyrdom come from? From deep and intimate union with Christ, because martyrdom and the vocation to martyrdom are not the result of human effort but the response to a project and call of God, they are a gift of his grace that enables a person, out of love, to give his life for Christ and for the Church, hence for the world. If we read the lives of the Martyrs we are amazed at their calmness and courage in confronting suffering and death: God's power is fully expressed in weakness, in the poverty of those who entrust themselves to him and place their hope in him alone (cf. 2 Cor 12: 9). Yet it is important to stress that God's grace does not suppress or suffocate the freedom of those who face martyrdom; on the contrary it enriches and exalts them: the Martyr is an exceedingly free person, free as regards power, as regards the world; a free person who in a single, definitive act gives God his whole life, and in a supreme act of faith, hope and charity, abandons himself into the hands of his Creator and Redeemer; he gives up his life in order to be associated totally with the Sacrifice of Christ on the Cross. In a word, martyrdom is a great act of love in response to God's immense love. 

Dear brothers and sisters […] we are probably not called to martyrdom, but not one of us is excluded from the divine call to holiness, to attain the high standard of Christian living, and this entails taking up our daily cross. All of us, especially in our time when selfishness and individualism seem to prevail, must take on as a first and fundamental commitment the duty to grow every day in greater love for God and for our brothers and sisters, to transform our own lives and thereby transform the life of our world too. Through the intercession of the Saints and Martyrs let us ask the Lord to set our hearts on fire so that we may be able to love as he has loved each one of us.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience, 11 August 2010]

1. In our examination of the Gospel signs that reveal Christ’s awareness of his divinity, we emphasised in the previous catechesis his request to his disciples to have faith in him: ‘Believe in God; believe also in me’ (Jn 14:1) – a request that only God can make. Jesus demands this faith when he manifests a divine power that surpasses all the forces of nature, for example in the raising of Lazarus (cf. Jn 11:38–44); he also demands it in times of trial, such as faith in the saving power of his cross, as he declares as early as his conversation with Nicodemus (cf. Jn 3:14–15); and it is faith in his divinity: ‘Whoever has seen me has seen the Father’ (Jn 14:9).
Faith refers to an invisible reality, which is beyond the senses and experience, and transcends the limits of human reason itself (“argumentum non apparentium”; “the evidence of things not seen” (cf. Heb 11:1); it refers, as Saint Paul says, to “things which no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man”, but which God has prepared for those who love him (cf. 1 Cor 2:9). Jesus demands such faith when, on the day before his death on the cross—a death that was, from a human perspective, ignominious—he tells the apostles that he is going to prepare a place for them in the Father’s house (cf. Jn 14:2).
2. These mysterious things, this invisible reality, are identified with the infinite Good of God, eternal Love, supremely worthy of being loved above all else. Therefore, together with the call to faith, Jesus sets forth the commandment to love God ‘above all else’—a commandment already present in the Old Testament, but repeated and reinforced by Jesus in a new light. It is true that when answering the question ‘Which is the greatest commandment of the Law?’, Jesus quotes the words of the Mosaic Law: ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind’ (Mt 22:37; cf. Dt 6:5). But the full meaning that the commandment takes on in Jesus’ words emerges from reference to other elements of the context in which he moves and teaches. Undoubtedly, he wishes to impress upon us that only God can and must be loved above all creation; and only in relation to God can there be, in human beings, the requirement for a love that surpasses all else. Only God, by virtue of this demand for radical and total love, can call man to ‘follow him’ without reservation, without limitation, in an indivisible way, as we already read in the Old Testament: ‘You shall follow the Lord your God, keep his commands, serve him and remain faithful to him’ (Deut 13:5). Indeed, only God ‘is good’ in the absolute sense (cf. Mk 10:18; also Mt 19:17). Only he ‘is love’ (1 Jn 4:16) by essence and by definition. But here is an element that appears new and surprising in the life and teaching of Christ.
3. Jesus calls people to follow him personally. This call lies, one might say, at the very heart of the Gospel. On the one hand, Jesus issues this call; on the other, we hear the evangelists speak of men who follow him, and indeed, of some of them who leave everything to follow him.
Let us consider all those calls of which the evangelists have told us: “One of the disciples said to him, ‘Lord, let me first go and bury my father.’ But Jesus replied, ‘Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead’” (Mt 8:21–22): a drastic way of saying, ‘Leave everything behind, immediately, for my sake.’ So it stands in Matthew’s account. Luke adds the apostolic connotation to this calling: “Go and proclaim the kingdom of God” (Lk 9:60). On another occasion, passing by the tax office, he said—and almost commanded—Matthew, who bears witness to the event: “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him (Mt 9:9; cf. Mk 2:13–14).
Following Jesus often means not only leaving one’s occupations behind and severing worldly ties, but also detaching oneself from one’s comfortable circumstances, and indeed giving one’s possessions to the poor. Not everyone feels able to make such a radical break: the rich young man did not feel up to it, even though he had observed the Law since childhood and had perhaps earnestly sought a path to perfection. But ‘on hearing this (that is, Jesus’ invitation), he went away sad, for he had great wealth’ (Mt 19:22; cf. Mk 10:22). Others, however, not only accept that ‘Follow me’, but, like Philip of Bethsaida, feel the need to share with others their conviction that they have found the Messiah (Jn 1:43ff.). Simon himself is told right from their first meeting: ‘You shall be called Cephas (which means Peter)’ (Jn 1:42). The evangelist John notes that Jesus “looked intently at him”: in that intense gaze lay the most powerful and compelling “Follow me” ever. But it seems that Jesus, given Peter’s very special calling (and perhaps also his natural temperament), wished to allow his ability to assess and accept that invitation to mature gradually. For Peter, the literal “Follow me” would in fact come after the washing of the feet at the Last Supper (cf. John 13:36), and then, definitively, after the Resurrection, on the shore of Lake Tiberias (John 21:19).
4. Undoubtedly, Peter and the other apostles – with the exception of Judas – understood and accepted the call to follow Jesus as a total self-giving of themselves and their possessions to the cause of proclaiming the Kingdom of God. They themselves would remind Jesus, through Peter: ‘See, we have left everything and followed you’ (Mt 19:27). Luke elaborates: ‘all our possessions’ (Luke 18:28). And Jesus himself seems to wish to clarify exactly which ‘possessions’ are meant when he replies to Peter: ‘Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left home, or wife, or brothers, or parents, or children for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not receive many times more in this present age and eternal life in the age to come’ (Luke 18:29–30).
In Matthew (Matthew 19:29), the text also specifies the forsaking of sisters, mother and fields ‘for my sake’; whoever does so, Jesus promises, ‘will receive a hundredfold and inherit eternal life’.
In Mark, there is a further clarification regarding the forsaking of all these things ‘for my sake and for the sake of the Gospel’ and concerning the reward: ‘Even now a hundredfold—houses, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—along with persecutions, and in the age to come, eternal life’ (Mk 10:29–30).
Without worrying for the moment about the figurative language used by Jesus, we ask ourselves: Who is this man who calls people to follow him and promises those who do so so many rewards and even ‘eternal life’? Can a mere Son of Man promise so much, and be believed and followed, and exert such a hold not only over those happy disciples, but over thousands and millions of people throughout the ages?
5. In reality, those disciples remembered well the authority with which Jesus had called them to follow him, not hesitating to demand of them a radical commitment, expressed in terms that might have seemed paradoxical, such as when he said he had come to bring ‘not peace but a sword’—that is, to create separations and divisions even within families in order to follow him—and then declared: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me” (Mt 10:37–38). Luke’s wording is even more forceful and almost harsh: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate (in Jewish terms: does not detach themselves from) their father, mother, wife, children, brothers, sisters and even their own life, they cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:26).
Faced with these words of Jesus, one cannot help but reflect on the loftiness and arduousness of the Christian vocation. Undoubtedly, the concrete forms of following Christ are graded by him according to the circumstances, possibilities, missions and charisms of individuals and social groups. Jesus’ words, as he himself says, are ‘spirit and life’ (cf. Jn 6:63), and one cannot expect them to be realised in exactly the same way for everyone. Yet, according to St Thomas Aquinas, the Gospel’s call to heroic self-denial—such as the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity and self-denial in order to follow Jesus—and the same may be said of the self-offering of one’s life through martyrdom rather than betraying the faith and the following of Christ—commits everyone ‘secundum praeparationem animi’ (cf. S. Thomae, *Summa Theologiae*; II-II, q. 184, a. 7, ad 1), that is, in terms of the spirit’s readiness to fulfil what is required should one be called to do so; and therefore they entail for everyone a lesser degree of detachment, a spirit of self-offering, a self-surrender to Christ, without which there is no true evangelical spirit.
6. The Gospel itself shows that there are particular vocations, dependent on a choice made by Christ: such as that of the apostles and of many disciples, indicated quite clearly by Mark when he writes: “He went up the mountain, called to him those whom he wished, and they came to him. He appointed twelve to be with him . . .” (Mk 3:13–14). Jesus himself, according to John, says to the apostles in his final discourse: ‘You did not choose me, but I chose you . . .’ (Jn 15:16).
There is no indication that he definitively condemned those who did not agree to follow him on a path of total dedication to the cause of the Gospel (cf. the case of the rich young man) (Mk 10:17–27). There is something more that calls upon the free generosity of the individual. It is certain, however, that the vocation to faith and Christian love is universal and binding: faith in the word of Jesus, love for God above all else and for one’s neighbour as oneself, not least because ‘whoever . . . does not love their brother whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen’ (1 John 4:20).
7. In setting out the requirement to respond to the call to follow him, Jesus makes no secret of the fact that following him entails sacrifice, at times even the supreme sacrifice. Indeed, he says to his disciples: ‘If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it . . .’ (Mt 16:24–25).
Mark emphasises that, along with his disciples, Jesus had also gathered the crowd, and to all of them he spoke of the self-denial required of those who wish to follow him, of taking up the cross and of the loss of life ‘for my sake and for the sake of the Gospel’ (Mk 8:34–35). And he did this after speaking of his impending passion and death! (cf. Mk 8:31–32).
8. At the same time, however, Jesus proclaims the blessedness of those who are persecuted ‘for the sake of the Son of Man’ (Lk 6:22): ‘Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great’ (Mt 5:12).
And once again we ask ourselves: Who is this man who authoritatively calls us to follow him, foretells hatred, insults and persecutions of every kind (cf. Lk 6:22), and promises a ‘reward in heaven’? Only a Son of Man who was conscious of being the Son of God could speak in this way. This is how the apostles and disciples understood him, and they passed on his revelation and his message to us. This is how we too wish to understand him, echoing the words of the apostle Thomas: ‘My Lord and my God’.
[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 28 October 1987]

This Sunday, the Gospel (cf. Mt 10:37-42) forcefully echoes the invitation to live out our bond with the Lord fully and without hesitation. Jesus asks his disciples to take the demands of the Gospel seriously, even when that requires sacrifice and effort.

The first demanding request that he addresses to those who follow him is that of putting love for him above family affection. He says: “He who loves father or mother… son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me” (v. 37). Jesus certainly does not intend to undervalue love for parents and children, but he knows that if family bonds are put in first place, they can deviate from the true good. We see this: some forms of corruption in governments come about precisely because love for family is greater than love for country, and so they put family members in charge. It is the same with Jesus: when love [for family] is greater than [it is] for him, it is not good. All of us can give many examples in this regard, not to mention those situations in which family affections are intermingled with choices that are contrary to the Gospel. When, instead, love for parents and children is inspired and purified by love for the Lord, it then becomes wholly fruitful and produces good fruits within the family itself and well beyond it. Jesus says this phrase in this sense. Let us also remember how Jesus rebukes the doctors of the law who cause their parents to lack what is necessary to them on the pretext of offering it at the altar, of giving it to the Church (cf. Mk 7:8-13). He rebukes them! True love for Jesus requires a true love for parents and children, but if we seek out family interests first, this always leads to the wrong path.

Then, Jesus says to his disciples: “he who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me” (Mt 10:38). This means following him along the path that he himself trod, without looking for shortcuts. There is no true love without the cross, that is, without a personal price to pay. Many mothers, many fathers who sacrifice a great deal for their children, and bear true sacrifices, crosses, because they love them, say this. And the cross is not frightening when borne with Jesus, because he is always at our side to support us in the hour of the most difficult trial, to give us strength and courage. Nor is it helpful to get agitated to preserve one’s own life through fearful or egotistical behaviour. Jesus admonishes: “He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for my sake” — that is, for love, for love of Jesus, love for one’s neighbour, for service towards others — “will find it” (v. 39). This is the Gospel paradox. But we have many, many examples of this too, thank God! We see it in these days. How many people, how many people, are bearing crosses to help others; they sacrifice themselves to help others who are in need in this pandemic. But, always with Jesus, it can be done. The fullness of life and of joy is found by giving oneself for the Gospel and for our brothers and sisters, with openness, welcoming and goodness.

In so doing, we can experience God’s generosity and gratitude. Jesus reminds us of this: “He who receives you receives me… And whoever gives to one of these little ones even a cup of cold water… shall not lose his reward” (vv. 40, 42). God’s generous gratitude takes into account even the smallest gesture of love and service given to our brothers and sisters. In these days, I heard from a priest who was moved because a child approached him in his parish and said, “Father, this is my savings; not very much. It is for the poor, for those who are in need today because of the pandemic”. A small thing, but a great thing. It is a contagious gratitude, which helps each of us to be grateful to those who take care of our needs. When someone offers us a service, we should not think that we deserve everything. No, many services are carried out freely. Think of volunteer work, which is one of the greatest things about Italian society. The volunteers… And how many of them have lost their lives in this pandemic. They do it out of love, simply to serve. Gratitude, appreciation is, first of all, good manners, but it is also a characteristic of a Christian. It is a simple but genuine sign of the Kingdom of God, which is the kingdom of gratuitous and grateful love.

May Mary Most Holy, who loved Jesus more than her own life and followed him even to the cross, help us to always put ourselves before God with willing hearts, allowing his Word to judge our behaviour and our choices.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 28 June 2020]

Word and Faith: God is not bound to an external expression

(Mt 8:5-17)

Mt writes his Gospel to encourage community members and stimulate the mission to the Gentiles, which the Jewish Christians were not yet ready to make their own.

The incipient Faith of a converted pagan is the example that Jesus sets before that of the observant Israelites.

But to say Faith (vv.10.13) means to advocate a deeper adhesion, and [together] a less strong manifestation.

What heals is believing in the efficacy of his only Word (vv.8-9.16), an event that possesses generative and re-creative power.

In the Judaizing communities of Galilee and Syria, still in the mid-70s one wondered: does the new Law of God proclaimed on ‘the Mount’ of Beatitudes creates exclusions?

Or does it correspond to the hopes and deep sensitivity of the human heart, of every place and time (vv.10-12)?

The distant possessed a strong insight into the novelties of the Spirit, and discovered the experience of Faith from other positions - not installed, less linked to conformal concatenations; perhaps uncomfortable.

Not infrequently they were just the latest arrivals who stood out for their freshness of substantial intuition - and saw clearly.

It was enough to communicate one-one with the Lord, in a sense of sure friendship (v.6).

There is no need for who knows what additions to this secret, to be reborn. God is Immediate Action (v.7).

The personal relationship between the common man and the Father in Christ is sober and instantaneous.

Starting from his simple experience, the centurion understands the "remote" value of the Word and the magnet-effect of the true Faith [which does not claim "contacts" or material and local elements: vv.8-9].

In short, cultural and religious conformism remained a burden.

Here and there were missing both the experience of personal Christ the Saviour, and the complete discovery of full Life’s power contained in the new total and ‘creative’ proposal of «the Mount».

But there is nothing to fear: God has preceded us; the different and far away is not a stranger, but brother.

Therefore, what saves is not belonging to a tradition or new fashion of thought and worship.

Not demanding that the Lord arrives in a certain form means not imagining Him tied to an external expression.

We can achieve and grasp Him only intimately, for certain vision - uncluttered with indispensable imagined beliefs - no matter what happens.

He will be revealed time by time in the way best suited to our limits.

In short, those distant from us are totally «worthy» people, although sometimes wavering - like everyone else.

God is in their flesh and in their hearth.

And in Christ we are educated to dilate the horizon of external vertical relations, typical of a lowered head religiosity.

The divine Face is already within the things of our environment, and in persons that Providence puts next to us - even across borders.

[Saturday 12.th wk. in O.T.  June 27, 2026]

Discovering that we are worthy and Jesus’ feminine touch

(Mt 8:5–17)

‘The essential thing is to listen to what rises up from within. Our actions are often nothing more than imitation, a hypothetical duty or a mistaken representation of what it means to be human. But the only true certainty that touches our lives and our actions can come only from the springs that gush forth from the depths of our being.
One is at home under the sky; one is at home anywhere on this earth if one carries everything within oneself.
I have often felt, and still feel, like a ship that has taken on board a precious cargo:
the ropes are cut and now the ship sails on, free to navigate everywhere’.

[Etty Hillesum, Diary]

    The Tao Te Ching (LIII) says: ‘The Great Way is very level, but people prefer the paths’.

Commenting on this passage, the masters Wang Pi and Ho-shang Kung emphasise: ‘winding paths’.

The fledgling faith of a converted pagan is the example that Jesus holds up above that of the observant Israelites.

What heals is believing in the efficacy of his Word alone (vv. 8–9, 16), an event that possesses generative and recreative power.

The Lord shows compassion, usually by touching the sick or laying his hands on them, as if to absorb what was imagined to be impurity, a deviation from normality [a ‘fever’ or paralysis that was believed to render the person in need unworthy in God’s eyes].

In the Judaising communities of Galilee and Syria, as late as the mid-70s, people were still asking: does God’s new Law, proclaimed on ‘the Mount’ of the Beatitudes, create exclusions?

Or does it correspond to the hopes and the deep sensibilities of the human heart, in every place and time (vv. 10–12)?

Those on the margins possessed a keen intuition for the new things of the Spirit, and discovered the lived experience of faith from different perspectives – unestablished, less bound by conformist conventions; perhaps even uncomfortable ones.

It was not uncommon for the newcomers themselves to stand out for the freshness of their fundamental insight – and to see things clearly.

All that was needed was to communicate face to face with the Lord, in a spirit of assured friendship (v. 6).

There is no need for any great additions to this secret in order to be reborn. God is immediate Action (v. 7).

The personal relationship between the ordinary person and the Father in Christ is unadorned and instantaneous.

Drawing on his own simple experience, the centurion grasps the ‘remote’ value of the Word and the magnetic pull of true Faith [which does not require ‘contacts’ or material and local elements: vv. 8–9].

In short, cultural heritage and ancient religious conformism remained a burden.

Here and there, there was a lack of both the experience of Christ as one’s personal Saviour and the full realisation of the power of life contained in the new, all-encompassing and creative proposal of ‘the Mount’.

Matthew writes his Gospel to encourage members of the community and to spur on the mission to the Gentiles, which the Jewish Christians were not yet ready to embrace.

But to speak of ‘Faith’ (vv. 10, 13) means to advocate a deeper commitment, and [at the same time] a less overt expression.

The expression of personal Faith is not to repeat or water down a learned doctrine, nor the convictions of others.

There is no need to fear: God has gone before us; the one who is different and far away is not a stranger, but a brother.

Therefore, what saves is not belonging to a tradition or a way of thinking and worship.

Not demanding that the Lord appear in a certain form means not imagining him bound to an external expression.

He is reached and grasped only intimately, through certain vision – free from imagined convictions deemed indispensable – whatever may happen.

He will reveal himself each time in the way best suited to our limitations.

Those who are distant from us are creatures who are wholly ‘worthy’, though at times wavering and fallible.

They are not self-sufficient, nor are they sufficient, like everyone else – simply because they do not realise that God is in their very flesh and in their own homes.

Thanks to this clear awareness in the Son, they can finally comprehend the Father’s supreme Love, which is freely given and without reserve; a Love that astounds, helps them overcome their awkwardness and propels them forward.

The pagan is conditioned by his hierarchical world, but upon encountering Christ he discovers himself to be a fully adequate and fulfilled person.

Not because he has earned or granted favours to the chosen people, or fulfilled a special kind of observance (by reciting formulas with an imprimatur).

In the Lord, he himself is taught to broaden the horizons of conventional religion – which consists of external, vertical relationships.

Although he recognises his own shortcomings [v.8 Greek text], he senses that his relationship with God does not depend on an exchange of favours.

Such an immediate and spontaneous personal friendship is not subordinate to works of the law, nor does it spring from fulfilled rules of purity.

Nor is it subject to a religious relationship in which one bows one’s head.

The ‘distant one’ embraces love. In this way, he is already liberated from a superficial, shallow, commonplace mindset.

In the Lord, he himself is taught to broaden the horizons of conventional religion.

He believes, in fact, that the Word of the Lord – as the Way, beyond synchronised or predetermined places and times – brings about what it proclaims.

And that it brings this about even from a distance; without even sensational or peremptory signs that cause a commotion.

Rather, by liberating the mysterious Energy [still imprisoned] of the ‘Logos’ (v.7).

An unconventional Word, which does not spin idly.

This is so, despite the fact that this Power may be found mingled with convictions that are at times contradictory:

He is already far removed from a magical and carnal mindset.

But he must still take the decisive step that will enable him to grow beyond this – and this concerns us closely.

Self-esteem must be the attitude of even the most distant children, at all costs.

Not out of some vague or emotional inner feeling, but because of a Presence that is guaranteed regardless – indeed, already at work, though sometimes unconsciously so.

Internalising this will be the work – and the ‘something more’ – of mature Faith, which sees, grasps and penetrates the preparatory energies at work.

And it actualises them, anticipating the future.

‘I am not worthy’ is, along with ‘Have mercy on me’ or ‘Son of David’, one of the most unfortunate expressions of spiritual and missionary life.

These are phrases that Jesus abhors, even though they have become commonplace in certain liturgical expressions.

The prodigal son tries, with the very same rambling expression [‘I am no longer worthy’], to move the Father, who precisely does not allow him to finish this absurd tirade.

Rather, He prevents him from considering himself ‘one of his servants’ and kneeling before Him [Lk 15:21ff].

This would truly be the only danger that jeopardises one’s entire life; not merely a small part of one’s existence.

Through faith in Christ, from being incomplete we become not only most worthy, but we are thus, here and now, perfect to fulfil our vocation.

Of course, some ideologue or purist might consider us old-fashioned, or even still clinging to pagan ways.

Our great and only risk is precisely that of absorbing such oppressive opinions from our surroundings and allowing ourselves to be influenced by them.

It is not uncommon for every social context to operate according to the logic of hierarchies and power relations, whereby, for example, the subordinate should not consider themselves on the same level as their superior.

But at this rate, we can no longer perceive the divine Presence.

The Face of the Eternal One is within us and in our home; not in a chain of command with conditioning influences, but in our surroundings and in those who stand by us – even beyond our borders.

Family, friends, loved ones and others are all on the same level. The same applies to God: we are face to face.

Nor does the ‘I and You’ framework with the Son matter any more: for – having become incarnate in a universal sense – He has planted His Heaven, as well as His very healing power [even that of self-healing], ‘within’ us.

Thanks to the Master, we are no longer within an ideology of submission – identical to that which prevailed in the empire – nor in a well-disciplined barracks, with distinct roles and confined spheres.

The structure of external propriety has no place in the Gospels.

In short, the Father no longer asks anyone to obey ‘authorities’, but rather to ‘resemble’ Him.

This is achieved simply by each of us responding to this sort of higher Presence that dwells within us and loves us.

It is the end of empty formalities: we are intimate and of the same blood as our own hidden Self, the supreme Face.

There is absolutely no need to ‘implore’ God (v.5) as if we were ‘subordinates’ (v.9).

Our task is to cultivate and acquire a new ‘eye’, not to submit to organisational hierarchies.

The reborn gaze intuitively perceives other virtues – it is not subject to classifications incapable of immediate fruitfulness.

Enough of these feelings of inadequacy!

They end up drawing us into cloisters and spire-like dynamics (v.9) typical of any stagnant feudalism.

A quagmire that annihilates the new power of love – rendering structures chronic.

Configurations set in stone by too many tedious chains of command and local monarchies [as we see, for example, in the provinces].

In the natural listening to oneself and to events, genuine esteem and divine gratuitousness guide us, wave upon wave, towards a new way of living and exchanging gifts.

An arduous path for those bound by habit; for the obviousness that does not shift one’s thoughts, and does not perceive.

A path inaccessible to those who act out of duty – an enigmatic, opaque, insidious and highly ‘tortuous’ path.

To internalise and live out the message:

How do you understand and nurture the certain and free Coming of Jesus into your home?

Catholic

    The Church is Catholic because Christ embraces all humanity in his mission of salvation. Whilst Jesus’ mission during his earthly life was limited to the Jewish people, ‘the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (Mt 15:24), it was nevertheless directed from the outset towards bringing the light of the Gospel to all peoples and bringing all nations into the Kingdom of God. Faced with the faith of the centurion in Capernaum, Jesus exclaims: ‘I tell you that many will come from the east and the west and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven’ (Mt 8:11). This universalist perspective emerges, amongst other things, from Jesus’ presentation of himself not only as the ‘Son of David’, but as the ‘Son of Man’ (Mk 10:33), as we have also heard in the Gospel passage just proclaimed. The title ‘Son of Man’, in the language of Jewish apocalyptic literature inspired by the vision of history in the Book of the Prophet Daniel (cf. 7:13–14), evokes the figure who comes ‘on the clouds of heaven’ (v. 13); it is an image that heralds an entirely new kingdom, a kingdom sustained not by human powers, but by the true power that comes from God. Jesus makes use of this rich and complex expression and applies it to Himself to reveal the true nature of His messianism: a mission intended for all of humanity and for every individual, transcending all ethnic, national and religious particularism. And it is precisely by following Jesus, by allowing ourselves to be drawn into his humanity and thus into communion with God, that we enter this new kingdom, which the Church proclaims and anticipates, and which overcomes fragmentation and dispersion.

[Pope Benedict, address at the Consistory, 24 November 2012]

The Power of the Word and the Creativity

of Jesus’ Healing Touch (in the feminine form)

    In the Judaising communities of Galilee and Syria, as late as the mid-70s, people were still asking: does God’s new Law, proclaimed on ‘the Mount’ of the Beatitudes, create exclusions? Or does it correspond to the hopes and the deep sensibilities of the human heart, in every place and time (vv. 10–12)?

The pagans possessed a keen intuition for the newness of the Spirit, and discovered the lived experience of Faith from different perspectives (unconventional, less bound by established conventions; perhaps even uncomfortable).

It was not uncommon for the newcomers themselves to possess the freshness of a fundamental intuition, and to see things clearly. This was in contrast to the veterans – more attached to the leaves than to the seed – to whom they offered salutary jolts of unadulterated trust, wedded to the Newness of God.

Unlike those coming from habitual or markedly ethnic forms of religiosity (even from Israel), they had already realised that it was not necessary to explicitly ask for Christ’s intervention – as was done with the ancient gods (and according to customary thinking). 

It was enough to communicate face to face with the Lord, in a spirit of secure friendship (v.6) – not to urge him to perform a miracle: a fundamental realisation, so that even today we may set a new course in motion, and finally break free from the notion of a finely chiselled (and chosen) organic culture.

It is the Risen One who genuinely does what is right… and everything else: just as in Jesus – strengthened by the intimate experience of the Father in the Spirit – so too for us, Faith is enough, that is, the nuptial and fruitful trust in the Word, which is effective and inventive.

There is no need for any great additions to this secret in order to be reborn.

God is Immediate Action (v.7): he does not like to be ‘prayed to over and over again’ – as if he were just any sovereign who takes pleasure in forcing his subjects into deference (with a view to a consequent paternalism in relationships).

The relationship between the ordinary man and the Father in Christ is unadorned and instantaneous, without any form of mediation whatsoever: the work of Grace is in no way conditioned by acknowledgements and formulas, or ‘internal’ titles, or veteran status; nor by calculated bows, prior ‘bribes’, or bureaucratic procedures.

Drawing on his own simple experience, the centurion grasps the ‘remote’ value of the Word and the magnetic pull of true Faith (which does not require ‘contacts’ or material and local elements: vv. 8–9).

It is not like magic: the intimate sensitivity of the relationship of Faith conveys to the eye of the soul a Vision of a new genesis. Not doctrine, discipline, morality, ritual observances and so on.

It is a vision of the future (deeply existential) that does not serve to anticipate (v. 13) a self-serving outcome, useful only to the believer, or merely for the sake of nomenclature: it is for the promotion of life, everywhere.

This corresponds to the deepest longing of our hearts.

Indeed, another major innovation in the new Rabbi’s teaching – which was spreading – was the acceptance of women as what we would today call ‘deaconesses’ (cf. v. 15, Greek verb) of the Church, here in the figure of the House of Peter (v. 14).

This was what had been happening since the middle of the first century (cf. Rom 16:1) and still has much to teach us. With God, one cannot become accustomed to (multi-)centuries-old formalities that have been drained of life.

But religious traditions resisted the onslaught of the experience of Faith-Love: even in the mid-1970s, communities did not feel free to take in those in need of care until evening had fallen (v. 16).    

According to the parallel passage in Mark 1:21, 29–34 (the source of the passage in Matthew), it was in fact the Sabbath – and after leaving the synagogue. The same hindrance and delay are described in the episode of Mary Magdalene at the tomb on Easter morning.

Cultural heritage and sacred religious conformism remained a heavy burden on the experience of Christ the personal Saviour, and on the full discovery of the power of Life in its fullness contained in the new, all-encompassing and creative proposal of ‘the Mountain’.

The Tao writes (xxviii): ‘He who knows he is male, yet remains female, is the strength of the world; being the strength of the world, virtue never departs from him, and he returns to being a child. He who knows he is pure, yet remains obscure, is the model of the world; being the model of the world, virtue never strays from him; and he returns to the infinite. He who knows he is glorious, yet remains in ignominy, is the valley of the world; being the valley of the world, virtue always abides in him; and he returns to being unpolished [genuine, unartificial]. When that which is unpolished is cut, then it is made into tools; when the sage makes use of it, then he makes it the foremost among his ministers. ‘For this reason, the great government does no harm.’

And so Master Wang Pi comments: ‘Here, the masculine represents the category of the one who precedes, whilst the feminine represents the category of the one who follows. He who knows he is first in the world must place himself last: for this reason, the sage puts himself last, and yet he is placed first. A gorge amongst the mountains does not seek out creatures, yet they turn to it of their own accord. The child does not rely on wisdom, but adapts to the wisdom of spontaneity’.

In the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas, we read in verses 22–23:

‘Jesus saw some little ones drinking milk

And said to his disciples:

“These little ones who are drinking milk are like those

Who enter the Kingdom”.

They asked him:

‘If we are like those children, will we enter the Kingdom?’

Jesus replied to them:

‘When you make two things into one, and make

the inside the same as the outside, and the outside the same as the inside,

and the higher the same as the lower,

When you reduce the male and the female to a single being

So that the male is not merely male

And the female does not remain merely female,

When you regard two eyes as a single eye

But a hand as a single hand

And a foot as a single foot,

A vital function in place of a vital function

Then you will find the entrance to the Kingdom.”

‘Jesus said:

“I shall choose one out of a thousand and two out of ten thousand,

And these shall turn out to be a single individual.”’

This universalist perspective can be seen, among other things, from the way Jesus applied to himself not only the title “Son of David”, but also “Son of Man” (Mk 10:33), as in the Gospel passage that we have just heard.  The expression “Son of Man”, in the language of Jewish apocalyptic literature inspired by the vision of history found in the book of the prophet Daniel (cf. 7:13-14), calls to mind the figure who appears “with the clouds of heaven” (v. 13).  This is an image that prophesies a completely new kingdom, sustained not by human powers, but by the true power that comes from God.  Jesus takes up this rich and complex expression and refers it to himself in order to manifest the true character of his Messianism: a mission directed to the whole man and to every man, transcending all ethnic, national and religious particularities.  And it is actually by following Jesus, by allowing oneself to be drawn into his humanity and hence into communion with God, that one enters this new kingdom proclaimed and anticipated by the Church, a kingdom that conquers fragmentation and dispersal.

[Pope Benedict, Consistory, 24 November 2012]