22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [30 August 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah (20:7–9).

The central theme here is Jeremiah’s inner struggle: the fire of the Word.  His is an experience of persecution and inner turmoil that he endured throughout his life. And he is not alone: many other prophets and, later, Jesus himself faced similar situations. Jeremiah carried out his ministry during the 40 years leading up to the disaster in Jerusalem in 587 BC and the deportation to Babylon. Forty years of spiritual decline. His task was to foretell the catastrophe, not to be a harbinger of doom, but on the contrary in the hope of securing, at the very last moment, the conversion of the king and the people. He spared no effort to warn his contemporaries, whilst there was still time, but they, in turn, spared no effort to silence this spoilsport. It is in this contentious and distressing context that the private reflections from which we have read an excerpt arise: his ‘confessions’. Unfortunately, the word ‘lamentations’, which derives from this, has taken on a pejorative connotation, and this is unjust: Jeremiah’s confessions are magnificent, full of sorrow, yes, but even more so full of faith and passion for the cause of his God. In today’s text, he reveals to us the inner struggle taking place deep within him: torn between God’s call, which urges him to speak, and human wisdom, which urges him to remain silent: ‘I said, “I will think no more of him; I will speak no more in his name!” But in my heart there was like a burning fire, shut up in my bones; I tried to hold it back, but I could not’ (Jer 20:9). To give up would mean abandoning his fellow citizens to their sad fate and betraying God’s trust. It is clear why this text is set before us on the Sunday when we hear the Gospel following Peter’s confession at Caesarea. When Jesus asked the disciples, ‘Who do you say that I am?’, Peter replied that Jesus was the expected Messiah. But immediately afterwards, Jesus reveals to the disciples the fate that awaits him: Passion, the cross, death and resurrection (Mt 16:21). Peter protests: ‘God forbid, Lord; this shall never happen to you.’ But Jesus calls him ‘Satan’ and warns the disciples that they will not be treated any better than their Master: ‘If anyone wishes to come after me… (Mt 16:24–25). This proves that every true prophet is inevitably a thorn in the side of the prevailing ideas of the moment. The consuming fire of the Word of God, which calls for conversion, is not meant to please: ‘I have become a byword all day long; everyone mocks me,’ confesses Jeremiah, and he does not hide the fact that at times he is afraid. He hears people talking behind his back and plotting to get rid of him: ‘I hear the slander of many’ (Jer 20:10). The prophet is all the more troublesome because, as the Lord’s messenger, the Lord gives him the strength to carry on despite all the persecution, so that there is no way to silence him. It is clear why persecution is inevitable. The verses preceding today’s reading describe a particularly harrowing episode: Jeremiah had so exasperated everyone in the Temple with his rebukes that the priest Pashur had him tied to a pillory, hanging upside down in the public square. The next day, when Pashur himself came to untie him, thinking that such punishment had calmed him down, Jeremiah spoke out even more forcefully and took his anger out on Pashur himself. Yet these confessions of Jeremiah’s, steeped in sorrow, are at the same time an admission of the all-consuming passion that burns within him and, ultimately, illuminates his life: ‘You have seduced me, Lord, and I let myself be seduced’ (Jer 20:7). He complains, yes, but he would not give his place to anyone else. The Word was a burning fire in my heart, a consuming fire that brings to mind Psalm 68/69: ‘Zelo for your house has consumed me’, which aptly expresses the persecution suffered by all the prophets. To begin with, this was the case with the people of Israel, entrusted with a prophetic mission in the service of the nations. Throughout their history, they sought to remain faithful to that mission, and this earned them terrible persecution at times. Then it was the case for all the prophets, one after another, and subsequently for the early Christians, who imitated Jesus, who was ultimately silenced. But nothing can silence the Word of God: Christ is risen; and now we know that a day will come when people will hear the Word and finally find their light in it. 

Responsorial Psalm (62/63) 

This psalm echoes the experience of Jeremiah, whom we encounter in the first reading, who endured inner turmoil and constant attacks, even though his passion for God—stronger than anything else—helped him to endure every threat and humiliation. However, this psalm was not composed to speak of Jeremiah; rather, it is like a prayer that King David might have composed whilst being hunted down by his enemies. The Old Testament recounts at least three episodes in which David had to take refuge in the Judean desert: the first two times to escape the murderous rage of King Saul, who had become so jealous of David that he wanted to kill him. The third time was even more dramatic: the one pursuing and seeking to kill David was his own son Absalom, who was too eager to seize the throne and hasten his father’s death, and who had already eliminated his elder brother. David did not immediately realise the danger, and by the time he did, it was too late: Absalom was on the verge of conquering Jerusalem; there was only one solution left: flight. And all of Jerusalem saw their king, humiliated, fleeing on foot from the holy city and climbing the Mount of Olives in tears (cf. 2 Sam 15:23–28). The words of this psalm are attributed to David: ‘Your love is better than life’ (v. 4). As is well known, the title of the psalms does not designate the author—in this case, King David. This psalm in particular contains several clear allusions to the Temple in Jerusalem, which David certainly did not know, as the Temple was only built by his son Solomon. ‘A psalm of David’ here means ‘in the manner of David, the one who thirsts for God’. The prayer ‘O God, you are my God; at dawn I seek you; my soul thirsts for you’ may have been David’s, but it is also that of all generations of the chosen people, from Abraham right up to the Day of Salvation. In the most dramatic periods, this prayer took on even greater force, as during the Exile in Babylon. Upon their return from the Exile, the people give thanks: ‘Yes, you have been my help; I rejoice in the shelter of your wings.’ These are the wings of the cherubim that cover the Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies; but they also recall the wings of the great desert eagle that protects its brood whilst teaching them to fly: and Moses had taken up this image to express the care with which God had surrounded his people: ‘I carried you on eagle’s wings,’ God had said (cf. Ex 19:4; Dt 32:10–11). Then came the even more terrible periods of persecution in the 2nd century BC under the Greek king Antiochus Epiphanes, when many Jews died for their faith, proclaiming: ‘Your love, Lord, is worth more than life.’ This verse resonates particularly on this Sunday, when we shall hear Jesus say to his disciples: ‘Whoever loses their life for my sake will save it’ (Mt 16:25). This is the struggle of all the prophets.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (12:1–2)

‘I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the tenderness of God’: this is the theme of the Letter to the Romans. The first eleven chapters deal with the major themes of Paul’s theology, which are set out at length and in depth: the universality of sin, justification by faith, the Paschal Mystery, the work of the Holy Spirit, and the salvation promised and granted to all. But all of this always returns to a single subject: the tenderness of God. Now, as in all his letters, Paul draws out for his readers the implications of his teaching: the discovery of God’s immense tenderness cannot fail to shake us to the core, or rather, to permeate our whole life from now on. ‘I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the tenderness of God…’. What he is about to say is closely linked to everything he has written so far, particularly in the final lines of the previous chapter: ‘God wishes to show mercy to all’, which are followed by the hymn of thanksgiving we read last Sunday: ‘Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgements, and his ways beyond our understanding!’ (Rom 11:32–33).  The logical response is to offer ourselves as a ‘living, holy sacrifice’. Therefore, says Saint Paul, there is no room for hesitation: to this God, so astonishing in his tenderness and his desire to save all humanity, there is but one possible response: that of trusting surrender, offering ourselves to him as a sacrifice so that he may accomplish his work within us. The verb ‘to sacrifice’ means ‘to make sacred’, and St Paul invites us to make our lives sacred—that is, divine. Paul devotes the remainder of his Letter to the Romans to setting out the nature of the Christian commitment: each person, according to their gifts and qualities, is invited to take their place in the Church’s mission, which is the service of all people. This commitment is an active participation in ‘God’s will’. This undoubtedly requires us to accept, day by day, to be transformed—that is, to ‘renew our minds’—which for us is, at times, a true conversion because, all too often, our thoughts are not God’s thoughts but those of men, as Jesus rebuked Peter at Caesarea Philippi, as we read in this Sunday’s Gospel. But the Spirit has been given to us to bring about this renewal within us, which requires us to refuse to conform to the mindset of this age (Rom 12:2). True freedom lies in charting our own course, whatever the siren calls of fashion may be; in loving the world without being enslaved by the world’s ways; and in remaining constantly immersed in God’s tenderness, even though we know full well that it is not easy.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (16:21–27)

From ‘You are the Christ’ to the rejection of the cross. This account follows Peter’s memorable profession of faith which we heard last Sunday: ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God’, a statement which earned him this reply from Jesus: ‘Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah: it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you (that is, you did not guess it on your own), but my Father in heaven. Like any blessing, this ‘Blessed are you’ sounds like a compliment – and what a compliment! – but also like encouragement. And indeed, it will take a great deal of courage for Peter to remain faithful to this first profession of faith. For he does not yet fully grasp its significance, and Jesus has not finished surprising him. In fact, Jesus accepts, at least implicitly, Peter’s recognition of his title as the Messiah: ‘My Father has revealed this to you’. And immediately afterwards, he sets out his plan, which does not fit at all with the common idea people had of the Messiah: ‘From that time on, Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer greatly…’ (Mt 16:21). It was a world turned upside down: a king without weapons or privileges… Worse still, a king who was mistreated and seemingly consenting… . He speaks of suffering greatly and even of being put to death! Peter has some reason to protest because, like many of his contemporaries, he was expecting a triumphant, glorious, powerful Messiah-King who would drive the Roman occupiers out of Jerusalem. What Jesus announces is therefore unacceptable: the almighty God cannot allow such things to happen! One might almost entitle this text: ‘Peter’s first denial’, his first refusal to follow the Messiah in his suffering. Jesus faces this spontaneous refusal on Peter’s part as a real temptation for himself and tells him so vehemently: ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me’ (Mt 16:23). We must allow the Spirit to transform—and at times completely overturn—our plans and ideas if we are to remain faithful to God’s plan. As Paul says in the second reading, we must allow the Spirit of God to transform our ways of seeing (cf. Rom 12:2) and we will experience wonderful surprises, for God’s ways are entirely different from our own. We must never lose sight of Isaiah’s famous words: ‘God says: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord’ (Isaiah 55:8–9). ‘If I understood God, he would not be God,’ said Saint Augustine. We must therefore accept being taken by surprise: the apostles and all the Jews of their time were, Peter foremost among them. With rare exceptions, they had anticipated a powerful, triumphant Messiah; instead, Jesus is the very antithesis of these grand expectations. God’s plan is nothing other than the salvation of the world, that is, the birth of a new humanity, one that will live solely by tenderness and mercy, in the image of God Himself. The logic of the cross is required to save humankind, and the salvation of humankind—that is, our total and definitive conversion to love and forgiveness, to brotherhood and peace, to sharing and justice—cannot happen with a wave of a magic wand. The salvation of humankind inevitably involves a slow transformation of humankind, but how can we transform humankind without showing them the way? Therefore, it was absolutely necessary for Jesus to walk the path of gentleness, goodness and forgiveness to the very end, in order to give us some chance of walking it ourselves. This is why Jesus, when explaining his passion and death to the disciples on the road to Emmaus, said ‘it had to be’, in the sense of ‘unfortunately, it had to be’. God’s plan of salvation is not compatible with a triumphant Messiah. For people to come to a full knowledge of the truth (1 Tim 2:4), they must discover the God of tenderness and forgiveness, of mercy and compassion, and this is not achieved through power but through the supreme gift of the Son’s life. We can then better understand this saying of Jesus: ‘No one has greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends’ (John 15:13). Only this supreme proof of love can lead us, too, to walk the path of love.

NOTE. ‘You are a stumbling block to me’ – the Greek word skandalon means ‘stumbling block’ – and our frailties and doubts can become stumbling blocks for ourselves or for others.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

(Mt 16:21-27)

Common mentality evaluated the life’ success - and the truth of a religion - on the basis of glory, domination, enrichment, and security in general.

This is why Peter and the disciples wanted to return to the usual idea of «the» Messiah [cf. vv.16.20 Greek text] expected by everyone.

An all too normal canvas, incapable of regenerating us.

Everything we do - even in the risk - is motivated by the quest for fullness of being and happiness. We are passionate about the way in the Spirit for the same reason: to have an increase in life.

But in the Master’s proposal we perceive a disconcerting logic: to be protected from vain illusions that degrade, we must not rush to grab prestigious roles, goods, relationships that matter.

The most attractive and showy things remain external and infertile. They do not regenerate us. 

Instead... waiting, listening, exercising passive virtues, bitterness and defeat, call to re-enter ourselves - and they are preparing the most pertinent and well-founded future developments, precisely in favor of a full existence.

But in the misunderstanding, even those who are not afraid of sacrifices can swing, because the Way of Christ seems to lead us immediately to social contempt, to failure.

Even for Jesus the evangelization of the Apostles and the "neighbours" - all intent on softening and attenuating his immoderate Dreams - was not a child’s play.

Yet the Master does not be taken like hostage - indeed, it is He who has put the disciples’ leader back in his place (vv.22-23).

The cross was the death penalty and perennial shame reserved for rebellious slaves; bandits, subversives, misfits who refused their position of civil marginalization.

And agreeing to lift the horizontal arm of the public scaffold behind Jesus means still today forgetting the "reputation", being covered with shame.

Not by asceticism, nor particular perfectionism. But so that time is left to Providence, for preparing us.

The coming life will appeal to other energies, arrange events in a more mysterious than obvious way.

It will bring into play different personal and social virtues - confluent - cosmic and intimately humanizing; acutely fascinating and springy.

In the storm, the passion of love has its preparatory stages, mysterious [of higher calibre], that will bring out authentic awareness. And the fraternal spirit that is nestled in the soul.

The perspective is in this sense personal, but not individualistic, rather that of the «Son of Man» that allows us intuiting the human, accessible and deifying aspect: let’s help ourselves to grasp Him Present (vv.27-28)!

«Son of man» is the One who, having pushed himself to the maximum of love in the fullness of Person, comes to reflect the divine condition, shows it and radiates in eminent marks.

Embraced by our own identifying Call, we will experience the Father providing for us. In this way, we will succeed in lifting the flowered Cross that fertilizes the soul and the world around.

On this ray of light, even in the great hardships of our time we will be like the Friend-Guide: genuine, not homologated; lying on the core of being, but standing on unexplored roads.

Simultaneously engaged and serene. Less banal, for personal contact.

To internalize and live the message:

In what sense did you experience life gained, after having “lost” it? Contacting what dormant energies? On which unexplored roads?

[22.a Domenica T.O. (anno A), August 30, 2026]

(Mt 16:13–27)

Who I Am, the Keys, the Faith, the Name

(Mt 16:13-23)

    More than halfway through his public life, Jesus has not yet offered any formulas, but poses a challenging question – one that demands far more of us than the usual legalistic expressions.

Broadly speaking, the crowd may have likened him to eminent figures such as John the Baptist [he who proved himself a stranger to courtly flattery] or Elijah [for his denunciation of idols] or Jeremiah [the opponent of the buying and selling of blessings].

But He did not come – like the ancient prophets – to improve the situation or patch up devotions, nor to purify the Temple, but rather to replace it!

Traditional imagery depicts Christ in many ways (for atheists, a philanthropist), the most widespread of which is still that of an ancient Lord, the guarantor of conventional behaviour.

He, however – to make us reflect – takes the disciples to a building site [in northern Palestine, Caesarea Philippi was under construction], far from the self-serving nomenclature of the ‘holy’ City.

The common mindset judged the success of life – and the truth of a religion – on the basis of success, dominance, enrichment, and security in general.

The question Jesus poses to his disciples reveals a novelty that supplants the entire system: the Call is addressed to every single person.

It is a proposal of the margins, akin to the symbolic geographical location of the capital of the kingdom of Philip, one of the three sons and heirs of Herod the Great: in Palestine, the point furthest from the centre of conformist religiosity.

The Face of the ‘Son of Man’ is recognisable only by placing oneself at the greatest possible distance from political schemes and the established order – otherwise we too would be unable to perceive his personal ‘light’.

In the community described in Matthew, there was indeed an experience of an ever-increasing participation of pagans, who previously felt excluded but were gradually integrating.

In our way of thinking, house keys are used to lock and bolt the door, to keep out intruders.

In the Semitic mindset, they were rather a symbol of opening the door.

In Perugino’s famous masterpiece on the north wall of the Sistine Chapel, Jesus hands the head of the Church two keys: the golden key to Paradise and the silver key to Purgatory.

But the meaning of the passage is not the Afterlife – indeed, it is not even institutional. In Hebrew, the term ‘key’ derives from the verb ‘to open’!

The primary missionary task of community leaders is to keep the Kingdom of Heaven wide open, that is, to ensure a welcoming Church!

Peter must not embody the type of arrogant monarch, an image of authority; a substitute for the emperor.

Simon must take primary responsibility for welcoming those who are outside.

This seems strange to any ancient conception, where it was assumed that God feared becoming defiled through contact with the world.

The Father is the One who dares the most.

This is why Jesus strictly imposes total messianic silence (v.20) upon the lips and the ancient minds of the Apostles.

Peter and the disciples wanted to return to the customary idea of ‘the’ Messiah [cf. Greek text] awaited by all.

A plotline that is all too ordinary, incapable of renewing us.

But who do you say that I am? Peter’s Faith

Distancing oneself from what is hoped for

Jesus leads his own away from the realm of the ideology of power and from the sacred centre of the official religious institution – Judea.

The Lord wants his inner circle to distance themselves from limitations and expectations.

The relative success achieved by the Master in Galilee had in fact rekindled the apostles’ hopes of (one-sided) glory.

The region of Caesarea Philippi, in the far north of Palestine, was enchanting; renowned for its fertility and lush pastures. An area famous for the beauty of its surroundings and the abundance of flocks and herds.

Even the disciples were captivated by the landscape and the comfortable life of the region’s inhabitants; not to mention the magnificence of the palaces.

The allusion to the setting refers to the comforts that pagan religion generally offers; excessive prosperity that enchanted the Twelve.

Christ asks the apostles – in effect – what the people expected of Him. In this way, He wants them to realise the harmful effects of their own preaching.

A ‘proclamation’ that readily conflated material and spiritual blessings.

Whilst the gods showed themselves capable of showering their devotees with riches – and a lavish court life that (precisely) captivated everyone – what does Christ offer?

The Master realises that the disciples were still heavily influenced by the propaganda of the political and religious establishment [vv. 6, 11] which promised prosperity [vv. 5–12; cf. Mt 15:32–38].

And Jesus instructs them further, so that at least his messengers might overcome the blindness and the crisis brought about by his Cross (v. 21), by the commitment required in the spirit of self-giving.

He is not merely a follower of the Baptist’s uncompromising stance, never inclined to compromise with the courts or opulence; nor is he one of the many restorers of the Law of Moses, with the zeal of Elijah.

Nor did he wish merely to purify religion of spurious elements, but even to take the place of the Temple [Mt 21:12–17, 18–19, 42; 23:2, 37–39; 24:30] – the place of encounter between the Father and his children.

On this matter, at that time the divisions were particularly acute, not only with regard to paganism, but also the conflicts between Jews who had converted to the Lord and those who observed the tradition.

Indeed, the sacred books of late Judaism spoke of great figures who had left their mark on the history of Israel, and who were expected to reappear to usher in the messianic age.

Even within the persecuted communities of Galilee and Syria, Matthew notes a lack of understanding and the great difficulty in embracing the new proposal – which offered no guarantee of success or recognition, nor any immediate rewards.

(From the very first generations, it was realised that Faith does not easily align with our first human impulses: indeed, it is disconcerting, given our obvious views and instincts).

Thus the Master contradicts Peter himself [vv.20.23], whose opinion remained tied to the conformist and popular notion of ‘the’ [vv.16.20: ‘that’] expected Messiah.

In short, the leader of the apostles – so weak in Faith – must stop pointing out to Christ which path to follow ‘behind’ him [v.23], leading him astray!

Simon must start being a disciple again; he must stop laying out recognised and opportunistic paths for everyone, hijacking God in God’s name.

The Lord is the One who dares the most.

A special note on the subject of the Name:

Whilst in our culture it is often merely a label, among Eastern peoples the name is one and the same with the person, and designates them in a special way.

As can be seen, for example, in the ‘second’ commandment, the power of the Name carries great weight: it is a matter of knowing the (divine) Subject in essence and in the sense of action; almost a taking hold of His power.

Even in our own tradition of prayer, spirituality and mysticism, the proper Name (e.g. Jesus) has often been regarded almost as an acoustic icon of the person, embodying his virtues; evocative of his presence and power.

In ancient cultures, uttering the name meant being able to grasp the seed, the pregnant and all-encompassing core of the figure in question.

Not infrequently, even in our own mindset, it has been intended to express an omen, a mandate, a wish, a blessing, a vocation, a destiny, a task, a call, a mission [nomen (est) omen].

But here lies the difference between a sacred mindset and Faith. In religions, the proper name that the master or founder bestows upon the disciple is a sort of signpost: he who lacks the insight or fortune, strength and courage to realise it would diminish in dignity.

Christ, however, with his appellations, calls us to walk a path, certainly – but one deeply commensurate with the essence.

He urges us to set out on a journey – not according to set patterns – because first he brings the person back into themselves. So that we all commit ourselves deeply and to the extent that is required.

First step: to encounter ourselves in our entirety; in our various facets, even the surprising, unexpressed or unknown ones – generally, traits unimaginable according to rules and classifications.

Even our eccentric, ambiguous, hidden or even personally rejected ways of being: along the Way, these will reveal the best sides of ourselves.

Only on this plural track do we find the path to an adventure rich in meaning; not mechanical, nor repetitive – but rather like life itself: always new and authentic.

Not starting from superficial appearances or calculation: there is an Author’s signature that precedes us, in the building of ourselves and the world.

Passing through the various building sites in the city of Philip, Jesus instead chose to compare Simon to the inert, piled-up materials (even in a haphazard manner) that lay before him.

That condition struck at the root of the apostles’ expectations!

The disciples had not yet made room within themselves for the Mystery, for the idea of a secret salvation that bursts forth with its own innate energy; that surpasses common dreams.

Cephas, in fact, derives from the Aramaic Kefas: a building stone; something hard: practically, a stubborn man like so many others; nothing special, quite the contrary. Jesus gives Simon a negative nickname!

In fact, the Greek term ‘petros’ [v.18] is not a proper name: it denotes a stone (picked up from the ground) which can indeed be useful for building – provided, of course, it is shaped to fit. And which not only supports, but is supported; which not only brings together, but is brought together.

Note: the Greek term ‘petra’ [v.18] is not the feminine form of ‘petros’: it means ‘rock’, and refers to the Person of Christ, our only security (together with Faith in Him).

A name that unpredictably changes a whole life. For it is only the inner Friend who draws from our [even flawed] baggage the unexpected that springs forth.

Each one is chiselled by the Lord according to the name Peter, in the sense of a particular piece, an individual and special element.

Placed in a unique way yet within a great mosaic: that of the history of salvation, where each one is simultaneously oneself and in a continuous phase of regeneration.

The sole sense of belonging among the many building stones (all living): the conviviality of differences, the communion of disparate fraternal members within the ministerial Church.

None forever, but everywhere (ceaselessly) pulsating nuclei of a humble institution, entirely gathered from the earth... Freed without cost.

Reputation: the crossroads of the Cross

(Mt 16:24-27)

    To lose one’s life or to forfeit it? To save it or to find it? Christ desires to lead us to the Homeland that corresponds to us deeply.

He proposes this by sharing the pilgrimage, in exploration; together with Him and our brothers and sisters.

As we proceed, what we do is motivated by the search for the fullness of being and happiness – even the risk.

We have become passionate about the journey in the Spirit for the very same reason: to experience an increase in life.

Yet in the Master’s proposal we discern a disconcerting logic.

To shield ourselves from vain illusions (which degrade us), we must not rush to seize prestigious roles, possessions or relationships that matter.

The most attractive and conspicuous things remain external and barren. They do not regenerate. 

Instead… waiting, listening, the practice of passive virtues, bitterness and defeat, call us to turn inwards.

Setback is a call that is preparing the most relevant and well-founded future developments, precisely in favour of a full life.

Of course, those who do not join in the rush for titles and the charade of social ceremonies may immediately suffer the worst. But this is better than losing the quality and fruitfulness of life, squandering them in misunderstanding.

Often our ‘leaving everything behind’ to follow Christ is itself for an expected and hoped-for gain. Even a ‘good’ one: immediately relational, qualitative, and cultural, for example

[The guides spoke to us in this regard of the vice of “spiritual gluttony”: the aim is to learn interesting things, to have good and substantial company, to increase one’s knowledge, to find well-founded ways to be praised, etc.].

The point is that the imagined positive outcome is always shaped by old intentions. Ultimately, to assert oneself, to shine and to command; not to “lose”.

Not to ‘give in’. Not to allow other energies and horizons to enter into situations, and to surface – paradoxically – within us.

On this unappealing terrain – which in Christ will become overflowing with grace, fruitful, and deeply formative – even those who do not fear sacrifice may waver, because the Way of the Crucified One seems to lead us straight to mockery and failure.

Yet the profound and seemingly absurd rationale of the new Magisterium emerges; without ulterior motives.

Engagement with the Word helps us increasingly to realise that it is necessary to introduce into the soul of each person a new frame of reference: personal, social, communal.

The old, secure and triumphant context helped to build an impressive framework, but one that clashes with the meaning of the Good News of Salvation.

Life as the saved is for everyone. A transparent Proclamation, now: of boundless Beatitudes in favour of the meek, the humiliated and the neglected, those in need of everything.

Even for Jesus, the evangelisation of the Apostles and of his ‘neighbours’ – all intent on softening and toning down his immoderate Dreams – was no walk in the park.

Just like the Lord, even today true Proclaimers must already reckon with afflictions, and traps, shoves, mockery, derision (the most surprising of all).

But we must not give up, not least because the embarrassment of those who suddenly find themselves led not onto a triumphant path is understandable. Not onto a breathtaking trail, dotted with honourable and exhilarating milestones.

Rather, a path of truth and self-giving that is discarded and rejected – no longer sugar-coated, superficial, or contraband.

One can tolerate this, after all, with a sense of realism; just as Jesus did with his Peter. In short, this strand too may form part of the new balance that the Spirit is building.

Yes, the institutional and compromising [“Petrine”] aspect often seeks to take the initiative and exorcise Jesus’ Call; to silence it, in favour of displaying its superpowers.

Yet the Master does not allow himself to be held hostage – indeed, it is He who has put the leader of the disciples in his place (vv.22-23).

The cross was a death penalty and a perpetual disgrace reserved for rebellious slaves; outlaws, subversives, misfits who refused their position of social marginalisation.

This is what it all comes down to: agreeing to raise the horizontal beam of the public gallows behind Jesus still means, even today, forgetting one’s ‘reputation’, being shamed.

Not for the sake of asceticism, nor any particular form of perfectionism.

To strip oneself of superfluous possessions, to lose prestige and status, to be shamed, to let others go ahead [even if they manipulate us: for sooner or later they will realise].

So that we may allow Providence time to prepare us.

The life to come will call upon other energies, arranging events in a manner more mysterious than obvious.

It will bring into play diverse – converging – personal and social virtues that are cosmic and intimately humanising; acutely fascinating and springing forth.

We are experiencing this in a time of crisis and turmoil, for a ‘rebirth’ that demands new beginnings; one that seems to have no desire whatsoever to conform to the past age.

Indeed, in the storm, the passion of love has its preparatory stages, of the highest order, which sooner or later will bring forth authentic and eminent awareness. And the fraternal spirit nestled in everyone’s soul.

The perspective is, in this sense, personal, but not individualistic; rather, it is that of the ‘Son of Man’: He who allows us to glimpse the human dimension, accessible and divinising.

But we must be aware of it: let us help one another to grasp Him as Present (vv. 27–28)!

Indeed, in the Gospels, the ‘Son of God’ is Christ who reveals the Father, unveiling God in the human condition. The ‘Son of Man’ is Jesus who reveals man in the divine condition.

The ‘Son of Man’ is He who, having pushed himself to the utmost of love in the fullness of Personhood, comes to reflect the divine condition, displaying and radiating it in eminent signs.

He does so without the narrow perspectives typical of religions; without even a legacy of ‘correct’ and unchanging ideas, or forces of increasing intensity and ever-improving performance.

‘Son of Man’ is the successful Son: the Person who has taken the definitive step.

The Word who became our neighbour, who within us aspires to the fullness spread throughout history, to an indestructible calibre within everyone he approaches (and encounters heartfelt divine figures, sublime traits of humanisation).

We therefore risk living ‘with’ and ‘for’ others, setting aside the pursuit of esteem, and losing credit [not seeking to gain it at all costs].

We do so with conviction; embracing our own distinctive Calling, experiencing the Father who provides for us.

In this way, we shall succeed in lifting up the blossoming Cross, which fertilises the soul and the world around us.

An experience from which there is no turning back – so sublime is it, with boundless horizons, impossible to imagine or set as a goal, due to sterile ‘nature’.

On this ray of light and with a new Name, even amidst the great hardships of our time we shall be like the Friend-Guide: genuine, not conformist; resting on the core of being, yet standing firm on unexplored paths.

Simultaneously committed and serene. Less mundane, through personal contact.

To internalise and live the message:

In what sense have you experienced life gained, after having ‘lost’ it? By drawing on which dormant energies? On which unexplored paths?

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

Today too, the Apostle Peter, like last Sunday, appears in the foreground of the Gospel. However, whereas last Sunday we admired him for his forthright faith in Jesus, whom he proclaimed the Messiah and Son of God, this time, in the episode that immediately follows, he shows a faith that is still immature and too closely bound to the mentality of "this world" (cf. Rm 12: 2). Indeed, when Jesus begins to speak openly of the fate that awaits him in Jerusalem, in other words that he will have to suffer many things and be killed in order subsequently to be raised, Peter protests saying: "God forbid, Lord! This shall never happen to you" (Mt 16: 22). It is obvious that the Teacher and the disciple follow two opposite ways of thinking. Peter, in accordance with a human logic, is convinced that God would never permit his Son to end his mission by dying on the Cross. Jesus, on the contrary, knows that in his immense love for mankind the Father sent him to give his life for them and that if this should involve the Passion and the Cross, it is right that it should happen in this manner. Moreover he knows that the last word will be the Resurrection. Although Peter's protest was spoken in good faith and for sincere love of the Master, to Jesus it sounds like a temptation, an invitation to save himself, whereas it is only by losing his life that he will receive new and eternal life for us all. 

If, to save us, the Son of God had to suffer and die on the Cross, it was certainly not by a cruel design of the heavenly Father. The reason is the gravity of the illness from which he came to heal us: it was such a serious, mortal disease that it required all his Blood. Indeed, it was with his death and Resurrection that Jesus defeated sin and death and re-established God's lordship. Yet the battle is not over. Evil exists and resists in every generation, as we know, in our day too. What are the horrors of war, violence to the innocent, the wretchedness and injustice unleashed against the weak other than the opposition of evil to the Kingdom of God? And how is it possible to respond to so much wickedness except with the unarmed and disarming power of love that conquers hatred and of life that has no fear of death? It is the same mysterious power that Jesus used, at the cost of being misunderstood and abandoned by many of his own. 

Dear brothers and sisters, in order to bring the work of salvation fully to completion, the Redeemer continues to associate to himself and his mission men and women who are prepared to take up their cross and follow him. Consequently, just as for Christ carrying the cross was not an option but a mission to be embraced for love, so it is for Christians too. In our world today, where the forces that divide and destroy seem to dominate, Christ does not cease to offer to all his clear invitation: anyone who wants to be my disciple must renounce his own selfishness and carry the cross with me. Let us invoke the help of the Blessed Virgin who followed Jesus first and to the very end on the way of the Cross. May she help us to walk in the Lord's footsteps with determination, to experience from this moment, even in trial, the glory of the Resurrection.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 31 August 2008]

1. In Jesus’ messianic mission there is a culminating and central point, towards which we have gradually been drawing in the previous catechesis: Christ was sent by God into the world to bring about the redemption of humankind through the sacrifice of his own life. This sacrifice was to take the form of ‘emptying’ himself in obedience even unto death on the cross: a death which, in the eyes of his contemporaries, bore a particular mark of ignominy.

Throughout his preaching and in all his conduct, Jesus is guided by a profound awareness of God’s plans for his life and death within the economy of the messianic mission, with the certainty that these plans spring from the Father’s eternal love for the world and, in particular, for humankind.

2. If we consider the years of his adolescence, the words of the twelve-year-old Jesus, addressed to Mary and Joseph at the time of his ‘rediscovery’ in the Temple in Jerusalem, give much food for thought: ‘Did you not know that I must be about my Father’s business?’ (Luke 2:49). What was on his mind and in his heart? We can deduce this from many other expressions of his thoughts throughout his public life. From the very beginning of his messianic ministry, Jesus insisted on instilling in his disciples the concept that ‘the Son of Man . . . must suffer greatly’ (Luke 9:22), that is, that he must be ‘rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the scribes, and then put to death (and, after three days, rise again)’ (Mark 8:31). But all this does not stem solely from human beings, from their hostility towards his person and his teaching; rather, it constitutes the fulfilment of God’s eternal plans, as foretold in the Scriptures containing divine revelation: “How is it written concerning the Son of Man? That he must suffer greatly and be despised” (Mk 9:12).

3. When Peter tries to deny this possibility (‘… this will never happen to you’) (Mt 16:22), Jesus rebukes him with particularly harsh words: ‘Get behind me, Satan! For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of men’ (Mk 8:33). The eloquence of these words is striking; through them, Jesus seeks to make Peter understand that to oppose the way of the cross is to reject the very plans of God himself. ‘Satan’ is precisely the one who, ‘from the very beginning’, has been in opposition to ‘what is of God’.

4. Jesus is therefore aware both of humanity’s responsibility for his death on the cross—which he will face as a result of a sentence handed down by earthly courts—and of the fact that through this human sentence the eternal divine plan will be fulfilled: that ‘which is of God’, that is, the sacrifice offered on the cross for the redemption of the world. And even though Jesus (like God himself) does not will the evil of the ‘deicide’ committed by men, he nevertheless accepts this evil in order to bring about the good of the world’s salvation.

5. After the Resurrection, whilst walking unrecognised with two of his disciples towards Emmaus, he explains the ‘Scriptures’ of the Old Testament to them in these terms: ‘Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?’ (Lk 24:26). And on the occasion of his final meeting with the apostles, he declared: ‘These are the words I spoke to you whilst I was still with you: everything written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms must be fulfilled’ (Luke 24:44).

6. In the light of the events of Easter, the apostles came to understand what Jesus had told them beforehand. Peter, who—out of love for the Master, but also through a lack of understanding—seemed to oppose his cruel fate in particular, would say to his listeners in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost, speaking of Christ: “This man . . . who, according to God’s predetermined plan and foreknowledge, was handed over to you; you, by the hands of lawless men, nailed him to the cross and put him to death . . .” (Acts 2:22–23). And he will add once more: “God has thus fulfilled what he had foretold through all the prophets, namely that his Christ would die” (Acts 3:18).

7. The passion and death of Christ were foretold in the Old Testament not as the end of his mission, but as the indispensable ‘passage’ required for him to be exalted by God. This is made clear to us in particular by the song of Isaiah, which speaks of the Servant of the Lord as the ‘Man of Sorrows’: ‘Behold, my servant shall prosper; he shall be exalted and lifted up, and greatly exalted’ (Isaiah 52:13). And Jesus himself, when he foretells that ‘the Son of Man . . . will be killed’, also adds that ‘after three days he will rise again’ (cf. Mk 8:31).

8. We are therefore faced with a divine plan which, even though it appears so evident when considered in the light of the events described in the Gospels, remains nonetheless a mystery that cannot be fully explained by human reason. In this spirit, the Apostle Paul expresses himself with that magnificent paradox: ‘For what is foolishness to God is wiser than human wisdom, and what is weakness to God is stronger than human strength’ (1 Cor 1:25). These words of Paul concerning the cross of Christ are irreplaceable. But it is also true that whilst it is difficult for human beings to find a rationally satisfactory answer to the question ‘why the cross of Christ?’, the answer to this question comes to us once again from the Word of God.

9. Jesus himself formulates this answer: ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life’ (John 3:16). When Jesus spoke these words during his night-time conversation with Nicodemus, his interlocutor probably could not yet have imagined that the phrase ‘gave his Son’ meant ‘gave him up to death on the cross’. But John, who recounts this in his Gospel, understood its meaning perfectly well. The unfolding of events had shown that this was precisely the meaning of the answer to Nicodemus: God ‘gave’ his only Son for the salvation of the world, giving him up to death on the cross for the sins of the world, giving him out of love: ‘God . . . so loved the world’, creation, mankind! Love remains the definitive explanation of redemption through the cross. It is the only answer to the question ‘why?’ concerning Christ’s death as part of God’s eternal plan.

The author of the Fourth Gospel, in which we find the text of Christ’s reply to Nicodemus, will return to the same concept again in one of his letters: ‘This is what love consists in: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice of atonement for our sins’ (1 John 4:10).

10. This is a love that transcends justice itself. Justice may concern and apply to the one who has committed a wrong. If it is an innocent person who suffers, then there is no question of justice. If an innocent person who is holy, like Christ, freely offers himself up to suffering and death on the cross, in order to fulfil the Father’s eternal plan, this means that God, in the sacrifice of his Son, goes, in a certain sense, beyond the order of justice to reveal himself in this Son and through him in all the richness of his mercy — Rich in Mercy (Eph 2:4) — almost as if to introduce, together with this crucified and risen Son, his mercy, his merciful love, into the history of the relationship between humankind and God.

It is precisely through this merciful love that humankind is called to overcome evil and sin within themselves and in relation to others: ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy’ (Mt 5:7). ‘God demonstrates his love for us in that, whilst we were still sinners, Christ died for us’, as Saint Paul would write (Rom 5:8) .

11. The Apostle returns to this theme at various points in his letters, in which the triad of ‘redemption – justice – love’ frequently recurs.

‘All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, but they are justified freely by his grace, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus . . . through his blood . . .’ (Rom 3:23–25). In this way, God shows that he is not content merely with the rigour of justice—which punishes evil when it sees it—but that he has chosen to triumph over sin in another way, namely by offering the possibility of deliverance from it. God has chosen to reveal his righteousness in a positive way by giving sinners the opportunity to become righteous through their faith in Christ the Redeemer. Thus God ‘is just and justifies’ (Rom 3:26). This takes place in a profoundly astonishing way, for ‘God made him who knew no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God’ (2 Cor 5:21).

12. He who ‘knew no sin’ – the Son consubstantial with the Father – took upon himself the terrible yoke of the sin of all humanity, in order to secure our justification and sanctification. Here is God’s love revealed in the Son. Through the Son, the love of the Father was revealed: “who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all” (Rom 8:32). To grasp the full significance of these words—“did not spare”—it may be helpful to recall the sacrifice of Abraham, who had shown himself ready to “not spare his beloved son” (Gen 22:16) ; God, however, had spared him (Gen 22:12). His own only-begotten Son, on the other hand, God “did not spare, but handed him over” to death for our salvation.

13. From this springs the Apostle’s certainty that no one and nothing—“neither death, nor life, nor angels . . . nor any other creature—will ever be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom 8:38–39). Together with Paul, the whole Church is certain of this love of God “which surpasses all things”, the final word of God’s self-revelation in the history of humankind and the world, the supreme self-communication which takes place through the cross, at the heart of the Paschal Mystery of Jesus Christ.

[John Paul II, General Audience, 7 September 1988]

Today’s Gospel passage (cf. Mt 16:21-27) is linked to that of last Sunday (cf. Mt 16:13-20). After Peter, on behalf of the other disciples as well, has professed his faith in Jesus as Messiah and Son of God, Jesus himself begins to speak to them about his Passion. Along the path to Jerusalem, he openly explains to his friends what awaits him at the end in the Holy City: he foretells the mystery of his death and Resurrection, of his humiliation and glory. He says that he will have to “suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised” (Mt 16:21). But his words are not understood, because the disciples have a faith that is still immature and too closely tied to the mentality of this world (cf. Rom 12:2). They think of too earthly a victory, and therefore they do not understand the language of the cross.

At the prospect that Jesus may fail and die on the cross, Peter himself rebels and says to Him: “God forbid, Lord! This shall never happen to you!” (v. 22). He believes in Jesus — Peter is like this — he has faith, he believes in Jesus; he believes; he wants to follow him, but does not accept that his glory will pass through the Passion. For Peter and the other disciples — but for us too! — the cross is an uncomfortable thing, the cross is a “hindrance”, whereas Jesus considers the “hindrance” escaping the cross, which would mean avoiding the Father’s will, the mission that the Father has entrusted to him for our salvation. For this reason Jesus responds to Peter: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me; for you are not on the side of God, but of men” (v. 23). Ten minutes earlier, Jesus had praised Peter. He had promised him he would be the base of his Church, its foundation; ten minutes later he says to him, “Satan”. How can this be understood? It happens to us all! In moments of devotion, of fervour, of good will, of closeness to our neighbour, we look to Jesus and we go forward; but in moments in which we approach the cross, we flee. The devil, Satan — as Jesus says to Peter — tempts us. It is typical of the evil spirit, it is typical of the devil to make us stray from the cross, from the cross of Jesus.

Addressing everyone then, Jesus adds: “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (v. 24). In this way he indicates the way of the true disciple, showing two attitudes. The first is “to renounce oneself”, which does not mean a superficial change, but a conversion, a reversal of mentality and of values. The other attitude is that of taking up one’s own cross. It is not just a matter of patiently enduring daily tribulations, but of bearing with faith and responsibility that part of toil, and that part of suffering that the struggle against evil entails. The life of Christians is always a struggle. The Bible says that the life of Christians is a military undertaking: fighting against the evil spirit, fighting against Evil.

Thus the task of “taking up the cross” becomes participating with Christ in the salvation of the world. Considering this, let us make sure that the cross hanging on the wall at home, or that little one that we wear around our neck, is a sign of our wish to be united with Christ in lovingly serving our brothers and sisters, especially the littlest and most fragile. The cross is the holy sign of God’s Love, it is a sign of Jesus’ Sacrifice, and is not to be reduced to a superstitious object or an ornamental necklace. Each time we fix our gaze on the image of Christ crucified, let us contemplate that he, as the true Servant of the Lord, has accomplished his mission, giving life, spilling his blood for the pardoning of sins. And let us not allow ourselves to be drawn to the other side by the temptation of the Evil One. Therefore, if we want to be his disciples, we are called to imitate him, expending our life unreservedly out of love of God and neighbour.

May the Virgin Mary, united to her Son unto Calvary, help us not to retreat in the face of the trials and suffering that witnessing to the Gospel entails.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 30 August 2020]

(Mk 6:17-29)

The question «Jesus, Who is he?» grows throughout the Gospel according to Mk, up to the answer of the centurion under the Cross (15:39).

The assessment of the opinions of the people (vv.14-16) suggests that even around the first assemblies of believers someone tried to understand Christ starting from what was already known.

Not a few wished to understand his Person on the basis of criteria drawn from the Scriptures or from the Oral Tradition of the Chosen People; from ancient beliefs and suggestions - even superstitious (as in the case of Herod).

But the Herald of God was not a purifier of the Temple, nor was He a simple healer of dated religiosity, of domesticated cultural ideas. Not even one of the many "reformers"... all in all conformists.

He overturns the hopes of the people, thus disturbing any school of thought; in particular, those who hold the exclusivity.

When feel a danger, those who are shrouded in luster and power become brazen and willing to do any violence, even for a false point of honor.

Tyrants always scoff at the isolated, uncomfortable and defenseless.

But leaders and powerful are also cowards: they do not intend to lose face in front of the allies of their immoderate and uncontrolled environment, cloaked in exemptions.

Josephus [Flavius] reports that John was in prison for fear of a popular uprising - evaluating that it was good for him to act early.

The assassination plot was occasional.

The brave one who denounces abuses is cut off, but the Voice of his martyrdom is no longer silent.

For this reason the episode does not lead Jesus to greater prudence.  Once an Envoy is killed, another greater and more incisive takes over: the last of the Prophets, the Son of God.

It seemed absurd that someone in that society dared to break the conspiratorial wall that guaranteed the troublemakers to consider themselves untouchable.

Faced with the unceremonious blackmail of the privileged who had control of every social and cultural class, it seemed impossible to start a new path, or to say and do anything that was not aligned.

John and Jesus challenge the status quo and attract upon themselves the vengeance of those who try to perpetuate the prerogatives of the ancient hierarchical cosmos, and the anger of those who are exposed in their hypocrisy.

This is the real difficulty encountered in the proclamation of the new Kingdom in the world. His contemptuous refusal and every attempted murder will be a litmus test of our noble critical frankness, the ‘revelation’ of which will run parallel the Two.

The Master stood up in defense of conscience and of the divine law itself, against the opportunist authorities, which he challenged openly.

Even today he asks for courage not to surrender in the face of corruption, evil, the current mentality; to be different in the way of thinking, speaking, choosing and acting.

Not listened to, derided, opposed by many courtiers, the children of God bear witness to the Truth, paying in person: perfect Joy.

Authentic Fullness.

To internalize and live the message:

Who is Jesus according to you and the others?

[Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist, August 29]

(Mk 6:17-29)

The question "Jesus, Who is He?" grows throughout the Gospel of Mark, up to the centurion's answer under the Cross (Mk 15:39).

The balance of people's opinions (Mt 14:1-2; Mk 6:14-16; Lk 9:7-9) suggests that even around the first assemblies of believers there was an attempt to understand Christ from what was already known [from the criteria of Scripture and tradition, from ancient - even superstitious - beliefs and suggestions].

But the man of God is not simply a purifier of the Temple, nor a patchworker of conformist religiosity. He overturns popular, emotional or standard hopes.

In this way, each Prophet disquiets all those who hold the exclusive.

When he senses danger, those cloaked in lustre and power become brazen and willing to any violence, even for a false point of honour.

Tyrants always make a mockery of the isolated, inconvenient and defenceless, but leaders and potentates are also cowards: they do not intend to lose face in front of the allies of their inordinate and unchecked environment, cloaked in exemptions.

During more than 40 years of his reign, Herod Antipas had created a class of officials and a system of privileged people who had the government, the treasury, the economy, justice, every aspect of civil and police life in their hands, and his command covered the territory capillarly.

In every village, the ruler could count on the support of all the cliques and various local leaders, interested in controlling the consciences - along with compromised scribes and Pharisees, linked to his politics.

Apart from being a puppet of Rome - to which he guaranteed control of the territory and the flow of taxes - Herod was depraved and superstitious: he thought that even a light oath to a dancer should be kept.

Josephus Flavius, on the other hand, reports that John was in prison due to the ruler's fear of a popular uprising - and was considering that it was good for him to act in advance. The assassination plot was probably casual.

The courageous person who denounces abuse is crushed, but the voice of his martyrdom will never be silenced again.

This is why the episode does not induce Jesus to greater caution. Once a prophet is killed, another greater and more incisive one takes his place: the last of the Prophets, the Son of God.

Delinquents should not delude themselves that Providence does not know how to equip even the higher (and more wimpy) echelons with the counterpart of consistent and good people.

Both John and the Lord never visited the new Herodian capital, Tiberias, the city of courtly palaces, built - after Sefforis, where Jesus also worked - in diplomatic homage to the Roman emperor.

Generic and confusing religiosity can adapt to any season and be adopted even by those who think that other people's lives are worth nothing, but a Prophet does not stop at the whim of the corrupt system.

In the Palestinian villages, people's lives were harassed with taxes and abuses by landowners [who did not even reside there]; controlled by the perfect marriage of interests between civil and religious powers - who cunningly attempted to impose their way of life and impart established (useless) knowledge to the crowds.

The leaders of the popular, orthodox and compliant faith - as is often the case - were on the leash of the authorities on the ground, who considered themselves definitive and found strength in the coalition.

It seemed absurd that anyone in that society would dare to break the wall of silence that ensured that troublemakers, 'spiritual' authorities and even low-level bullies could consider themselves untouchable.

Faced with the [unceremonious] blackmail of the privileged who were in control of every social and cultural stratum, it seemed impossible to start a new path, or to say and do anything unaligned.

John and Jesus challenge the status quo and attract the vengeance of those who seek to perpetuate the prerogatives of the ancient hierarchical cosmos, and the anger of those who are exposed in their hypocrisies.

This is the real difficulty that the proclamation of the new kingdom encounters in the world. Its scornful rejection and every assassination attempt will be a litmus test of the critical prophecy, whose revelation will run parallel to the Two.

The Baptiser was an intrepid denouncer of vice, superficiality, malpractice, and the perversions of the powerful.

Pope Francis would have spoken of good manners (in the pursuit of ropey alliances) and bad habits - in the irresponsible and insulting private life, and in the violence with which dominion over the little ones is perpetuated.

Jesus, too, put his foot down, instead of making an internal career. In spite of John's foreboding, he rejected the path of weighed-up guile, pretense, diplomacy and pirouettes of circumstance.The Master stood in defence of conscience and divine law itself, against opportunistic religious and political authorities, whom he challenged head-on.

The Lord asks for the courage not to bend in the face of corruption, evil, the current mentality; to be different in the way of thinking, speaking (mellifluous), choosing and acting.

Unheard, laughed at, opposed by lords, luminaries and courtiers, the children of God bear witness to the Truth, paying their own way: perfect Gladness.

Authentic Fullness.

To internalise and live the message:

Do you know victims of authoritarianism, corruption, domination of the powerful, excess and extravagance of power? Even in the Church?

How is it that this still happens (and everything is silenced sooner or later)?

Who is Jesus according to you and others? And what would you say?

Dear brothers and sisters,

[...] the liturgical Memorial of the martyrdom of St John the Baptist, the Precursor of Jesus. In the Roman Calendar, he is the only saint whose birth and death, through martyrdom, are celebrated on the same day (in his case, 24 June). Today’s Memorial commemoration dates back to the dedication of a crypt in Sebaste, Samaria, where his head had already been venerated since the middle of the fourth century. The devotion later extended to Jerusalem, both in the Churches of the East and in Rome, with the title of the Beheading of St John the Baptist. In the Roman Martyrology reference is made to a second discovery of the precious relic, translated for the occasion to the Church of San Silvestro in Campo Marzio, Rome.

These small historical references help us to understand how ancient and deeply-rooted is the veneration of John the Baptist. His role in relation to Jesus stands out clearly in the Gospels. St Luke in particular recounts his birth, his life in the wilderness and his preaching, while in today’s Gospel St Mark tells us of his dramatic death. John the Baptist began his preaching under the Emperor Tiberius in about 27-28 A.D., and the unambiguous invitation he addressed to the people, who flocked to listen to him, was to prepare the way to welcome the Lord, to straighten the crooked paths of their lives through a radical conversion of heart (cf. Lk 3:4).

However, John the Baptist did not limit himself to teaching repentance or conversion. Instead, in recognizing Jesus as the “Lamb of God” who came to take away the sin of the world (Jn 1:29), he had the profound humility to hold up Jesus as the One sent by God, drawing back so that he might take the lead, and be heard and followed. As his last act the Baptist witnessed with his blood to faithfulness to God’s commandments, without giving in or withdrawing, carrying out his mission to the very end. In the 9th century the Venerable Bede says in one of his Homilies: “St John gave his life for [Christ]. He was not ordered to deny Jesus Christ, but was ordered to keep silent about the truth” (cf. Homily 23: CCL 122, 354). And he did not keep silent about the truth and thus died for Christ who is the Truth. Precisely for love of the truth he did not stoop to compromises and did not fear to address strong words to anyone who had strayed from God’s path.

We see this great figure, this force in the Passion, in resistance to the powerful. We wonder: what gave birth to this life, to this interiority so strong, so upright, so consistent, spent so totally for God in preparing the way for Jesus? The answer is simple: it was born from the relationship with God, from prayer, which was the thread that guided him throughout his existence. John was the divine gift for which his parents Zechariah and Elizabeth had been praying for so many years (cf. Lk 1:13); a great gift, humanly impossible to hope for, because they were both advanced in years and Elizabeth was barren (cf. Lk 1:7); yet nothing is impossible to God (cf. Lk 1:36). The announcement of this birth happened precisely in the place of prayer, in the temple of Jerusalem, indeed it happened when Zechariah had the great privilege of entering the holiest place in the temple to offer incense to the Lord (cf. Lk 1:8-20). John the Baptist’s birth was also marked by prayer: the Benedictus, the hymn of joy, praise and thanksgiving which Zechariah raises to the Lord and which we recite every morning in Lauds, exalts God’s action in history and prophetically indicates the mission of their son John: to go before the Son of God made flesh to prepare his ways (cf. Lk 1:67-79).

The entire existence of the Forerunner of Jesus was nourished by his relationship with God, particularly the period he spent in desert regions (cf. Lk 1:80). The desert regions are places of temptation but also where man acquires a sense of his own poverty because once deprived of material support and security, he understands that the only steadfast reference point is God himself. John the Baptist, however, is not only a man of prayer, in permanent contact with God, but also a guide in this relationship. The Evangelist Luke, recalling the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples, the Our Father, notes that the request was formulated by the disciples in these words: “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his own disciples” (cf. Lk 11:1).

Dear brothers and sisters, celebrating the martyrdom of St John the Baptist reminds us too, Christians of this time, that with love for Christ, for his words and for the Truth, we cannot stoop to compromises. The Truth is Truth; there are no compromises. Christian life demands, so to speak, the “martyrdom” of daily fidelity to the Gospel, the courage, that is, to let Christ grow within us and let him be the One who guides our thought and our actions. However, this can happen in our life only if we have a solid relationship with God. Prayer is not time wasted, it does not take away time from our activities, even apostolic activities, but exactly the opposite is true: only if we are able to have a faithful, constant and trusting life of prayer will God himself give us the ability and strength to live happily and serenely, to surmount difficulties and to witness courageously to him. St John the Baptist, intercede for us, that we may be ever able to preserve the primacy of God in our life. Thank you.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 29 August 2012]