Turnover in the Church, an antidote to unilateralism
(Mt 5:1-12)
In Matthew's Gospel, Jesus is the new Moses who climbs "the Mountain." But the young Lawgiver does not proclaim rules on a stone code, but rather his own experience of the Father... "seeing the crowds" (v. 1).
At the crossroads between divine condition and fullness of humanisation, the new Rabbi outlines a sort of self-portrait: as Son; in favour of his brothers. Gathered together in a spirit of family.
A sprout of a hospitable world - which Matthew wants to encourage in his small churches. Where there is no one above and no one below; no one in front and no one behind.
Only humanising upheavals [such as the reversal of roles and conditions] that strengthen the fabric of harmony.
Therefore, in the House of all, there must be a change and reversal of figures, situations and criteria of eminence, and therefore chains of command - signs of the Kingdom to Come.
A reversal capable of heightening sensitivity to Communion [at that time, there was lively friction between Jewish experts, top of the class, and newcomers to the fraternal community of faith].
At that time, the mentality of precedence and supremacy was so deeply rooted that all religions recognised hierarchies.
Those who considered themselves entitled to precedence [in the community!] always raised a question of apparent obviousness:
Is it not in the natural order of things that in human society there are first and last, learned and ignorant, sovereigns and subjects?
After all, the legal principle that once governed, for example, all private property rights in the Latin world is also the motto of a well-known official Catholic newspaper: Unicuique Suum.
Even Leo XIII, the pope of social encyclicals, recognised that 'in human society, it is according to the order established by God that there are princes and subjects, masters and proletarians, rich and poor, learned and ignorant, nobles and plebeians; the obligation of charity on the part of the rich and the wealthy is to provide for the poor and the needy'.
It was the mentality of a sin of simple omission: it is enough to do charity.
The Lord's position is very, very different: the powerful are not at all blessed by God - as the rich patriarchs of the First Testament were also supposed to be.
Their alien world, their palaces, and even their refined clothing, are a perfect metaphor for the inner emptiness and transience in which they revel.
Their gluttony is a sign of an inner abyss to be filled - a kind of nervous hunger that causes vertigo.
And so it goes, from alienation to alienation.
On 'the Mount', on the other hand, the discreet work of the Spirit is announced, which designates the character of a modest holiness, animated by the Love of gift, in itself deifying and humanising [a quality that manifests itself in the so-called 'poor in Spirit'].
Holiness that surpasses the ancient fiction of the rulers, who overlapped each other reciting the same script.
Until now, in fact, the masses remained empty-handed: whoever the ruler who seized power, the small flock remained submissive, sad and suffocated; unworthy even of presenting themselves before the Lord.
All condemned and inadequate.
Even the people of the disciples are heartbroken because they do not accept the inequalities of a pyramidal society, which tends to level and destroy the gifts of God spread throughout humanity - of any social class.
The authentic disciple is moved to tears: they express the dimension of intimate energy that purifies external ideas; making us true on the inside and essential on the outside.
Affliction guides us to return to ourselves; it re-establishes contact with our earth and the primordial virtues that regenerate us.
Sadness that, in the condition of finitude and conscious limitation, makes us empathetic, splendidly human.
Intimately dissatisfied: opponents of injustice. Because every person who is not placed in a position to express their abilities is an insult to the Plan of Salvation.
This is not about charity or philanthropy: it is a precise, social choice (v.5).
In fact, hidden within each outcast is an artist who is not allowed to express themselves, who is not discovered or valued for their own sake or that of others; rather, they are considered an outsider or a deviant.
Annalena Tonelli spoke of the least among us, whose pain she wished to alleviate, as 'murdered Mozarts': she wanted to recover them and involve them, to enrich each other. She had a mother's heart and compassion for the misery of her abandoned brothers and sisters.
The same severity prevailed in religions, whose leaders instilled in the people a strong and vulgar nationalist impulse and the consolation of the herd.
In the Kingdom of Jesus, however, there must be no ranks, which is why the plans of the ambitious and infallible do not coincide with his.
The Spirit of Christ spontaneously identifies not with the usual aggressive energy of wild beasts, of those who prevail because they are more cunning and stronger, but with the person who makes himself available.
We are women and men characterised by hearts of flesh, not of beasts (Dan 7).
The Beatitudes - the new Decalogue of 'the Mountain' - allude precisely to a sort of divine condition incarnate and transmissible to anyone, peaceful and creative like love, and therefore waiting to be discovered.
Blessed is the trait and outcome of the true and full development of the divine plan for humanity.
In the Gospels, this character is not hindered by those who frequent places of ill repute, but paradoxically by the regulars of sacred enclosures.
According to Jesus, purity of heart is not linked to external legal purity - as was believed in all devotions - but to a purified gaze and a lack of duplicity.
The growth and humanisation of the people is therefore not opposed by sinners, but precisely by those who have the ministry of making the Face of God known to all!
In short, the burden of preconceptions with which they approach reality and relationships does not allow the established and fixed authorities to recognise the Lord's calls in the facts of life and Nature itself.
The same is true of peacemakers.
They work for the complete reconstruction of Life and Fraternity, of naturalness itself and of equitable coexistence.
All this is done in a spirit of selflessness that integrates selfishness by recognising the poor 'We' that expands throughout the world.
The self-portrait of Jesus as revealed in the Beatitudes of Matthew embraces the icon of a young boy - who at that time counted for nothing.
The Lord recognises himself in a household servant, a shop assistant, who nevertheless has a mysterious and pleasant divine spark within him.
It is the only identification that Jesus loves and desires to give us: that of one who cannot afford not to recognise the needs of others.
A dimension of sacredness without distinctive halos: not cynical, but shareable. Because it is linked to perception and instinctive reciprocity, to spontaneous friendship towards women and men - experienced in the likeness of the Father.
Obviously, this is not a proposal compromised by the usual inexorable routine [doctrine and discipline] that pushes eccentricities back: on the contrary, it is very sympathetic and lovable, inclusive.
The Blessed One's condition is therefore the one that makes us Unique - not the holiness regulated by procedures, which always abhors and exorcises the danger of the unusual.
Precisely for this reason, however, the fixation on antecedents has characterised the life of the Church for centuries, as has the feudal and monarchical idol of stability for life.
The Master does not exclude our right to do something great... but he does not identify it with having, power, or appearance.
For a path of Bliss and Divinisation, the Master does not excite the impulses of holding back, climbing, dominating: they do not give Happiness.
Rather, he counts on our spontaneous freedom to give, descend and serve - a franchise entrusted first and foremost to the top of the class. Those who throughout history have become accustomed to overwhelming others with moralism and cunning.
God does not deny the legitimate impulses of the ego to be recognised. We do not participate in life as if we were destined to fail, but as if we were promoted - those who do not suppress their own requirements.
But not in order to win 'the race'. In this way, the Lord makes us reflect on authentic fulfilment.
It is not an external conquest, but an intimate one that we make our own. It is thus able to sculpt our deepest inclinations, in its richness of faces and in the time of a Journey.
Aristotle stated that - beyond artificial begging the question or apparent proclamations - we truly love only ourselves. This is no small question mark.
Admittedly, the growth, promotion and flowering of our qualities lies within a wise Way.
A path that is even interrupted, but which knows how to allow itself the right pace - also to encounter new states of being.
Genuine and mature love expands the boundaries of the ego that loves primacy, visibility and gain. It integrates it with primordial, dormant energies that we have not given space to - understanding the You in the I.
A path and a vector that then expands our abilities and our lives. Otherwise, in every circumstance and, unfortunately, at any age, we will remain in the childish game of those who elbow their way up the steps to prevail.
As Pope Francis said about mafia phenomena: 'We need men and women of love, not honour!'.
The Tao Tê Ching (XL) writes: 'Weakness is what the Tao uses'. And Master Wang Pi comments: 'The high has the low as its foundation, the noble has the base as its foundation'.
We feel ephemeral and often disappointed, yet we want to be happy, not just here and there: we are uncertain, yet we seek full and lasting joy. Obviously, we can only find it in a disconcerting proposal.
In ancient times, it was thought that God could be encountered in the intoxicating emotions generated by successful experiences, typical of successful men. But the persecuted and crucified Son challenges this outward appearance.
Other decisive encounters were considered to be those on the peaks of evocative heights, or devout and paroxysmal self-sacrifice within the sacred enclosures that Jesus intended to dismantle, forcing the people to leave them [Jn 10:1-16 Greek text].
Luther interprets the Son of God on the Mount as 'Mosissimus Moses'. However, Matthew speaks of 'the Mount' - not a platform - as the figure and context of an eternal Appeal, not only intended for members of the most equipped institutes of perfection who are able to climb.
In concrete terms, these are the moments when we ourselves, incorporated into the human completeness of Christ, feel the fullness of being: like the passing of the soul bride in her sacred centre, and a special harmony of ideas, words and actions between our nature and the divine.
'The Mountain' is the (theological) place where we abandon the cunning, conformist thoughts, knowledge and calculations of the worldly plain. Where the assumptions of fleeting, joyful happiness [the kind that lasts a minute or an hour] are levelled out.
Therefore, blessed are the poor 'in spirit' - or 'by the Spirit' - says Jesus [v.3a Greek text].
In the Christian community, it is important (precisely) to enrich together.
The Lord is pleased with those who take this approach, where his feelings become deeply ours - and it is not the details that are important, but the direction of travel.
The particular details of the life of love are left to personal creativity and the variety of people, sensibilities, cultures and situations.
What counts is the fundamental choice for goodness and communion, understood not as uniformity but as conviviality of differences.
This is not to hysterically despise wealth: it is a matter of exchanging it so that it multiplies, avoiding keeping it for oneself. Otherwise, everything becomes an insurmountable obstacle to life and the preserve of the quickest.
Those who have freely expropriated the superfluous in order to share it do so 'for the Spirit', that is, for Love: by free choice, with passion and without distinction between beneficiaries within and outside their circle.
Thus, the enriched become lords.
In turn, the miserable may not be poor 'in Spirit' if they are full of themselves, boastful, arrogant, uninterested in others; if they lack openness of heart, are strangers to dialogue, intent on improving their condition through compromise and deception - only desiring to replace the rich and then imitate their deceitful, subjugating and opportunistic ways.
The voluntary renunciation of the selfish and mediocre use of our material and intellectual resources distinguishes us as children of God.
We are blood relatives; already here and now able to experience the blessed life of Heaven: being with and for others, while being ourselves.
In fact, the promise that accompanies the first Beatitude (v.3a) does not guarantee access to Paradise in the afterlife, in some distant future.
The exchange of gifts guarantees the experience of divine life itself, right here on earth.
In pagan religions, the condition of Blessed Life was a jealous and exclusive characteristic of the gods, who reluctantly shared it; and reassuringly, only after death. However, only halfway.
In Christ and through the Way, despite partial failures, or our possible limited abilities and natural fragility - indeed, because of them - we discover a Father who is a friend of full, intense Joy: immediate, energetic, limitless Happiness. Which arises even from unstable states.
The Father is not the God of religions that cloud and trouble life: he does not bless the greed of the few, which makes the multitudes needy.
Did the last of the commandments require us to feel satisfied and not desire the possessions of others?
The first of the Beatitudes proposes that we desire that others also have the same things and opportunities in life as we do.
The dynamic of falling in love, in all its forms, presupposes a vibrant Fullness that flows everywhere - recognising the opposites in ourselves and the legitimate desire for expressive fulfilment in our brothers and sisters.
To internalise and live the message:
How do you overcome doubt, by retreating? What do you proclaim with your life? Does it go beyond direct experience? Do you know of realities that manifest the Risen One? How do you point to paths overflowing with hope? Or are you selective and silent?
They let the Light pass through
All the Saints, between religious sentiment and Faith
Embodying the spirit of the Beatitudes, we ask ourselves what is the difference between common 'religious sentiment' and 'living by Faith'.
In ancient devotions, the Saint is the composed, perfect and detached [but predictable] man; and the opposite of Saint is 'sinner'.
In the proposal of a life full of the Lord, the 'saint' is a person of communicative understanding who lives for conviviality, creating it where it does not exist.
On the path of children, the saint is indeed the excellent man, but in his fullest sense - complete and dynamic, multifaceted; even eccentric. Not in a unilateral, moralistic or sentimental sense.
In Latin, perfìcere means to bring to completion, to go all the way.
In this complete and integral sense, 'perfect' becomes an authentic embodied value: a possible attribute of every person who is aware of their own vulnerability and does not despise it.
Women and men of faith value every opportunity or emotion that lays bare their nakedness [not guilt] in order to open new paths and renew themselves.
From the perspective of life in the Spirit, the saint [in Hebrew Qadosh, divine attribute] is indeed the 'detached' person, but not in a partial or physical sense, rather in an ideal sense.
It is not the person who at some point in life distances themselves from the human family to embark on a path of purification that would elevate them. Deluding themselves into thinking they are improving.
As the encyclical Fratelli Tutti emphasises: 'A human being [...] does not realise, develop, find fulfilment [... and] come to a full recognition of his or her own truth except in encounter with others' (n.87).
The authentic witness is not motivated by contempt for existential chaos - nor is he eager to outsource the difficulties of managing his own freedom by handing it over to an alienating agency with a detached mentality (which resolves the drama of personal choices).
In Christ, man is "disconnected" from the common mentality, in that he is faithful to himself, to his own Fire that never goes out - to his passions, to his own unrepeatable uniqueness and Vocation.
And at the same time, he is "separated" from external competitive criteria: of having, of power, of appearing. Self-destructive powers.
He concretely replaces these with the fraternity of giving, serving and diminishing oneself [from the 'character']. Fruitful energies.
Everything for global Communion, and in Truth even with one's own intimate character seed - avoiding proselytism and showing off on the catwalk.
The true believer knows his redeemed limit, sees the possibilities of imperfection... Thus, he replaces the assumptions of holding back for himself, of climbing over others and dominating them, with a fundamental humanising triptych: giving, freedom to 'come down', collaborating.
This is authentic Detachment, which does not flee from one's own and others' inclinations, nor despise the complex nature of the human condition.
In this way, the 'saint' experiences the essential Beatitude of the persecuted (Mt 5:11-12; Lk 6:22-23) because he has the freedom to 'lower himself' in order to be in tune with his own essence, coexisting in his originality.
In terms of Faith, the Saint is therefore no longer physically "separated", but "United" with Christ - and banished like Him, in the weak brothers and sisters.
In short, the divine plan is to compose a Family of the small and infirm, not to carve out a group of "strong" friends who are "better" than others.
Only this horizon of the Focolare moves us to set out.
Consequently, the opposite of a saint is not a 'sinner', but rather someone who is unrealised or unfinished.
Let us look again at the reason for this (vocational and personal paths).
Jesus was a friend of tax collectors and public sinners not because they were better than the good, but because in religion the 'righteous' are often not very spontaneous; making themselves impervious, closed, resistant to the action of the Spirit.
Surprisingly, the Lord himself repeatedly experienced that it was precisely those who were devoutly lacking who were inclined to question, notice, rework, deviate from habit - in order to build new paths, even if proceeding by trial and error.
Unable to enjoy the respectable cloak of social screens, after becoming aware of their situation (and over time) - compared to those who considered themselves 'successful' and friends of God - from being 'distant' they became people more 'impeccable' and willing to love.
Questioning oneself is fundamental from a biblical perspective.
At every turn, Scripture offers us a spirituality of Exodus, that is, a path of liberation from shackles, travelled on foot, step by step. Therefore, it values paths of research, exploration, discovery of oneself and of the Newness of a God who does not repeat, but creates.
The appeal that the Word makes is to embark on a journey; this is the point. And we have always been 'those of the Way' who do not pass by, who do not look the other way [cf. Lk 10:31-33; FT, 56ff].
According to the classical pagan mentality, women and men are essentially 'nature', so their being in the world is conditioned [I remember that my professor of theological anthropology, Ignazio Sanna, even said 'de-centred'], even determined by birth (fortunate or otherwise).
According to the Bible, women and men are creatures, splendid and adequate in themselves for their mission, but pilgrims and lacking.
God is the One who 'calls' them to complete themselves, recovering their dissimilar aspects.
In order to become the image and likeness of the Lord, we must develop the ability to respond to a Vocation that makes us neither phenomena nor 'perfect' exceptions, but rather special Witnesses.
Chosen by Name, just as we are; embracing our deepest being - even if unexpressed - to the point of recognising it in You, and unfolding it in Us.
A person's holiness is therefore combined with many of their states of dissatisfaction, of limitation, and even of partial failure - but always thinking and feeling reality.
For a New Covenant.
In the Old Testament, believers came into contact with divine purity by frequenting sacred places, fulfilling prescriptions, reciting prayers, respecting times and spaces, avoiding embarrassing situations, and so on.
Our experience and conscience attest infallibly that strict observance is too rare, or mannered: inside, it often does not correspond to us - nor does it humanise us.
Sooner or later, it becomes a house of cards, all the more unstable the higher it points. It is enough to arrange a single card clumsily, and the artificial construction collapses.
We realise our natural inability to satisfy sterilisation, maps (of others) and such high standards.
With Jesus, Perfection does not concern 'thought' or compliance with an abstract Code of Observance. Fulfilment refers to a quality of Exodus and Relationship.
In ancient contexts, the path of children was cloaked in a mystical or renouncing proposal made up of abstinence, fasting, retreats, secluded life, obsessive cultic fulfilments... which in many situations constituted the backbone of pre-Conciliar spirituality.
But in Scripture, the saints do not have halos or wings.
They are not saints because they performed incomparable and amazing miracles of healing: rather, they are women and men who were part of the ordinary world and its most common aspects.
They know the problems, weaknesses, joys and sorrows of everyday life; the search for their own identity, character or deep inclination.
And the apostolate; family, the education of children, work. Even the seductive power of evil.
In the First Testament, 'Qadosh' referred exclusively to an attribute of the Eternal One [the only unchanging Person] - and his separateness from the often confused web of earthly ambitions.
Despite our flaws, however, in Christ we become capable of listening, of perception; thus enabled to seize every opportunity to bear witness to the innate, vital gratuitousness of the divine and real initiative.
Providential life incessantly proposes itself and comes to meet us to open up unthinkable passages that break through.
Its unprecedented paths of growth renew our entire chained and conformist existence.
This also amazes us with our inner resources, previously unknown or unacknowledged and unspoken, or unpredictably hidden behind dark sides.
What is Distinguished is no longer hidden behind clouds and placed in secure enclosures.
Therefore, God's adversary will not be transgression: on the contrary, it becomes the lack of a spirit of Communion in differences.
The enemy of the history of Salvation is not religious incompleteness, but the gap between the Beatitudes - and the spirit in fieri of the 'wayfarer' for whom 'pilgrimage' is also synonymous [not paradoxically] with 'wandering'.
The opposite of God is therefore not 'sins', but 'Sin' [in the singular, a theological term, not a moralistic one].
'Sin' is the inability to respond to an indicative Call, which acts as a springboard to complete us, to regenerate us in a non-partial way. This harmonises the opposite sides - in being ourselves and being-With.
Here it is Faith that 'saves' us, at the point where we find ourselves - because it destroys 'the sin of the world' (Jn 1:29), that is, self-contempt and guilt; the humiliation of unbridgeable distances.
In fact, Jesus does not recommend doctrines, nor does he recommend fragmenting one's life with occasional drunkenness. Nor does he propose any religious ascent [in terms of progressiveness] seasoned with effort.
Nowhere in the Gospels does Christ say to anyone, 'become holy', but rather with Him, like Him and in Him - united, to encounter one's own deepest states incessantly.
Recognising them better, thanks also to You and Us.
The saint is the little one, not the hero who is all of a piece, uniform, predictable, taken for granted.
A saint is someone who, walking his own path in the wake of the Risen One, has learned to 'identify with the other, without paying attention to where [or] where from [...] ultimately experiencing that others are his own flesh' (cf. FT 84).
