33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [15 November 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Proverbs (31:10–13, 19–20, 30–31)  

This passage, which forms the conclusion of the Book of Proverbs, is one of the biblical texts dedicated to the figure of woman. It does not merely present an ideal wife according to the social standards of the time, but offers a portrait of the wise woman, capable of transforming her faith into concrete acts of love, diligence, solidarity and responsibility. It is an alphabetical poem: in Hebrew, each verse begins with the next letter of the alphabet, from Alef to Tau, and this structure suggests a certain completeness: from the first to the last letter, a model of wisdom is described that encompasses the whole of life. The text presents the so-called ‘eshet chayil’, a Hebrew expression which we can translate as ‘strong woman’, ‘woman of worth’ or ‘virtuous woman’.

The word chayil denotes not only moral virtue, but also strength, ability, courage, valour and competence. She is a woman who possesses inner resources and knows how to put them at the service of life. She is not confined to the home, but is enterprising; she works, trades, organises, helps the poor and takes on responsibilities.

The author begins with a rhetorical question: where can one find a woman of such worth? Worth that is not measured by outward beauty, wealth or social standing, but by the quality of the person; and the comparison with pearls is interesting because, in ancient culture, precious stones represented extraordinary wealth. Yet this woman is worth far more. Today, people’s worth is often measured by their appearance, efficiency, success and ability to produce, whilst the Bible reminds us that a person’s worth does not depend on what they possess, but on who they are and what they are able to give. True beauty is an inner beauty that manifests itself in relationships. The first element that emerges is trust. Her husband can rely on her because he knows he has by his side a loyal, responsible and trustworthy person, and the marital relationship is not built on fear, control or possession, but on mutual trust. The woman is not her husband’s property, but a partner to whom he can entrust his heart, and the text speaks precisely of the heart: in the Bible, the heart is the centre of the person, of their will, feelings and decisions. The strong woman does not seek only her own interests: she desires the good of the other, and the text emphasises continuity: ‘all the days of her life’. It is not, therefore, a love made up solely of exciting moments, but of daily faithfulness; and charity is not measured by grand gestures, but by the perseverance of small acts of kindness. ‘She procures wool and flax and works them willingly with her hands’ (v. 13). Here we are presented with a hard-working and creative woman who is not simply compelled to work, but who puts intelligence, skill and passion into what she does; and verses 19–20 add: ‘She stretches out her hand to the distaff, and her fingers hold the spindle. She opens her palms to the needy; she extends her hand to the poor.’ The distaff and spindle were tools used for spinning wool and linen, whilst manual labour was an important part of the ancient household economy. But the most beautiful detail is the transition from manual labour to solidarity. The hands that work are the same ones that reach out to the poor. There is a profound spiritual lesson here: if work does not become an activity confined to personal interest, it also fosters concern for others. 

‘Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised’ (v. 30). After describing so many human qualities, the author arrives at the root of them all: the fear of the Lord. The Hebrew expression yir’at Adonai, ‘the fear of the Lord’, is the recognition of his greatness, loving respect, and the awareness that God is the centre and foundation of one’s existence. The woman described in the poem is beautiful above all because she lives before God and allows her relationship with him to guide her choices. Here we find a link to the entire Book of Proverbs, which begins by stating: ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom’ (Prov 1:7). Wisdom does not simply consist in knowing many things, but in knowing how to live according to God’s plan.  ‘Let her children give her thanks for the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her at the city gates’ (v. 31) The poem concludes with a call for public recognition. The city gates were the place where social gatherings, judicial decisions and public matters took place. A woman should not be praised merely within the privacy of the home: the value of her work deserves to be recognised by the whole community, for it is not merely her words that bear witness to her, but her deeds. Although this passage is dedicated to women, it contains a lesson that applies to all people, and we can summarise five key messages: A person’s dignity takes precedence over outward appearance, and one should not be judged by visible qualities, for true worth springs from inner richness. Love is demonstrated through daily faithfulness, expressed in gestures, thoughtfulness, responsibility and perseverance. Work must be at the service of life, for it is not merely a means of earning a living, but can become a collaboration with God in building a more humane world. Solidarity is the sign of true wealth, and those who live in God’s wisdom do not remain indifferent to the suffering of others.

The fear of God is the foundation of all authentic beauty, for a life centred on God acquires a value that does not fade with time.

Responsorial Psalm 126 (127)  

Psalm 126, according to the Greek and liturgical numbering (127 in the Hebrew numbering), belongs to the so-called Psalms of Ascent (Ps 120–134), probably sung by pilgrims travelling up to Jerusalem for the great feasts.

It is a psalm that addresses three fundamental aspects of human life:

The building of the house and the city. Daily work and toil. The family and the gift of children. The central teaching is that man must strive, but cannot consider himself the absolute master of his own life: everything depends on God’s blessing. In the biblical mindset, the ‘house’ refers not only to the physical building, but also to the family, one’s descendants and the stability of life. Man builds, plans, works and organises, but if God is not the foundation, everything risks remaining fragile. The same applies to the city: the watchmen keep vigil, but ultimate security does not come from human vigilance alone. The psalm does not say that we must not build or keep watch, but that we must do so together with God. We may build a beautiful house and yet fail to build a family; we may have many material securities and yet live in inner insecurity. 

‘In vain you rise early in the morning and go to bed late, you who eat the bread of toil.’ Here the psalmist does not condemn work, but warns against the illusion that everything depends on human effort. A person can become a slave to their own work, sacrificing rest, loved ones, family and even their relationship with God. Bread earned through toil is necessary, but it must not become the master of our existence. The following verse contains a beautiful expression: ‘To his beloved he will give it in sleep.’ Life is not merely the result of our efforts: it is, first and foremost, a gift of his providence, and the psalm reminds us that we are not merely what we do, but children loved by God. Learning to rest also means learning to trust. Rest thus becomes an act of faith: we recognise that God continues to watch over our lives even when we are not actively working. ‘Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord; the fruit of the womb is a reward.’ The psalm moves from work to the family. Children are not presented as an achievement or the property of their parents, but as a heritage—that is, a gift received from God. The image of arrows in a quiver (vv. 4–5) emphasises the strength and protection that a large family could represent in the ancient world. Today we can discern a further meaning: children do not belong to their parents as possessions, but are entrusted to their care. They are people to be guided, educated and prepared for life. To bring children into the world does not merely mean giving birth to them: it also means helping them to become free, responsible people capable of love. Parents are not called to mould their children according to their own expectations, but to help them discover their vocation and God’s plan for their lives. This principle can also be extended to spiritual fatherhood and motherhood: priests, consecrated persons, educators and catechists are called to bring others to the faith and to accompany their growth.

This psalm offers three lessons that we can apply to our daily lives: it is not enough to ask God to bless our plans; we must learn to build according to his plan. Our lives do not depend solely on our own abilities, for they are safeguarded by Divine Providence. The people God entrusts to us are not our possessions, but responsibilities and opportunities for love. And we may conclude with a question: If God were to enter the home and family we are building, would He find a central place, or would He have to make do with the space we leave free for Him?

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians (5:1–6)

This passage forms part of the discourse on the coming of the Lord and the fate of Christians who have died (1 Thess 4:13–18). After speaking of the resurrection of the dead and the encounter with Christ, Paul addresses a second question: when will all this take place, and what should be the Christian’s attitude whilst waiting? The core of the message is very clear: it is not important to know the day and hour of the Lord’s coming, but to live each day as people who belong to the light. He uses two Greek terms: Chrònoi: the ages, that is, the eras and their duration. Kairòi: the opportune moments, the occasions and the times appointed by God. The distinction is not absolute, but the two terms together denote the totality of time and its fulfilment. The community in Thessalonica was concerned about Christ’s return, and the Christians were living in anticipation of his glorious coming, eager to know when it would happen. Paul does not fuel curiosity about dates and chronological calculations, but shifts the focus from prediction to preparation. This is an important teaching: the Christian faith is not an anxious search for when the end will come, but a call to live the present responsibly. Here we find Paul’s advice not to let ourselves be dominated by fear or speculation, for we must not try to predict the future, but live the present in a holy manner. Paul notes that ‘The Day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night’ (v. 2). The expression ‘Day of the Lord’ has a long history in biblical tradition. In the Old Testament, it refers to the moment when God intervenes in history to judge evil, save his people and manifest his lordship. The prophet Amos, for example, warns those who long for the Day of the Lord without realising that it will also be a day of judgement (cf. 5:18). In the New Testament, this expectation finds its fulfilment in the glorious coming of Christ. Paul uses the image of a thief arriving at night, and the night represents above all unpredictability and surprise, given that human life is characterised by the unexpected. The Christian question is not when the Lord will come, but: if he were to come today, would he find me ready to welcome him? ‘When people say, “There is peace and security!”, then sudden destruction will overtake them’ (v. 3). Here, Paul introduces a clear contrast: on the one hand, we find tranquillity and security; on the other, the sudden onset of destruction. The expression ‘peace and security’ may also recall the language of Roman imperial propaganda, which presented the Empire as the guarantor of peace and order. Paul warns against the false sense of security held by those who think that economic, political and social structures can guarantee absolute stability. The reference to the labour pains of a pregnant woman adds an important detail: childbirth is inevitable and cannot be stopped by human will. The Christian’s true security does not lie in the absence of problems, but in the certainty of belonging to Christ. ‘But you, brothers and sisters, are not in darkness, so that that day should surprise you like a thief’ (v. 4). Here we find a turning point in Paul’s discourse. Having spoken of those who live under the illusion of security, the apostle addresses Christians directly: ‘But you’. They, too, do not know when that day will come, but the difference lies in the awareness that they are not in darkness because they have received the light of the Gospel and belong to Christ. To be in the light means to live in the truth, in communion with God, whilst to be in darkness means to live without reference to God, allowing oneself to be dominated by selfishness, sin and the illusion of self-sufficiency.  ‘You are all children of the light and children of the day’ (v. 5). This is one of the most beautiful expressions in the passage. In biblical language, being children of the light means belonging to Christ, who is the light of the world (John 8:12). Christians must not merely seek the light, but live by the light they have received as a baptismal gift. The dignity of being children of the light is a gift, but it is also a responsibility. ‘We do not belong to the night, nor to the darkness. Let us not, therefore, sleep as others do, but let us keep watch and be sober’ (v. 6). Paul concludes with three spiritual exhortations: do not sleep, keep watch and be sober. The Greek verb used for ‘to sleep’ is katheudō. Here it takes on a spiritual meaning: to live in a state of unawareness, without realising one’s own condition or the nearness of the Lord. The verb grēgoreō, ‘to keep watch’, on the other hand, indicates a state of attentiveness, vigilance and awareness. Finally, we find nēphō, ‘to be sober’. Sobriety is not merely abstinence from material excesses, but also inner clarity and the ability not to allow oneself to be dominated by passions, illusions and distractions. These are three closely linked attitudes: those who keep watch do not allow their conscience to be lulled to sleep in the face of evil; those who do not become so accustomed to sin as to regard it as normal do not continually put off conversion; those who do not live distracted from what is essential do not allow worries to stifle prayer. Our ultimate security is Christ.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (25:14–30)

The parable of the talents is found in the fifth major discourse of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew, the eschatological discourse (Mt 24–25), in which Jesus speaks of his final coming and calls on his disciples to live in vigilance. It is preceded by the parable of the ten virgins (Mt 25:1–13), which teaches the need to be ready to welcome the Bridegroom, and followed by the scene of the Last Judgement (Mt 25:31–46), in which the criterion for judgement will be concrete love for one’s brothers and sisters. We thus have a very significant progression: The virgins: one must be ready.

The talents: we must be industrious and responsible; the Last Judgement: we must put charity into practice. Christian vigilance is therefore not a passive waiting, but a life that bears fruit.

‘A man, setting out on a journey, called his servants and entrusted his possessions to them’ (v. 14).

The man who sets off on a journey and entrusts his possessions to his servants, in the context of the parable, represents Christ, who, after his earthly mission, returns to the Father, leaving his disciples with a responsibility: to safeguard and make fruitful what they have received. The verb ‘entrusted’ is significant. In Greek we find parédōken, from paradídōmi, which means to hand over, to entrust, to pass on. The master does not simply distribute riches but entrusts something that belongs to him. This detail is fundamental: we are not the absolute owners of the gifts we have received, but stewards of a wealth that comes from God. Our life, our faith, our time, our abilities, our responsibilities, our charisms and our opportunities to do good are gifts entrusted to our freedom—gifts we have received that must not be regarded as private property. ‘To one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, according to each one’s ability’ (v. 15).

A talent was not a coin of small value, but a unit of weight and monetary measure. One talent corresponded to a considerable quantity of precious metal, usually silver. Therefore, even the servant who receives just one talent is entrusted with a significant wealth. The master distributes them differently, ‘according to each one’s ability’. Not everyone receives the same amount, but everyone receives something. Here is an important lesson: God does not expect the same results from everyone, but asks each person to live responsibly according to the gifts they have received; and diversity is not a form of discrimination, but a source of richness. Indeed, equality of dignity must not be confused with the sameness of gifts. In the Christian community, in fact, everyone has a particular vocation, sensibility and task. St Paul elaborates extensively on this concept in 1 Corinthians 12, where he compares the Church to a body made up of many different members, all of which are necessary. The parable invites us to move beyond the logic of comparison. The issue is not how many talents we have received, but what we do with them; and a community grows when each person stops envying the gifts of others and begins to make their own available. 

‘At once the one who had received five talents went off to put them to work’ (vv. 16–17).

The first two servants set to work immediately. The text emphasises their initiative: they do not wait for further instructions, they do not ask for guarantees, they do not put it off. They take responsibility for what has been entrusted to them, and the result is that both double the talents they have received. It is interesting to note that the servant with five talents gains another five, whilst the one with two gains another two, showing that the results differ in quantity but are identical in terms of faithfulness. The master does not assess the magnitude of the result in absolute terms, but rather how well it corresponds to the responsibility entrusted to them. Even within the Church, there is a temptation to always wait for others to take action. We wait for the parish priest to take the lead, for the organiser to make arrangements, for the priest to put forward ideas, for someone else to take on a role. But the community is not an audience merely watching the activities of a few key figures. The community is a living organism in which everyone is called to participate. It is not enough to ask what the Church can do for me; rather, we must ask ourselves what the Lord wants to do through me for the Church and for others.

‘The one who had received a single talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money there’ (v. 18).

Here we see the completely different behaviour of the third servant. He does not lose the talent, nor does he squander it or use it for personal gain, but he hides it. On the surface, this seems like prudent behaviour, but  this is precisely where the problem lies: he received a gift to make it bear fruit, yet he turns it into something to be hoarded. His is a prudence that masks fear. In the ancient world, burying money underground was a well-known way of protecting it from theft. The servant acts according to a logic of security, but not according to the logic of trust. The talent is not lost, but neither does it produce anything. The opposite of faithfulness is not merely wastefulness: it can also be inaction. This is probably the most thought-provoking aspect of the parable for our communities. We may have a sound spiritual tradition, but without passing it on to the younger generations; we may have structures and organisations, but without genuine fraternal life; we may have capable and generous people, but who are not actively involved. Many projects, but little ability to reach out to those who are far away: in short, a faith that is preserved but not borne witness to. A community thus becomes a repository of memories, habits and past activities, rather than a place where the Gospel continues to generate life. The hidden talent can also be a vocation never embraced, a charism never made available, a kind word never spoken, a person we have never tried to reach out to.

‘Lord, I know that you are a hard man…’ (vv. 24–25).

When the master returns, the servants give an account of their actions. The first two present the fruits of their labour. The third, however, tries to justify himself. The most interesting detail is the reason he gives: ‘I was afraid, so I went and hid your talent in the ground’.

Fear is this servant’s real problem because he has a distorted image of his master: he regards him as a harsh, demanding, almost unjust man. He did not trust him and did not understand the meaning of entrustment. His behaviour stems from this false image. The way we think of God profoundly shapes the way we live out our faith: if God is a severe judge, religion becomes a matter of fear and self-defence; if he is the Father who loves us, faith becomes a response of love, trust and responsibility.  In communities, we encounter people who do not get involved because they are afraid of making mistakes, of being judged, of not measuring up or of not being recognised. The community must not stifle initiatives, but support them; it must not foster competition, but encourage collaboration. Yet this does not mean abandoning responsibility and fraternal correction, so as to create an environment in which everyone can offer what they have received.

‘You wicked and lazy servant…’ (v. 26).

The master does not rebuke the servant because he produced little, but because he did nothing at all. His is a failure to fulfil his responsibility. The laziness of which Jesus speaks is not simply a lack of willingness to work; it is an inner closed-off attitude, a refusal to take responsibility for the gift received. The master points out to him that he could at least have deposited the money with the bankers to earn interest.

In other words, even if he had not been capable of making a large investment, he could at least have done something. The parable therefore condemns inaction: evil consists not only in committing wicked deeds, but also in failing to do the good that is possible. St James writes: ‘Whoever, then, knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, commits sin’ (Jas 4:17). 

‘For to everyone who has, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from the one who has not, even what they have will be taken away’ (v. 29).

This statement may seem paradoxical and even unjust. How can anything be taken away from someone who already has so little? In the context of the parable, Jesus is speaking of the dynamics of the spiritual life. A gift that is received, used and allowed to bear fruit grows; a gift that is rejected and left unused ends up being lost. We can also understand this dynamic through everyday experience: a skill that is not practised weakens; a relationship that is not nurtured deteriorates; a faith that is not nourished risks fading away. Grace is not capital to be kept static, but a life to be nurtured and allowed to grow. The parable enables us to examine our consciences within our communities, for it calls us to move from delegation to shared responsibility, as the mission cannot be sustained by just a few people; everyone must feel responsible for the common mission. It calls us to move from competition to complementarity, for different gifts must not create rivalry but rather collaboration, and one person’s talent does not diminish another’s. It encourages us to move from preservation to mission, since faith is not a treasure to be kept in a safe, but a wealth to be shared; and a community that does not evangelise risks turning in on itself. Finally, it invites us to move from fear to trust, for we must not be afraid to put our gifts to the test. We may make mistakes; we must learn and correct ourselves, but we cannot allow fear to paralyse us. There is one further point to emphasise: the master does not ask the servants simply to return what he had entrusted to them; he asks them to account for the fruits. This means that God has not given us life so that we might simply keep it intact, but so that it might bear fruit. He has not given us faith so that we might keep it only for ourselves, but so that it might also enlighten others. He has not given us charisms so that we might feel superior to others, but so that we might serve the community. He has not given us time so that we might waste it, but so that we might transform it into an opportunity for love. And there is another important point: the first two servants receive exactly the same praise, even though they produced different amounts. ‘Well done, good and faithful servant… share in your master’s joy.’

God does not ask us all to be the same, nor to do the same things. He asks us to be faithful to our vocation. Holiness does not consist in having many talents, but in not burying any of the gifts that God has entrusted to us. The concluding question to put to the community might be: If the Lord were to come today to ask for an account of the talents he has entrusted to us, would he find a community that has merely preserved the past, or a community that, through prayer, fellowship and mission, has brought forth new life?

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Among corpses and vultures: different in Depth

(Lk 17:26-37)

There is a very simple essential discernment: where life is extinguished, is not favored, not rejoiced or promoted, the earth becomes an early cemetery, and the "sky" is populated by flocks of vultures.

It is the bitter result of a culture from which unfortunately the clear Presence of the One who has clothed the world of Beauty does not emerge. 

Mentality that appears totally inert: unable to make us recognize - we without a voice - as the real Reason and End of God’s initiative. Even the only authentic Sanctuaries.

We should be like Relationships that fill the heart with dreams. And centers of irradiation, icons of full satisfaction; places of not static passions, but respectful of the intimate nature of things.

But these convictions and the pastoral approach do not seem to hold up. And perhaps they fail to make an impact because they have lost their inner magic: that which connects with what stirs within each person’s journey.

Here there is a more subtle discernment - feature of today’s Gospel passage: Judgment is presented in the form of surprise.

The slightest problems of daily existence can become so absorbent that we lose the very meaning of imperfections - and, in general, the dimension of depth.

The frontiers of the Kingdom are in the world, in the people, in their laments and joys, in the events. The place of ‘judgment’ is everywhere.

Jesus' invitation is not to let oneself be distracted, not even by the minutiae of religiosity.

The manifestation of the last times - that is, the possibility of starting a new world - continually comes: it must be received and brought aware.

Kept alive personally.

The decisive Encounter does not happen in dedicated spaces and times: it is re-proposed in a thousand channels, moments and places, but - here is the other salient datum - there is someone who notices, others do not.

The "division" between those who are associated with divine life and those who cannot be, does not concern the etycisms on capital vices, but the living discernment.

It is also about the minute reality (vv.31.34-35) and its message.

Faith in the turns and the union with Christ that pulsates in the soul and dreams - intimate Brother of each one and shining measure of many other things - wants to open up the Vision to us.

We also read it in our hearts in revolt, which want to awaken us from the loculi and the dictatorship of pre-packaged thoughts.

The hidden Self thirsts to understand the appeal of what is daily and precarious, of the "defects"; the call of the bifrontality nature of situations.

The "symmetries" that seemed so reassuring do not make virtue grow, within the weaknesses.

Here then we reach the sting of the troubles, even epochal: the idea of perfection would not make us move the gaze, to make exodus, to grow, and bloom.

The active ‘Judgment’ in Christ instead conveys the ability to grasp a scenario that we did not know.

The advent of the «Son of Man» (vv.26.30) calls into question, and his Judgement looms over those who are distracted, those set in their habit.

On the contrary, it captures the very essence of existence: we shall be recognised as different… not so much in morality, but in terms of Depth.

[Friday 32nd wk. in O.T.  November 13, 2026]

Between corpses and vultures: different ones in depth

(Lk 17:26-37)

There is a very simple essential discernment: where life is extinguished, not fostered, not cheered nor promoted, the earth becomes an early graveyard, and 'heaven' is populated with whole flocks of vultures.

Photograph of the ageing, stagnant, (accustomed) spiritual monopoly of the West, which no longer makes anything bloom.

It is the bitter result of a religious structure that is perhaps devout, certainly adept at satisfying the senses, but indolent; certainly capillary, expert, and pronouncing on everything, but disjointed in parochialisms of all kinds.

A spectacular institution, yet folded, inwardly estranged and sometimes hostile [which extinguishes the creative urge and does not mix with the hopes of today's woman and man]; from which, unfortunately, the clear presence of the One who clothed the world in Beauty does not transpire. 

The hierarchical pyramid on the ground remains exaggerated, perhaps for the very purpose of self-validation, tightening ranks to make a better body.

The resulting mentality appears totally inert: unable to make us - we voiceless ones - recognise ourselves as the real Reason and End of God's initiative. Even the only authentic Sanctuaries.

We should be living and speaking Relations, filling the heart with dreams. And centres of irradiation, icons of full fulfilment; places of passions that are not static, but respectful of the intimate nature of things.

Conversely, we catch around us flashes of life, yes, young and exuberant and trying to blossom, but obscurely suffocated by too many ties, past or disembodied ideas, established group interests, and overlords.

Here is the crisis of meaning, the truly human time that is failing; as in an anticipation of perdition - out of perspective with the Father, the lover of life.

Convictions and pastoral proposal seem incapable of constituting: they do not hold up, they pale, they do not affect, they do not seek uniqueness.

All this, in spite of the (distracted) army of institutional and capillary realities, which sucks vocations even from lands in the midst of Mission.

All the more reason to start building a profoundly different ecclesiality, one that does not expect to be merely fed by the programmes of professionals of the sacred.

Kingdom of God starting from real life bare and raw; yet, with magic within: befriending what is in each one's journey.

Here there is a more subtle discernment - a feature of today's Gospel passage: the Judgement comes as a surprise.

The smallest problems of everyday existence (the nostalgias of the traditionalists, like the same disembodied ideas of the sophisticates) can become so absorbing that we lose the very sense of imperfection - and in general, the dimension of depth.

The frontiers of the Kingdom are in the world, in people, in their grievances and joys, in happenings - if read as turning points.

Not in convocations where circles of initiates self-represent themselves with a plethora of signs unsupported by life.

The place of 'Judgement' is everywhere.

Especially outside the sacristies: "we want to be a Church that serves, that leaves home, that leaves its temples, its sacristies, to accompany life, sustain hope, be a sign of unity [...] to build bridges, break down walls, sow reconciliation" [from a September 2015 homily in Santiago de Cuba, cited in: Brothers All n.276].

Jesus' invitation is not to be distracted, not even by the minutiae of religiosity.

The manifestation of the end times - that is, the possibility of starting a new world - continually comes: it must be received and made aware.

Kept alive personally.

The decisive Encounter does not happen in prearranged spaces and times: it recurs in a thousand guises, moments and places, but - here is the other salient fact - there are some who become aware, others do not.

The 'division' between those who are associated with the divine life and those who cannot be, does not concern ethics on capital vices, but rather living discernment

It is about even minute reality (vv.31.34-35) and its message - what the person of Faith feels is indestructible consistency, and is total self-revelation.

Without the turning point Faith, the alienating cultic sense fills humanity with appearances, with garments that have become masks and dross - incapable by now of questioning us. Devastating attitude.

Devotion then, which only cares for details or grand visions of the world and shoots straight, fights the reversals of existence and does not grasp its appeals, its richness for us.

Even in the time of the emergency, the leaps forward, the malaise of habituation or petty error, are stopping even the most exuberant spiritual festivals where they were.

That is, in the graves in which we have willingly allowed ourselves to be buried, and we can see this dramatically.The union with Christ pulsating in the soul, and dreaming - everyone's intimate Brother and dazzling measure of much more - wants to open up the Vision to us.

A Vision of alternative heavens and earth. A vision today often enraptured by vain expectations of restoration to 'the way we were'.

We also read it in our hearts in revolt, which want to awaken us from the loculi and the dictatorship of pre-packaged thoughts.

The hidden self thirsts to understand the appeal of the summary, of the 'defects', the call of the two-facedness of situations.

Duplicities that are unfortunately scarcely cultivated in the congealed or one-sided realities, those without prodigy, and which we do not want.

The 'symmetries' that seemed so reassuring do not grow virtues, within weaknesses.

Here then comes the sting of annoyances, even epochal ones: the idea of perfection would not do us as much to shift our gaze, to exodus, to grow, to flourish.

The active 'Judgement' in Christ, on the other hand, conveys the ability to grasp a scenario that we did not know, and to overturn a whole vintage, accustomed approach to existence.

Even reacting suddenly (v.31).

In short, Jesus is calling his own not to walk on air:

Many pious conquests will be at a loss. Many risks of love, both in ordinary and extraordinary events, will be calculated at "gain".

In this way we will be ready to receive the God-in-One.

This is true both in our relations with men, and in the signs of the times and personal events.

We will not be caught unawares by retrospective thinking alone - or the result of opposing attachments - which is satisfied with external practicalities, but does not watch.

The advent of the "Son of Man" (vv.26.30) calls into question. And his Judgement overpowers the distracted, the contracted by habit; with no more capacity for deep reading and intuition.

The Lord conversely grasps the core of existence.

His theology of Incarnation wants to create alliance between our varied primordial powers [all genuine in themselves].

We will thus be recognised as different [living or not]... not in the mannerisms or petty places of 'morality' (vv.31.34).

Not even in the laborious (epidermal) elaboration of the admitted virtues: 'He who seeks to keep his life will lose it; but he who loses it will keep it alive' (Lk 17.33).

All this, rather, in the depth of perception.

To internalise and live the message:

Are you being coached by others or are you edifying yourself and your understanding?

Do you feel secure for assuming the dreams, virtues, hopes, successes of others? That is, for having experienced and recognised them - as a true love story - yourself?

What profound difference do you bring with you in the time of attachments and upheavals?

Love embraces the whole of existence in each of its dimensions, including the dimension of time. It could hardly be otherwise, since its promise looks towards its definitive goal: love looks to the eternal. Love is indeed “ecstasy”, not in the sense of a moment of intoxication, but rather as a journey, an ongoing exodus out of the closed inward-looking self towards its liberation through self-giving, and thus towards authentic self-discovery and indeed the discovery of God: “Whoever seeks to gain his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will preserve it” (Lk 17:33), as Jesus says throughout the Gospels (cf. Mt 10:39; 16:25; Mk 8:35; Lk 9:24; Jn 12:25). In these words, Jesus portrays his own path, which leads through the Cross to the Resurrection: the path of the grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies, and in this way bears much fruit. Starting from the depths of his own sacrifice and of the love that reaches fulfilment therein, he also portrays in these words the essence of love and indeed of human life itself.

[Pope Benedict, Deus Caritas est, n.6]

Psalm 11[10]
A prayer of trust to the Lord
who is not indifferent to right and wrong

1. We continue our reflection on the Psalms, which comprise the essential element of the Liturgy of Vespers. We have just made ring out in our hearts Psalm 11[10], a brief prayer of trust that, in the original Hebrew, is studded with the holy name 'Adonaj, the Lord. This name echoes at the beginning (cf. v. 1), is found three times at the heart of the Psalm (cf. vv. 4-5), and returns at the end (cf. v. 7). 

The spiritual key of the entire psalm is well-expressed in the concluding verse:  "For the Lord is just, he loves just deeds". This is the root of all trust and the source of all hope on the day of darkness and trial. God is not indifferent to right and wrong:  he is a good God and not a dark, incomprehensible, mysterious destiny. 

2. The psalm unfolds substantially in two scenes: in the first (cf. vv. 1-3), the wicked man is described in his apparent victory. He is portrayed in the guise of a warrior or hunter:  the evildoer bends his long or hunter's bow to violently strike his victim, that is, the just one (cf. v. 2). The latter, therefore, is tempted by the thought of escape to free himself from such a merciless fate. He would rather flee "to the mountain like a bird" (v. 1), far from the vortex of evil, from the onslaught of the wicked, from the slanderous darts launched by treacherous sinners. 

There is a kind of discouragement in the faithful one who feels alone and powerless before the irruption of evil. The pillars of a just social order seem shaken, and the very foundations of human society undermined (cf. v. 3). 

3. Now, the turning point comes in sight, outlined in the second scene (cf. vv. 4-7). The Lord, seated on the heavenly throne, takes in the entire human horizon with his penetrating gaze. From that transcendent vantage point, sign of the divine omniscience and omnipotence, God is able to search out and examine every person, distinguishing the righteous from the wicked and forcefully condemning injustice (cf. vv. 4-5). 

The image of the divine eye whose pupil is fixed and attentive to our actions is very evocative and consoling. The Lord is not a distant king, closed in his gilded world, but rather is a watchful Presence who sides with goodness and justice. He sees and provides, intervening by word and action. 

The righteous person foresees that, as happened in Sodom (cf. Gn 19: 24), the Lord makes "rain upon the wicked fiery coals and brimstone" (Ps 11[10]: 6), symbols of God's justice that purifies history, condemning evil. The wicked man, struck by this burning rain - a prefiguration of his final destiny - finally experiences that "there is a God who is judge on earth!" (Ps 58[57]: 12). 

4. The Psalm, however, does not end with this tragic image of punishment and condemnation. The final verse opens onto a horizon of light and peace intended for the righteous one who contemplates his Lord, a just Judge, but especially a merciful liberator:  "the upright shall see his face" (Ps 11[10]: 7). This is an experience of joyful communion and of serene trust in God who frees from evil. 

Down through history, countless righteous people have had a similar experience. Many stories tell of the trust of Christian martyrs during torment and their steadfastness that kept them firm in trial. 

In the Atti de Euplo, the deacon martyr from Sicily who died around 304 A.D. under the rule of Diocletian spontaneously exclaims in this sequence of prayers:  "Thank you, O Christ:  shield me as I suffer for you.... I adore the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. I adore the Holy Trinity.... Thank you, O Christ. Come to my aid, O Christ! For you I suffer, Christ.... Great is your glory, O Lord, in the servants whom you count worthy to call to yourself!... I thank you, Lord Jesus Christ, because your strength has comforted me; you have not permitted my soul to be lost with the evildoers and you have given me the grace of your name. Now confirm what you have done in me, so that the shameless enemy is put to confusion" (cf. A. Hamman, Preghiere dei Primi Cristiani, Milan, 1955, pp. 72-73).

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 28 January 2004]

"Thinking about our death is not a bad fantasy"; indeed, living each day well as if it were "the last", and not as if this life were "a normality" that lasts forever, may help us to be truly ready when the Lord calls. It is an invitation to serenely recognise the essential truth of our existence that Pope Francis reiterated in the Mass celebrated on Friday morning, 17 November, at Santa Marta.

"In these last two weeks of the liturgical year," he immediately pointed out, "the Church in the readings, in the Mass, makes us reflect on the end". On the one hand, of course, "the end of the world, because the world will collapse, it will be transformed" and there will be "the coming of Jesus, at the end". But, on the other hand, the Church also speaks of 'the end of each of us, because each of us, will die: the Church, as mother, teacher, wants each of us to think about our own death'.

"To me," the Pontiff confided, referring to the Gospel passage from Luke (17:26-37), "what Jesus says in this passage we have read attracts our attention". In particular his answer "when they ask what the end of the world will be like". But in the meantime, the Pope relaunched, following the Lord's words, "let us think about how my end will be". In the Gospel Jesus uses the expressions "as it also happened in the days of Noah" and "as it also happened in the days of Lot". To say, he explained, that men "in those days ate, drank, took wives, took husbands, until the day that Noah entered the ark". And, again, 'as also happened in the days of Lot: they ate, they drank, they bought, they sold, they planted, they built'.

Here, however, continued the Pope, comes "the day when the Lord rains down fire and brimstone from heaven". In short, 'there is normality, life is normal,' Francis pointed out, 'and we are used to this normality: I get up at six, I get up at seven, I do this, I do this job, I visit this tomorrow, Sunday is a holiday, I do this'. And 'so we are used to living a normality of life and we think that this will always be so'. But it will be, the Pontiff added, 'until the day that Noah went up on the ark, until the day that the Lord caused fire and brimstone to fall from heaven'.

For surely "a day will come when the Lord will say to each one of us: 'come'", the Pontiff recalled. And "the call for some will be sudden, for others it will be after an illness, in an accident: we do not know". But 'the call will be there and it will be a surprise: not God's last surprise, after this there will be another - the surprise of eternity - but it will be God's surprise for each of us'.

Regarding the end, he continued, "Jesus has a phrase, we read it yesterday in the Mass: it will be 'like the thunderbolt that shines from one end of the sky to the other, so will be the Son of Man on his day', the day that will knock at our door".

"We are accustomed to this normality of life," Francis continued, "and we think it will always be like this". However, "the Lord, and the Church, says to us in these days: stop a little, stop, it will not always be like this, one day it will not be like this, one day you will be taken away and what is next to you will be left".

"Lord, when will be the day when I will be taken away?": precisely "this," the Pope suggested, "is the question that the Church invites us to ask today and tells us: stop a little and think about your death". This is the meaning of the phrase quoted by Francis, placed at the entrance "in a cemetery, in the north of Italy: 'Pilgrim, you who are passing, think about your steps, the last step'". Because "there will be a last" step.

"This living the normality of life as if it were an eternal thing, an eternity - the Pope explained - is also seen in funeral vigils, in ceremonies, in funeral honours: many times the people who are really involved with that dead person, for whom we pray, are few".

And so 'a wake has usually turned into a social event: "Where are you going today?" - "Today I have to go and do this, this, then to the cemetery because there is the ceremony"". It thus becomes 'one more fact and there we meet friends, we talk: the dead person is there but we talk: normal'. So 'even that transcendent moment, for the way of walking of habitual life, becomes a social fact'. And 'this,' Francis confided, 'I have seen in my homeland: in some funeral wakes there is a reception service, one eats, one drinks, the dead person is there: but here we do a little, I do not say "party", but we talk, mundanely; it is an extra gathering, not to think'.

"Today," the Pontiff affirmed, "the Church, the Lord, with that goodness that he has, says to each one of us: stop, stop, not every day will be like this; do not get used to it as if this were eternity; there will be a day that you will be taken away, the other will remain, you will be taken away. In short, so 'it is to go with the Lord, to think that our life will come to an end, and this is good because we can think it at the beginning of the work: today may be the last day, I don't know, but I will do the work well'. And I will also 'do' well 'in relationships at home, with my parents, with my family: doing well, maybe it will be the last day, I don't know'. We must think the same, Francis continued, "even when we go for a medical examination: will this be one more or will it be the beginning of the last visits?"

"Thinking about death is not an ugly fantasy, it is a reality," the Pontiff insisted, explaining, "Whether it is ugly or not is up to me, how I think about it, but it will be there and there will be the encounter with the Lord: this will be the beauty of death, it will be the encounter with the Lord, it will be he who will come to meet me, it will be he who will say 'come, come, blessed by my Father, come with me'". There is no use saying: "But, Lord, wait, I have to fix this, this". Because anyway "you can't fix anything: on that day whoever will be on the terrace and will have left his things in the house will not come down: where you are, they will take you, you will leave everything".

But 'we will have the Lord, this is the beauty of the encounter', the Pope reassured. "The other day," he added, "I found a priest, more or less 65 years old: he was not feeling well, he went to the doctor", who "after the visit" "told him: 'Look, you have this, this is a bad thing, but maybe we are in time to stop it, we will do this; if you do not stop we will do this other and if you do not stop we will start walking and I will accompany you to the end'". Therefore, Francis commented, 'bravo to that doctor! How sweetly he spoke the truth: let us also accompany each other on this road, let us go together, let us work, let us do good and everything, but always looking there'.

"Let us do this today," the Pope concluded, because "it will do us all good to stop a little and think about the day when the Lord will come to visit me, will come to take me to go to him."

[Pope Francis, s. Marta, in L'Osservatore Romano 18/11/2017]

The Coming of the Kingdom neither above nor in front

(Lk 17:20-25)

The theme of the Son of Man coming is pre-Christian, and all the data of the text already appear in the Jewish apocalyptic literature. But in it the Eternal «will come» and "will show up" at the end of time.

And yet, the Father does not rule over his sons by issuing decrees as a sovereign might, but by imparting his own Life, which is indestructible.

Therefore He does not ask for obedience - like a king. He desires ‘similarity’.

It is the Gift, and the know-how to read inside things, then our quality and relational commitment, that realize or decelerate the establishment of a new world, continually strengthened.

Nothing to do with predictions (v.20): it is in the field the unexpected wisdom of the Gift, and the opposite "power" of God. Not of strength, not aggressive.

He himself stands not in front or above, but «in the middle». Nothing peremptory, overflowing, gigantic. Family Style.

«In the midst»: to enlighten all circumstances. To cohabit, to prepare, to take root in the hearts in a lovable, intimate, convincing way.

We will not be able to marvel at the coming of his Kingdom as if it were a show. 

The Presence of Fraternities in the world is woven with real life, not roles or vague narratives, sophisticated representations, or illusions.

Thus the Church will not be an anonymous and hostile society that astutely draws the maximum of "render".

The coming Community should not be part of the mundane situation, but should escape all predictability and limitation. 

The alternative Kingdom is of human condition, yet... ‘form’ that does not accept finitude as the only fate, nor is it adapted to our small measure of determinations and reassurances.

The Kingdom «in Persona Christi» shines a lucid and dreamy Energy, close and projective, which does not impose itself: animates the entire afflatus of creatures that put themselves in play.

Outside his ordinary circuits, the Lord does not ask for any glorious manifestation.

«The Kingdom of God does not come in such a way that it can be observed, nor will it be said: Here or there» [vv.20b-21a].

This is not a question about the end of the world, but about the end of a certain model of a successful humanity – one that is now… intimately linked to the «Son of Man» (vv. 22.24).

And the opportunity to overturn the concatenations [ancient or fashionable] presents itself at any moment; it flickers immediately (v.24).

All this brings the faithful into contact with the inner nature of the Kingdom. And in this guidance, they come to understand its wisdom – the hidden workings that draw forth fruitfulness from the chaotic edges.

Different veins, flowing of Spirit.

Otherwise it may even seem that God loses control of history.

And we, discouraged, put ourselves on one side of the road, watching intimidated, perhaps surrendered; hoping for the arrival of other things, external.

Instead, step by step his humanization project is realized - here - in all those who welcome the proposal to accentuate their lives, giving themselves.

No Domain.

To internalize and live the message:

How do you embody the prophecy of the ‘Coming’ Messiah without ceasing? Do you personally respond or do you run after striking events?

[Thursday 32nd wk. in O.T.  November 12, 2026]

The Coming of the Kingdom not above nor in front

(Lk 17:20-25)

The theme of the coming of the Son of Man is pre-Christian, and all the data of the text already appear in the Jewish apocalyptic. But in it the Eternal One will come and will be seen at the end of time.

Then as now, according to the leaders of popular religiosity, the Kingdom would be established after all the people had come to perfect observance of the Law and traditions.

As a reward for our obedience, God would have granted the coming of the Messiah, and his people would have welcomed him [descended from the pinnacles or clouds] in a solemn manner, as one does a prince.

But in the Gospels the term Kingdom of God designates the sphere in which the Father 'reigns', i.e. the community of believers - where the future of the Lord on earth already breaks through in the logic and active power of Easter.

In it, a creative and regenerating Providence tirelessly intervenes, in the Persons and in the qualitative virtue of its People.

Through the authentic Church semper conformanda, life opens up to its Action - and our lives are radically transformed.

This is accomplished, both through Friendship in us and by casting Hope. Divinising lymph and Dream, which activates new configurations.

For the Father does not govern his children by issuing provisions as a sovereign would, but by transmitting his own Life of indestructible quality. 

Therefore, he does not ask for obedience - like a king - but for likeness.

It is the Gift, and knowing how to read into things, then our relational quality and commitment, that realise or decelerate the establishment of a new, continually replenished world.

Nothing to do with predictions (v.20): it is the unexpected wisdom of the Gift, and God's 'power' in reverse. Not forceful, not aggressive.

He himself places himself not in front of or above, but "in the midst". Nothing peremptory, overflowing, gigantic.

Thus his own who genuinely represent him.

The Father is not a leader; let alone one who can afford to legitimise exclusivist attitudes.

The latter can unfortunately be found in pyramid situations; in insulting choices made by some leaders, who, in order to feel like 'someone', always assign others to be behind or below [especially those who do not revere them].

On the contrary, God is equidistant from everyone, this is the criterion of evaluation - the only overriding attribute, the imperative of true leaders, the most forthright and transparent.

Family style.

In short, 'Heaven' does not dispose that some elected ones be allowed to place themselves near and above - others destined for the rear, discarded because they are less useful to the objectives.

There is no one who says he represents him and can make himself 'big', always in a dominant position. However high - and you small, always below.

On the contrary. "In the middle": to illuminate all circumstances.

To cohabit with women and men, like a bride; to prepare and take root in hearts in an amiable, intimate, convincing way.

The coming of his Kingdom we will not be able to admire as if it were a professional show - a spectacle of old or new elected officials in power, supported by office-bearers (and as many papier-mâché dummies, also scaling).

The Fraternities' presence in the world is woven of real life, not of roles or vague narratives, sophisticated representations or illusions.

Thus the Church will not be an anonymous and hostile society [more or less invoked] of sacred self-celebrations. Nor of meritorious works, or of strength - perhaps for some, of profit.

Nor, turbo-efficient agency, cunningly drawing the greatest 'return'.

The Community that Comes should not belong to the mundane, but escape all predictability and limitation. 

The alternative Kingdom is of the human condition, yet... a form that does not accept finitude as its sole destiny, nor does it adapt to our petty measure of determinacy and reassurance.

The Kingdom in Persona Christi shimmers a lucid and dreamy Energy, close and projective, which does not impose itself: it animates the entire afflatus of creatures who put themselves at stake.

Outside of its ordinary circuits, the Lord does not ask for any glorious manifestation of rich screens, archaic horizons or conversely disembodied; nor intolerance, disparity, detachment.

"The Kingdom of God does not come in such a way that it can be observed, nor will it be said, 'Here or there'" [vv.20b-21a, Greek text].

It is not about the end of the world, but the end of a certain type of successful model of humanity.

And the opportunity to overthrow the [ancient or fashionable] concatenations presents itself at any moment; it flickers immediately (v.24).

"For as the thunderbolt, shining from one end of the sky shines to the other end of the sky, so shall the Son of man be [in his day]".

Jesus is the authentic, sudden Dream of Jacob, which foreshadowed a vast descent; further unfolded (Gen 28:10-22) and become reality.

But no one would have expected the Messiah to be identified with the "Son of Man" (vv.22.24), the One who creates abundance where there is none - and previously it did not seem permissible to expand.

The new bond between God and human beings is in the Brother who becomes the "next of kin", who creates an atmosphere of humanisation with broad contours - not at all discriminating.

"Son of Man" is the one who, having reached the highest human fullness, comes to reflect the divine condition and radiates it widely - not selectively as expected.

"Succeeded Son": the Person with the definitive step, who in us aspires to the most dilated fullness in events and relationships, to an indestructible carat within each one who approaches [and encounters divine marks].

It is growth and humanisation of the people: the quiet, true and full development of the divine plan on humanity.

"Son of man" is therefore not a religious, guarded, controlled and reserved title, but an opportunity for all those who adhere to the Lord's proposal, and reinterpret life in a personal creative way.

They overcome the firm and proper summary boundaries, making room for the Gift; welcoming from Grace fullness of being and character, in its new unrepeatable tracks.

And we particularly precarious ones, feeling totally and undeservedly loved, discover other facets... we change the way we are with ourselves, and the way we read history.

Therefore, we can grow, realise ourselves, flourish, radiate the wholeness we have received - with no more closures.

With no more one-sided supremacy.

Here we are in Christ: from Son of David [the absolutely victorious military leader, who would impose the Law and subjugate the other nations] to 'Son of Man'.

As Card. Bassetti in commenting on the encyclical Fratelli Tutti, the Magisterium's most recent appeal is also a call to "shorten distances and not erect walls".

This brings the faithful into contact with the inner nature of the Kingdom. And in this way they come to know its wisdom, its hidden action - which extracts fruitfulness from the chaotic sides.

From other veins, even dissident ones, yet flowing with Spirit.

Otherwise, it can also appear that God loses control of history.

And we, discouraged, stand on one side of the road, watching intimidated, perhaps surrendered; hoping for the arrival of other, external things.

Instead, step by step his project of humanisation is realised - here - in all those who accept the proposal to accentuate their lives, giving of themselves.

No Dominion.

To internalise and live the message:

How do you incarnate the prophecy of the Messiah who comes without ceasing? Do you personally respond or do you run after striking events?

What do you consider to be the wrong paths or end-of-the-world fantasies that deaden the life of the Kingdom?

Speaking of God, we are touching precisely on the subject which, in Jesus' earthly preaching, was his main focus. The fundamental subject of this preaching is God's realm, the "Kingdom of God". This does not mean something that will come to pass at one time or another in an indeterminate future. Nor does it mean that better world which we seek to create, step by step, with our own strength. In the term "Kingdom of God", the word "God" is a subjective genitive. This means: God is not something added to the "Kingdom" which one might even perhaps drop. 

God is the subject. Kingdom of God actually means: God reigns. He himself is present and crucial to human beings in the world. He is the subject, and wherever this subject is absent, nothing remains of Jesus' message. 

Therefore, Jesus tells us: the Kingdom of God does not come in such a way that one may, so to speak, line the wayside to watch its arrival. "The Kingdom of God is in the midst of you!" (cf. Lk 17: 20ff.). 

It develops wherever God's will is done. It is present wherever there are people who are open to his arrival and so let God enter the world. Thus, Jesus is the Kingdom of God in person: the man in whom God is among us and through whom we can touch God, draw close to God. Wherever this happens, the world is saved.

[Pope Benedict, to the Roman Curia 22 December 2006]