Solemnity of All Saints [1 November 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us. The Solemnity of All Saints is an important occasion to reflect on our Christian vocation: through Baptism, we are all called to be 'blessed', that is, on the path towards the joy of eternal Love.

First Reading from the Book of Revelation of Saint John the Apostle (7:2-4, 9-14)

In Revelation, John recounts a mystical vision he received in Patmos, which is to be interpreted symbolically rather than literally. He sees an angel and an immense crowd, composed of two distinct groups: The 144,000 baptised, marked with the seal of the living God, represent the faithful believers, contemporaries of John, persecuted by the emperor Domitian. They are the servants of God, protected and consecrated, the baptised people who bear witness to their faith despite persecution. The innumerable crowd, from every nation, tribe, people and language, dressed in white, with palm branches in their hands and standing before the Throne and the Lamb, represents humanity saved thanks to the faith and sufferings of the baptised. Their standing position symbolises resurrection, their white robes purification, and their palm branches victory. The central message is that the suffering of the faithful brings about the salvation of others: the trials of the persecuted become a means of redemption for humanity, in continuity with the theme of the suffering servant of Isaiah and Zechariah. John uses symbolic and coded language, typical of the Apocalypse, to secretly communicate with persecuted believers and encourage them to persevere in their faith without being discovered by the Roman authorities. The text therefore invites perseverance: even if evil seems to triumph, the heavenly Father and Christ have already won, and the faithful, though small and oppressed, share in this victory. Baptism is thus perceived as a protective seal, comparable to the mark of Roman soldiers. This text, with its mystical and prophetic language, reveals that the victory of the poor and the little ones is not revenge, but a manifestation of God's triumph over the forces of evil, bringing salvation and hope to all humanity, thanks to the faithful perseverance of the righteous.

Responsorial Psalm (23/24)

This psalm takes us to the Temple of Jerusalem, a holy place built on high. A gigantic procession arrives at the gates of the Temple. Two alternating choirs sing in dialogue: 'Who shall ascend the mountain of the Lord? Who can stand in his holy place?" The biblical references in this psalm are Isaiah (chapter 33), which compares God to a consuming fire, asking who can bear to look upon him. The question is rhetorical: we cannot bear God on our own, but he draws near to man, and the psalm celebrates the discovery of the chosen people: God is holy and transcendent, but also always close to man. Today, this psalm resounds on All Saints' Day with the song of the angels inviting us to join in this symphony of praise to God: 'with all the angels of heaven, we want to sing to you'. The necessary condition for standing before God is well expressed here: only those with a pure heart, innocent hands, who do not offer their souls to idols. It is not a question of moral merit: the people are admitted when they have faith, that is, total trust in the one God, and decisively reject all forms of idolatry. Literally, 'he has not lifted his soul to empty gods', that is, he does not pray to idols, while raising one's eyes corresponds to praying and recognising God. The psalm insists on a pure heart and innocent hands. The heart is pure when it is totally turned towards God, without impurity, that is, without mixing the true and the false, God and idols. Hands are innocent when they have not offered sacrifices or prayed to false gods. The parallelism between heart and hands emphasises that inner purity and concrete physical action must go together. The psalm recalls the struggle of the prophets because Israel had to fight idolatry from the exodus from Egypt (golden calf) to the Exile and beyond, and the psalm reaffirms fidelity to the one God as a condition for standing before Him. "Behold, this is the generation that seeks your face, God of Jacob." Seeking God's face is an expression used for courtiers admitted into the king's presence and indicates that God is the only true King and that faithfulness to Him allows one to receive the blessing promised to the patriarchs. From this flow the concrete consequences of faithfulness: the man with a pure heart knows no hatred; the man with innocent hands does no evil; on the contrary, he obtains justice from God by living in accordance with the divine plan because every life has a mission and every true child of God has a positive impact on society. Also evident in this psalm is the connection to the Beatitudes of the Gospel: "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness... Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."  "Behold, this is the generation that seeks him, that seeks your face, God of Jacob": is this not a simple definition of poverty of heart, a fundamental condition for entering the Kingdom of Heaven?

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint John the Apostle (3:1-3)

 "Beloved, see what great love the Father has given us": the urgency of opening our eyes. St John invites believers to "see", that is, to contemplate with the eyes of the heart, because the gaze of the heart is the key to faith. Indeed, the whole of human history is an education of the gaze. According to the prophets, the tragedy of man is precisely "having eyes and not seeing". What we need to learn to see is God’s love and “his plan of salvation” (cf. Eph 1:3-10) for humanity. The entire Bible insists on this: to see well is to recognise the face of God, while a distorted gaze leads to falsehood. The example of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden shows how sin arises from a distorted gaze. Humanity, listening to the serpent, loses sight of the tree of life and focuses its gaze on the forbidden tree: this is the beginning of inner disorder. The gaze becomes seduced, deceived, and when "their eyes were opened," humans did not see the promised divinity, but their nakedness, their poverty and fragility. In opposition to this deceived gaze, John invites us to look with our hearts into the truth: 'Beloved, see what great love the Father has given us'. God is not jealous of man — as the serpent had insinuated — but loves him and wants him as his son. John's entire message is summed up in this revelation: 'God is love'. True life consists in never doubting this love; knowing God, as Jesus says in John's Gospel (17:3), is eternal life. God's plan, revealed by John and Paul, is a "benevolent plan, a plan of salvation": to make humanity in Christ, the Son par excellence, of whom we are the members, one body. Through Baptism, we are grafted onto Christ and are truly children of God, clothed in Him. The Holy Spirit makes us recognise God as Father, placing in our hearts the filial prayer: 'Abba, Father!'. However, the world does not yet know God because it has not opened its eyes. Only those who believe can understand the truth of divine love; for others, it seems incomprehensible or even scandalous. It is up to believers to bear witness to this love with their words and their lives, so that non-believers may, in turn, open their eyes and recognise God as Father. At the end of time, when the Son of God appears, humanity will be transformed in his image: man will rediscover the pure gaze he had lost at the beginning. Thus resounds Christ's desire to the Samaritan woman (4:1-42): "If you knew the gift of God!" An ever-present invitation to open our eyes to recognise the love that saves.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (5:1-12a)

Jesus proclaims: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted": it is the gift of tears. This beatitude, seemingly paradoxical, does not exalt pain but transforms it into a path of grace and hope. Jesus, who always sought to heal and console, does not invite us to take pleasure in suffering, but encourages us not to be discouraged in trials and to remain faithful in our tears, because those who suffer are already on the way to the Kingdom. The term "blessed" in the original biblical text does not indicate good fortune, but a call to persevere: it means "on the march", "take courage, keep pace, walk". Tears, then, are not an evil to be endured, but can become a place of encounter with God. There are beneficial tears, such as those of Peter's repentance, where God's mercy is experienced, or those that arise from compassion for the suffering of others, a sign that the heart of stone is becoming a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26). Even tears shed in the face of the harshness of the world participate in divine compassion: they announce that the messianic time has come, when the promised consolation becomes reality. The first beatitude, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven', encompasses all the others and reveals their secret. Evangelical poverty is not material poverty, but openness of heart: the poor (anawim) are those who are not self-sufficient, who are neither proud nor self-reliant, but expect everything from God. They are the humble, the little ones, those who have "bent backs" before the Lord. As in the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, only those who recognise their own poverty can receive salvation. The poor in spirit live in total trust in God, receive everything as a gift, and pray with simplicity: "Lord, have mercy." From this inner attitude spring all the other beatitudes: mercy, meekness, peace, thirst for justice — all are fruits of the Spirit, received and not conquered. To be poor in spirit means to believe that only God fills, and that true riches are not possessions, power or knowledge, but the presence of God in a humble heart. This is why Jesus proclaims a future and paradoxical happiness: "Blessed are the poor," that is, soon you will be envied, because God will fill your emptiness with his divine riches. The beatitudes, therefore, are not moral rules but good news: they announce that God's gaze is different from that of men. Where the world sees failure — poverty, tears, persecution — God sees the raw material of his Kingdom. Jesus teaches us to look at ourselves and others with the eyes of God, to discover the presence of the Kingdom where we would never have suspected it. True happiness therefore comes from a purified gaze and from accepted weakness, which become places of grace. Those who weep, those who are poor in spirit, those who seek justice and peace, already experience the promised consolation: the joy of children who know and feel loved by the Father. As Ezekiel reminds us, on the day of judgement, those who have wept over the evil in the world will be recognised (Ezekiel 9:4): their tears are therefore already a sign of the Kingdom to come.

• +Giovanni D'Ercole

Commemoration of All Souls [2 November 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. After contemplating the glory of Heaven, today we commemorate the destiny of light that awaits us on the day of our earthly death. 

1. The commemoration of All Souls' Day was set on 2 November only at the beginning of the 11th century, linking it to the solemnity of All Saints' Day. After all, the feast of 1 November could not fail to bring to mind the faithful departed, whom the Church remembers in her prayers every day. At every Mass, we pray first of all 'for all those who rest in Christ' (Eucharistic Prayer I), then the prayer is extended to 'all the departed, whose faith you alone know' (Eucharistic Prayer IV), to 'all those who have left this life' (Eucharistic Prayer II) and 'whose righteousness you alone know' (Eucharistic Prayer III). And to make this commemoration even more participatory, today three Holy Masses can be celebrated with a wide range of readings, which I will limit myself to indicating here: A. First Mass  First Reading Job 19:1, 23-27; Psalm 26/27; Second Reading St Paul to the Romans  5:5-11; From the Gospel according to John 6:37-40; B. Second Mass: First Reading Isaiah 25:6-7-9; Psalm 24/25; Second Reading Romans 8:14-23; From the Gospel according to Matthew 25:31-46); C. Third Mass: First Reading Book of Wisdom 3:1-9; Psalm 41/42 2 $2/43; Second Reading  Revelation  21:1-5, 6b-7; Gospel according to Matthew 5:1-12). Given the number of biblical readings, instead of providing a commentary on each biblical passage as I do every Sunday, I prefer to offer a reflection on the meaning and value of today's celebration, which has its origins in the long history of the Catholic Church.  One need only read the biblical readings to begin to doubt that the term "dead" is the most appropriate for today's Commemoration. In fact, it is in the light of Easter and in the mercy of the Lord that we are invited to meditate and pray on this day for all those who have gone before us. They have already been called to live in the light of divine life, and we too, marked with the seal of faith, will one day follow them. The Apostle Paul writes, 'We do not want you, brothers and sisters, to be ignorant about those who sleep in the Lord, so that you may not grieve as those who have no hope' (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14). Saints, when possible, are not remembered on the anniversary of their birth but are celebrated on the day of their death, which Christian tradition calls in Latin "dies natalis", meaning the day of birth into the Kingdom. For all the deceased, whether Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or of other faiths, this is their dies natalis, as we repeat in Holy Mass: "Remember all those who have left this world and whose righteousness you know; welcome them into your Kingdom, where we hope to be filled with your glory together for eternity" (Eucharistic Prayer III). The liturgy refuses to use the popular expression 'day of the dead', since this day opens onto divine life. The Church calls it: Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed. 'Dead' and 'departed' are not synonyms: the term 'departed' comes from the Latin functus, which means 'he who has accomplished', 'he who has completed'. The deceased is therefore "he who has brought to completion the life" received from God. This liturgical feast is both a day of remembrance and intercession: we remember the deceased and pray for them. In the light of the solemnity of All Saints' Day, this day offers Christians an opportunity to renew and live the hope of eternal life, the gift of Christ's resurrection. For this reason, during these celebrations, many people visit cemeteries to honour their deceased loved ones and decorate their graves with flowers. We think of all those who have left us, but whom we have not forgotten. We pray for them because, according to the Christian faith, they need purification in order to be fully with God. Our prayer can help them on this path of purification, by virtue of what is called the 'communion of saints', a communion of life that exists between us and those who have gone before us: in Christ there is a real bond and solidarity between the living and the dead.

2. A little history. In order for the feast of All Saints (established in France in 835) to retain its proper character, and so that it would not become a day dedicated to the dead, St Odilon, abbot of Cluny, around the year 1000, imposed on all his monasteries the commemoration of the dead through a solemn Mass on 2 November. This day was not called a 'day of prayer for the dead', but a 'commemoration of the dead'. At that time, the doctrine of purgatory had not yet been clearly formulated (it would only be so towards the end of the 12th century): it was mainly a matter of remembering the dead rather than praying for them. In the 15th century, the Dominicans in Spain introduced the practice of celebrating three Masses on this day. Pope Benedict XV (+1922) then extended to the whole Church the possibility of celebrating three Masses on 2 November, inviting people to pray in particular for the victims of war. On the occasion of the millennium of the institution of the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed (13 September 1998), St John Paul II wrote: "In fact, on the day after the feast of All Saints, when the Church joyfully celebrates the communion of saints and the salvation of mankind, St. Odilon wanted to exhort his monks to pray in a special way for the dead, thus contributing mysteriously to their entry into bliss. From the Abbey of Cluny, this practice gradually spread, becoming a solemn celebration in suffrage of the dead, which St Odilon called the Feast of the Dead, now universally observed throughout the Church." "In praying for the dead, the Church first of all contemplates the mystery of Christ's Resurrection, who through his Cross gives us salvation and eternal life. With St Odilon, we can repeat: 'The Cross is my refuge, the Cross is my way and my life... The Cross is my invincible weapon. It repels all evil and dispels darkness'. The Cross of the Lord reminds us that every life is inhabited by the light of Easter: no situation is lost, because Christ has conquered death and opens the way to true life for us. "Redemption is accomplished through the sacrifice of Christ, through which man is freed from sin and reconciled with God" (Tertio millennio adveniente, n. 7). "While waiting for death to be definitively conquered, some men "continue their pilgrimage on earth; others, after having ended their lives, are still being purified; and still others finally enjoy the glory of heaven and contemplate the Trinity in full light" (Lumen Gentium, n. 49). United with the merits of the saints, our fraternal prayer comes to the aid of those who are still awaiting the beatific vision. Intercession for the dead is an act of fraternal charity, proper to the one family of God, through which "we respond to the deepest vocation of the Church" (Lumen Gentium, n. 51), that is, "to save souls who will love God for eternity" (St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Prayers, 6). For the souls in purgatory, the expectation of eternal joy and the encounter with the Beloved is a source of suffering, because of the punishment due to sin that keeps them away from God; but they have the certainty that, once the time of purification is over, they will meet the One they desire (Ps 42; 62). On several occasions, various popes throughout history have urged us to pray fervently for the deceased, for our family members and for all our deceased brothers and sisters, so that they may obtain remission of the punishment due to their sins and hear the voice of the Lord calling them.

3. Why this day is important: By instituting a Mass for the commemoration of the faithful departed, the Church reminds us of the place that the deceased occupy in family and social life and recognises the painful reality of mourning: the absence of a loved one is a constant wound. This celebration can also be seen as a response to the plea of the good thief who, on the cross, turned to Jesus and said: "Remember me." In remembering our deceased, we symbolically respond to that same plea: "Remember us." It is an invitation not to forget them, to continue to pray for them, keeping their memory alive and active, a sign of our hope in eternal life. Today is therefore a day for everyone: it is not only for bereaved families, but for everyone. It helps to sensitise the faithful to the mystery of death and mourning, but also to the hope and promise of eternal life. For Christians, death is not the end, but a passage. Through the trial of mourning, we understand that our earthly life is not eternal: our deceased precede us on the path to eternity. The 2nd of November thus also becomes a lesson on the 'last things' (eschatological realities), preparing us for this passage with serenity, without fear or sadness, because it is a step towards eternal life. The Church never feels exempt from prayer: it constantly intercedes for the salvation of the world, entrusting every soul to God's mercy and judgement, so that He may grant forgiveness and the peace of the Kingdom. We know well that "fulfilling life" only makes sense in fidelity to the Lord. The Church's prayer recognises our fragility and prays that none of her children will be lost. Thus, 2 November becomes a day of faith and hope, beyond the separation that marks the end of earthly life — in peace or suffering, in solitude or in family, in martyrdom or in the goodness of loving care. Death is the hour of encounter and always remains a place of struggle. The word "agony" derives from Greek and means "struggle." For Christians, death is the encounter with the Risen One, the hope in the faith professed: I believe in the resurrection of the dead and in the life of the world to come. The believer enters death with faith, rejects despair and repeats with Jesus: 'Father, into your hands I commend my spirit' (Lk 23:46). For Christians, even the hardest death is a passage into the Risen Jesus, exalted by the Father. Very often, modern Western civilisation tends to hide death: it fears it, disguises it, distances itself from it. Even in prayer, we say distractedly: Now and at the hour of our death. Yet every year, without knowing it, we pass the date that will one day be that of our death. In the past, Christian preaching often reminded us of this, although sometimes in very emphatic tones. Today, however, the fear of death seems to want to extinguish the reality of dying, which is part of every life on earth. Today's Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed is a useful opportunity to pause and reflect and, above all, to pray, renewing our fidelity to our baptism and our vocation: Together we invoke Mary, who, raised to heaven, watches over our life and our death. Mary, icon of God's goodness and sure sign of our hope, You spent your life in love and with your own assumption into Heaven you announce to us that the Lord is not the God of the dead, but of the living. Support us on our daily journey and grant that we may live in such a way that we are ready at every moment to meet the Lord of Life in the last moment of our earthly pilgrimage when, having closed our eyes to the realities of this world, they will open to the eternal vision of God.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

(Lk 14:12-14)

Inviting the excluded, without a spirit of interest: the Christian community is open to everyone, especially those who have nothing to offer in return.

The Church cannot be complicit with those who turn the world into a business.

And are we really today finally learning to invite for free, not in an even more interested and mercantile way?

We are well aware that the interweaving of the computational circuits behind our actions is astounding, almost as complex as the very complicated computer circuits.

And someone is also looking for sacralization:

Before exposing ourselves in a work, we weigh with incredible rapidity all the possible relapses, the reactions useful or harmful to our interests.

Even during the course of social action, we recalibrate any changes that produce the desired effect, and at the same time the hoped compensation.

If this doesn’t come, surely we imagine that there must have been a (mechanical) fault somewhere.

If we are not careful, much of our existence is transformed into a cybernetic of interest.

It also happens with God.

Instead, it is Love that conquers the world.

It is the unconditional gift that shakes, moves, conquers; it preludes and reflects the Mystery.

In the transformation of one’s own goods into Encounter, Relationship, intimate Life and of others, the source of Joy gushes forth.

Gaiety of completeness of being, Life of the Trinity itself: different Happiness, without due or expected returns; prelude to Resurrection.

A divine existence, not behind the clouds or at the end of history, but from now on.

No reciprocation is really worth such boundless and real vertigo.

Thus the type of participants in the breaking of Bread in churches - today of an increasingly varied mentality - describes the essence of God.

The ‘polyhedron’ becomes an icon and attribute of the tolerant mercy of the Eternal.

But it is not an external or paternalistic patch; nor is it configured as a rescue of the situation [or remorse of conscience].

The condition of sin does not nullify the plan of salvation. Rather, it emphasizes the personal Exodus and the passion of things.

Different faces and circumstances become sacraments of Grace, Love so open that no human narrowness can close.

Even a non-one-way personal formation is well recalled by the thousand unusual presences of a multipolar world [as an intimate and concrete appeal].

In this way, every heterogeneous aspect is now finally appreciated as an added value, instead of being considered a “carnal” or “impurity” expression.

In short, our attitude as sisters and brothers imitates divine magnanimity: we welcome willingly and freely those who are 'different' and those without great energy or appeal.

Not because we are or they are 'good', but so that we all become good. And by being close, together, in an unforeseen, therefore vital way; overeminent one.

To internalize and live the message:

What does not elevate your relationships? and the complete sense of you?

[Monday 31st wk. in O.T.  November 3, 2025]

Among the many gifts that we buy and receive, let us not forget the true gift: to give each other something of ourselves, to give each other something of our time, to open our time to God. In this way anxiety disappears, joy is born, and the feast is created. During the festive meals of these days let us remember the Lord’s words: "When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite those who will invite you in return, but invite those whom no one invites and who are not able to invite you" (cf. Lk 14:12-14). This also means: when you give gifts for Christmas, do not give only to those who will give to you in return, but give to those who receive from no one and who cannot give you anything back. This is what God has done: he invites us to his wedding feast, something which we cannot reciprocate, but can only receive with joy. Let us imitate him! Let us love God and, starting from him, let us also love man, so that, starting from man, we can then rediscover God in a new way!

[Pope Benedict, homily 24 December 2006]

12. Is Justice Enough? 

It is not difficult to see that in the modern world the sense of justice has been reawakening on a vast scale; and without doubt this emphasizes that which goes against justice in relationships between individuals, social groups and "classes," between individual peoples and states, and finally between whole political systems, indeed between what are called "worlds." This deep and varied trend, at the basis of which the contemporary human conscience has placed justice, gives proof of the ethical character of the tensions and struggles pervading the world. 

The Church shares with the people of our time this profound and ardent desire for a life which is just in every aspect, nor does she fail to examine the various aspects of the sort of justice that the life of people and society demands. This is confirmed by the field of Catholic social doctrine, greatly developed in the course of the last century. On the lines of this teaching proceed the education and formation of human consciences in the spirit of justice, and also individual undertakings, especially in the sphere of the apostolate of the laity, which are developing in precisely this spirit. 

And yet, it would be difficult not to notice that very often programs which start from the idea of justice and which ought to assist its fulfillment among individuals, groups and human societies, in practice suffer from distortions. Although they continue to appeal to the idea of justice, nevertheless experience shows that other negative forces have gained the upper hand over justice, such as spite, hatred and even cruelty. In such cases, the desire to annihilate the enemy, limit his freedom, or even force him into total dependence, becomes the fundamental motive for action; and this contrasts with the essence of justice, which by its nature tends to establish equality and harmony between the parties in conflict. This kind of abuse of the idea of justice and the practical distortion of it show how far human action can deviate from justice itself, even when it is being undertaken in the name of justice. Not in vain did Christ challenge His listeners, faithful to the doctrine of the Old Testament, for their attitude which was manifested in the words: An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth."111 This was the form of distortion of justice at that time; and today's forms continue to be modeled on it. It is obvious, in fact, that in the name of an alleged justice (for example, historical justice or class justice) the neighbor is sometimes destroyed, killed, deprived of liberty or stripped of fundamental human rights. The experience of the past and of our own time demonstrates that justice alone is not enough, that it can even lead to the negation and destruction of itself, if that deeper power, which is love, is not allowed to shape human life in its various dimensions. It has been precisely historical experience that, among other things, has led to the formulation of the saying: summum ius, summa iniuria. This statement does not detract from the value of justice and does not minimize the significance of the order that is based upon it; it only indicates, under another aspect, the need to draw from the powers of the spirit which condition the very order of justice, powers which are still more profound. 

The Church, having before her eyes the picture of the generation to which we belong, shares the uneasiness of so many of the people of our time. Moreover, one cannot fail to be worried by the decline of many fundamental values, which constitute an unquestionable good not only for Christian morality but simply for human morality, for moral culture: these values include respect for human life from the moment of conception, respect for marriage in its indissoluble unity, and respect for the stability of the family. Moral permissiveness strikes especially at this most sensitive sphere of life and society. Hand in hand with this go the crisis of truth in human relationships, lack of responsibility for what one says, the purely utilitarian relationship between individual and individual, the loss of a sense of the authentic common good and the ease with which this good is alienated. Finally, there is the "desacralization" that often turns into "dehumanization": the individual and the society for whom nothing is "sacred" suffer moral decay, in spite of appearances.

[Pope John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia]

For salvation there is 'one ticket in'. But with a few caveats. First of all, it is free; and then the holders will surely be women and men who are 'in need of care and healing in body and soul'. It is easy to imagine that in the first places are 'sinners, the poor and the sick', the so-called 'last ones' in short. Celebrating Mass at Santa Marta on Tuesday, 7 November, Pope Francis revived the Gospel image - taken from the passage in Luke (14:15-24) - of the banquet to which the master of the house invites "the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame" after the refusal of the rich who do not understand the value of the gratuitousness of salvation.

"The Gospel texts we have heard this week, these last days, are framed in a banquet," Francis was quick to point out. It is "the Lord who goes to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to dine and there he is rebuked because he does not do his ablutions". Then, the Pope continued, "during the banquet the Lord advises us not to seek the first places because there is the danger that one who is more important will come and the host will say, 'Give way to this one, move over!' That would be a disgrace."

"The passage continues," said the Pontiff, "with the advice the Lord gives to those who are to be invited to a banquet at home". And he points precisely to "those who cannot give you reciprocation, that is, those who have nothing to give you in return". Here is "the gratuitousness of the banquet". So "when he had finished explaining this, one of the diners - this is today's passage - said to Jesus, 'Blessed is he who takes food in the kingdom of God!'" The Lord "answered him with a parable, without explanation, of this man who gave a great dinner and made many guests". But "the first guests did not want to go to dinner, they cared neither about the dinner nor about the people who were there, nor about the Lord who was inviting them: they cared about other things".

And in fact one after the other they began to apologise, So, the Pope pointed out, 'the first one said to him: "I bought a field"; the other: "I bought five pairs of oxen"; another: "I got married"; but each had his own interest and this interest was greater than the invitation'. The fact is, said Francis, that 'these were attached to the interest: what can I gain? So to a free invitation the answer is: 'I don't care, maybe another day, I'm so busy, I can't go'. "Busy" but for his own "interests: busy like that man who wanted, after the harvest of grain, to make stores to enlarge his possessions. Poor man, he died that night".

These people are attached "to interest to such an extent that" they fall into "a slavery of the spirit" and "are incapable of understanding the gratuitousness of the invitation". But "if one does not understand the gratuitousness of God's invitation, one understands nothing," the Pope warned. God's initiative, in fact, "is always gratuitous: what do you have to pay to go to this banquet? The entrance ticket is to be sick, is to be poor, is to be a sinner". Precisely this 'is the ticket of entry: to be needy both in body and soul'. And 'by need', Francis reiterated, is meant 'needing care, needing healing, needing love'.

"Here," the Pontiff explained, "we see the two attitudes". God's "is always gratuitous: to save God does not charge anything, he is free". And also, Francis added, "we say the word, somewhat abstractly, 'universal'", in the sense that to the servant "the 'angry' master" says: "Go out immediately to the squares, to the streets of the city and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, the lame". In Matthew's other version, the master says: "good and bad: all, everyone", because "God's gratuitousness has no limits: everyone, he receives everyone".

"Instead, those who have their own interest," the Pope continued, "do not understand gratuitousness. They are like the son who stayed by his father's side when the youngest left and then, after a long time, he came back poor and the father makes feast and this one does not want to enter that feast, he does not want to enter that feast because he does not understand: "He spent all the money, he spent the inheritance, with the vices, with the sins, you make him feast? And I who am a Catholic, practical, I go to mass every Sunday, I fulfil things, nothing to me?".

The fact is that 'he does not understand the gratuitousness of salvation, he thinks that salvation is the fruit of "I pay and you save me": I pay with this, with this'. Instead "no, salvation is gratuitous". And "if you do not enter into this dynamic of gratuitousness you understand nothing".

Salvation in fact, Francis affirmed, "is a gift from God to which one responds with another gift, the gift of my heart". However, there are those 'who have other interests, when they hear about the gifts: "Yes, it is true, yes, but gifts must be given". And they immediately think: 'Here, I will give this gift and he will give me another one tomorrow and the day after'". Thus there is "always reciprocation".

Instead "the Lord asks nothing in return: only love, faithfulness, as he is love and he is faithful". Because "salvation is not bought, one simply enters the banquet: 'Blessed is he who takes food in the kingdom of God!'". And 'this is salvation'.

In fact, the Pope confided, "I ask myself: what do these people who are unwilling to come to this banquet feel? They feel secure, they feel safe, they feel saved in their own way outside the banquet". And 'they have lost the sense of gratuitousness, they have lost the sense of love and they have lost something greater and more beautiful still, and this is very bad: they have lost the capacity to feel loved'. And, he added, 'when you lose - I am not saying the capacity to love, because that can be recovered - the capacity to feel loved, there is no hope: you have lost everything'.

Moreover, the Pontiff concluded, all this 'makes us think of the words written at the door of Dante's inferno "Leave hope": you have lost everything'. On our part, we must instead look at the master of the house who wants his house to be filled: 'he is so loving that in his gratuitousness he wants to fill the house'. And so "we ask the Lord to save us from losing the capacity to feel loved".

[Pope Francis, S. Marta homily, in L'Osservatore Romano 08/11/2017]

Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

On the occasion of the recent passing of my parents, to the torment of the illness and the loss of both (soon) was added the annoyance of an environment that continued to give me "condolences".

As for good manners, of course, but who has assimilated the language of the Faith does not mourn anyone, nor does he speak of "dead" but of Deceased ones. They live.

Not as survivors of the blows that life holds, but as ‘dilated’, authentic, adorned ones - and finally fully realized.

Women and men… ‘blossomed’ in everything, experiencing a new kind of being in their own essence; a different existence.

As in an atmosphere of pure love, where like Jesus we no longer live for ourselves, but one with the other and one for the other.

With no pressing chronometers, nor abandonments.

The term comes from the Latin verb «defungor» [infinitive «defungi»] which indicates the partial term of a story, not a total fulfillment.

Not a definitive border that would open on the nullifying and cavernous abyss of lost shadows or larvae without momentum, devoid of identity and future - after the transit in time.

The condolences [from the Latin «cum-dolēre»] turned willingly within a purely pagan mentality or linked to an archetypal sense of religiosity.

That kind of conviction led relatives and friends to grieve - a hopeless cry - which Jesus openly rebukes [Jn 11:33 Greek text; some translations are uncertain].

To believe that with death everything ends means to imagine that existence is a progressive decay into the void.

This conviction makes any path of growth, even spiritual, consider absurd. And it postulates the senselessness of getting involved, of committing oneself to the ideal of the lasting Good - for a Beautiful that continues beyond our earthly life and in favor of our neighbour.

“Condolences” therefore indicate in themselves that everything is over.

In the epigraph on the portal of a cemetery of a town not too far from me we read an inscription in large letters: «here over the centuries lay affections vanity hopes».

The cold of the end of all beautiful things, and the "ice" of the neoclassical revisited in early twentieth century style... perfectly matched on whitewashed travertine coating.

Instead, Hope attracts us and refreshes the spirit, overcomes outrage, gives meaning to our going.

Already the believers of the first centuries had supplanted the pagan idea of the appointment of our sister death as «dies infaustus», replacing it in its opposite: «dies Natalis».

Day of true Birth, within the same Life now complete, healed.

Life, which precisely proceeds - beyond the temporal or locality parameters. 

Without the fatigue of existing that we experience. Immersed in the vastness of being.

Life without the struggles against oneself, and which continues in the satisfying, blessing Embrace of a Father who does not depersonalize but expands the character existence, the qualities of his sons.

In this blossoming full of light and warmth we are as if we were refounded on the prototype-Project of the authentic Son.

Alliance Trait that we should and perhaps could have been.

Overwhelmed ones with blissful Happiness, for our shadow-part is now included; devoid of judgments and comments.

[Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed,  November 2]

(Commemoration of All the Faithful Deceased)

"I see these fearful spaces of the universe surrounding me, and I find myself attached to a corner of this immensity, without knowing why I am placed in this place rather than in another, nor why the little time that is given to me to live is assigned to me at this point rather than in another from all the eternity that has preceded me and from all the eternity that succeeds me. I see nothing but infinite extensions on all sides, enclosing me like an atom and like a shadow that lasts but an instant without return. All I know is that I must soon die; but what I most ignore is this death itself, from which I cannot escape" [Pascal, Pensées, 194].

On the occasion of my parents' recent passing, the heartbreak of illness and the loss of both of them (soon) was compounded by the annoyance of an environment that kept on giving me 'condolences'.

As out of good manners, of course, but those who have assimilated the language of the Faith do not offer condolences, nor do they speak of 'the dead' but of the departed. They live.

Not as survivors of the blows that life has in store, but as fully realised, authentic, adorned gods.

Women and men blossomed into everything, who have experienced a new kind of being in their essence, a different kind of existence.

As in an atmosphere of pure love, where (like Jesus) one no longer lives for oneself, but one with the other and one for the other.

Without the pressing chronometers, nor the abandonments.

The term defunct comes from the Latin verb 'defungor' [infinitive 'defungi'] which indicates the partial end of an event, not a total fulfilment.

Not a definitive boundary that would open on the nullifying and cavernous abyss of lost shadows or larvae without momentum, devoid of identity and future - after transit through time.

Condolences' [from the Latin 'cum-dolēre'] were willingly offered within a purely pagan mentality or linked to an archetypal sense of religiosity.

That kind of conviction induced in relatives and friends an affliction - a hopeless weeping - that Jesus openly reproaches [John 11,33 Greek text; the Italian translation is uncertain].

To believe that with death everything ends is to imagine that existence is a progressive decay into emptiness.

Such a belief makes any path of growth, even spiritual growth, seem absurd. And it postulates the absurdity of involving oneself, of committing oneself to the ideal of lasting Good - to a Good that continues beyond our earthly vicissitude (and in favour of our neighbour).

The condolences thus stand for themselves to indicate that all is over.

An epigraph on the portal of a cemetery in a town not too far from me reads in large letters: 'here in the centuries lay affections vanities hopes'.

The cold of the end of all beautiful things, and the 'ice' of the neoclassical revisited in early 20th century style... perfectly matched on whitewashed travertine cladding.

Instead, Hope attracts us and refreshes the spirit, overcomes outrage, gives meaning to our going.

Already the believers of the first centuries had supplanted the pagan idea of the appointment of our sister death as 'dies infaustus', replacing it with its opposite: 'dies Natalis'.

Day of the true Birth, within the same Life; now complete, restored.

Life, which indeed continues - beyond the parameters of time or location. 

Without the fatigue of existing that we experience. Immersed in the vastness of being.

Life without the struggles against self, and which continues in the satisfying, blessing embrace of a Father who does not depersonalise but dilates the character existence, the qualities of his children.

In such a blossoming full of light and warmth we are as if refounded on the prototype-Project of the authentic Son.

Covenant trait that we were meant to be and perhaps could be.

Overwhelmed with blissful Happiness, because our shadow-part is now included; free of judgement and commentary.

In "Hope of the Mustard Wheat" we read a gem by Joseph Ratzinger, who had the guts to write words to be seriously carved on the friezes of entablatures (in place of other superficialities for effect - unfortunately widespread):

"Today it seems clear that the fire of Judgement of which the Bible speaks does not indicate some kind of prison of the afterlife, but rather the Lord Himself who at the moment of judgement meets with man [...]".

"In the man who presents himself to the gaze of the Lord, everything in his life that is 'straw and hay' burns away and only that which can really have substance remains. And it means that through the encounter with Christ, man is recast and reshaped according to what he was meant to be and could properly be. The fundamental option of such a man is the Yes that makes him capable of accepting God's mercy; but this fundamental decision is many times numbed and shrivelled, it only peeps out with difficulty from the shackles of selfishness from which man has never been able to free himself. The encounter with the Lord is this transformation, the fire that burns and melts him, making him become that figure, that form without dross that can become the vessel of eternal Joy.

The fire that burns: Christ himself

Some recent theologians are of the opinion that the fire that both burns and saves is Christ Himself, the Judge and Saviour. The encounter with Him is the decisive act of Judgement. Before His gaze all falsehood melts away. It is the encounter with Him that, by burning us, transforms us and frees us to become truly ourselves. The things built up during life can then turn out to be dry straw, empty boasting and collapse. But in the pain of this encounter, in which the impure and unhealthy in our being become evident to us, lies salvation. His gaze, the touch of his heart heals us through a transformation that is certainly painful 'as through fire'. It is, however, a blessed sorrow, in which the holy power of his love penetrates us like a flame, enabling us in the end to be totally ourselves and thereby totally of God. Thus the interpenetration of righteousness and grace is also made evident: our way of life is not irrelevant, but our filthiness does not stain us eternally, if at least we have remained inclined towards Christ, towards truth and towards love. After all, this filth has already been burnt away in the Passion of Christ. At the moment of Judgement we experience and embrace this prevailing of his love over all evil in the world and in us. The pain of love becomes our salvation and our joy. It is clear that the "duration" of this transforming burning cannot be calculated by the chronometric measures of this world. The transforming "moment" of this encounter eludes earthly timing - it is time of the heart, time of the "passage" to communion with God in the Body of Christ. The Judgement of God is hope both because it is justice and because it is grace. If it were merely grace that renders all that is earthly irrelevant, God would remain indebted to us for the answer to the question of justice - a question that is decisive for us before history and God himself. If it were pure justice, it could in the end only be a cause for fear for all of us. The incarnation of God in Christ has so linked the one with the other - judgement and grace - that justice is firmly established: we all await our salvation "with fear and trembling" (Phil 2:12). Nevertheless, grace enables us all to hope and to go full of confidence towards the Judge whom we know as our "advocate", parakletos (cf. 1 Jn 2:1).

[Pope Benedict, Encyclical Spe Salvi no.47]

12. I think that in this very precise and permanently valid way, Augustine is describing man's essential situation, the situation that gives rise to all his contradictions and hopes. In some way we want life itself, true life, untouched even by death; yet at the same time we do not know the thing towards which we feel driven. We cannot stop reaching out for it, and yet we know that all we can experience or accomplish is not what we yearn for. This unknown “thing” is the true “hope” which drives us, and at the same time the fact that it is unknown is the cause of all forms of despair and also of all efforts, whether positive or destructive, directed towards worldly authenticity and human authenticity. The term “eternal life” is intended to give a name to this known “unknown”. Inevitably it is an inadequate term that creates confusion. “Eternal”, in fact, suggests to us the idea of something interminable, and this frightens us; “life” makes us think of the life that we know and love and do not want to lose, even though very often it brings more toil than satisfaction, so that while on the one hand we desire it, on the other hand we do not want it. To imagine ourselves outside the temporality that imprisons us and in some way to sense that eternity is not an unending succession of days in the calendar, but something more like the supreme moment of satisfaction, in which totality embraces us and we embrace totality—this we can only attempt. It would be like plunging into the ocean of infinite love, a moment in which time—the before and after—no longer exists. We can only attempt to grasp the idea that such a moment is life in the full sense, a plunging ever anew into the vastness of being, in which we are simply overwhelmed with joy. This is how Jesus expresses it in Saint John's Gospel: “I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you” (16:22). We must think along these lines if we want to understand the object of Christian hope, to understand what it is that our faith, our being with Christ, leads us to expect.

[Pope Benedict, Spe salvi]

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

1. After having celebrated yesterday the Solemnity of All Saints, today, 2 November, our prayerful gaze is directed toward those who have departed from this world and are awaiting arrival into the Heavenly City. The Church has always strongly advised that we pray for the dead. She invites believers to regard the mystery of death not as the "last word" of human destiny but rather as a passage to eternal life. As we read in the Preface of today's Mass:  "When the body of our earthly dwelling lies in death we gain an everlasting dwelling place in heaven". 

2. It is an important obligation to pray for the dead, because even if they have died in grace and in God's friendship, they may still need final purification in order to enter the joy of Heaven (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 1030). Prayer for the dead is expressed in various ways, one of which is also visiting the cemeteries. Pausing in these sacred places becomes an ideal occasion to reflect on the meaning of earthly life and at the same time to nourish hope in the blessed eternity of Paradise. 

May Mary, Gate of Heaven, help us never to forget and never to lose sight of the Heavenly Homeland, the final destination of our pilgrimage here on earth.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 2 November 2003]