26th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [27 September 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel (18:25–28)

To understand Ezekiel’s prophecy, we must recall the dramatic context in which he speaks. In 597 BC, many inhabitants of Jerusalem were deported to Babylon by Nebuchadnezzar’s army. Jerusalem had been devastated, the Temple desecrated, and the population decimated. The exiles found themselves far from the Promised Land and from everything that had given meaning to their lives. Faced with such a tragedy, the question arose spontaneously: ‘What have we done to God to deserve all this?’. At that time, it was widely believed that there was a direct correlation between a person’s behaviour and what happened to them: the righteous are rewarded and the sinner punished. For this reason, the exiles repeated a proverb: ‘The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge’ (Ezekiel 18:2). In other words: we are paying for the sins of our fathers and of previous generations.

Ezekiel breaks with this mindset. God says through the prophet: ‘You shall no longer repeat this proverb in Israel.’ No one is condemned to live under the burden of others’ sins. Every person is called to answer for their own choices. And here a great new truth emerges: the past does not definitively determine the future. If the wicked turn away from their ways, practise righteousness and justice, repent and return to God, they may live. ‘If the wicked turn away from all the sins they have committed, […] they shall live’ (cf. Ezekiel 18:21). It is an extraordinarily relevant message: no one is a prisoner of their own past, but it is always possible to start afresh, and this frees people from the belief that they are condemned to pay for the sins of others and restores to them the possibility of hope. No past is so burdensome as to prevent a fresh start. Even in times of trial, God opens up a new path before us. Hope springs precisely from the certainty that God’s mercy always leaves open the possibility of a fresh start.  Conversion, from a biblical perspective, is precisely a change of direction, a ‘returning’ to God. Ezekiel also reminds us that true conversion does not consist merely of words or religious practices: it is manifested concretely in the practice of law and justice, that is, in the way we treat others.

Responsorial Psalm (24/25) 

The words ‘way’, ‘road’, ‘path’ and the verb ‘guide me’ recur several times in the Psalm: ‘Lord, make me know your ways; teach me your paths. Guide me in your truth and instruct me, for you are the God of my salvation… The Lord shows sinners the way; he guides the poor in righteousness and teaches the humble his way’. The theme of the journey is characteristic of penitential psalms. God’s Law—that is, his commandments—is like a sort of ‘highway code’. The speaker is a sinner who recognises that he has gone astray, that he has taken the wrong path, and asks God to bring him back onto the right path. It is no coincidence that, in the Bible, to ‘convert’ literally means ‘to turn back’, ‘to turn round’. And it is never too late to turn back. In the first reading, Ezekiel reminded us that a future is always possible: no one is definitively condemned by their past. That is why we can still pray: ‘Lord, teach me your ways’. What is asked of us? First and foremost, not perfection, but humility: ‘The Lord teaches the humble his way’. The Hebrew word anawim, translated as ‘the humble’ or ‘the poor’, refers to those who recognise that they are poor, fragile, without resources and in need of God. They are the ‘poor in spirit’, those who are able to pray simply: ‘Lord, have mercy on me’. Their plea is already a call for conversion: ‘Lord, teach me your way’. And the ‘I’ speaking in the Psalm is not merely an individual, but the entire people. Psalm 24/25 was probably used in penitential celebrations in the Temple in Jerusalem, which is why there is a constant interplay between ‘I’ and ‘we’ in biblical prayer. The Psalm speaks in the first person, but at the end it says: ‘Deliver Israel, O God, from all its troubles’. The ‘I’ therefore encompasses the ‘we’. The biblical person possesses a strong sense of solidarity across generations: the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is the God of their descendants; the Covenant with Noah, Abraham and Moses concerns not only the individual, but the whole people. Today, however, our society often tends to place the individual, their freedom and their personal rights at the centre, sometimes at the expense of the communal dimension. The Bible has taken a different path: it has progressively discovered the importance of the individual without ever separating them from the community. This is one of the great riches of biblical revelation: the individual is not lost within the community, nor is the community forgotten in favour of the individual. We are personally responsible, yet at the same time we stand in deep solidarity with one another. For this reason, in the Psalm, that humble and trusting sinner is at once each one of us and the entire community of believers. Finally, there is a particularly beautiful detail: the Psalm continually plays on the theme of memory and forgetfulness: ‘Remember, Lord, your mercy… Do not remember the sins of my youth… Do not forget me’. It is almost a prayer that God might have a ‘selective memory’: that he might forget our sins and remember his mercy instead!

It is a bold prayer, yet also one of profound humility. Bold, because it springs from trust in the Covenant; humble, because it acknowledges one’s own sin and frailty. Man asks God: ‘Do not remember what I have been; remember instead who You are: merciful, faithful, slow to anger and great in love.’ After all, even in the Old Testament, Israel had discovered something surprising: God is not merely the Judge, but a Father full of tenderness and mercy. And so the prayer of the Psalm can also become our own: “Lord, when I have gone astray, teach me your way. When I have fallen, show me that I can return. When I recognise my own poverty and fragility, guide me. Do not remember my sins: remember your mercy. And grant that my ‘I’ may never forget the ‘we’ of the community of your children”.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul to the Philippians (2:1–11)

On Palm Sunday, every year we hear above all the second part of this text, the part that contemplates the mystery of Christ: ‘Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped’. Today, however, let us focus on the first part, in which Paul explains to us how to live ‘in Christ’. Paul uses this expression at the beginning and end of the passage: ‘If, then, there is any consolation in Christ…’ and then: ‘Have in you the same mindset as Christ Jesus’. Between these two statements, he lists the attitudes that must characterise the Christian life: comfort, love, fellowship, tenderness, compassion. It is no coincidence that these are the very same attributes with which God is described in the Old Testament. Being ‘in Christ’ is therefore not merely a figure of speech. From the moment of Baptism, we belong to Christ; we are incorporated into Him and become members of His Body. This new identity transcends all our differences: cultural, social, economic and physical. We now have a common name: Christians. It is like what happens in a large family: when we meet, before any other differences, we recognise that we belong to the same family. It is this profound sense of belonging that should characterise the Christian community. Paul says: ‘Have the same mindset, the same love, one spirit and one purpose’. It is as if he were telling us: honour the family to which you belong; honour the name you bear. Then comes a surprising expression: ‘Consider others better than yourselves’. This does not mean belittling oneself or thinking one is inferior. The Gospel does not ask us to rank people as superior or inferior. The Kingdom of God does not operate according to the logic of competition and comparison. The point is quite another: to learn to look at others with a positive gaze, almost with an attitude of admiration, seeking to see not what they possess, but what they are. The differences we see – physical, cultural, social, economic – belong above all to the dimension of ‘having’. Paul, on the other hand, leads us into the dimension of ‘being’: ‘ ‘As many of you as were baptised into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ’ (Gal 3:27). When I meet another baptised person, therefore, I must not stop at what is apparent. I must remember that they are a member of the Body of Christ, a temple of the Holy Spirit, and that they have a personal vocation, different from my own, yet necessary to God’s plan. Everyone possesses a gift that no one else can replace. Because of the mission God has entrusted to them, the other person may be ‘better’ than me, in the sense that they possess what I do not possess and can accomplish what I cannot. For this reason, they also need my esteem, my encouragement and my trust. The important thing is not to determine who is worth more, but to know what mission God entrusts to each individual and to the community as a whole. Every person is called to contribute to the building of the Kingdom according to the gift received from the Spirit. Finally, there is a great truth contained in this text: the Kingdom of God is already present, but it has yet to be fulfilled in our lives. In Christ, indeed, God’s plan to reunite humanity has already begun and, through Baptism, we have been incorporated into this reality. But what is already true in Christ must also gradually become true in our daily lives. Our being ‘in Christ’ cannot remain merely an inner reality or a simple religious formula: it must tangibly transform the way we view, welcome and treat others, both Christians and non-Christians. And here we understand the profound link between the two parts of the text. First, Paul tells us how those who are ‘in Christ’ should live; then he shows us how Christ himself lived: not seeking his own advantage, but humbling himself, becoming a servant and giving himself even to the point of death on the cross. For this reason, the Christological hymn is not merely a beautiful contemplation of Jesus: it is the concrete measure of our lives. ‘Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus’. To be Christian, therefore, means allowing the very movement of Christ to enter our lives: not asserting ourselves against others, but giving of ourselves; not seeking to be superior, but serving; not focusing on what the other possesses, but recognising who they are before God. It is in this way that what Christ has already accomplished becomes, day by day, a reality lived out in the Church and in the world. 

From the Gospel according to Matthew (21:28–32)

‘Which of the two did the will of his father?’ This question from Jesus seems simple, almost too simple. Once again we find ourselves in the vineyard, as we did last Sunday. A father asks his two sons to go and work in the vineyard. The first replies ‘no’, but then changes his mind and goes; the second replies straight away: ‘Yes, sir’, but then does not go. Jesus asks the chief priests and the elders: ‘Which of the two did the will of his father?’ Clearly, he does not wish to test them with a simple riddle: he wants to open their eyes. The answer is obvious: the first. And it is precisely then that Jesus applies the parable to his listeners: you are like the second son. You say ‘yes’ to God; you are religious people, you know the Law, you await the Messiah and pray for his coming; yet when God sends him to you, you do not recognise him and you do not accept his word. It was the Father’s will that his people—and above all his religious authorities—should welcome his Envoy, the Messiah, Jesus. Herein lies the tragedy that will lead to the Passion: precisely those who seemed best prepared to welcome the Messiah will be the ones who refuse to recognise him. Jesus then utters a very strong statement: ‘Tax collectors and prostitutes will enter the Kingdom of God before you.’ He is not praising them because they are sinners. Their sin is certainly no cause for merit. Rather, they are like the younger son: they began by saying ‘no’, but then changed their ways. What happened? They believed the preaching of John the Baptist. John had called everyone to repentance: ‘Bear fruit worthy of repentance.’ The tax collectors and prostitutes, precisely because they recognised their own poverty and sinfulness, were able to listen. The religious authorities, on the other hand, refused to believe John and later Jesus. Matthew probably links this parable to the events that had just taken place in Jerusalem. At the beginning of chapter 21, Jesus had entered the city and the crowd had welcomed him as the Messiah, shouting: ‘Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’ (Ps 117/118:26). But this enthusiasm was not shared by the chief priests and the elders. When Jesus was teaching in the Temple, they asked him: ‘By what authority are you doing these things? Who gave you this authority?’ In reality, the problem was precisely this: in their eyes, Jesus did not possess the necessary authority to speak in God’s name. Jesus, as is often the case, does not answer directly. He asks them: ‘Where did John’s baptism come from: from heaven or from men?’ They do not dare to reply, because any answer would have put them in a difficult position: to acknowledge John would have meant acknowledging his testimony about Jesus as well.

That is why Jesus tells the parable of the two sons. It is almost a final appeal for their conversion. Jesus does not wish to exclude anyone: he desires the salvation of all. If he speaks harshly, it is because time is now running out: we are on the eve of the Passion. But what had John the Baptist said? He had denounced precisely that religious self-assurance which prevents conversion: ‘Do not say amongst yourselves: “We have Abraham as our father.”’ It is not enough to belong to the chosen people, to know the Law or to hold a religious position. One must bear the fruits of conversion. Perhaps this was the real problem with the authorities: a certain certainty that they already possessed the truth about God, to the point where they were no longer capable of allowing themselves to be challenged by his word.

The tax collectors and the prostitutes, on the other hand, precisely because they recognised themselves as sinners and the poor before God, had more open ears and hearts. The problem, therefore, is not simply being a sinner or being religious. The problem is becoming so certain of one’s own convictions that one is no longer able to hear God when He speaks in a way that differs from what we expect. The parable thus presents us with a much deeper question. It is not enough to say ‘yes’ to God with our lips. Faith is recognised in our lives. It is not enough to know the Father’s will: we must carry it out. And the question that Jesus puts to the religious leaders becomes, today, a question for each of us: Have I truly entered the Father’s vineyard? Does my ‘yes’ to God find expression in my everyday life? Am I still capable of hearing a word that calls me to change? Or do I think I already know everything about God and leave no room for conversion?

The parable of the two sons goes even deeper than that of the labourers of the last hour. There, Jesus questioned the way we judge God’s mercy towards others; here, he questions our very piety. Ultimately, Jesus is not merely asking us: ‘Do you say “yes” to God?’, but: ‘Are you doing the Father’s will?’ Because in the Lord’s vineyard, it is not only what we say that counts, but the concrete response of our lives.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Two sons: «No» and «Me!»

(Mt 21:28-32)

In the rabbis' tales the «Son» was only one: Israel! In the teaching of Christ, however, even a reckless remains a son.

The Master of the Vineyard image of the chosen people, turns to his «prototype» of man with tenderness and maternal bowels: «My little child».

He tries to make him understand: «The unfamiliar land is full of dissensions and grudges, instead the Vineyard is yours; committed therefore to building the world of joy».

But it is basically normal to desist: «I don’t want to» - because we are often attracted not by the Beatitudes, but to worldly criteria.

Working for the life of others, recognizing their dignity and promoting it does not arise immediately and spontaneously to everyone; on the contrary, it seems onerous.

Yet it is the difference that gives us the cue, not the rule or the reproach.

The perception of what appears “foreign” becomes a rare insight into one's own essence, a dilation of the Ego - a growing movement and process that leads to an understanding of the You in the Ego itself.

Trivial instinctive reactions must be understood, because pre-emptive condemnations block growth.

Eccentricity of the brother is the paradoxical starting point for finding himself and one’s own way.

Of course, repulsion can emerge at first; there is no need to be scandalized, nor to accuse. Recovering the deep human dimension is not a piece of cake.

Moreover, we know from experience: the most convinced ‘Yes’ passes through an initial ‘No’.

The inner struggle is to be reckoned with - finally it itself will affect far beyond formal adherence.

In short, the truest ‘Yes’ comes from a request for explanation.

Although the habitual are ready to show the best intentions right away, they become all showcase and no substance; and only empty words.

The Father therefore turned to the promises’ son: «I, Lord!». How to say: «There is Me here; why think of others?».

The exaggeratedly kindred and positive reaction indicates that the customary son... did not understand.

This “son” certainly disagreed with the Father’s design - so deep and demanding - and he thought in his own way how one behaves in the Vineyard. 

Therefore, he beluded himself to be benefitted, instead of Saved.

In short, the choice is between Faith or protocols: «By now, various manifest sinners are surpassing you» (v.31).

[The discrimination of life in the Spirit? The exception that becomes promotion].

Women and men respond «Here I am» to the Appeal because they are intimately persuaded, not by external influence - of labels.

True friends of vital energy are not the conventions.

In such a way, compared to the different ancient beliefs, an intrinsic side of Jesus' Invitation is the adult mind.

It excludes adherent solutions [common or elitist]: they enclose souls in a condition of dependence, with illusory progress.

In the communities of Galilee and Syria the pagans quickly became a majority - elevated to the rank of sons.

They did not submit to nerve-wracking processes, but spontaneously were recognizing the Lord.

“Contrary” Moral: never trust those who rush to say: «Yes sir!».

[26th Sunday in O.T. (year A),  September 27, 2026]

Two sons: «No» and «Me!»

(Mt 21:28-32)

Matthew writes half a century after the death of the Master and notes that the majority of Abraham's children - his people - did not recognise Jesus as the Messiah.

In his communities in Galilee and Syria, pagans quickly became the majority - elevated to the rank of children.

They did not undergo gruelling trials, but spontaneously recognised the Lord.

It is an invitation to the veterans of the church who are still Judaizing to review their religiosity (much of it superficial), which believes it has understood everything but fails to grasp the essence of God's plan for humanity - and does not set out to do the "work".

[Reassuring cults, traditional legalism or hysterical dreams only save appearances].

Matthew wants churchgoers not to have any presumption of feeling that they are in the right, almost by birthright.

Like Peter (Matthew 16:16-28), senior leaders were sometimes willing to commit themselves to a Messiah they only had in their heads - not to bear witness to the Lamb committed to transmitting life to the new; to rejoice in it, promote it, and give it.

[Of course, today we are not qualified to identify with the 'third son', the one who... 'says "yes, sir" and works'].

It is the supposed dregs of society, those excluded from the kingdom of God (vv. 31b-32) who 'take the place' of the leaders - those who have sophisticated ideas or the same 'correct' tradition.

Compared to the top of the class, the newcomers were no more deserving than the experts and the habitual, but being without a respectable screen, they gradually became willing to love.

Those whom the ancient leaders considered responsible for the delay of the Kingdom were not yet deaf to the Word.

After all, even Judas repented.

Leaders who feel they are fulfilling their duties or are great reformers and phenomena will never convert.

That is why the Master was more at ease with those who were different than with sterile religious people or disembodied idealists.

In short: we must allow ourselves to be evaluated.

We need to question ourselves, stop and ask ourselves, 'What do you think?' (v. 21).

After the expulsion of the merchants, the authorities are furious because Jesus has declared that the Temple of Jerusalem is a den of thieves.

How naive! One does not touch the one god of the ancient holy places, the real one: the bag of the guides and the treasure of the priests involved.

Those most responsible for the black market in the sacred enclosure do not want to lose face.

They appear to be believers and loyal, but only when viewed from the outside.

Their inner eye and their well-hidden activity behind the scenes focus on anything but spiritual goods.

Their one god is called convenience. So it is to them that the Master addresses the parable.

And the beginning is already provocative... In the rabbis' stories, there was only one 'son': Israel!

For Christ, however, even a wayward son remains a son [what do we think of this, for example... starting with catechism and ending with spiritual exercises?].

The Master of the Vineyard, an image of the chosen people, addresses [in the new CEI translation, initially] his 'prototype' of man with tenderness and maternal affection: 'My little son'.

He tries to make him understand: 'The unfamiliar land is full of dissent and resentment, but the Vineyard is yours; so commit yourself to building a world of joy'.

But it is normal to be stubborn: 'I don't feel like it' - because we are often attracted not by the Beatitudes, but by the worldly criteria of having, power and appearance; of keeping for ourselves, climbing over others and dominating them.

Working for the benefit of others, recognising their dignity and promoting it, does not come naturally and spontaneously to everyone.

On the contrary, it seems burdensome - at least until we are able to understand the value of our brothers and sisters for ourselves (and see 'ourselves' in 'their' faces).

It is only a journey of life in the Spirit that makes us ready to recognise that the You urges, expands, enriches and completes the I.

To truly encounter others means to have encountered ourselves, in the multifaceted nature of our own sides.

It is not easy. In fact, it is easier to identify with or be supportive from a distance than to be fraternal.

It is difficult to eliminate selfishness, which is a creaturely fact that must be integrated to enrich everyone, rather than falsely exorcised.

In short: 'otherness' is not just an appeal, but a boundless source of wealth for myself; it speaks of my very being, in that very way.

But to understand love - including love for oneself - we all need time, experience, insight, growth in empathy and further exploration.

Then working on it is also demanding, starting from the innermost self.

It is obvious that we may instinctively pull back - at least until we begin to learn the deep connection with the distant that demands life [just as we always do, in the first person].

The perception of what appears 'foreign' becomes a rare intuition of one's own essence, an expansion of the Ego - a movement and a growing process that leads to understanding the You in the I.

The eccentricity of one's brother is the paradoxical starting point for finding oneself and one's path.

Building a new world can be repellent to nature (in some respects) marked by sin and withdrawal.

We need to understand banal instinctive reactions, because preventive condemnation blocks growth.

Only step by step do we become aware that authentic and full life brings out the divine Gold.

It accentuates the exquisitely human calibre that even the heavenly Father suggests - overcoming indifference to the yearning that at first glance seems not to concern us.

Of course, at first repulsion may surface; there is no need to be scandalised or to point fingers.

Recovering the profound human dimension is no easy task.

Then it is the difference that gives us the cue, not the 'rule' - nor the 'reprimand'. The latter do not activate anything authentic.

After all, we know from experience that the most convincing 'Yes' comes through an initial 'No'.

The inner struggle is to be expected - ultimately, it will have an impact far beyond a formal adherence.

There is no need to be indignant if someone responds with a flat refusal.

Then they will change their mind [v. 29 of the new CEI translation]: 'metamellomai'. And they will recover their radical character as a son and brother.

In order to grasp one's position and respond wisely to the Lord's proposals, one must sift through things.

This calls for discernment of one's roots, relationships, and oneself (in all one's diversities).

In short, the truest 'yes' comes from a request for explanation - which brings us into direct contact with the Source of our varied character - a condition that completes us.

Life is not about copying and tracing. We must beware of 'yes-men': they are acting out a fiction as a smokescreen.

Although those identified are 'ready and willing' to immediately show their best intentions, they become all show and no substance; ultimately, just empty words.

He therefore turned to the second [v.30 in the new CEI translation], who was in fact the firstborn of the promises: 'I, Lord!'.

As if to say: 'I am here; why think of others?'.

The exaggeratedly similar and positive reaction - in reality indifferent because it is habitual and perhaps calculated - indicates that the 'veteran of belief and adherence' has, at the very least, not understood...

He certainly did not agree with the Father's programme - so profound and demanding. He had his own ideas about how to behave in the Vineyard. 

Therefore, he deludes himself into thinking that he is at an advantage, rather than saved.

Faith and protocols

"Manifest sinners and various contaminants are passing you by"

(Mt 21:28-32; in particular v.31)

What is specific to Faith, which makes a difference, is not trusting the religious ideology of the best.

A belief is authentic if it can withstand being examined first-hand; the rest is artifice, mistrust with a trick.

Personal conviction passes through a spontaneous request for explanations [typical in this regard is the story of the two sons, who both say yes and no]. 

The discriminating factor of life in the Spirit? The exception that becomes promotion.

Compared to various ancient beliefs, an intrinsic aspect of Jesus' invitation is the adult mind.

It excludes adherent solutions (common or elitist): they enclose souls in a condition of dependence, with illusory progress.

Women and men respond 'Here I am' to the call because they are intimately persuaded, not because of external influences such as labels, rituals, protocols, officialdom, respect for canonical guidelines, other people's habits, and hearsay.

When the disciples ask him to increase their faith, Jesus does not even respond (Lk 17:6).

He does not say to improve this or that. It is impossible to chisel out love in measured stages.

Faith is not a gift to be sheltered away, which the Father gives only to some, but a relationship of creative trust that is kindled in response to the gratuitous, renewed, reinvigorated, repeatedly rejuvenated initiative of the Source of being - when, step by step, it is welcomed instead of rejected.

Not only is it a personal and varied proposal in itself, but it also wants to be reinterpreted and made lush with our own originality.

The only vigour to be introduced into events is a different face, not at all defensive, nor aimed at increasing the situation.

Because we are called to become what we are.

The soul guides us to encounter ourselves, frankly and not by following a complex set of external procedures - but, wave by wave.

So there are those who already have a lot of faith, others who have so-so faith, some who have just the right amount, or who lack faith altogether - perhaps waiting to find the Gift somewhere to put it in the safe and multiply their nest egg - always keeping it in the same hole in the wall.

The conformist, rigid and ambiguous idea of spiritual progress must therefore be eradicated.

It is not contained within the limits of the 'breach work' of a bricklayer who slavishly follows a plan. And he sweats and sweats to insert into some makeshift niche the identical treasure chest of everyone - received as a complete package.

Then, there are no favourites, nor outposts to defend it.

There are no rejects placed on the sidelines, nor 'average' troops according to guarding ability and performance.

In the authentic itinerary, there is no unilateral trajectory or way out [as if it were a single passage, already preformed in every detail].

Nor is there any slavish enrichment, as a model - considered possible for heroes apart, on a conventional ascetic basis.

These are not the true friends of vital energy.

Morality - on the contrary: never trust those who rush to say, 'Yes, sir!'.

There are theologians who, in the face of all the terrible things that happen in the world today, say that God cannot possibly be all-powerful. In response to this we profess God, the all-powerful Creator of heaven and earth. And we are glad and thankful that God is all-powerful. At the same time, we have to be aware that he exercises his power differently from the way we normally do. He has placed a limit on his power, by recognizing the freedom of his creatures. We are glad and thankful for the gift of freedom. However, when we see the terrible things that happen as a result of it, we are frightened. Let us put our trust in God, whose power manifests itself above all in mercy and forgiveness. Let us be certain, dear faithful, that God desires the salvation of his people. He desires our salvation, my salvation, the salvation of every single person. He is always close to us, especially in times of danger and radical change, and his heart aches for us, he reaches out to us. We need to open ourselves to him so that the power of his mercy can touch our hearts. We have to be ready freely to abandon evil, to raise ourselves from indifference and make room for his word. God respects our freedom. He does not constrain us. He is waiting for us to say “yes”, he as it were begs us to say “yes”.

In the Gospel Jesus takes up this fundamental theme of prophetic preaching. He recounts the parable of the two sons invited by their father to work in the vineyard. The first son responded: “‘I will not go’, but afterward he repented and went.” The other son said to the father: “‘I go, sir,’ but did not go.” When asked by Jesus which of the two sons did the father’s will, those listening rightly respond: “the first” (Mt 21:29-31). The message of the parable is clear: it is not words that matter, but deeds, deeds of conversion and faith. As we heard, Jesus directs this message to the chief priests and elders of the people of Israel, that is, to the religious experts of his people. At first they say “yes” to God’s will, but their piety becomes routine and God no longer matters to them. For this reason they find the message of John the Baptist and the message of Jesus disturbing. The Lord concludes his parable with harsh words: “Truly, the tax collectors and the harlots go into the Kingdom of God before you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the harlots believed him, and even when you saw it, you did not afterward repent and believe him” (Mt 21:32). Translated into the language of the present day, this statement might sound something like this: agnostics, who are constantly exercised by the question of God, those who long for a pure heart but suffer on account of their sin, are closer to the Kingdom of God than believers whose life of faith is “routine” and who regard the Church merely as an institution, without letting it touch their hearts, or letting the faith touch their hearts.

These words should make all of us stop and reflect, in fact they should disturb us. However, this is by no means to suggest that everyone who lives in the Church and works for her should be considered far from Jesus and the Kingdom of God. Absolutely not! On the contrary, this is a time to offer a word of profound gratitude to the many co-workers, employees and volunteers, without whom life in the parishes and in the entire Church would be hard to imagine. The Church in Germany has many social and charitable institutions through which the love of neighbour is practised in ways that bring social benefits and reach to the ends of the earth. At this moment I would like to express my gratitude and appreciation to all those working in Caritas Germany and in other church organizations who give their time and effort generously in voluntary service to the Church. In the first place, such service requires objective and professional expertise. But in the spirit of Jesus’ teaching something more is needed – an open heart that allows itself to be touched by the love of Christ, and thus gives to our neighbour, who needs us, something more than a technical service: it gives love, in which the other person is able to see Christ, the loving God. So let us ask ourselves, in the light of today’s Gospel, how is my personal relationship with God: in prayer, in participation at Sunday Mass, in exploring my faith through meditation on sacred Scripture and study of the Catechism of the Catholic Church? Dear friends, in the last analysis, the renewal of the Church will only come about through openness to conversion and through renewed faith.

The Gospel for this Sunday, as we saw, speaks of two sons, but behind them, in a mysterious way, is a third son. The first son says “no,” but does the father’s will. The second son says “yes,” but does not do what he was asked. The third son both says “yes” and does what he was asked. This third son is the Only-begotten Son of God, Jesus Christ, who has gathered us all here.

[Pope Benedict, homily at Freiburg, 25 September 2011]

The question about eternal life 

5. What must I do so that my life may have value, have meaning? This earnest question comes from the lips of the young man in the Gospel in the following form: "What must I do to inherit eternal life?". Is a person who puts the question in this form speaking a language still intelligible to the people of today? Are we not the generation whose horizon of existence is completely filled by the world and temporal progress? We think primarily in earthly categories. If we go beyond the limits of our planet, we do so in order to launch interplanetary flights, transmit signals to the other planets and send cosmic probes in their direction.

All this has become the content of our modern civilization. Science together with technology has discovered in an incomparable way man's possibilities with regard to matter, and they have also succeeded in dominating the interior world of his thoughts, capacities, tendencies and passions. 

But at the same time it is clear that, when we place ourselves in the presence of Christ, when he becomes the confidant of the questionings of our youth, we cannot put the question differently from how that young man put it: "What must I do to inherit eternal life?". Any other question about the meaning and value of our life would be, in the presence of Christ, insufficient and unessential.

For Christ is not only the "good teacher" who shows the paths of life on earth. He is the witness to that definitive destiny which the human person has in God himself. He is the witness to man's immortality. The Gospel which he proclaimed with his lips is definitively sealed by the Cross and the Resurrection in the Paschal Mystery. "Christ being raised from the dead will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him". In his Resurrection Christ has also become the permanent "sign of contradiction" before all programmes incapable of leading man beyond the frontier of death. Indeed at this frontier they silence all man's questionings about the value and meaning of life. In the face of all these programmes, the various ways of looking at the world and the various ideologies, Christ constantly repeats: "I am the resurrection and the life".

And so, dear brothers and dear sisters, if you wish to talk to Christ and to accept all the truth of his testimony, you must on the one hand "love the world" - for God "so loved the world that he gave his only Son" - and at the same time you must acquire interior detachment with regard to all this rich and fascinating reality that makes up "the world". You must make up your mind to ask the question about eternal life. For, the form of this world is passing away ", and each of us is subject to this passing. Man is born with the prospect of the day of his death in the dimension of the visible world; at the same time, man, whose interior reason for existence is to go beyond himself, also bears within himself everything whereby he goes beyond the world.

Everything whereby man, in himself, goes beyond the world- though he is rooted in it-is explained by the image and likeness of God which is inscribed in humanity from the beginning. And everything whereby man goes beyond the world not only justifies the question about eternal life but in fact makes it indispensable. This is the question that people have long been asking themselves, not only in the sphere of Christianity but also outside it. You too must find the courage to ask it, like the young man in the Gospel. Christianity teaches us to understand temporal existence from the perspective of the Kingdom of God, from the perspective of eternal life. Without eternal life, temporal existence, however rich, however highly developed in all aspects, in the end brings man nothing other than the ineluctable necessity of death.

Now there is an opposition between youth and death. Death seems far distant from youth. And it is. But since youth means the plan for the whole of life-the plan drawn up in accordance with the criterion of meaning and value during youth too it is essential to ask the question about the end. Human experience left to itself says the same as Sacred Scripture: "It is appointed for men to die once". The inspired writer adds: "And after that comes judgment". And Christ says: "I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die". So ask Christ, like the young man in the Gospel: "What must I do to inherit eternal life?".

[Pope John Paul II, Dilecti Amici]

With his preaching on the Kingdom of God, Jesus opposes a religiosity that does not involve human life, that does not question the conscience and its responsibility in the face of good and evil. He also demonstrates this with the parable of the two sons, which is offered to us in the Gospel of Matthew (cf. 21:28-32). To the father’s invitation to go and work in the vineyard, the first son impulsively responds “no, I’m not going”, but then he repents and goes; instead the second son, who immediately replies “yes, yes dad”, does not actually do so; he doesn’t go. Obedience does not consist in saying “yes” or “no”, but always in taking action, in cultivating the vineyard, in bringing about the Kingdom of God, in doing good. With this simple example, Jesus wants to go beyond a religion understood only as an external and habitual practice, which does not affect people’s lives and attitudes, a superficial religiosity, merely “ritual”, in the ugly sense of the word.

The exponents of this “façade” of religiosity, of which Jesus disapproves, in that time were “the chief priests and the elders of the people” (Mt 21:23), who, according to the Lord’s admonition, will be preceded in the Kingdom of God by “tax collectors and prostitutes” (cf. v. 31). Jesus tells them: “the tax collectors, meaning the sinners, and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you”. This affirmation must not lead us to think that those who do not follow God’s commandments, those who do not follow morality, saying, “In any case, those who go to Church are worse than us”, do well. No, this is not Jesus’ teaching. Jesus does not indicate publicans and prostitutes as models of life, but as “privileged by Grace”. And I would like to underscore this word, “grace”. Grace. Because conversion is always a grace. A grace that God offers to anyone who opens up and converts to him. Indeed, these people, listening to his preaching, repented and changed their lives. Let us think of Matthew, for example. Saint Matthew, who was a publican, a traitor to his homeland.

In today’s Gospel, the one who makes the best impression is the first brother, not because he said “no” to his father, but because after his “no” he converted to “yes”, he repented. God is patient with each of us: he does not tire, he does not desist after our “no”; he leaves us free even to distance ourselves from him and to make mistakes. Thinking about God’s patience is wonderful! How the Lord always waits for us; he is always beside us to help us; but he respects our freedom. And he anxiously awaits our “yes”, so as to welcome us anew in his fatherly arms and to fill us with his boundless mercy. Faith in God asks us to renew every day the choice of good over evil, the choice of the truth rather than lies, the choice of love for our neighbour over selfishness. Those who convert to this choice, after having experienced sin, will find the first places in the Kingdom of heaven, where there is greater joy for a single sinner who repents than for ninety-nine righteous people (cf. Lk 15:7).

But conversion, changing the heart, is a process, a process that purifies us from moral encrustations. And at times it is a painful process, because there is no path of holiness without some sacrifice and without a spiritual battle. Battling for good; battling so as not to fall into temptation; doing for our part what we can, to arrive at living in the peace and joy of the Beatitudes. Today’s Gospel passage calls into question the way of living a Christian life, which is not made up of dreams and beautiful aspirations, but of concrete commitments, in order to always open ourselves to God’s will and to love for our brothers and sisters. But this, even the smallest concrete commitment, cannot be made without grace. Conversion is a grace we must always ask for: “Lord, give me the grace to improve. Give me the grace to be a good Christian”.

May Mary Most Holy help us to be docile to the action of the Holy Spirit. He is the One who melts the hardness of hearts and disposes them to repentance, so we may obtain the life and salvation promised by Jesus.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 27 September 2020]

Creating abundance where there is none

(Lk 9:43b-45)

«Son of man» (v.44) is he who, having gone to the utmost human fullness, comes to reflect the divine condition - and radiates it, without narrow perspectives.

‘Son of man’ is the successful Son: the Person with a definitive step; Word made «brother», who in us aspires to the fullness spread throughout history.

It would seem not up to par; instead, it is indestructible weighing, inside each one who approaches such a ‘measure’ - encountering the divine markings that bring out who we are [and bring about rebirth].

In the Gospel passage it is the Messiah who becomes a servant (!) and «next of kin» [close relative]: the one who in Semitic culture was held to ransom and liberate his enslaved family members.

However, there is a sharp contrast between what people dream and hope for, and the opinion of the authorities, challenged by this atmosphere of humanization with too wide outlines.

Since time immemorial, in order to block the search for the You-for-you, the face-to-face with God [and to direct consciences], the leaders concerned had filled minds with things of the past, or all conformist, and people's lives with problems that stalled the way.

The slave of the ancient customary religion, allied with power, lived under condemnation because he was outside his Home, thus in a reality that stagnated, accentuating ballasts and emphasizing limitations and feelings of subservience.

By disturbing everyone’s life wave.

In this way, the dull soul submitted to the outer cloak, blocking spontaneous energy. Wrapping all proposals that came from Providence, and its own resources, with dead things.

«Son of Man» is not a "religious" or selective title, but a possibility for all those who adhere to the Lord’s life proposal, and reinterpret it in a creative way.

They transcend the firm, natural boundaries, making room for the Gift, receiving from God the fullness of being, in its new, unrepeatable tracks.

Feeling totally and undeservedly loved, they discover other facets, they change the way of being with themselves, and can grow, realize themselves, flourish, radiating the completeness they have received.

By emanating a different atmosphere, the person integrated in his or her even opposite sides, feels consciousnesses arise, creates projects, emits and attracts other energies; makes them activate.

Thus God wants to extend the sphere in which He "reigns" - relating to all humanity, a Church without visible boundaries.

In short, in the icon of the «Son of man» the evangelists want to indicate the triumph of the human over the inhuman, and the progressive disappearance of everything that blocks the communication of the vital wave.

The People that shines in a divine way is no longer entangled, indeed it brings to the maximum all its varied potential for love, for the outpouring of life.

«Son of man» - a possible reality - is anyone who achieves fullness, flowering of the ability to be, in the extension of relationships... in tune with the sphere of God the Creator, Lover of life.

He/she does it so in varied facets, and merges with Him - becoming One. By creating abundance.

«Son of man» is woman or man who behave on earth as God himself would do, who makes the divine and his strength present in history.

So they can afford to replace both gloomy seriousness and superficiality, with a wise ‘carefreeness’ that makes everything light.

«Son of Man» represents the maximum of the human, the Person par excellence, who becomes liberating instead of oppressive.

The consequences are unimaginable, because each of us in Christ and for the brothers no longer has dead, abstract, (or of others) paths to be redone.

[Saturday 25th wk. in O.T.  September 26, 2026]

Creating abundance where there is none

(Lk 9:43b-45)

'Son of God' is Christ who manifests God in the human condition. 'Son of man' is Jesus manifesting man in the divine condition.

'Son of man' (v.44) is the one who, having gone to the utmost human fullness, comes to reflect the divine condition - and radiates it, without narrow perspectives.

In short, 'Son of Man' is the trustworthy, authentic person; even the 'little one' - without even a legacy of just and invariable ideas, or forces of the same level, and always performing.

"Son of Man" is here the successful Son: the Person with the definitive step. Word made "brother", who in us aspires to the fullness spread throughout history.

It would seem to fall short; instead, it is indestructible charature, within each one who approaches such 'measure' - encountering the divine marks that bring out what we are [and are born again].

In the Gospel passage, it is the Messiah who becomes a servant (!) and becomes the 'next of kin': the one who in Semitic culture was held to ransom and liberate his enslaved kin.

There is, however, a sharp contrast between what the people dream and hope for, and the opinion of the authorities, who are challenged by this atmosphere of humanisation with its overly broad contours.

Established and official teachers of the spirit were at ease in the narrow sphere: accentuating guilt, disfiguring people; making them needy, childish - instead of adult, secure, emancipated.

Even the religious institution trembled: the divine condition diffused in the lives of women and men made autonomous and able to stand on their own two feet would make any mediating structure superfluous.

Since time immemorial, in order to block the search for the You-for-you, the face-to-face with God [and to direct consciences], the leaders concerned had filled minds with things of the past, or all conformist, and people's lives with problems that stalled the way.

The slave of the customary ancient religion, allied with power, lived under condemnation, because it was outside its home. In a reality that stagnated, or advanced in a severely moralistic manner.

Such confusion stranded souls - even more so by accentuating ballasts, emphasising limitations, and feelings of subservience. Disturbing the life-wave of each one.

The logic of the old masters was unacceptable, both from the point of view of personal fulfilment and for living together.

In any sphere, the criterion of the self-loving big-wigs was in force.

Everything was in accordance with the principle that he who stands still is best controlled, stays where you put him, and cannot have passions; therefore he does not set anything in motion. 

Under the enormous social conditioning, the dull soul was forced to submit to the outer cloak, which willingly blocked the spontaneous energy of souls, and of the world.

Even today, perhaps, there are still agencies of plagiarism that cloak all the proposals of Providence, and the very resources of women and men, or of charisma, with things already dead or abstract [mannered, external].

The true Son, on the other hand, conquers spaces of freedom, not so much from errors, as from egoism that annihilates communion, from self-love that refuses to listen, from standardisation that cancels uniqueness, from conformism that makes exceptionalism pale, from envy that separates and blocks the exchange of gifts, from competition, even spiritual competition that drugs us; from the sloth of those who believe they are not worth enough, which discourages and paralyses.

'Son of Man' is therefore not a 'religious' or selective title, but a possibility for all those who adhere to the Lord's proposal of life, and reinterpret it creatively.

They overcome the firm and proper natural boundaries, making room for the Gift; welcoming from God the fullness of being, in his new, unrepeatable tracks.

Feeling totally and undeservedly loved, they discover other facets, change the way they are with themselves, and can grow: they realise themselves, they flourish; they radiate the wholeness they have received.

Coming out of the poor or static idea we have of ourselves - a serious problem in many sensitive and dedicated souls - the relational personality can also begin to imagine.

And to dream, discovering that it can no longer give weight to those who want to condition its path as a person, in fullness of being, character, vocation.

He who activates the idea that he can do it, then transmits the power of the Spirit he has received and welcomed, and the universe around him blossoms.

Emanating a different atmosphere, the person integrated in his or her even opposite sides, feels consciousnesses arise, creates projects, emits and attracts other energies; makes them activate.

By relating interpersonally, God wants to extend the sphere in which he "reigns" - to all mankind.

Church without visible boundaries, which will begin with the 'Son of Man'. A figure not exclusive to Jesus.Son of David and Son of Man

This universalistic perspective emerges, inter alia, from the presentation Jesus made of himself not only as "Son of David", but as "Son of Man" (Mk 10:33). The title "Son of Man", in the language of the Jewish apocalyptic literature inspired by the vision of history in the Book of the Prophet Daniel (cf. 7:13-14), recalls the character who comes "with the clouds of heaven" (v. 13) and is an image that heralds an entirely new kingdom, a kingdom supported not by human powers, but by the true power that comes from God. Jesus uses this rich and complex expression and refers it to Himself to manifest the true character of His messianism, as a mission destined for the whole man and every man, overcoming all ethnic, national and religious particularism. And it is precisely in following Jesus, in allowing oneself to be drawn into his humanity and thus into communion with God, that one enters into this new kingdom, which the Church announces and anticipates, and which overcomes fragmentation and dispersion.

[Pope Benedict, Consistory 24 November 2012].

With the image of the Son of Man, the prophet Daniel already wanted to indicate an overturning of the criteria of human and divine authenticity: a man or a people, a leader, finally with a heart of flesh instead of a beast.

In the icon of the 'Son of Man', the evangelists wish to reveal and trigger the triumph of the human over the inhuman; the progressive disappearance of everything that blocks the communication of full existence, of totality of profound energy.

The divinely shining people are no longer entangled by fears, manipulations, or hysteria; on the contrary, they bring to the full all their varied potential of love, of outpouring of life.

The 'Son of Man' - a possible reality - is anyone who achieves completeness, the blossoming of the capacity to be, in the extension of relationships. With this, he enters into harmony with the sphere of God the Creator, the Lover of life.

It does so in its varied facets, and merges with Him - becoming One. Creating abundance; not a false identity.

"The 'Son of Man' is the man who behaves on earth as God himself would; in short, who makes the divine present and its power unfolded in history.

So he can afford to replace the gloomy seriousness of the pious and subservient being, or the superficiality of the sophisticated and disembodied, with the wise 'light-heartedness' that makes everything light [because it rhymes with naturalness].

'Son of Man' depicts the ultimate human, the Person par excellence - in its eminent Self, which becomes liberating instead of oppressive.

The consequences are unimaginable, because each one of us in Christ and for our brothers and sisters, no longer has dead, abstract, or other people's paths to tread.

To internalise and live the message:

How does the 'Son of Man' figure speak to you of your own personal thoughts and hopes, and what is the difference or contrast with the thoughts and hopes of the manipulators?

Jesus' prayer in the imminence of death - Lk

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

At our school of prayer last Wednesday I spoke of Jesus’ prayer on the Cross, taken from Psalm 22[21]: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”. I would now like to continue to meditate on the prayer of Jesus on the Cross in the imminence of death. Today, I would like to reflect on the account we find in St Luke’s Gospel. The Evangelist has passed down to us three words spoken by Jesus on the Cross, two of which — the first and the third— are prayers explicitly addressed to the Father. The second, instead, consists of the promise made to the so-called “good thief”, crucified with him; indeed, in response to the thief’s entreaty, Jesus reassures him: “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise” (Lk 23:43).

Thus in Luke’s narrative the two prayers that the dying Jesus addresses to the Father and his openness to the supplication addressed to him by the repentant sinner are evocatively interwoven. Jesus calls on the Father and at the same time listens to the prayer of this man who is often called latro poenitens, “the repentant thief”.

Let us reflect on these three prayers of Jesus. He prays the first one immediately after being nailed to the Cross, while the soldiers are dividing his garments between them as a wretched reward for their service. In a certain sense the process of the Crucifixion ends with this action. St Luke writes: “When they came to the place which is called The Skull, there they crucified him, and the criminals, one on the right and one on the left. And Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do’. And they cast lots and to divide his garments” (23:33-34).

The first prayer that Jesus addresses to the Father is a prayer of intercession; he asks for forgiveness for his executioners. By so doing, Jesus is doing in person what he had taught in the Sermon on the Mount when he said: “I say to you that hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” (Lk 6:27); and he had also promised to those who are able to forgive: “your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High” (v. 35). Now, from the Cross he not only pardons his executioners but he addresses the Father directly, interceding for them.

Jesus’ attitude finds a moving “imitation” in the account of the stoning of St Stephen, the first martyr. Indeed Stephen, now nearing his end, “knelt down and cried with a loud voice, ‘Lord, do not hold this sin against them’. And when he had said this, he fell asleep” (Acts 7:60): these were his last words. The comparison between Jesus’ prayer for forgiveness and that of the protomartyr is significant. St Stephen turns to the Risen Lord and requests that his killing — an action described clearly by the words “this sin” — not be held against those who stoned him.

Jesus on the Cross addresses the Father and not only asks forgiveness for those who crucify him but also offers an interpretation of what is happening. According to what he says, in fact, the men who are crucifying him “know not what they do” (Lk 23:34). He therefore postulates ignorance, “not knowing”, as a reason for his request for the Father’s forgiveness, because it leaves the door open to conversion, as, moreover, happens in the words that the centurion was to speak at Jesus’ death: “Certainly this man was innocent” (v. 47), he was the Son of God. “It remains a source of comfort for all times and for all people that both in the case of those who genuinely did not know (his executioners) and in the case of those who did know (the people who condemned him), the Lord makes ignorance the motive for his plea for forgiveness: he sees it as a door that can open us to conversion” (Jesus of Nazareth, II, [San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2011], p. 208).

The second word spoken by Jesus on the Cross recorded by St Luke is a word of hope, it is his answer to the prayer of one of the two men crucified with him. The good thief comes to his senses before Jesus and repents, he realizes he is facing the Son of God who makes the very Face of God visible, and begs him; “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingly power” (v. 42). The Lord’s answer to this prayer goes far beyond the request: in fact he says: “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise” (v. 43). Jesus knows that he is entering into direct communion with the Father and reopening to man the way to God’s paradise. Thus, with this response, he gives the firm hope that God’s goodness can also touch us, even at the very last moment of life, and that sincere prayer, even after a wrong life, encounters the open arms of the good Father who awaits the return of his son.

However, let us consider the last words of Jesus dying. The Evangelists tells us: “it was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!’. And having said this he breathed his last” (vv. 44-46).

Certain aspects of this narrative differ from the scene as described in Mark and in Matthew. The three hours of darkness in Mark are not described, whereas in Matthew they are linked with a series of different apocalyptic events such as the quaking of the earth, the opening of the tombs, the dead who are raised (cf. Mt 27:51-53). In Luke, the hours of darkness are caused by the eclipse of the sun, but the veil of the temple is torn at that moment. In this way Luke’s account presents two signs, in a certain way parallel, in the heavens and in the temple. The heavens lose their light, the earth sinks while in the temple, a place of God’s presence, the curtain that protects the sanctuary is rent in two. Jesus’ death is characterized explicitly as a cosmic and a liturgical event; in particular, it marks the beginning of a new form of worship, in a temple not built by men because it is the very Body of Jesus who died and rose which gathers peoples together and unites them in the sacrament of his Body and his Blood.

At this moment of suffering Jesus’ prayer, “Father into your hands I commit my spirit”, is a loud cry of supreme and total entrustment to God. This prayer expresses the full awareness that he had not been abandoned. The initial invocation — “Father” — recalls his first declaration as a 12-year-old boy. At that time he had stayed for three days in the Temple of Jerusalem, whose veil was now torn in two. And when his parents had told him of their anxiety, he had answered: “How is it that you sought me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Lk 2:49).

From the beginning to the end, what fully determines Jesus’ feelings, words and actions, is his unique relationship with the Father. On the Cross he lives to the full, in love, this filial relationship he has with God which gives life to his prayer.

The words spoken by Jesus after his invocation, “Father”, borrow a sentence from Psalm 31[30]: “into your hand I commit my spirit” (Ps 31[30]:6). Yet these words are not a mere citation but rather express a firm decision: Jesus “delivers” himself to the Father in an act of total abandonment. These words are a prayer of “entrustment” total trust in God’s love. Jesus’ prayer as he faces death is dramatic as it is for every human being but, at the same time, it is imbued with that deep calmness that is born from trust in the Father and from the desire to commend oneself totally to him.

In Gethsemane, when he had begun his final struggle and his most intense prayer and was about to be “delivered into the hands of men” (Lk 9:44), his sweat had become “like great drops of blood falling down upon the ground” (Lk 22:44). Nevertheless his heart was fully obedient to the Father’s will, and because of this “an angel from heaven” came to strengthen him (cf. Lk 22:42-43). Now, in his last moments, Jesus turns to the Father, telling him into whose hands he really commits his whole life.

Before starting out on his journey towards Jerusalem, Jesus had insisted to his disciples: “Let these words sink into your ears; for the Son of man is to be delivered into the hands of men” (Lk 9:44).

Now that life is about to depart from him, he seals his last decision in prayer: Jesus let himself be delivered “into the hands of men”, but it is into the hands of the Father that he places his spirit; thus — as the Evangelist John affirms — all was finished, the supreme act of love was carried to the end, to the limit and beyond the limit.

Dear brothers and sisters, the words of Jesus on the Cross at the last moments of his earthly life offer us demanding instructions for our prayers, but they also open us to serene trust and firm hope. Jesus, who asks the Father to forgive those who are crucifying him, invites us to take the difficult step of also praying for those who wrong us, who have injured us, ever able to forgive, so that God’s light may illuminate their hearts; and he invites us to live in our prayers the same attitude of mercy and love with which God treats us; “forgive us our trespasses and forgive those who trespass against us”, we say every day in the Lord’s prayer.

At the same time, Jesus, who at the supreme moment of death entrusts himself totally to the hands of God the Father, communicates to us the certainty that, however harsh the trial, however difficult the problems, however acute the suffering may be, we shall never fall from God’s hands, those hands that created us, that sustain us and that accompany us on our way through life, because they are guided by an infinite and faithful love.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 15 February 2012]