The Easter Triduum and Easter [2–5 April 2026]

Holy Week, the most important week of the year for us Christians, allows believers to immerse themselves in the central events of the Redemption by reliving the Paschal Mystery, the great Mystery of faith. These are the days of the Easter Triduum, the fulcrum of the entire liturgical year, which help us to open our hearts to an understanding of the priceless gift that is the salvation obtained for us through Christ’s sacrifice. This immense gift is recounted in a famous hymn contained in the Letter to the Philippians (cf. 2:6–11), which we often have the opportunity to meditate upon during Lent. In it, Saint Paul traces the entire mystery of the history of salvation, alluding to the pride of Adam who, though not God, wanted to be like God. And he contrasts this pride of the first man—which we all feel to some extent within ourselves—with the humility of the true Son of God who, by becoming man, did not hesitate to take upon himself all the weaknesses of the human being, except sin, and went as far as the depths of death. This descent into the ultimate depths of passion and death is then followed by his exaltation, true glory, the glory of love that went to the very end. And it is therefore fitting – as Paul says – that ‘at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess: Jesus Christ is Lord!’ (2:10-1). St Paul alludes, with these words, to a prophecy of Isaiah where God says: ‘I am the Lord; let every knee bow before me in heaven and on earth’ (cf. Is 45:23). This, says Paul, applies to Jesus Christ. He truly, in his humility, in the true greatness of his love, is the Lord of the world, and before him every knee truly bows. How wonderful, and at the same time surprising, is this mystery! We can never meditate sufficiently on this reality. Jesus, though he was God, did not wish to make his divine prerogatives an exclusive possession; he did not wish to use his divinity, his glorious dignity and his power, as an instrument of triumph and a sign of distance from us. On the contrary, ‘he emptied himself’ by taking on the wretched and weak human condition – Paul uses, in this regard, a very evocative Greek verb to indicate the kénosis, this descent of Jesus. The divine form (morphé) was hidden in Christ under the human form, that is, under our reality marked by suffering, poverty, our human limitations and death. This radical and true sharing in our nature—sharing in everything except sin—led him to that frontier which is the sign of our finitude: death. Yet all this was not the result of some obscure mechanism or blind fate: rather, it was his free choice, born of a generous adherence to the Father’s plan of salvation. And the death he faced – adds Paul – was that of the cross, the most humiliating and degrading one imaginable. All this the Lord of the universe accomplished out of love for us: out of love he chose to ‘empty himself’ and become our brother; out of love he shared our condition, that of every man and every woman. A great witness of the Eastern tradition, Theodoret of Cyrus, writes on this subject: ‘Being God and God by nature, and being equal with God, he did not regard this as something to be grasped, as do those who have received some honour beyond their merits, but, hiding his merits, he chose the deepest humility and took the form of a human being’ (Commentary on the Epistle to the Philippians, 2:6–7).

Let us now pause to reflect briefly on the various moments of the Easter Triduum. The prelude to the Easter Triduum, with the evocative afternoon rites of Holy Thursday, is the solemn Chrism Mass, which the Bishop celebrates in the morning with his presbyterate, and during which the priestly promises made on the day of Ordination are renewed together. It is a gesture of great significance, a most propitious occasion on which priests reaffirm their fidelity to Christ, who has chosen them as his ministers. Also during the Chrism Mass, the oil of the sick and the oil of catechumens will be blessed, and the Chrism will be consecrated. These rites symbolically signify the fullness of Christ’s Priesthood and that ecclesial communion which must animate the Christian people, gathered for the Eucharistic sacrifice and enlivened in unity by the gift of the Holy Spirit.

In the afternoon Mass, known as the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, the Church commemorates the institution of the Eucharist, the ministerial priesthood and the new commandment of charity, left by Jesus to his disciples. Saint Paul offers one of the earliest accounts of what took place in the Upper Room on the eve of the Lord’s Passion. ‘The Lord Jesus,’ he writes in the early 1950s, drawing on a text he received from the Lord’s own circle, ‘on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and having given thanks, broke it and said: “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me”. In the same way, after supper, he also took the cup, saying: “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me” (1 Cor 11:23–25). Words steeped in mystery, which clearly reveal Christ’s will: under the species of bread and wine, He makes Himself present with His body given and His blood shed. It is the sacrifice of the new and definitive covenant offered to all, without distinction of race or culture. And for this sacramental rite, which He entrusts to the Church as the supreme proof of His love, Jesus appoints as ministers His disciples and all those who will continue His ministry throughout the centuries. Holy Thursday is therefore a renewed invitation to give thanks to God for the supreme gift of the Eucharist, to be received with devotion and adored with living faith. For this reason, the Church encourages us, after the celebration of Holy Mass, to keep vigil in the presence of the Most Holy Sacrament, recalling the sorrowful hour that Jesus spent in solitude and prayer in Gethsemane, before being arrested and subsequently condemned to death.

Good Friday is the day of the Lord’s Passion and Crucifixion. Every year, as we stand in silence before Jesus hanging on the wood of the cross, we sense how full of love are the words He spoke the evening before, during the Last Supper. “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many” (cf. Mk 14:24). Jesus wished to offer His life as a sacrifice for the forgiveness of humanity’s sins. Just as with the Eucharist, so too with the Passion and death of Jesus on the Cross, the mystery becomes unfathomable to reason. We are faced with something that, from a human perspective, might seem absurd: a God who not only becomes man, with all the needs of man, not only suffers to save man by taking upon himself the full weight of humanity’s tragedy, but dies for man.

Christ’s death recalls the accumulation of pain and evil that weighs upon humanity in every age: the crushing burden of our mortality, the hatred and violence that still today stain the earth with blood. The Lord’s Passion continues in the sufferings of mankind. As Blaise Pascal rightly writes, ‘Jesus will be in agony until the end of the world; we must not sleep during this time’ (Pensées, 553). If Good Friday is a day full of sadness, it is at the same time a day more propitious than ever for reawakening our faith, for strengthening our hope and the courage to carry our own cross with humility, trust and surrender to God, certain of his support and his victory. The liturgy of this day sings: O Crux, ave, spes unica – Hail, O Cross, our only hope!

This hope is nourished in the great silence of Holy Saturday, as we await the resurrection of Jesus. On this day, the churches are stripped bare and no special liturgical rites are scheduled. The Church keeps vigil in prayer like Mary and together with Mary, sharing her same feelings of sorrow and trust in God. It is rightly recommended that a prayerful atmosphere, conducive to meditation and reconciliation, be maintained throughout the day; the faithful are encouraged to approach the Sacrament of Penance, so that they may participate in the Easter celebrations truly renewed.

The recollection and silence of Holy Saturday will lead us through the night to the solemn Easter Vigil, ‘the mother of all vigils’, when the song of joy for Christ’s Resurrection will burst forth in all churches and communities. Once again, the victory of light over darkness, of life over death, will be proclaimed, and the Church will rejoice in her encounter with her Lord. Thus we shall enter into the spirit of the Easter of the Resurrection.

Let us prepare ourselves to live the Holy Triduum intensely, so that we may participate ever more deeply in the Mystery of Christ. The Blessed Virgin accompanies us on this journey; she followed her Son Jesus in silence to Calvary, sharing in his sacrifice with great sorrow, thus cooperating in the mystery of Redemption and becoming the Mother of all believers (cf. Jn 19:25–27). Together with Mary, we shall enter the Upper Room, we shall remain at the foot of the Cross, we shall keep vigil in spirit beside the dead Christ, awaiting with hope the dawn of the radiant day of the Resurrection. In this spirit, I offer you all, even at this early stage, my warmest wishes for a joyful and holy Easter, which I ask you to extend to your families, your parishes and your communities.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Palm Sunday and the Passion of the Lord [29 March 2026]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us! We enter Holy Week, of which Palm Sunday already gives us a foretaste of the joy and sorrow, the mystery of love and hatred that leads to death: the whole Passion, death and resurrection of Christ. To relive is not merely to remember, but also to open our hearts ever more to this mystery of salvation.

*First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (50:4–7)

Isaiah was certainly not thinking of Jesus Christ when he wrote this text, probably in the 6th century BC, during the exile in Babylon. Let me explain: since his people were in exile, in very harsh conditions, and could easily have succumbed to discouragement, Isaiah reminds them that they are always God’s servants. And that God is counting on them, his servants (that is, his people), to bring his plan of salvation for humanity to fulfilment. The people of Israel are therefore this Servant of God, nourished every morning by the Word, yet also persecuted precisely because of their faith and capable, despite everything, of withstanding all trials. In this text, Isaiah clearly describes the extraordinary relationship that unites the Servant (Israel) with his God. Its main characteristic is listening to the Word of God, ‘the open ear’, as Isaiah puts it. ‘Listening’ is a word that has a very particular meaning in the Bible: it means to trust. We usually contrast these two fundamental attitudes between which our lives constantly oscillate: trust in God, a serene surrender to his will because we know from experience that his will is always good; or mistrust, suspicion of God’s intentions, and rebellion in the face of trials—a rebellion that can lead us to believe that God has abandoned us or, worse still, that He might take some satisfaction in our sufferings.

The prophets repeat: “Listen, Israel” or: “Will you listen to the Word of God today?” And on their lips, the exhortation “listen” always means: trust in God, whatever happens. And Saint Paul explains why: We know that all things work together for good for those who love God (Rom 8:28).

From every evil, from every difficulty, from every trial, God brings forth good; to every hatred he opposes an even stronger love; in every persecution, he grants the strength of forgiveness; and from every death, he brings forth life, the resurrection. It is a story of mutual trust. God trusts his Servant and entrusts him with a mission; in turn, the Servant accepts the mission with trust. And it is precisely this trust that gives him the strength needed to remain steadfast even in the opposition he will inevitably encounter. Here the mission is that of a witness: “So that I may sustain with my words those who are weary,” says the Servant. In entrusting him with this mission, the Lord also grants the necessary strength and the appropriate language: “The Lord God has given me the tongue of a disciple.” And even more: he himself nourishes this trust, which is the source of all boldness in the service of others: “The Lord God makes my ear attentive”, which means that listening (in the biblical sense, that is, trust) is itself a gift from God. Everything is a gift: the mission, the strength, and even the trust that makes one unshakeable. This is precisely the hallmark of the believer: to recognise everything as a gift from God. He who lives in this permanent gift of God’s strength can face anything: “I did not resist, I did not turn back.” Faithfulness to the mission received inevitably entails persecution. True prophets, those who truly speak in the name of God, are rarely appreciated during their lifetime. In concrete terms, Isaiah says to his contemporaries: hold fast. The Lord has not abandoned you; on the contrary, you are on a mission for him. Do not be surprised, then, if you are mistreated. Why? Because the Servant who truly listens to the Word of God—that is, who puts it into practice—soon becomes a thorn in the side. His very conversion calls others to conversion. Some heed this call… others reject it and, convinced of their own righteousness, persecute the Servant. And every morning the Servant must return to the source, to the One who enables him to face everything. Isaiah uses a somewhat strange expression: “I set my face like flint” to express resolve and courage. Isaiah was speaking to his people, persecuted and humiliated during the exile in Babylon; but, naturally, when one re-reads the Passion of Christ, this text stands out in all its clarity: Christ corresponds perfectly to this portrait of the Servant of God. Listening to the Word, unshakeable trust and thus the certainty of victory even in the midst of persecution: all this characterised Jesus precisely at the moment when the acclamations of the crowd on Palm Sunday marked and hastened his condemnation.

*Responsorial Psalm (21/22)

Psalm 21 (22) begins with the famous cry: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”. This phrase has often been taken out of context and interpreted as a cry of despair, whereas in reality the psalm must be read in its entirety. Indeed, after describing suffering and anguish, it ends with a great song of thanksgiving: “You have answered me! I will proclaim your name to my brothers and sisters’. The one who at first feels forsaken ultimately recognises that God has saved him and has not left him alone. Some images in the psalm seem to describe the crucifixion: ‘They have pierced my hands and my feet’, ‘they divide my garments’, ‘a band of evildoers surrounds me’. This is why the New Testament applies this psalm to the Passion of Jesus. However, the text originated in a specific historical context: the return of the people of Israel from the Babylonian exile. The exile had been like a death sentence for the people, who had risked disappearing; the return to their own land is therefore likened to the liberation of a condemned man who had narrowly escaped death. The image of the crucifixion serves to express the humiliation, violence and sense of abandonment experienced by the people, but the focus of the psalm is not suffering but rather the salvation received. The cry “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” is therefore not a cry of despair or doubt, but the prayer of one who suffers and continues to turn to God with trust. Even in the midst of trial, Israel does not cease to pray and to remember the covenant and the blessings received from the Lord. For this reason, the psalm can be likened to a votive offering: in times of danger, God’s help is invoked, and once saved, thanks are given publicly. The psalm recalls the tragedy endured, but above all proclaims gratitude towards God who has delivered his people. The final verses thus become a great hymn of praise: the poor shall be satisfied, those who seek the Lord shall praise him, and all nations shall acknowledge his lordship. God’s salvation will also be proclaimed to future generations. For this reason, in Christian tradition, this psalm has been recognised as a prophecy of Christ’s Passion: on the cross, Jesus echoes the first verse of the psalm, but just as for Israel, so too for him the final word is not suffering, but salvation and life.

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Philippians (2:6–11)

During the exile in Babylon, in the 6th century BC, the prophet Isaiah had bestowed upon the people of Israel the title of Servant of God. Their mission, amidst the trials of exile, was to remain faithful to the faith of their fathers and to bear witness to it among the pagans, even at the cost of humiliation and persecution. Only God could give them the strength to fulfil this mission. When the early Christians were confronted with the scandal of the cross, they sought to understand Jesus’ destiny and found the explanation in the words of St Paul: Jesus ‘emptied himself, taking the form of a servant’. He too faced opposition, humiliation and persecution, drawing his strength from the Father and living in total trust in Him. Although he was of divine nature, Jesus did not seek glory and honours. As Paul says, “though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited”. Precisely because he is God, he claims nothing for himself, but lives in gratuitous love and becomes man to show mankind the way to salvation. His exaltation is not a deserved reward, but a free gift from God. God’s logic is not that of merit or calculation, but that of grace, which is always a free gift. According to Paul, God’s plan is a plan of love: to bring humanity into his life, into his joy and into his communion. This gift is not earned, but received with gratitude. When man demands or claims, he closes himself off from grace, as happened symbolically with the sin in the Garden of Eden. Jesus, on the other hand, lives in the opposite attitude: the total acceptance of the Father’s will, what Paul calls obedience. For this reason, God exalted him and gave him the Name that is above every name: the name of Lord, a title which in the Old Testament belonged only to God. Before him “every knee shall bow”, to quote the words of the prophet Isaiah (Is 45:23). Jesus lived his entire life in humility and trust, even in the face of human violence and death. His obedience – which literally means “to place one’s ear before the word” – expresses a total and trusting listening to the Father’s will. For this reason, Paul’s hymn concludes with the Church’s profession of faith: “Every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father”. In Christ, the glory of God is fully manifested, that is, the revelation of his infinite love. Seeing Jesus love to the very end and give his life, one can recognise, like the centurion beneath the cross, that he is truly the Son of God.

*The Passion of Jesus Christ according to Saint Matthew (26:14–27:66)

Every year, on Palm Sunday, the liturgy reads the account of the Passion from one of the three Synoptic Gospels; this year it is that of Matthew. The four accounts of the Passion are similar in broad outline, but each evangelist highlights certain particular aspects. Matthew, in particular, recounts certain episodes and details that the others do not mention. First of all, Matthew is the only one to specify the exact sum for which Judas betrays Jesus: thirty pieces of silver, which according to the Law was the price of a slave. This detail shows the contempt with which men treated the Lord. Later, Judas himself, overcome with remorse, returns the money to the chief priests, saying that he has handed over an innocent man to his death. They, however, do not wish to take responsibility for it. Judas throws the coins into the temple and hangs himself; the priests use that money to purchase the potter’s field, intended for the burial of foreigners, later called the ‘Field of Blood’, thus fulfilling a prophetic word. During the trial before Pilate, Matthew recounts a unique episode: the intervention of Pilate’s wife, who sends word to her husband not to have anything to do with ‘that righteous man’, for she has suffered greatly in a dream because of him. Pilate himself appears unsettled and, seeing that the crowd is growing ever more agitated, performs the symbolic gesture of washing his hands, declaring himself innocent of that man’s blood. The crowd replies: ‘Let his blood be on us and on our children.’ Pilate then releases Barabbas and hands Jesus over to be crucified. At the moment of Jesus’ death, Matthew also recounts that the veil of the temple is torn, but adds extraordinary details: the earth trembles, the rocks split, the tombs open, and many righteous people rise and appear in the holy city after Jesus’ resurrection. Finally, Matthew highlights the authorities’ concern to guard the tomb, fearing that the disciples might steal the body and claim that Jesus has risen; this very message is what they will spread after Easter. The account highlights a great paradox: the blindness of the religious authorities, who persecute Jesus, whilst some pagans, almost unwittingly, bestow upon him the highest titles. Pilate’s wife calls him ‘righteous’, Pilate has ‘King of the Jews’ written on the cross, and even the title ‘Son of God’, initially used to mock him, ultimately becomes a true profession of faith when the Roman centurion exclaims: ‘Truly this man was the Son of God’. This confession already foreshadows the opening of salvation to the pagans and shows that Christ’s death is not a defeat, but a victory. Matthew highlights the contrast between the weakness of the condemned man and his true greatness: it is precisely in his apparent powerlessness that Jesus manifests the greatness of God, who is infinite love. And in this light, we come to understand ever more deeply the significance of Christ’s Passion, which we shall relive visually this week and in particular during the Holy Triduum: Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, and above all in the outpouring of Easter joy at Christ’s Resurrection.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

(Jn 13:21-33.36-38)

«I will lay down my life for you» - just to command.

The Lord wants each of us “at the table” to ask himself the question of whether by chance we are involved in some betrayal.

Not to blame and plant ourselves there, but to meet us: each one is an admirer ‘and’ opponent of the Master.

We are brilliance ‘and’ darkness - coexistent hips, more or less integrated; also competitive ones.

Aspects that can turn as baby foods, for each new ‘genesis’ - which once emerged can become strengths.

The road is blocked only in front of the person who continues to be conditioned. Nothing is revealed there; the prodigy of the transmutation of our abyss will not take place.

The liturgy of the Word puts in contact with a Jesus pervaded by a sense of weakness; his loneliness becomes acute.

On mission, we too are sometimes at the mercy of despondency: perhaps God has deceived us, dragging us into an absurd enterprise?

No, we are not engaged and abandoned to an ignoble logic, to a perverse generation: the force of Life itself is littered with ‘tombstones’ and has various faces. Beneficial influxes.

The favourable path is devoid of prestige, of recognised tasks and majesty: they tend to placate us, and not to dig.

Often it is precisely the ailments that improve judgment.

The trickle of problems can elicit the Voice of the most authentic part of ourselves; become an incisive ‘echo’ to find and complete ourselves - bringing forward the pioneering heart, instead of holding it back.

The road of trial and imbalance rouses us from the harmful ageing of the spirit. It recovers contrary energies, the opposite sides, the incompatible desires, the passions [allied] to which we have not given space.

Even in the torturous experience of the limit, God wants to reach out our variegated ‘seed’, so that it does not allow itself to be plundered - not even by the dismay of having taken the «morsel» together and being the traitors.

Nothing is invalidating.

There is only one toxic, chronic, death ambit that annihilates everything and has no active germs inherent in it: that which obscures and detests primary change.

There the horizon narrows and only an abyss remains - or the bland that infects to make us give up and retreat.

Finally, only fears remain, the half-choices, the neuroses silenced by compromise that tries to fill the precious sense of emptiness.

The story of incomprehensible solitude of Christ alongside the traitor and the renegade is written in our hearts. It is all reality - but for salvation, for a renewed intimacy and conviction.

The missionary vocation is extinguished and stagnates only due to the weight of calculation and common mentality - where naked poverty of the being discordant that we are does not engrave (nor clink).

Without abandonment suffered, man does not become universal, on the contrary he tends to attenuate the best instruments of God’s power.

On that steppe ground the Lord is giving us the friendship of a gaze’ shift.

Without the restlessness of profound and humiliating disturbance, without the surrendering of one's humanity - in extreme weakness - our dissatisfied puppet lingers, contenting itself.

Despite the admiration for values, it too becomes a residual larva. A caricature of the being we might have become: women and men with a contemplative eye.

Complete ones from within, like Jesus.

[Holy Tuesday, March 31, 2026]

(Jn 13:21-33.36-38)

"I will lay down my life for you" - to lead.

The apostles would give everything to win, not to lose; to triumph, not to be mocked or fed, and to heal the world.

Better to negotiate. Other than washing each other's feet!

Therefore, the Lord wants each of us diners to ask the question whether we are not involved in some betrayal.

Not to guilt and plant ourselves there, but to meet each other: each is an admirer and adversary of the Master.

We are splendour and darkness - coexisting sides, more or less integrated, even competitive.

It is the Resurrection that lurks in the effervescence of life, redeeming then the selfish motives, and transfiguring into collimating energies elsewhere the dark and frictional sides.

Aspects that become like baby food, for each new genesis - which once they have emerged [planted in the earth and pulled up by the roots] can become strengths.

The road is only blocked before the person who continues to have his soul conditioned by old or à la page opinions and evils.

Nothing is revealed there; the prodigy of the transmutation of our abyss will not take place.

The liturgy of the Word brings us into contact with a Jesus pervaded by a sense of weakness; his loneliness becomes acute.

In mission, we too are sometimes at the mercy of despondency: perhaps God has deceived us, dragging us into an absurd enterprise?

No, we are not hired and abandoned to an ignoble logic, to a perverse generation: the force of life itself is strewn with tombstones and has various faces. Beneficial influences.

The favourable path is devoid of prestige, recognised tasks and majesty: they tend to placate us, and not dig in.

Often it is precisely disturbances that improve judgement.

The dripping can stir up the voice of the most authentic part of ourselves, become an incisive echo to find ourselves, and complete ourselves - bringing forward the pioneering heart, instead of holding it back.

The road of trial and imbalance awakens us from the harmful ageing of the spirit.

It recovers contrary energies, opposing sides, and incompatible desires, (allied) passions to which we have not given space.

Even in the torturing experience of limitation, God wants to reach out to our variegated seed, so that it does not allow itself to be plundered - not even by the dismay of having drawn the morsel together and being the traitor.

Nothing is disabling.

There is only one toxic, chronic sphere of death, which annihilates everything and has no active germs in it: that which obscures and detests primary change.

There the horizon narrows and only an abyss remains - or the blandness that infects to make us give up, and retreat relentlessly, deny and regress again.

All that remains are the fears, the half-choices, the neuroses silenced by the compromise that attempts to fill the precious sense of emptiness.

We stand before a Lord reduced to nothing, so that we too may understand ourselves in our defections; in the episodes in which we make useless and deviant contrivances, all measured, that fatigue in vain.

The story of the incomprehensible loneliness of Christ alongside the traitor and the renegade is written in our hearts.

It is all reality, but for salvation, for renewed intimacy and conviction.

The missionary vocation is extinguished and stagnates only by ballasts of calculation and common mentality - where the naked poverty of the discordant being that we are does not shake (nor tinkle).

Without the abandonment undergone, man does not become universal, indeed he tends to attenuate the best instruments of God's power.

On that steppe ground He is giving us the friendship of a shift in our gaze.

Without the restlessness of the deep and humiliating disturbance - without the surrender of one's humanity in extreme weakness - our unsatisfied puppet lingers, content.

Despite admiration for values, it too becomes a residual larva. A caricature of the being we could be: women and men with a contemplative eye.

Completed from within, like Jesus.

To internalise and live the message:

What do I draw when the Lord asks me to risk?

What have unfriendly gestures, and rejection, meant for you in the paradoxical outcomes?

To love is to create: Glory turning the page

Commandment Liberation. Cause Source

(Jn 13:31-35)

Mutual union is the Lord's ultimate will. Jesus entrusts his testament to the disciples with a radical novelty.

Love for one's neighbour was already among the ancient prescriptions, and Christ seems to trace its very formulation (Lev 19:18).

But the Son of God does not only allude to compatriots and proselytes of the same religion. He breaks down the barriers hitherto considered obvious. 

Yet the great novelty is in the fundamental motivation.

Mutual love is on the same line as the encounter with oneself - where by grace and vocation there lurks a possession of riches, growing perfections, that want to surface.From such a treasure chest, knowledge, solid platform, arises the afflatus of being able to give life: but to increase it, make it full and cheer it up - not from external conditioning and tasks to be performed or exploited.

In fact, the commandment is 'new' not only because it is edifying and stimulating, but first and foremost because it reveals one's vocation and the intimate life of God, the relationship between the Father and the Son, assumed.

It is a manifesting bond, which becomes foundation, growing motive and driving force; lucid energy, which gives us the ability to shift our gaze and turn the page: it ushers in a new age, a new kingdom.

The "new" commandment of love - Christ's only delivery - is the figure of the Easter victory, theophany and testimony of his authentic people: "not with measure" (Jn 3:31-36: 34).

The 'without measure' is that of the mystical wedding between the two 'natures', of the intimate friendship that penetrates the Father's life.

Even in the waiting, the unconfined enlivens existence and fulfils it, coming from the experience of substance and vertigo - already in themselves.

It is the life of the Son in us: perception of a constitutive 'being'. So without losing interest in the time of absence.

And to be able to change; intuition of a different (irreducible) "glory" with special characteristics.

Now the morality of religions no longer applies: ours is a vocational and paschal ethic, in the Spirit that renews the face of the earth.

Every purpose, every role, every ministry, is illuminated by the victory of life over death.

In this way, behaviour must be configured to the Mystery.

We live in Christ, the new man: we are no longer under 'proper' duties and prescriptions. The baptismal attitude cannot be measured.

The anointing and the call received respond to the intimate passion, the sense of reciprocity and personal fullness, which transcend.

This is how eminent goals are moved: in participation in the fullness of life, excess that cannot be assimilated to conformity and average horizons.

For a pious Israelite to have glory is to give specific weight to one's existence, and to reveal its full value - but in an elective sense.

"Was it true glory?" - Manzoni asks himself: from glory-vain and vain it rolls down. Quite another is the Glory as the real Presence of God.

Here are the disagreements between community and humanity (people in fullness); liturgy and reality, prayer and listening, theology and life, proclamations and behind the scenes.

While the Synoptics proclaim universal love, the author of the Fourth Gospel is concerned that the unexpressed testimony of the sons not be a blatant denial of the holiness preached to others [by the 'elect'].

As Paul VI said: "Contemporary man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers". Not only for a due and proper assessment of moral consistency, but because they refer back to the Mystery, to divine Gold.

Only if we are placed on the same wave of beauty and fascination as the "Son of Man" do we contribute to not letting it fade away or exclude it: the more human we are without duplicity, the more Heaven is manifested in us.

Of course, it seems impossible to love 'like' Him (v.34), but here the Greek expression has another reading possibility. The original term does not merely indicate an ideal horizon or the lofty measure - unattainable by effort.

"Kathòs" [adverb and conjunction] is endowed with generative as well as comparative value.

The key expression of the passage can be understood as: "Love one another because I have loved you unconditionally" or "Because I have loved you gratuitously, on that very wave of life, you can now love one another".

It means: making our neighbour feel already enabled - adequate and free - is the only unreduced mark of Faith in Christ.

In short, the Father is not the God of prescriptions: He does not absorb our energies, but generates and dilates them.

It does not claim to suffocate and exhaust us.

The badge, the emblem of the full testimony of the sons and daughters of the outspoken community is not its own production.

It retains an indestructible quality of elasticity and relationship that does not dismay, nor does it let arms fall: it gives breath.

It is not the work of fanatical pro- and anti-fans, nor of a devout individualism that preaches the "salvation of one's own soul" - an exasperation of religious piety and the pedestrian retributive morality of "merits".

It is the unfolding of the action of the Son of Man (v. 31) that makes the downtrodden and mean powerful.

The Master is not content to be a queer gregarious, like the heterodox Judas, a zealous apostle in appearance.

"Son of man" indicates Jesus who manifests the Father, the man who makes manifest the divine condition.

The Person who in his human fullness reflects the healthy design of the Origins - possibility for all reborn in Christ.

Carnal feeling is in a hurry to regulate itself on the basis of goals and titles; of achievements and success, or of the perfection and prestige of the beloved. 

It establishes boundaries.Divine Love (and that of the sons) is disproportionate, it has a different conduct: it prevents, it recovers; it does not break understanding, it helps.

Non-wandering Love knows the small, the uncertain and the weak. He knows that they only grow through the experience of the Gift, otherwise they get stuck.

If gratuitousness does not supplant merit, no one grows stronger; on the contrary, all - even the energetic - shrink. It condemns to an external cloak of norms and doctrines, or disembodied abstractions and sophistries.

That is why the 'Son of Man' - the genuine and full development of the divine plan for mankind - is not hindered by public sinners, but by those who suppose of themselves and would have the ministry of making it known!

Divine Glory has nothing to do with uniforms, coats, cockades or epidermal badges; it manifests itself in Communion without prior interdictions, in the service given to the inadequate and unmanifested - from which to hope zero.

Nothing can be integrated then, adding a little something - a simple 'completion' - to the norms of the First Covenant [which did not insist on God-likeness but on mass obedience].

Inclinations of a fundamentalist nature, or mannerisms of circumstance and à la page, the lust for worldly prestige - in reality - divide.

The conviviality of differences encompasses, dilutes, accentuates the amalgam and unites, enriching. It opens to the unusual and unimaginable.

The founders of religions propose a worldview and are static models of behaviour.

They do not envisage an increasing offer (Jn 14:12: "greater works"). Widely personal invitations - deep and sharp, more so than their own.

Jesus is not a predictable 'model' to be imitated.

It is first and foremost - we repeat - a Motive and an Engine: we love like and because Christ. We live by Him, each.

We risk everything because we are within an Event that we have seen, of a Relationship that not only persuades, but leads us and generates beyond; not in a waning way.

We are no longer under a Law that appoints God by obligation, but in the challenge of a gesture that re-creates and gradually realises, making our weakness strong.

So much so that shadow sides become resources and amazement. All without depersonalising; on the contrary, emphasising uniqueness.

This is the "new" commandment.

"Kainòs" is a Greek term that marks difference, eclipses the rest - in the sense that it sums up, surpasses and replaces. It supersedes all commandments: obvious and conditional.

And there will be no better one, because our hope is not Heaven (ready-made), but Heaven on earth.

More than the too far of the old final Paradise with invariable fare and predictable fulfilment. Modic, conformist, sectoral; even there articulated according to roles.

And pyramidal.

Peter's rash generosity does not protect him, however, from the risks connected with human weakness. Moreover, it is what we too can recognize in our own lives. Peter followed Jesus with enthusiasm, he overcame the trial of faith, abandoning himself to Christ. The moment comes, however, when he gives in to fear and falls:  he betrays the Master (cf. Mk 14: 66-72).

The school of faith is not a triumphal march but a journey marked daily by suffering and love, trials and faithfulness. Peter, who promised absolute fidelity, knew the bitterness and humiliation of denial:  the arrogant man learns the costly lesson of humility. Peter, too, must learn that he is weak and in need of forgiveness.

Once his attitude changes and he understands the truth of his weak heart of a believing sinner, he weeps in a fit of liberating repentance. After this weeping he is finally ready for his mission [...]

From the naïve enthusiasm of initial acceptance, passing though the sorrowful experience of denial and the weeping of conversion, Peter succeeded in entrusting himself to that Jesus who adapted himself to his poor capacity of love. And in this way he shows us the way, notwithstanding all of our weakness. We know that Jesus adapts himself to this weakness of ours.

We follow him with our poor capacity to love and we know that Jesus is good and he accepts us.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 24 May 2006]

Man cannot live without love. He remains a being that is incomprehensible for himself, his life is senseless, if love is not revealed to him, if he does not encounter love, if he does not experience it and make it his own, if he does not participate intimately in it. This, as has already been said, is why Christ the Redeemer "fully reveals man to himself". If we may use the expression, this is the human dimension of the mystery of the Redemption. In this dimension man finds again the greatness, dignity and value that belong to his humanity. In the mystery of the Redemption man becomes newly "expressed" and, in a way, is newly created. He is newly created! "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus"64. The man who wishes to understand himself thoroughly-and not just in accordance with immediate, partial, often superficial, and even illusory standards and measures of his being-he must with his unrest, uncertainty and even his weakness and sinfulness, with his life and death, draw near to Christ. He must, so to speak, enter into him with all his own self, he must "appropriate" and assimilate the whole of the reality of the Incarnation and Redemption in order to find himself. If this profound process takes place within him, he then bears fruit not only of adoration of God but also of deep wonder at himself. How precious must man be in the eyes of the Creator, if he "gained so great a Redeemer"65, and if God "gave his only Son "in order that man "should not perish but have eternal life"66.

In reality, the name for that deep amazement at man's worth and dignity is the Gospel, that is to say: the Good News. It is also called Christianity. This amazement determines the Church's mission in the world and, perhaps even more so, "in the modern world". This amazement, which is also a conviction and a certitude-at its deepest root it is the certainty of faith, but in a hidden and mysterious way it vivifies every aspect of authentic humanism-is closely connected with Christ. It also fixes Christ's place-so to speak, his particular right of citizenship-in the history of man and mankind. Unceasingly contemplating the whole of Christ's mystery, the Church knows with all the certainty of faith that the Redemption that took place through the Cross has definitively restored his dignity to man and given back meaning to his life in the world, a meaning that was lost to a considerable extent because of sin. And for that reason, the Redemption was accomplished in the paschal mystery, leading through the Cross and death to Resurrection.

The Church's fundamental function in every age and particularly in ours is to direct man's gaze, to point the awareness and experience of the whole of humanity towards the mystery of God, to help all men to be familiar with the profundity of the Redemption taking place in Christ Jesus. At the same time man's deepest sphere is involved-we mean the sphere of human hearts, consciences and events.

[Pope John Paul II, Redemptor hominis, no.10]

In these days of Lent we have seen the persecution that Jesus suffered and how the doctors of the Law raged against him: he was judged under doggedness, with doggedness, being innocent. I would like to pray today for all the people who suffer an unjust sentence because of doggedness.

The prophecy of Isaiah that we have heard is a prophecy about the Messiah, about the Redeemer, but it is also a prophecy about the people of Israel, about the people of God: we can say that it can be a prophecy about each one of us. In essence, the prophecy emphasises that the Lord elected his servant from the womb: twice it says so (cf. Isaiah 49:1). From the beginning his servant was elected, from birth or before birth. God's people were chosen before they were born, even each one of us. None of us fell into the world by chance, by accident. Everyone has a destiny, has a free destiny, the destiny of God's election. I am born with the destiny of being a child of God, of being a servant of God, with the task of serving, of building, of edifying. And this, from the womb.

The Servant of Yahweh, Jesus, served until death: it seemed a defeat, but it was the way to serve. And this underlines the way of serving that we must take in our lives. To serve is to give oneself, to give oneself to others. To serve is not to expect any benefit for anyone other than serving. It is the glory, to serve; and the glory of Christ is to serve even to the point of annihilating himself, even to death, death on a cross (cf. Phil 2:8). Jesus is the servant of Israel. God's people are servants, and when God's people stray from this attitude of serving they are apostate people: they stray from the vocation God has given them. And when each of us turns away from this vocation to serve, we turn away from the love of God. And he builds his life on other loves, many times idolising.

The Lord elected us from the womb. There are, in life, falls: each of us is a sinner and can fall and has fallen. Only Our Lady and Jesus [are sinless]: all the rest of us are fallen, we are sinners. But what is important is the attitude before the God who has chosen me, who has anointed me as a servant; it is the attitude of a sinner who is able to ask for forgiveness, like Peter, who swears that "no, I will never deny you, Lord, never, never!", then, when the cock crows, he cries. He repents (cf. Mt 26:75). This is the way of the servant: when he slips, when he falls, ask for forgiveness.

On the other hand, when the servant is not able to understand that he has fallen, when the passion takes him in such a way that it leads him to idolatry, he opens his heart to Satan, he enters into the night: this is what happened to Judas (cf. Mt 27:3-10).

Let us think today of Jesus, the servant, faithful in service. His vocation is to serve, even unto death and death on a cross (cf. Phil 2:5-11). Let us think of each one of us, part of the people of God: we are servants, our vocation is to serve, not to take advantage of our place in the Church. Serve. Always in service.

We ask for the grace to persevere in service. Sometimes with slips, falls, but the grace at least to weep as Peter wept.

[Pope Francis, S. Marta homily 7 April 2020]

Allied Sign. Enchanting Path

(Jn 12:1-11)

As he approaches his 'hour', Christ seems to lose his official features and becomes more and more intimate, within our reach.

His dialogue with men is more interwoven with silent gestures than words.

After yesterday's public day, it is in this way that Jesus makes himself present in the community of family members with no leaders; of brothers and sisters only.

Lord and Master without fuss or triumphs; rather, wanted and forced into hiding.

He is welcomed into a quiet House, that leaves room for emotions, even though an arrest warrant was pending on him.

Church where you can enjoy an air of peace, despite the lack of security - and contrary situations around.

This is how the poor Johannine communities of Asia Minor lived under Domitian - destitute and subtracted from the outward glory, from the hosanna of the crowds. But capable ones of healing both tensions and resistances.

They were small «listening» realities, full of a desire for communion and respectful.

Without too much pressures, they guided the energies in more natural directions. As happens among a few friends.

Climate of conversation and face to face, of wonderfully human and daily life that wants to find a place in us. Where the lesser and unsteady still refresh the Master with delicate homages.

In sharing and mutual understanding, the tiny fraternities made one startle just with daily joy and ‘new life’, transmitted to those who came from all the districts.

They were experiencing Love in simplicity. Empathy that made anyone overcome difficulties and fears.

Friendship that stirred and drew by attraction - in gestures of tender devotion, that released each from attitudes and behaviour that demeaned spontaneity.

Here is the Breaking of Bread: a priceless gesture, beyond social conventions; convincing, because an ‘allied’ free sign.

It did not reject the genuine nature of each person. The Eucharist was not an exclusive fortress.

Even today we can - like Mary - without too much calculation, «anoint the feet» of the Lord: celebrate the Gift of a Way.

The faithful were understanding that their best part could be recognized not in a model circle, but [in purest state] in people with tired feet, and in the Person of that First Coming One always about to depart - by abiding within him.

It meant serving and recognizing oneself, assimilating and consecrating one's own personal journey in that overall one of the Son of God, who became very human and divine Presence, which fills and convinces.

Christ's long Journey is a trace of the ours: from the Father's initiative to the sons’ ability to welcome him, cherish him, venerate him, correspond to him - by simply getting closer to the Roots - and not reject him, if “a loser”.

Here is the homage of friendship.

Only this fills the House of Bethany - the Church that is worth experiencing - with the fragrance of the total and living Christ, and ‘reveals’ him.

Jesus defends the right of love «from within» to express itself freely: where everything becomes possible - even the waste of Gratuitousness that does not weigh the pros and cons.

Without one-sided cunnings, therefore not ruining authentic life and all inner rebirths.

[Holy Monday, March 30, 2026]