Solemnity of Christ the King of the Universe [23 November 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. We close the liturgical year C with grateful hearts as we prepare to resume our journey with Advent.

*First Reading from the Second Book of Samuel (5:1-3)

These are the first steps of the monarchy in Israel. It all begins in Hebron, an ancient city in the mountains of Judea, where the patriarchs of Israel rest: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah, and even Joseph, whose bones were brought back from Egypt. It is a place steeped in memory and faith, and it is here that David becomes king of all the twelve tribes of Israel. After the death of Moses, around 1200 BC, the people of Israel settled in Palestine. The tribes lived independently, united only by the memory of their liberation from Egypt and their faith in their one God. In times of danger, God raised up temporary leaders, the Judges, who guided the people and often also acted as prophets. One of these was Samuel, a great man of God. Over time, however, the Israelites wanted to be 'like other peoples' and asked Samuel for a king. The prophet was troubled by this, because Israel was to recognise only God as King, but in the end, on God's command, he consecrated Saul, the first king of Israel. After a promising start, Saul fell into disobedience and madness, and God chose another man: David, the young shepherd from Bethlehem, on whom Samuel poured the oil of anointing. David did not immediately take power: he served Saul faithfully, became his musician and valiant warrior, loved by the people and bound by deep friendship to Jonathan, Saul's son. But the king's jealousy turned to hatred, and David was forced to flee, while always refusing to raise his hand against 'the Lord's anointed'. After Saul's death, Israel was divided: David reigned in Hebron over the tribe of Judah, while in the north, one of Saul's sons reigned for a short time. When the latter was killed, the northern tribes gathered at Hebron and recognised David as their king. On that day, the united kingdom of Israel was born: twelve tribes under one shepherd, chosen by God and recognised by his brothers. The anointing with sacred oil made David the 'Messiah', that is, the 'anointed one of the Lord'. He was to be a king after God's own heart, a shepherd who would lead his people towards unity and peace. But history showed how difficult it was to realise this ideal. Nevertheless, hope did not die: Israel always waited for the true Messiah, the descendant of David who would establish an eternal kingdom. And a thousand years later, Jesus Christ, called "Son of David," presented himself as the Good Shepherd, the one who offers his life for his flock. Every Sunday, in the Eucharist, he renews his covenant and tells us: "You are of my own blood."

*Responsorial Psalm (121/122:1-2, 3-4, 5-6a, 7a)

"What joy when they said to me, 'We will go to the house of the Lord'." A pilgrim recounts his emotion: after a long journey, his feet finally stop at the gates of Jerusalem. We are in the time of the return from Babylonian exile: the city has been rebuilt, the Temple restored (around 515 BC), and the people find in the house of the Lord the living sign of the Covenant. Before the resurrected city, the pilgrim exclaims: Jerusalem, here you are within your walls, a compact city, where everything together forms one body! Jerusalem is not only a geographical location: it is the heart of God's people, a symbol of unity and communion. Every stone, every wall reminds us that Israel is a people gathered together by a single promise and a common destiny. God himself wanted Israel to make an annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem, so that the common journey and shared effort would keep the bond of the Covenant alive. This is why the Psalm proclaims: "There the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord... to praise the name of the Lord." The verb "to go up" indicates both the elevated position of the city and the spiritual ascent of the people towards their liberating God, the same God who brought them up, that is, out of Egypt. The phrase 'the tribes of the Lord' recalls the mutual belonging of the Covenant: 'You shall be my people, and I will be your God.' The pilgrimage, made on foot, amid fatigue, thirst and songs, is a journey of faith and fraternity. When the pilgrim exclaims, 'Now our journey is over!', he expresses the joy of one who has reached not only a geographical destination but also a spiritual one: the encounter with God in the city of his presence. Giving thanks to the Lord is Israel's vocation. Until the whole world recognises God, Israel is called to be the people of thanksgiving in the world, witnesses to divine faithfulness. Thus, every pilgrimage to Jerusalem renews Israel's mission: to give thanks, to praise and to show the way to other nations. The prophet Isaiah had foretold this universal plan: "At the end of days, the mountain of the Lord's temple will be firm on the top of the mountains, and all nations will flock to it... From Zion will go forth the law, and from Jerusalem the word of the Lord." (Is 2:2-3) Jerusalem then becomes a prophetic sign of the renewed world, where all peoples will be united in the same praise and the same peace. The Psalm recalls again: "There the thrones of judgement are set, the thrones of the house of David." With these words, Israel recalls the promise made by God to David through the prophet Nathan: "I will raise up a king from your descendants, and I will make his kingdom firm." (2 Sam 7:12). After the exile, there is no longer a king on the throne, but the promise remains alive: God does not go back on his word. In the celebrations at the Temple, this memory becomes prayer and hope: the day will come when God will raise up a king after his own heart, just and faithful, who will restore peace and justice. The very name Jerusalem means "city of peace." When we pray, "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; may those who love you be secure" (Ps 122:6), we are not simply expressing a wish, but a profession of faith: only God can give true peace, and Israel is called to be a witness to this in the world. With the passing of the centuries, the hope for a righteous king is fulfilled in Jesus Christ, the Son of David. It is He who inaugurates the Kingdom of life and truth, of grace and holiness, of justice, love and peace, as proclaimed in the liturgy of the feast of Christ the King. In Him, the earthly Jerusalem becomes the new Jerusalem, the city of the definitive encounter between God and man. Every Eucharist is an ascent towards that city, a pilgrimage of the soul that ends in the heart of God. Israel's pilgrimage to Jerusalem then becomes a symbol of the journey of all humanity towards communion with God. And like the pilgrims of the Psalm, we too, the Church of the New Testament, can say with joy: "What joy when they said to me, 'We will go to the house of the Lord'."

*Second Reading from the letter of St. Paul the Apostle to the Colossians (1:12-20)

The invisible face of God. Once upon a time, there was a world that sought God but did not know how to see him. People looked up to the sky, built temples, offered sacrifices, but God remained invisible, distant. Then, one day, the Word became flesh: the God whom no one had ever seen took on a human face, and that face was that of Jesus of Nazareth. Since then, every time a man looks at Jesus, he looks at God. St Paul said it with words that sound like a song: "He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation." In Him, everything that exists finds its origin and meaning. He is not only the beginning of the world, but also its heart: in Him everything was created, and in Him everything was reconciled. This plan of God did not come about yesterday, and Paul speaks of a design that has always been in place: 'He has delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us to the Kingdom of the Son of his love.' God has always dreamed of a free, luminous human being, capable of communion. But what God had prepared in eternity was realised in time, in the present of Christ. This is why Paul writes: "In Him we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." The mystery of Jesus is not a memory; it is a living reality that continues to work in the hearts of believers every day. God had made man "in His own image and likeness." But that image, in sin, had become clouded. So God Himself came to show us what it means to be human. In Jesus, man is restored to his original beauty. When Pilate shows him to the crowd and says, 'Behold the man!', he does not know that he is uttering a prophecy: in that wounded face, in that humble silence, the true man is revealed, as God had intended him to be. But in that face there is also the face of God. Jesus is the visibility of the invisible. He is God who allows himself to be seen, touched, heard. "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father," he will say to Philip. And Paul will add: "In him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily." In Jesus, God and man meet forever. The infinite has taken flesh, heaven has become flesh. This is the mystery of the Cross. But how can the Cross be a sign of peace and reconciliation? Paul explains it this way: "God wanted to reconcile all things to himself, making peace through the blood of his cross." It is not God who wants the suffering of his Son. It is the hatred of men that kills him. Yet God transforms that hatred into redeeming love. It is the great reversal of history: violence becomes forgiveness, death becomes life, the cross becomes a tree of peace. We have seen men in history who have witnessed to peace and been killed for it — Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Itzhak Rabin, Sadat... — but only Christ, being both man and God, was able to transform evil into grace for the whole world. In his forgiveness of his crucifiers — “Father, forgive them” — God’s own forgiveness is revealed. From that day on, we know that no sin is greater than God’s love. On the cross, everything is accomplished. Paul writes: “God wanted all fullness to dwell in him, and through him to reconcile everything.” Creation finally finds its unity, its peace. The first to enter this Kingdom is the repentant thief: "Today you will be with me in paradise." And from then on, every person who opens themselves to forgiveness enters into that same light. The Eucharist is the heart of the mystery. Faced with such a gift, there is only one possible response: to give thanks. This is why Paul invites us: "Give thanks to God the Father, who has made you capable of sharing in the lot of the saints in the light." The Eucharist — in Greek, eucharistia means precisely "giving thanks" — is the place where the Church relives this mystery. Every Mass is a living memory of this reconciliation: God gives himself, the world is renewed, man finds himself again. It is there that everything is recomposed: the visible and the invisible, earth and heaven, man and God. And so, in the history of the world, a face has revealed the invisible. A pierced heart has brought peace. A broken loaf continues to make present the fullness of love. And every time the Church gathers for the Eucharist, Paul's song is renewed as a cosmic praise: Christ is the image of the invisible God, the first and the last, the one who reconciles the world with the Father, the one in whom everything subsists. In Him, everything finds meaning. In Him, everything is grace. In Him, the invisible God finally has a face: Jesus Christ, Lord of heaven and earth.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (23:35-43)

The logic of men and the logic of God. Three times, at the foot of the cross, the same provocation is repeated to Jesus: "If you are..." — "If you are the Messiah," the religious leaders mock; 'If you are the King of the Jews', sneer the Roman soldiers; 'If you are the Messiah', insults one of the criminals crucified with him. Each speaks from his own point of view: the leaders of Israel expect a powerful Messiah, but before them is a defeated and crucified man; the soldiers, men of earthly power, laugh at a defenceless 'king'; the criminal, on the other hand, awaits a saviour who will free him from death. These three voices recall the three temptations in the desert (Lk 4): even then, the tempter repeated, 'If you are the Son of God...'. Temptations of power, dominion and miracles. Jesus responded each time with the Word: 'It is written: man does not live on bread alone...' 'You shall worship the Lord your God and him alone shall you serve...' 'You shall not tempt the Lord your God'. Scripture was his strength to remain faithful to the mission of the poor and obedient Messiah. On the cross, however, Jesus is silent. He no longer responds to provocations. Yet he knows well who he is: the Messiah, the Saviour. But not according to the logic of men, who would like a God capable of saving himself, of dominating, of winning by force. Jesus dies precisely because he does not correspond to this human logic. His logic is that of God: to save by giving himself, without imposing himself. His silence is not empty, but full of trust. His very name, Jesus, means 'God saves'. He awaits his redemption from God alone, not from himself. The temptations are overcome forever: he remains faithful, totally surrendered into the hands of men, but trusting in the Father. Amidst the insults, two words encapsulate the mystery of the Cross. The first: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." The second, addressed to the "good thief": "Today you will be with me in Paradise." Forgiveness and salvation: two gestures that are both divine and human. In Jesus, God himself forgives and reconciles humanity. The repentant thief — who turns to him and says, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom" — is the first to understand who Christ truly is. He does not ask to come down from the cross, but to be welcomed. In that plea of humility and trust, the "remember" becomes the prayer that opens Paradise. Where Adam, in the Garden of Eden, had succumbed to the temptation to "be like God," Jesus, the new Adam, wins by waiting for everything from God. Adam had wanted to decide his own greatness and had been cast out of Paradise; Jesus, on the other hand, by accepting to be the Son in total abandonment, reopens Paradise to humanity. In the story of the Passion, two logics intersect: that of men, who seek a powerful God, and that of God, who saves through love and weakness. Jesus rejects the temptation to demonstrate his strength; instead, he chooses to trust the Father until the end. In his silence and forgiveness, divine power manifests itself as mercy. Beside him, the repentant thief becomes the first witness of the Kingdom: he recognises Christ as the true King, not of the powerful, but of the saved. Where Adam had closed the gates of Paradise, Jesus reopens them: 'Today you will be with me in Paradise' is God's definitive response to the logic of the world.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

XXXIII Sunday in Ordinary Time C [16 November 2025]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Malachi (3:19-20a)

When Malachi wrote these words around 450 BC, the people were discouraged: faith seemed to be dying out, even among the priests of Jerusalem, who now celebrated worship in a superficial manner. Everyone asked themselves: 'What is God doing? Has he forgotten us? Life is unfair! The wicked succeed in everything, so what is the point of being the chosen people and observing the commandments? Where is God's justice?" The prophet then fulfils his task: to reawaken faith and inner energy. He rebukes priests and lay people, but above all he proclaims that God is just and that his plan of justice is advancing irresistibly. "Behold, the day of the Lord is coming": history is not a repeating cycle, but is moving towards fulfilment. For those who believe, this is a truth of faith: the day of the Lord is coming. Depending on the image that each person has of God, this coming can be frightening or arouse ardent expectation. But for those who recognise that God is Father, the day of the Lord is good news, a day of love and light. Malachi uses the image of the sun: "Behold, the day of the Lord is coming, burning like an oven." This is not a threat! At the beginning of the book, God says, "I love you" (Malachi 1:2) and "I am Father" (Malachi 1:6). The "furnace" is not punishment, but a symbol of God's burning love. Just as the disciples of Emmaus felt their hearts burning within them, so those who encounter God are enveloped in the warmth of his love. The 'sun of righteousness' is therefore a fire of love: on the day we encounter God, we will be immersed in this burning ocean of mercy. God cannot help but love, especially all that is poor, naked and defenceless. This is the very meaning of mercy: a heart that bends over misery. Malachi also speaks of judgement. The sun, in fact, can burn or heal: it is ambivalent. In the same way, the 'Sun of God' reveals everything, illuminating without leaving any shadows: no lie or hypocrisy can hide from its light. God's judgement is not destruction, but revelation and purification. The sun will 'burn' the arrogant and the wicked, but it will 'heal' those who fear his name. Arrogance and closed hearts will be consumed like straw; humility and faith will be transfigured. Pride and humility, selfishness and love coexist in each of us. God's judgement will take place within us: what is 'straw' will burn, what is 'good seed' will sprout in God's sun. It will be a process of inner purification, until the image and likeness of God shines within us. Malachi also uses two other images: that of the smelter, who purifies gold not to destroy it, but to make it shine in all its beauty; and that of the bleacher, who does not ruin the garment, but makes it shine. Thus, God's judgement is a work of light: everything that is love, service and mercy will be exalted; everything that is not love will disappear. In the end, only what reflects the face of God will remain. The historical context helps us to understand this text: Israel is experiencing a crisis of faith and hope after the exile; the priests are lukewarm and the people are disillusioned. The prophet's message: God is neither absent nor unjust. His 'day' will come: it is the moment when his justice and love will be fully manifested. The central image is the Sun of Justice, symbol of God's purifying love. Like the sun, divine love burns and heals, consumes evil and makes good flourish. In each of us, God does not condemn, but transforms everything into salvation by discerning what glorifies love and dissolves pride. Fire, the sun, the smelter and the bleacher indicate the purification that leads to the original beauty of man created in the image of God. Finally, there is nothing to fear: for those who believe, the day of the Lord reveals love. "The sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings" (Malachi 3:20).

Responsorial Psalm (97/98:5-6, 7-8, 9)

This psalm transports us ideally to the end of time, when all creation, renewed, joyfully acclaims the coming of the Kingdom of God. The text speaks of the sea and its riches, the world and its inhabitants, the rivers and the mountains: all creation is involved. St Paul, in his Letter to the Ephesians (1:9-10), reminds us that this is God's eternal plan: 'to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, Christ'. God wants to reunite everything, to create full communion between the cosmos and creatures, to establish universal harmony. In the psalm, this harmony is already sung as accomplished: the sea roars, the rivers clap their hands, the mountains rejoice. It is God's dream, already announced by the prophet Isaiah (11:6-9): 'The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid... no one shall do evil or destruction on all my holy mountain'. But the reality is very different: man knows the dangers of the sea, conflicts with nature and with his fellow men. Creation is marked by struggle and disharmony. However, biblical faith knows that the day will come when the dream will become reality, because it is God's own plan. The role of prophets, such as Isaiah, is to revive the hope of this messianic Kingdom of justice and faithfulness. The Psalms also tirelessly repeat the reasons for this hope: Psalm 97(98) sings of the Kingdom of God as the restoration of order and universal peace. After so many unjust kings, a Kingdom of justice and righteousness is awaited. The people sing as if everything were already accomplished: "Sing hymns to the Lord who comes to judge the earth... and the peoples with righteousness." At the beginning of the psalm, the wonders of the past are recalled—the exodus from Egypt, God's faithfulness in the history of Israel—but now it is proclaimed that God is coming: his Kingdom is certain, even if not yet fully visible. The experience of the past becomes a guarantee of the future: God has already shown his faithfulness, and this allows the believer to joyfully anticipate the coming of the Kingdom. As Psalm 89(90) says: "A thousand years in your sight are like yesterday." And Saint Peter (2 Pt 3:8-9) reminds us that God does not delay his promise, but waits for the conversion of all. This psalm therefore echoes the promises of the prophet Malachi: "The sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings" (Mal 3:20). The singers of this psalm are the poor of the Lord, those who await the coming of Christ as light and warmth. Once it was only Israel that sang: "Acclaim the Lord, all the earth, acclaim your king!" But in the last days, all creation will join in this song of victory, no longer just the chosen people. In Hebrew, the verb "to acclaim" evokes the cry of triumph of the victor on the battlefield ("teru'ah"). But in the new world, this cry will no longer be one of war, but of joy and salvation, because — as Isaiah says (51:8): "My righteousness shall endure forever, my salvation from generation to generation." Jesus teaches us to pray, "Thy Kingdom come," which is the fulfilment of God's eternal dream: universal reconciliation and communion, in which all creation will sing in unison the justice and peace of its Lord.

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians (3:7-12)

Saint Paul writes: "If anyone does not want to work, let him not eat" (2 Thessalonians 3:10). Today, this phrase cannot be repeated literally, because it does not refer to the unemployed of good will of our time, but to a completely different situation. Paul is not talking about those who cannot work, but those who do not want to work, taking advantage of the expectation of the imminent coming of the Lord to live in idleness. In Paul's world, there was no shortage of work. When he arrived in Corinth, he easily found employment with Priscilla and Aquila, who were in the same trade as him: tentmakers (Acts 18:1-3). His manual labour, weaving goat hair cloth, a skill he had learned in Tarsus in Cilicia, was tiring and not very profitable, but it allowed him not to be a burden to anyone: 'In toil and hardship, night and day we worked so as not to be a burden to anyone' (2 Thessalonians 3:8). This continuous work, supported also by the financial help of the Philippians, became for Paul a living testimony against the idleness of those who, convinced of the imminent return of Christ, had abandoned all commitment. His phrase 'if anyone does not want to work, let him not eat' is not a personal invention, but a common rabbinical saying, an expression of ancient wisdom that combined faith and concrete responsibility. The first reason Paul gives is respect for others: not taking advantage of the community, not living at the expense of others. Faith in the coming of the Kingdom must not become a pretext for passivity. On the contrary, waiting for the Kingdom translates into active and supportive commitment: Christians collaborate in the construction of the new world with their own hands, their own intelligence, their own dedication. Paul implicitly recalls the mandate of Genesis: 'Subdue the earth and subjugate it' (Gen 1:28), which does not mean exploiting it, but taking part in God's plan, transforming the earth into a place of justice and love, a foretaste of his Kingdom. The Kingdom is not born outside the world, but grows within history, through the collaboration of human beings. As Father Aimé Duval sings: "Your heaven will be made on earth with your arms." And as Khalil Gibran writes in The Prophet: "When you work, you realise a part of the dream of the earth... Work is love made visible." In this perspective, every gesture of love, care and service, even if unpaid, is a participation in the building of the Kingdom of God. To work, to create, to serve, is to collaborate with the Creator. Saint Peter reminds us: “With the Lord, one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like one day... He is not slow in keeping his promise, but he is patient, wanting everyone to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:8-9). This means that the time of waiting is not empty, but a time entrusted to our responsibility. Every act of justice, every good work, every gesture of love hastens the coming of the Kingdom. Therefore, the text concludes, if we truly desire the Kingdom of God to come sooner, we have not a minute to lose. Here is a small spiritual summary: Idleness is not simply a lack of work, but a renunciation of collaboration with God. Work, in whatever form, is part of the divine dream: to make the earth a place of communion and justice. Waiting for the Kingdom does not mean escaping from the world, but committing ourselves to transforming it. Every gesture of love is a stone laid for the Kingdom to come. Those who work with a pure heart hasten the dawn of the 'Sun of Justice' promised by the prophets.

From the Gospel according to Luke (21:5-19)

'Not a hair of your head will be lost.' This is prophetic language, not literal. We see every day that hair is indeed lost! This shows that Jesus' words are not to be taken literally, but as symbolic language. Jesus, like the prophets before him, does not make predictions about the future: he preaches. He does not announce chronicles of events, but keys of faith to interpret history. His discourse on the end of the Temple should also be understood in this way: it is not a horoscope of the apocalypse, but a teaching on how to live the present with faith, especially when everything seems to be falling apart. The message is clear: 'Whatever happens... do not be afraid!' Jesus invites us not to base our lives on what is passing. The Temple of Jerusalem, restored by Herod and covered with gold, was splendid, but destined to collapse. Every earthly reality, even the most sacred or solid, is temporary. True stability does not lie in stones, but in God. Jesus does not offer details about the 'when' or 'how' of the Kingdom; he shifts the question: 'Be careful not to be deceived...'. We do not need to know the calendar of the future, but to live the present in faithfulness. Jesus warns his disciples: "Before all this, they will persecute you, they will drag you before kings and governors because of my Name." Luke, who writes after years of persecution, knows well how true this is: from Stephen to James, from Peter to Paul, to many others. But even in persecution, Jesus promises: "I will give you a word and wisdom that no one will be able to resist." This does not mean that Christians will be spared death — "they will kill some of you" — but that no violence can destroy what you are in God: "Not a hair of your head will be lost." It is a way of saying: your life is kept safe in the hands of the Father. Even through death, you remain alive in God's life. Jesus twice uses the expression "for my Name's sake." In Hebrew, "The Name" refers to God himself: to say "for the Name's sake" is to say "for God's sake." Thus Jesus reveals his own divinity: to suffer for his Name is to participate in the mystery of his love. In the Acts of the Apostles, Saint Luke shows Peter and John who, after being flogged, "went away rejoicing because they had been counted worthy of suffering for the Name of Jesus" (Acts 5:41). It is the same certainty that Saint Paul expresses in his Letter to the Romans: "Neither death nor life, nor any creature can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus" (Rom 8:38-39). Catastrophes, wars, epidemics — all these "shocks" of the world — must not take away our peace. The true sign of believers is the serenity that comes from trust. In the turmoil of the world, the calmness of God's children is already a testimony. Jesus sums it up in one word: "Take courage: I have overcome the world!" (Jn 16:33). And here is a spiritual synthesis: Jesus does not promise a life without trials, but a salvation stronger than death. Not even a hair...' means that no part of you is forgotten by God. Persecution does not destroy, but purifies faith. Nothing can separate us from the love of God: our security is the risen Christ. To believe is to remain steadfast, even when everything trembles.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

(Lk 23:35-43)

The Son is crucified among criminals. For political and religious power, he was a much worse danger.

According to Lk, only one outraged him; the other called Jesus by name and relied on him (v.42).

At the beginning of the Gospel the coming of the Lord is placed among the least of the earth.

He manifests himself to the world among impure and despised people [even certain that they must be incinerated of the Judge Messiah, and who therefore were afraid of him] not among the righteous and saints of the Temple.

Then his whole life takes place in the midst of tax collectors and sinners, because he came for them.

In fact: who brings back to the Father’s house? A guy any, representing all of us - a criminal who had committed murders - because all sins consist in taking away someone’s life and joy of living.

So that killer represents us. And Christ begins to build Family precisely with the criminal next door, who are we: sinners recovered from his unconditional Love.

In Lk the crowd is in disarray.

People do not insult the Faithful Son accused by religious authorities, but remain perplexed, they do not understand.

The people did not have healthy spiritual guides, capable of making the authentic features of God’s world be recognized - and vice versa, what made it caricature.

That of “universal King” is a title that today carries with it many misunderstandings - when attributed to the authentic Christ, reduced to zero.

This is because it’s confused with artificial magnitudes, magnificences of exteriority.

The regality of believers in Him is inapparent, all substance. Power that opens up new possibilities, even in dark dimension.

Nothing to do with the temptations to realize oneself by thinking in a trivial, hasty, outwardly, comfortable way, and promoting only oneself  (vv.37.39).

In the Gospels - in fact - evil is presented not as a bad opponent and antagonist, but affable and complacent counselor, who seems to convey security from the unexpected, and make us win positions.

Friend who loves and protects us, so he gives the tips to stand up, impose, succeed.

But focussing on appearances ends up making us ignore and not understand the deep paths of the soul.

At the word «kingdom», Pilate immediately thought that of Tiberius (vv.2-4)

Here the size of the Kingdom is upside down: it doesn’t show the muscles.

His King stands us by, he is a Person able to create harmony of beauty within; a quieter road.

Salvation comes from what in our life is considered as bland and nothingness, yet it opens wide the infinite that dwells inside - the boundless of the primordial, present and final Friend.

He reverberates in the heart, and directs - Eternal who intimately resonates, even in tragic situations.

This comes even from those who - Jesus, benevolent oppressed - was valued a cursed by God and considered scum of society à la page.

Conversely, friendly Presence; wich makes us "see" and unlocks.

The radical difference between religiosity and Faith? The sense of an intimate and surprising Mystery that awakens us.

Wine, not «vinegar» [sour wine (v.36)]: corruption of love and of the celebration.

The God of religions drives out the contradictory and inadequate woman and man from Paradise. The Father welcomes them.

[34th Sunday in O.T.  (year C), November 23, 2025, Christ the King]

(Lk 23:35-43)

The Son is crucified between criminals. For the political and religious powers, he was a far greater danger.

According to Luke, only one of them reviled him; the other called Jesus by name and entrusted himself to him (v. 42).

At the beginning of the Gospel, the coming of the Lord is placed among the least of the earth.

From the beginning, he reveals himself to the world among unclean and despised people [who were even certain that they would be put to death by the Messiah the judge, and who therefore feared him], not among the righteous and holy of the Temple.

Then his whole life unfolds among tax collectors and sinners, because he came for them.

In fact, who brings us back to the Father's house? Just anyone, who represents all of us - a criminal who had committed murder - because all sins consist in taking away someone's life and joy of living.

So that murderer represents us. And Christ begins to build his family with a criminal at his side, who is us: sinners redeemed by his unconditional love.

What proposals offer us a valid impetus and do not amputate precious parts of ourselves?

What do we believe can deify us, bringing us closer to a full life? 

Who is a friend who does not interrupt us, and who is an enemy - capable of making us grow (or dehumanise us)?

In Luke, the crowd is in disarray.

The people do not insult the Faithful accused by the religious authorities, but remain perplexed, unable to understand.

The people have not had sound spiritual guides capable of helping them recognise their own world of God - and vice versa, what makes it caricatural.

The title of universal King is one that today carries with it many misunderstandings - when attributed to the authentic Christ, it is reduced to nothing.

This is because it is confused with fatuous merits, artificial grandeur, theatrical magnificence and mere appearance [mostly ridiculous].

The royalty of those who believe in Him is unapparent, but it is all substance. It is a power that opens up new possibilities, even in dark times.

It has nothing to do with the temptations of self-fulfilment through trivial, hasty, superficial, comfortable thinking and the promotion of oneself alone (vv. 37.39).

In the Gospels, in fact, evil is presented not as a wicked adversary and antagonist, but as an affable and complacent advisor who seems to convey security from the unexpected and help us gain positions.

A friend who loves and protects us, therefore giving us tips on how to assert ourselves, impose ourselves, and succeed. And yet affirming in things of social [but superficial] importance that degrade our personal vocation.

Even (as has often seemed to be the case, unfortunately) in the spiritual realm.

But focusing on appearances ends up making us ignore and not understand the deep paths of the soul.

On Calvary, the Lord achieves kingship, a way of crowning life, an elevation of self, diametrically opposed to what the evil one suggests.

And here he is again at the crucial appointment set from the beginning of his public life (Lk 4:1-13), at the moment of extreme weakness!

In short, we want to be great, capable of surpassing others, and well regarded, even in the spiritual life.

But to become village chiefs, we must be cunning or blend in with the crowd, and follow criteria that have nothing to do with the life of Jesus.

We must ally ourselves with important people, introduce ourselves, make ourselves known, learn to seduce, be quick, well-connected, agile, and skilful.

In this way, even on the path to God, we give in to the temptation of status, calibre, notoriety, consideration, visibility, and comfort. And we must keep our mouths shut, otherwise there will be no career.

The urge of the gut recommends: 'Come on, together we can do something big, and you will be the dominant one in the nest. Instead of just another failure, you will become someone to be revered'.

But the dimension of the Kingdom is upside down.

At the word 'kingdom', Pilate immediately thought of that of Tiberius (vv. 2-4).

Instead, at the end of his life, what was Jesus' throne? And the obsequious servants?

Below him was an audience that insulted and challenged him.

The bodyguards? Where did the ambitious ministers, generals and colonels, those who sprang to his orders, end up?

Two unfortunate souls, disfigured by their own mistakes, who represent us.

But someone recites the mantra until the end: 'Save yourself!'.

Christ and his close friends do not intend to destroy the soul, so they do not come down from the gallows; on the contrary, they recognise it as 'their own': a supreme opportunity.

We do not want to add more years, but more intensity to life.

We do not adapt our hearts to the old royalty, that of those who intimidate, flex their muscles, use their abilities and even their devout appearance only for their own gain - building situations of papier-mâché, without backbone.

These are very dangerous people: they are the gendarmes of an ambitious, competitive, cynical world. Accustomed to the flattering servility that makes everyone bow their heads.

They offer 'vinegar', sour wine (v. 36): the corruption of love and celebration.

Their bitter product is that love of the system of things, and a caricature of happiness linked to power that 'counts'.

If approved, they risk making us give up our desire for an alternative world and fall back on ourselves.

Instead, the criminal calls him by name, recognising him as a travelling companion, confidant and natural ally.

Someone who stands by him and is able to create inner harmony; a quieter path.

So, how do Victory and Peace relate to each other within us?

It is a 'time' that we perhaps do not yet know, despite the virtuosity of devout fulfilments (which sometimes take root in the worst disturbances).

By becoming more attentive and loving, less distant and competitive, we might respond in a surprising way to such a question:

Is it prevailing that brings a sense of harmony, liveliness and completeness, or vice versa?

What distracts us from the whirlpool of idols that divert our existence and confuse our destination?

Salvation comes from what is considered insipid and nothing in our lives, yet it opens up the infinity that already dwells within us - the boundlessness of the primordial, present and final Friend.

He reverberates in the heart and guides us - the Eternal One who resonates intimately, even in tragic situations.

This comes even from the one who - the benevolent, oppressed Jesus - was considered cursed by God and regarded as the scum of society à la page.

Conversely, a friendly Presence; one that makes us 'see' and unlocks us.

The radical difference between religiosity and Faith? The sense of an intimate and surprising Mystery that awakens us.

The God of religions drives contradictory and inadequate women and men out of Paradise. The Father welcomes them.

To internalise and live the message:

The leaders mock: 'You have abilities: think of yourself, assert yourself, be selfless; you must rise above, or at least float. Don't worry about anything else!'.

Which character do you recognise yourself in?

In moments of weakness, are you tempted by power, or do you look inside and see better - precisely by going through your inadequacy?

In the Gospel we see that everyone asks Jesus to come down from the Cross. They mock him, but this is also a way of excusing themselves from blame as if to say: it is not our fault that you are hanging on the Cross; it is solely your fault because if you really were the Son of God, the King of the Jews, you would not stay there but would save yourself by coming down from that infamous scaffold. 

Therefore, if you remain there it means that you are wrong and we are right. The tragedy that is played out beneath the Cross of Jesus is a universal tragedy; it concerns all people before God who reveals himself for what he is, namely, Love.

In the crucified Jesus the divinity is disfigured, stripped of all visible glory and yet is present and real. Faith alone can recognize it: the faith of Mary, who places in her heart too this last scene in the mosaic of her Son's life. She does not yet see the whole, but continues to trust in God, repeating once again with the same abandonment: “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord” (cf. Lk 1:38).

Then there is the faith of the Good Thief: a faith barely outlined but sufficient to assure him salvation: “Today you will be with me in Paradise” . This “with me” is crucial. Yes, it is this that saves him. Of course, the good thief is on the cross like Jesus, but above all he is on the Cross with Jesus. And, unlike the other evildoer and all those who taunt him, he does not ask Jesus to come done from the Cross nor to make him come down. Instead he says: “remember me when you come into your kingdom”. 

The Good Thief sees Jesus on the Cross, disfigured and unrecognizable and yet he entrusts himself to him as to a king, indeed as to the King. The good thief believes what was written on the tablet over Jesus' head: “The King of the Jews”. He believed and entrusted himself. For this reason he was already, immediately, in the “today” of God, in Paradise, because Paradise is this: being with Jesus, being with God.

[Pope Benedict, homily at the Consistory, 21 November 2010]

The text of the Gospel of Saint Luke, now proclaimed, brings us back to the highly dramatic scene that takes place in “the place called Calvary” (Lk 23:33) and presents us with three groups of people gathered around the crucified Jesus, discussing his “figure” and his “end” in various ways. Who, in reality, is the one who is crucified there? While the common and anonymous people remain rather uncertain and limit themselves to watching, "the leaders, on the other hand, mocked him, saying, 'He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, his chosen one. As we can see, their weapon is negative and destructive irony. But even the soldiers - the second group - mocked him and, almost in a tone of provocation and challenge, said to him, 'If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself', perhaps taking their cue from the very words of the inscription they saw above his head. Then there were the two criminals who disagreed with each other in judging their fellow sufferer: while one blasphemed him, repeating the contemptuous expressions of the soldiers and leaders, the other openly declared that Jesus "had done nothing wrong" and, turning to him, implored him: "Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom" .

This is how, at the climax of the crucifixion, just as the life of the prophet of Nazareth is about to be taken, we can gather, even in the midst of discussions and contradictions, these arcane allusions to the king and the kingdom.

2. This scene is well known to you, dear brothers and sisters, and needs no further comment. But how appropriate and significant it is, and, I would say, how right and necessary it is that today's feast of Christ the King should be set against the backdrop of Calvary. We can say without hesitation that the kingship of Christ, which we celebrate and meditate on today, must always be referred to the event that took place on that hill and be understood in the saving mystery wrought there by Christ: I am referring to the event and mystery of the redemption of man. Christ Jesus, we must note, affirms himself as king at the very moment when, amid the pains and torments of the cross, amid the misunderstandings and blasphemies of those present, he agonises and dies. Truly, his is a singular kingship, such that only the eye of faith can recognise it: 'Regnavit a ligno Deus'!

3. The kingship of Christ, which springs from his death on Calvary and culminates in the inseparable event of the resurrection, calls us back to the centrality that belongs to him by reason of what he is and what he has done. Word of God and Son of God, first and foremost, "through whom - as we will shortly repeat in the "creed" - all things were created", he has an intrinsic, essential and inalienable primacy in the order of creation, in relation to which he is the supreme exemplary cause. And after 'the Word became flesh and dwelt among us' (Jn 1:14), also as man and son of man, he attained a second title in the order of redemption, through obedience to the Father's plan, through the suffering of death and the consequent triumph of the resurrection.

With this twofold primacy converging in him, we therefore have not only the right and duty, but also the satisfaction and honour of confessing his exalted lordship over things and men, which can be called kingship in a term that is certainly neither inappropriate nor metaphorical. "He humbled himself, becoming obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and given him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord" (Phil 2:8-11).

This is the name of which the apostle speaks: it is the name of Lord, and it designates the incomparable dignity that belongs to him alone and places him alone—as I wrote at the beginning of my first encyclical—at the centre, indeed at the summit of the cosmos and of history. “Ave Dominus noster! Ave rex noster”!

4. But if we wish to consider, in addition to the titles and reasons, the nature and scope of the kingship of Christ our Lord, we cannot fail to refer to that power which he himself, on the verge of leaving this earth, defined as total and universal, placing it at the basis of the mission entrusted to the apostles: “All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you" (Mt 28:18-20). These words not only explicitly claim sovereign authority, but also indicate, in the very act of sharing it with the apostles, its ramification into distinct, albeit coordinated, spiritual functions. If, in fact, the risen Christ tells his disciples to go and reminds them of what he has already commanded, if he gives them the task of both teaching and baptising, this is explained by the fact that he himself, precisely by virtue of the supreme power that belongs to him, possesses these rights in full and is empowered to exercise these functions as king, teacher and priest.

There is certainly no need to ask which of these three titles comes first, because, in the general context of the salvific mission that Christ received from the Father, each of them corresponds to equally necessary and important functions. However, in order to remain faithful to the content of today's liturgy, it is appropriate to insist on the royal function and to focus our gaze, enlightened by faith, on the figure of Christ as king and lord.

In this regard, the exclusion of any reference of a political or temporal nature seems obvious.

To Pilate's formal question, "Are you the king of the Jews?" (Jn 18:33), Jesus explicitly replies that his kingdom is not of this world and, in response to the Roman procurator's insistence, he affirms, "You say that I am a king," adding immediately afterwards: "For this I came into the world, to bear witness to the truth" (Jn 18:37). In this way, he declares the exact dimension of his kingship and the sphere in which it is exercised: it is the spiritual dimension that includes, first and foremost, the truth to be proclaimed and served. His kingdom, even though it begins here on earth, has nothing earthly about it and transcends all human limitations, reaching towards its fulfilment beyond time, in the infinity of eternity.

5. It is to this kingdom that Christ the Lord has called us, giving us the gift of a vocation that is a participation in those powers of his that I have already mentioned. We are all at the service of the kingdom and, at the same time, by virtue of our baptismal consecration, we are invested with a dignity and a royal, priestly and prophetic office, so that we may effectively collaborate in its growth and spread. This theme, on which the Second Vatican Council so providentially insisted in its constitution on the Church and in its decree on the apostolate of the laity (cf. Lumen Gentium, 31-36; Apostolicam Actuositatem, 2-3), is certainly familiar to you, dear brothers and sisters and children of the diocese of Rome who are listening to me. But today, on the feast of Christ the King, I wish to recall it and strongly recommend it to your attention and sensitivity.

You have come to this sacred assembly as representatives and leaders of the Roman laity, who are most directly involved in apostolic action. Who better than you, given the duty of exemplarity that falls upon Christians in the city, is called upon to reflect on how to conceive and carry out such work on such a significant occasion? It is truly a service to the kingdom, and this is precisely why I have summoned you today to the Vatican Basilica, to encourage your hearts to render ever vigilant, concrete and generous service to the kingdom of Christ.

I know that, in view of the new pastoral year, you are studying the theme of 'community and communion', and you have based your reflections on the well-known words addressed by the Apostle John to the first baptised, which can be considered as the dynamic programme of every Christian community: 'What we have seen with our eyes, what we have contemplated and what our hands have touched, namely the Word of life... we proclaim to you too, so that you may be in communion with us' (1 Jn 1:1, 3).

Here, dear friends, is your plan for life and work: you, believers and Christians, lay people and committed priests, gathering the testimony of the apostles, have already seen Christ the Redeemer and King, you have encountered him in the reality of his human and divine, historical and transcendent presence, you have entered into communication with him, with his grace, with the truth and salvation he brings, and now, on the basis of this powerful experience, you intend to proclaim him to the city of Rome, to the people, families and communities who live there. This is a great task, a high honour, an ineffable gift: to serve Christ the King and to devote time, effort, intelligence and fervour to making him known, loved and followed, in the certainty that only in Christ - the way, the truth and the life (Jn 14:6) - society and individuals can find the true meaning of existence, the code of authentic values, the right moral line, the necessary strength in adversity, and light and hope regarding meta-historical realities. If your dignity is great and your mission magnificent, always be ready and joyful in serving Christ the King in every place, at every moment, in every environment.

I am well aware of the serious difficulties that exist in modern society, particularly in populous and frenetic cities such as Rome today. Despite certain complicated and sometimes hostile situations, I urge you never to lose heart. Take courage! Work zealously throughout the diocese and in individual parishes and communities, bringing everywhere the enthusiasm of your faith and your love for punctual and faithful service to Christ the Lord. So be it.

[Pope John Paul II, homily, 23 November 1980]

On this last Sunday of the liturgical year, we join our voices to that of the criminal crucified beside Jesus, who acknowledged and acclaimed him a king. Amid cries of ridicule and humiliation, at the least triumphal and glorious moment possible, that thief was able to speak up and make his profession of faith. His were the last words Jesus heard, and Jesus’ own words in reply were the last he spoke before abandoning himself to the Father: “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise” (Lk 23:43). 

The chequered history of the thief seems, in an instant, to take on new meaning: he was meant to be there to accompany the Lord’s suffering. And that moment does nothing more than confirm the entire meaning of Jesus’ life: always and everywhere to offer salvation. The attitude of the good thief makes the horror and injustice of Calvary – where helplessness and incomprehension are met with jeers and mockery from those indifferent to the death of an innocent man – become a message of hope for all humanity. “Save yourself!” The shouts of scornful derision addressed to the innocent victim of suffering will not be the last word; rather, they will awaken a response from those who let their hearts be touched, who choose compassion as the authentic way to shape history. 

Today, in this place, we want to renew our faith and our commitment. We know too well the history of our failures, sins and limitations, even as the good thief did, but we do not want them to be what determines or defines our present and future. We know how readily all of us can take the easy route of shouting out: “Save yourself!” and choose not to think about our responsibility to alleviate the suffering of innocent people all around us. This land has experienced, as few countries have, the destructive power of which we humans are capable. Like the good thief, we want to speak up and profess our faith, to defend and assist the Lord, the innocent man of sorrows. We want to accompany him in his ordeal, to stand by him in his isolation and abandonment, and to hear once more that salvation is the word the Father desires to speak to all: “Today you will be with me in Paradise”.

Saint Paul Miki and his companions gave their lives in courageous witness to that salvation and certainty, along with the hundreds of martyrs whose witness is a distinguished element of your spiritual heritage. We want to follow in their path, to walk in their footsteps and to profess courageously that the love poured out in sacrifice for us by Christ crucified is capable of overcoming all manner of hatred, selfishness, mockery and evasion. It is capable of defeating all those forms of facile pessimism or comfortable indolence that paralyze good actions and decisions. As the Second Vatican Council reminds us, they are sadly mistaken who believe that, because we have here no lasting city and keep our gaze fixed on the future, we can ignore our responsibility for the world in which we live. They fail to see that the very faith we profess obliges us to live and work in a way that points to the noble vocation to which we have been called (cf. Gaudium et Spes, 43). 

Our faith is in the God of the living. Christ is alive and at work in our midst, leading all of us to the fullness of life. He is alive and wants us to be alive; he is our hope (cf. Christus Vivit, 1). Each day we pray: Lord, may your kingdom come. With these words, we want our own lives and actions to become a hymn of praise. If, as missionary disciples, our mission is to be witnesses and heralds of things to come, we cannot become resigned in the face of evil in any of its forms. Rather, we are called to be a leaven of Christ’s Kingdom wherever we find ourselves: in the family, at work or in society at large. We are to be a little opening through which the Spirit continues to breathe hope among peoples. The kingdom of heaven is our common goal, a goal that cannot be only about tomorrow. We have to implore it and begin to experience it today, amid the indifference that so often surrounds and silences the sick and disabled, the elderly and the abandoned, refugees and immigrant workers. All of them are a living sacrament of Christ our King (cf. Mt25:31-46). For “if we have truly started out anew from the contemplation of Christ, we must learn to see him especially in the faces of those with whom he himself wished to be identified” (John Paul II, Novo Millennio Ineunte, 49). 

On that day at Calvary, many voices remained silent; others jeered. Only the thief’s voice rose to the defence of the innocent victim of suffering. His was a brave profession of faith. Each of us has the same possibility: we can choose to remain silent, to jeer or to prophesy. 

Dear brothers and sisters, Nagasaki bears in its soul a wound difficult to heal, a scar born of the incomprehensible suffering endured by so many innocent victims of wars past and those of the present, when a third World War is being waged piecemeal. Let us lift our voices here and pray together for all those who even now are suffering in their flesh from this sin that cries out to heaven. May more and more persons be like the good thief and choose not to remain silent and jeer, but bear prophetic witness instead to a kingdom of truth and justice, of holiness and grace, of love and peace (cf. Roman Missal, Preface of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe).

[Pope Francis, homily in Nagasaki, 24 November 2019]

(Lk 20:27-40)

The defeat of death is the cruel fate that has clouded the mind of all civilizations.

But if God creates us and calls incessantly to enter into dialogue, then what remains of us? Is the goal of all our turmoil a pit?

The Sadducees want to ridicule the doctrine of the resurrection dear to the Pharisees and - it seems - also to Jesus.

However, Master does not apply provisional categories of this world to dimensions that go beyond.

The ties also must be conceived in the relief of the divine reality.

Members of the priestly class did not believe in another life, and in the Torah it seemed to them that there was no note about the resurrection.

In short, they conceived the relationship with God in the dimension of life on earth.

In fact, the Pharisees believed in the raising of the dead in a very banal sense: a sort of improvement and sublimation of the (same) conditions of being natural.

For them, the existence of the afterlife was only an accentuated, ennobled and embellished extension of this form of our being.

Instead life «in the era, that» [v.35 Greek text] is not a strengthened existence, but an indescribable and new condition - as of direct communication. Comparable to the immediacy of love.

The body decays, gets sick and undergoes dissolution: it’s a natural cycle.

‘Resurrection of the flesh’ designates access to an intimate existence of pure Relationship, in our weakness and precariousness, assumed.

Evangelists use two terms to indicate the difference between these forms of life: (transliterating) Bìos and Zoe Aiònios [Life of the Eternal] which has nothing to do with the biological reality [v.36: «equal to angels»].

Life «in the era, that» is not an enhanced existence with respect to this mode of existence, but an indescribable and new condition - precisely, as of ‘direct communication’.

Comparable to the one-to-one of Friendship: a ‘being-with and for’ others; readily, everywhere.

Collimating with the way of existence of the Angels: they do not have a life transmitted by parents, but by God himself.

«About the bush...» - Jesus replies. He also silences the Sadducees by making them reflect; and He draws the foundation of the Resurrection (but as He understands it) precisely from Exodus.

Thus He shows that already in the Law there is a presentation of God incompatible with a destiny of humanity devoted to extermination.

The Father does not seek dialogue with the sons and then make them fall on the most beautiful.

Since creation, He takes pleasure in walking with man, and from the patriarchs he has been looking for empathy with us. His Love does not abandon.

In the archaic religious mentality the Most High was named after the region or the heights in its borders [es. Baal of Gad, Baal of Saphon, Baal of Peor, etc.].

The God of Israel already from the First Testament binds his heart to man - no longer to a territory: He is the God of Abraham, of Isaac and of Jacob.

The Father of life arouses all understanding, Alliances, and if the ally could be annihilated, the same divine identity would be shattered.

All the Scriptures attest to this: He is a God of the living, not of dust or of the nothingness.

This is why we call our missing loved ones «deceased» or «departed» - not "dead".

[Saturday 33rd wk. in O.T.  November 22, 2025]

And God binding His heart to humanity

(Lk 20:27-40)

The defeat of death is the cruel destiny that has clouded the minds of all civilisations, infusing disorientation and anguished thoughts about the meaning of life, about why each of us exists.

If God creates us and calls us ceaselessly, to enter into dialogue with us, then what is left? Is the goal of all our agitation a pit?

The Sadducees want to ridicule the doctrine of resurrection dear to the Pharisees and - it seems - to Jesus as well.

He, however, held that the Father was far more than a Living One... who finally began to raise corpses!

[This is why we call our departed loved ones 'deceased' - not 'dead'].

In the Semitic mentality, the norm of 'levirate' mirrored a feeble idea of existence after death - relegated to mere continuity of name.

The members of the priestly class did not believe in another life: they preached the religion that served to obtain blessings for existing on this earth in a comfortable manner - and that was enough for them.

In short, they conceived their relationship with God in the dimension of life on earth.

The Sadducees had already built their 'paradise' for themselves in the city and outside.

Their large villas with courtyards and private pools for ablutions were right on the hill opposite the Temple in Jerusalem, on the opposite side of the Mount of Olives (i.e. towards the west).

Their second homes - where they spent the winter - were in Jericho.

Also because of their direct interest in the sacrificial activity they carried out, they still believed that prophetic texts had no dignity as sacred Scripture: only the Law reflected God's will.

And in the Torah it seemed to them that there was no note about the resurrection of the dead.

So they also tried to frame Jesus, with an artfully constructed paradox, to highlight the contradictions of this belief - which only appeared from the 2nd century BC in the book of Daniel and in Maccabees.

They considered it absurd - therefore they intended to discredit the 'Master' [a term they used to designate him in order to ridicule him: v.28].

Indeed, the foothold was there, for the Pharisees believed in the resurrection in the trivial sense. A kind of accentuation, improvement or sublimation of (the same) natural living conditions - and bonds.

Thus not a definitive, boundless, qualitatively indestructible form.

In essence, in the 'world beyond' everyone would fully enjoy the family and clan affections of the previous form of life - and so on.

The 'afterlife' was to be nothing more than a sublimated, ennobled and embellished extension of this way of existing; without disease, suffering, various problems.

[In short, life only advanced; perhaps as it was once conveyed to us by willing catechists... but little attentive to the Word of God].

So precisely the Sadducees - conservatives - who only accepted the Pentateuch - where they maintained that there is no mention of another, further life.

In this way, they had an easy job of exposing the fragility of that popular belief, to which the leaders of Phariseeism were conversely attached.

However, the Master does not apply categories of this world, provisional, to dimensions that go beyond.

Even bonds must be conceived in the relief of divine reality.

In the Latin milieu, even today, the way of understanding the Resurrection is influenced not a little by the representational modes of the pictorial tradition.

Reading the representations to which we are accustomed... we notice that immediately the Risen One puts down the gendarmes and frightens everyone.

He emerges from the tomb with the banner of victory, strong and muscular. He bursts in as if coming back this way to beat his adversaries.

Descriptive and naturalistic claims that do not do credit to the Faith and almost ridicule the Gospels.

Conversely, in Eastern icons, the Resurrection is understood and depicted in a substantial, mysterious way: the Descent to the Underworld.

It is not a triumph of God, who imposes himself on the world. He has no need of it.

Rather, the theological event remains in support of the victory of his children, who receive life directly from the Father.

Here is the redemption of the ordinary woman and man [Adam and Eve] who are drawn from the tombs by the divine - not natural - power of the Risen Christ.

The ultimate world turns the idea of the Sheôl upside down and totally unhinges it, clearing away the darkness - and that great drama of humanity.

One enters God's world; one does not return this way - perhaps to live better: rejuvenated and healthy rather than sick, in a villa with a garden rather than a studio apartment.

Life 'in the age of that' [v.35 Greek text] is not an enhanced mode of existence, but an indescribable and new condition - as of direct communication.

Comparable to the immediacy of love: a being-with and for others. Collimating to the Angels' mode of existence (v.36): they do not have a life transmitted by parents, but by God himself.The body decays, falls ill and goes into dissolution: it is a natural cycle.

"Resurrection of the flesh" designates access to an intimate existence of pure relationship, to the very intimacy of God - in our weakness and precariousness, assumed.

Obviously we cannot believe that we are being brought into the Divine Condition if during our earthly course we have not experienced a constant existential death-resurrection vector.

It is the experience of gain in defeat; in particular, the discovery of an unthinkable life, which made us rejoice with Happiness. For Amazement: in the providential transmutation of our weak and obscure sides, from sluggish appearances to strengths.

Becoming evolutionary, perhaps the best of us.

The evangelists use two terms to indicate the difference between these two forms of being: (transliterating from the Greek) Bìos, and Zoè Aiònios.

The Zoë, Life itself of the Eternal, is keenly relational and experienceable - but it has nothing to do with biological existence and our carcass ["equal to the angels" v.36].

What does not die is not the DNA of the body, but the heavenly DNA, which we have received as a gift from the Father.

The divine Gold dwells in us and - if we wish - can surface already, in a full existence, of realisation of one's Vocation, in an atmosphere of Communion.

Life "in the age of the one" is not an enhanced existence compared to this mode of existence, but an indescribable and new condition - as of direct communication.

Comparable to the face-to-face of Friendship: a being-with and for others; readily, everywhere.

Collimating to the Angels' way of existence: they do not have a life transmitted by parents, but precisely by God Himself.

"About the Bush..." - Jesus retorts.

He also muzzles the Sadducees, making them think, treating them as incompetent.

He draws the foundation of the 'doctrine' of the Resurrection [but as He understands it] precisely from the book of Exodus.

Thus he shows that right from the scrolls of the Law there is a presentation of the Eternal One that is incompatible with the destiny of a humanity doomed to extermination.

The Father does not seek dialogue with His children only to have them fall at the most beautiful moment.

Since creation He has delighted in walking with man, and since the patriarchs He has sought empathy with us.

His Love does not abandon.

In the archaic religious mentality, each shrine was named after the deity, specified by its territory or the heights in its borders [e.g. Baal of Gad, Baal of Saphon, Baal of Peor, etc.].

A bad pagan vice that we have unfortunately inherited.

The God of Israel since the First Testament binds his heart to man - no longer to a territory: the 'God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob'.

It was possible for the three Patriarchs to have descendants, not by natural concatenation.

In that mentality, the only possibility of perpetuating life from generation to generation was to be able to pass on one's name to the firstborn male.

This happened instead by intervention from above, while the wives were sterile [infertile matriarchs: Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, long without heirs].

The Father of life gives rise to all understandings, covenants, and if the ally could be annihilated, the divine identity itself would crumble.

All Scripture attests to this: he is a God of the living - not of the dead (of dust, of insubstantiality, of nothingness).