20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [16 August 2026]

 

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (56:1, 6–7)

This passage, attributed to the so-called ‘Third Isaiah’, dates from after the return from the Babylonian exile, between the end of the 6th and the beginning of the 5th century BC. Upon their return to Jerusalem, the Jews found the city occupied by foreigners, some of whom had begun to take part in religious life. A conflict arose: some advocated the strict preservation of their own identity, whilst others favoured greater openness. The prophet, speaking in the name of God, declares that the sincerely devout foreigner must not be excluded; those who love the Lord and honour his covenant may enter the community. Foreigners are integrated if they observe the Sabbath, honour the covenant, practise justice and live according to the Torah. This marks a step towards accepting the idea that salvation is not reserved for Israel alone because, says the Lord, ‘my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.’ Amidst the tension between identity and openness (exclusion and inclusion), the ongoing challenge lies in safeguarding the demands of fidelity to the Covenant with God without closing oneself off from others; a delicate balance that concerns all religions. With Isaiah, a decisive step is taken in Israel towards a more inclusive faith, with foreigners integrated into the Jewish religion, who are called ‘proselytes’. 

 

Responsorial Psalm (66/67)

The Psalm reflects on God’s blessing, which is a wish for happiness, and on the universal mission of the people of Israel. We are in the midst of a great celebration in the Temple of Jerusalem, whilst the priests bless the people with words taken from the Book of Numbers: ‘May the Lord bless you and keep you; may he make his face shine upon you and grant you peace.’ An important truth emerges here: God does not begin to bless when the priest asks him to, but does so constantly; therefore, when we say ‘May God bless you’, the wish does not concern God, but our own readiness to receive his blessing. God has no other plan than the good of his creatures; therefore, to bless literally means to place his Name upon someone, and since the name denotes the person, to be blessed means to live under God’s protection, to enter into his presence and to allow oneself to be enlightened by his love. The blessing establishes a living relationship with God, to which the faithful always respond ‘Amen’, expressing their consent to receive this divine gift. The blessing is also for all peoples: ‘May the peoples praise you, O God; may all the peoples praise you’; therefore, the chosen and blessed people must become an instrument of God’s blessing for all humanity. 

 

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (11:13–15, 29–32)

Saint Paul moves from evangelising the Jews to the Gentiles. Before his conversion on the road to Damascus, Saint Paul divided humanity into two groups: the Jewish people and the Gentiles. After his encounter with the risen Christ, he realised that Israel’s mission was to bring the Messiah to all nations. For this reason, his plan was simple: to proclaim Jesus to the Jews and, through Israel, to bring the Gospel to all nations.  In Antioch of Pisidia, Paul and Barnabas began to preach in the synagogue and were listened to with interest. The following week, some Jews accepted the message; others rejected it with hostility; many Gentiles, however, showed interest. Faced with the rejection of the majority of the Jews, Paul declared: ‘Since you reject the Word of God, we turn to the Gentiles.’ This choice would be repeated in other cities during his missionary journeys. According to Paul, this openness towards the Gentiles arose from the fact that many Jews did not recognise Jesus as the Messiah. Paradoxically, it was precisely this rejection that facilitated the spread of the Gospel amongst the nations. Therefore, Christians who have come from a pagan background must not feel superior to the Jews, because their conversion is linked to the history and mission of Israel. Has God, then, abandoned Israel? This is the central question of Paul’s reflection. His answer is clear: no. God does not revoke his promises, for God’s gifts and calling are irrevocable. The Covenant God made with Israel remains valid for ever, and Paul reaches a very bold conclusion: God allows people to experience their own rejection and their own mistakes, and he knows how to transform even negative situations for the sake of salvation. The Gentiles have received God’s mercy, and Israel, too, will one day recognise that same mercy, for God’s ultimate plan concerns everyone. His Covenant with Israel remains valid, and his mercy is intended for both Jews and Gentiles. 

 

From the Gospel according to Matthew (15:21–28)

The Gospel account of the Canaanite woman’s persistence comes immediately after a teaching by Jesus on ritual purity. In the Jewish world, purity does not mean the absence of sin, but rather the fitness to draw near to God, and the Pharisees attached great importance to the rules of ritual purity in order to be worthy to pray and enter the Temple. Jesus, on the other hand, says that purity is first and foremost a matter of the heart and of intention, and asserts that it is what comes out of the mouth and originates in the heart that defiles a person. For it is from the heart that evil thoughts come… but eating without washing one’s hands does not defile a person (Mt 15:18–20). Immediately after this controversy, Jesus goes into ‘unclean’ pagan territory because the rules of the Torah are not observed there. It is there that a Canaanite woman asks him to heal her daughter, but Jesus pays her no heed, so much so that the disciples intervene to send her away (Lk 11:5–8). However, as she continues to insist, Jesus replies: ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (Mt 15:24). In the history of salvation, the first stage concerns Israel, as Jesus also points out to the apostles: do not go amongst the Gentiles and do not enter the towns of the Samaritans; rather, go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel (Mt 10:5–6).  And this is precisely what Saint Paul did. He turned first to the Jews, and after failing to reach the majority of them, he devoted himself to the Gentiles, as we read in this Sunday’s second reading. Here too, Jesus proclaims that salvation is now for everyone, Jews and Gentiles alike, and the only condition is faith – a trust like that of the Canaanite woman who persists in trusting him. Is faith not, in fact, precisely believing in Jesus, trusting him completely and entrusting oneself to him? Jesus does not ask the Canaanite woman to practise any aspect of the Jewish religion, but only for faith; and his attitude towards her serves as the model for welcoming the Gentiles. The Canaanite woman, ‘persistent’ in her request, becomes the model of faith for us and our communities.

 

+Giovanni D’Ercole

[15 August 2026]

 

First Reading from the Book of Revelation (11:19a; 12:1–6a, 10a)

For the early persecuted community, the entire Book of Revelation is a message of victory, rich in imagery: the Ark of the Covenant, three figures, the woman, the dragon and the infant. 

1. The Ark of the Covenant recalls the gilded wooden chest that accompanied the people during the Exodus to Sinai, a constant reminder to Israel of the Covenant with God. That ark had been lost during the Babylonian exile; it was said that Jeremiah had hidden it on Mount Nebo (2 Maccabees 2:8), and it was believed that it would reappear at the coming of the Messiah. Now John sees it reappear: (Rev 11:19) and for him this is the sign that the end of time has come and that God’s Covenant with humanity has been definitively fulfilled. 

2. The woman, Israel and the Messiah born of the Chosen People. “Then there appeared, still in heaven, ‘a woman clothed with the sun…’” (Rev 12:1–2).  In the Old Testament, the relationship between God and Israel is often described in terms of a wedding. Hosea speaks of God’s betrothal to his people. Isaiah develops the theme of the wedding to the point of presenting the coming of the Messiah as a birth; Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Second and Third Isaiah use the vocabulary of betrothal and marriage (Jer 2:2); (Isa 62:5). The Song of Songs, a dialogue of love in seven poems that never identifies the two lovers, is seen by the Jews as a dialogue between God and his people; for this reason, they read it on the Sabbath of Easter week, the great feast of God’s Covenant with Israel. Unfortunately, Israel was often an unfaithful bride (idolatrous: jealousy, adultery, but also reconciliation and forgiveness, for God remains faithful). Thus, the woman of Revelation represents the chosen people who give birth to the Messiah. A painful labour for Christ’s disciples facing persecution, to whom John says: ‘You are giving birth to the new humanity.’

3. The dragon: the forces of evil. The dragon lying in wait ‘before the woman to devour her newborn child’ (Rev 12:4) symbolises the battle waged by the forces of evil against God’s plan. For persecuted Christians, the word ‘dragon’ is not too strong, for it conveys the violence they face: the dragon is ‘enormous… as red as fire, with seven heads and ten horns, and on his heads seven diadems’. The heads and horns signify intelligence and strength; the diadem denotes imperial power with its very real capacity to cause harm. And indeed, he manages to drag down ‘a third of the stars of heaven and cast them to the earth’. However, it is only a third of the stars: therefore, merely a semblance of victory, and the rest of the passage will show that the power of evil is temporary. 

4. The child is the Risen Messiah. ‘She gave birth to a son, destined to rule all the nations with an iron sceptre’ (Rev 12:5). John identifies the Messiah and alludes to Psalm 2: ‘You are my Son; today I have begotten you… You shall break them with a rod of iron’ (2:7–9). ‘Shepherd’ was also a classical term used to refer to the Messiah. This is followed by the image of the child being taken up ‘to God and his throne’: a symbol of Christ’s Resurrection. This was perfectly clear to the early Christians, who were accustomed to speaking of Him as the ‘Firstborn’, now seated at the right hand of God. Yet His people remain in the world—a difficult world, but one in which they are assured of God’s protection: this is the significance of the desert, another reference to the Exodus, in which God never ceased to care for His people. Believers may take heart: if the dragon has failed in heaven, he cannot succeed on earth. The conclusion is the victory that began with the Resurrection. To the early Christians who were giving birth to a new humanity amidst the pain of persecution, the Book of Revelation proclaims victory: ‘Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Christ’ (Rev 12:10).  Ever since the Messiah rose from the dead, victory has begun.

 

Responsorial Psalm (44/45) 

This psalm allows us to witness the wedding ceremony of the King of Jerusalem to a young foreign princess (v. 10) to seal the covenant between two peoples. Marriages have always marked alliances between states, but for Israel the Covenant is exclusive to the one God; therefore, any foreign girl who became queen had to embrace the king’s religion. Specifically, in this psalm, the princess from Tyre must renounce her idolatrous practices to be worthy of her new people and her king: ‘Listen, my daughter; look, and give ear: forget your own people and your father’s house’ (v. 11). Solomon married pagan foreign women; Ahab married Queen Jezebel, leading to the great confrontation between the prophet Elijah and the many priests and prophets of Baal. For those who can read between the lines, this advice to the princess of Tyre is in fact addressed to Israel. The royal bridegroom described in the psalm is none other than God himself, and this ‘daughter of a king, led in all her splendour to her bridegroom’ is the people of Israel admitted into the intimacy of their God. Through the relationship between God and his people, an allusion is then made to the marriage between God and all humanity.

 

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians (15:20–27)

Here, three figures are set side by side: Mary, Jesus of Nazareth and Adam. Mary, the model of faith, is proclaimed blessed because she believed in the word of God. In her life she experienced the sorrow foretold by Simeon, yet she never ceased to trust in God. Jesus follows the same path in total trust in the Father, and everything about him is summed up in these words: ‘Father, I have come to do your will’. His resurrection demonstrates that trust in God leads to true life, which passes through suffering and death. St Paul contrasts Adam and Christ: two opposing attitudes. Adam is the man who distrusts God and wishes to decide for himself; Christ, on the other hand, represents the man who entrusts himself completely to God. According to Paul, everyone behaves like Adam when they refuse to trust in God, and for this reason all die in Adam. Whereas those who follow Christ’s example enter into true life, founded on love and communion with God. The Assumption is God’s plan for faithful humanity: Mary experienced ageing and, having left her earthly life behind, entered fully into the life of God. The Eastern tradition speaks of her Dormition as her passing into a new form of existence with God: human beings are therefore not destined to remain forever in their earthly condition but are called to a transformation. Jesus, put to death by human hatred, was raised from the dead by God and, as the first of the risen, opens the way to eternal life for all humanity. Mary and Jesus show that the path to true life is not Adam’s self-sufficiency, but trust in God 

 

 

From the Gospel according to Luke (1:39–56)

The episode of the Visitation highlights the role of Mary, the new Ark of the Covenant and model of faith. When Elizabeth says, ‘How is it that the mother of my Lord should come to me?’, the evangelist deliberately alludes to David’s transfer of the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. There are numerous similarities: both the Ark and Mary journey through the hills of Judea; the Ark brings blessing to the house of Obed-Edom, whilst Mary brings joy to the house of Zechariah and Elizabeth; both remain for three months in the house that welcomes them; David dances before the Ark, whilst John the Baptist leaps for joy in his mother’s womb at the sight of Mary.

For Luke, none of this is coincidental. Mary is the new presence of God. The Ark was the sign of God’s presence amongst his people. By presenting Mary as the new Ark, Luke wishes to affirm that God is present in a unique way in the child she carries in her womb. Thus the mystery of the Incarnation is fulfilled. Mary becomes the living dwelling place of the divine presence. Elizabeth proclaims: ‘Blessed is she who has believed’; and Mary’s true greatness lies not merely in being the mother of Jesus, but in having trusted in God’s plan even without fully understanding it. In response to Elizabeth, Mary sings the Magnificat, and she does not invent new words, for it is composed of expressions drawn from the Psalms and other biblical prayers. Two lessons emerge from this. Humility: Mary does not place herself at the centre, but places herself within the tradition of faith of her people; a spirit of community: her prayer concerns not only her personal circumstances, but God’s work on behalf of the whole people. This is why Mary is presented as the new Ark of the Covenant, carrying within her God made man, whilst the Magnificat shows that every authentic vocation is not a personal privilege, but a call to serve others and the whole people of God.

 

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Crumbs and 'nose', integral parts

(Mt 15:21-28)

 

Religious law prevented dealing with foreign people and other ethnicities, borders, or culture.

At the beginning, Jesus [that is: He in the first communities, his Mystical Body] seems not to want to occupy himself with it (v.26).

But after helping the crowds and his own intimates to emancipate themselves from the prison of purity norms (vv.10-20), the young Rabbi himself had emerged from the conformist ways of experiencing God.

He makes an Exodus even from national and race territories that at that time were seizing the vital sap of the souls - thus flying over the "sacred" preconceptions.

To make us grow in Faith, Christ promotes the most varied existence. In this way, outside the standard myopia, He can find astounding adherences.

Faith: New Principle, which does not alienate us from ourselves. And crumbles any illusion of exclusivity.

 

The singular initiatives of the Son are born on the basis of the all-personal experience of the divine, of a Father who bestows unconditionally.

Provident, and unequal from the stingy God of ancient religions: sovereign all discordant from creatures, alien, predatory, and incomprehensibly addicted to habit.

With an unusual stunt, the young Rabbi tries to open the Judaizing mentality, overcoming borders.

Even the dialogue with a woman not of his people was a "novelty" alien to the mentality of the time’s crowds. Initiative foreign even to the conceptions of the first two generations of believers; marked by a creed still blocked and mixed with idols.

But there was a whole people of strangers [the mestizo «Woman» and her spiritual ‘offspring’] who felt they had no future... and this called into question the many aprioriisms of the time.

In short, even the church of Mt had not fully grasped the meaning of the «bread of the sons» - all available, for it to be “recognized”.

 

Because of rivalry, ancient peoples used to call foreigners with the contemptuous nickname of «dog»: synonymous with impudence, meanness and ignoble baseness.

The Lord's very harsh phrase (v.26) reflects a comparison coming from poor areas and from family life, where once there were plenty of pets and youth.

There was also a difference between ‘children’ generated by listening to the Word of God and those who adjusted themselves “by scent”. But although no one denied sustenance to the «sons» to give it to the «dogs» around them - the latter had at least the right of crumbs fallen on the ground.

For differents and far - even bad-considered - it is not a problem to resort to Jesus in an instinctive way; indeed, even today they would be satisfied with the shatters.

[Unfortunately, not infrequently strangers and difforms are hungrier of the real Manna from Heaven].

 

Christian community should not lack the nourishment of the body and the food of wisdom for everyone (Mt 14:20-21).

Faith has no nationality, and it is the only immediate language and relationship valid for communication between God and woman and man.

Christ is a sapiential feeds for a free circulation; not a sign to be hindered and kept closed.

To break the Bread is to participate our existence at root; what we have and are. Metre of what we proclaim, believe and practice.

 

 

[20th Sunday in O.T. (year A), August 16, 2026]

Crumbs and intuition, integral parts

Mt 15:21–28 (21–37)

 

Jesus discovered the Father’s will in the events of life. The same was true of the growing awareness of the early communities, which carried significant prejudices with them, at least up to and including the third generation of believers – as attested by the Synoptic Gospels.

Religious law forbade them from engaging with foreigners or people of other ethnicities, nationalities or cultures. At first, Jesus [that is to say: He in the early communities, His mystical Body] seems unwilling to engage with them (v. 26).

But after helping the crowds and his own people to free themselves from the prison of purity laws (vv. 10–20), Christ breaks away from conformist ways of experiencing God.

He even breaks free from national and racial boundaries which, at that time, stifled the life-giving forces – thus transcending sacred preconceptions.

 

The Son’s unique initiatives spring from his entirely personal experience of the divine, of a Father who is generous in giving unconditionally.

Provident and unlike the miserly God of religions: the latter is at odds with his creatures, alien to them, and (incomprehensibly) bound by habit.

The Lord himself helps us, through his own story, to experience the transcendent even in the most ordinary of lives. Thus, to break free from the contrived doctrinal frameworks that cage existence [territory, customs, ideology, affiliations of various kinds – even ‘internal’ ones].

With an unconventional approach, the young Rabbi seeks to broaden the Judaising mindset, transcending boundaries.

The aim is to help us develop his very own Faith. This Faith, which promoted a rich and varied existence, and which, by stepping outside traditional narrow-mindedness, was thus able to attract astonishing numbers of followers.

No boundary fences, no obstacles… can contain our will to live: we wish to nourish ourselves not with pride (or resistance) but with love that takes risks, unadulterated – and to express ourselves fully.

Even a conversation with a woman who was not of his own people was a ‘concept’ alien to the mindset of the masses of that era – foreign even to the beliefs of the first two generations of believers, who in this respect were still rigid and steeped in idolatry.

But there was a whole people of strangers [the mixed-race ‘woman’ and her spiritual ‘offspring’] who felt they had no future. And this challenged the many preconceived notions of the time.

In short, even the church in Mt had not fully grasped the meaning of the ‘bread of the children’ – everything made available so that it might be ‘recognised’.

 

Owing to age-old rivalries, the ancient peoples used to refer to foreigners by the derogatory term ‘dog’, synonymous with impudence, pettiness and ignoble baseness.

There was widespread hesitation regarding the sense of human brotherhood – stemming from a primitive outlook [and not only that, in the age of access].

The Lord’s very harsh statement (v. 26) reflects a comparison drawn from poor neighbourhoods and family life, where domestic animals and young people once abounded.

There was, after all, a difference between children brought up by heeding the Word of God and those who acted ‘on instinct’.

But although no one would withhold sustenance from the ‘children’ to give it to the ‘dogs’ around them – the latter at least had a right to the crumbs that fell to the floor.

In fact, the text speaks of ‘little dogs’ [kynaría-kynaríois] as domestic animals loved by very young children, who would readily feed them leftovers during meals.

In a sense, they belonged to the ‘household’.

 

For those who are different and marginalised – even those looked down upon – it is no problem to turn to Jesus instinctively; indeed, they would be content with the crumbs.

On this basis, within the community of the children, there should be no shortage of physical nourishment and spiritual sustenance for anyone (Mt 14:20–21).

However, the long-standing members, who regarded themselves as entitled members of the family and asserted their rights by virtue of seniority, held a grudge and, at assemblies, insisted that not everyone should be allowed to partake of communion, the Eucharistic host, or the festive gifts of the Kingdom.

But thanks to the call of the Gospels [quite unlike the exaggerated ‘evangelical’ proclamations of the empire or the legions], the dominion of evil was drawing to a close (v. 28).

According to Matthew, there should be no obsession, bondage or preconception that might rob us of our drive for progress and our energy, so that, with the utmost freedom, we may be enabled to work and open ourselves to the needs of others, even pagans (Mt 14:22a).

 

Thus, within the Jewish-Christian communities of Galilee and Syria, a debate arose concerning the conditions for membership of the community.

What is the position of those converted from paganism? Do they have the right to take part in the breaking of the Bread without first undergoing a process of doctrinal and disciplinary initiation? Is there or is there not a break with the observant tradition?

Matthew reiterates that we have no priority whatsoever: the principle of universal salvation is an attitude of faith, not a right.

The community of the baptised is not authorised to rest on its laurels. The Gospel is open; it transcends the biblical priority of the chosen people.

The reason for any possible exception is tangible love, which has the freedom to yield, and which becomes the sole principle of belonging.

 

The condition for belonging to the new people of God is faith in the heart, not in blood or in the mind, nor in a discipline that distances us from ourselves, from God and from others.

Faith: a new principle that shatters every illusion of exclusivity.

 

With the Father, in the Son, it is no longer a matter of mortifying oneself, depending on others, striving and struggling, in order to be able to stand face to face with one another.

Legal purity is insufficient (vv. 1–20); indeed, it is now the person—even one of puzzling origins, once a stranger—who emerges ‘victorious’ from the dialogue with the Lord.

Spousal commitment is to be valued everywhere, by everyone: a foundational Eros that wells up from every soul, and is not bound by conventions. It transcends all particularism.

Of course, it has its own criteria – but they are essential: transparency, freshness, a striving for unity, overcoming constraints and taboos; the value of the person; a secret empathy of energies.

 

This Gospel passage traces an entire journey of adherence to Christ.

Those who are far away can draw near and even start from the popular – albeit inappropriate – idea that Jesus is the expected ‘Son of David’ (v. 22): a military commander and sovereign who was supposed to take power, subdue the nations, usher in a golden age, fulfil the prescriptions of the Law himself as if he were a Model, and impose their observance on everyone.

The starting point of this journey may be a faint glimmer, a beginning that perhaps does not promise much. Indeed, in this specific instance, it is decidedly confusing: the Master does not reply (v. 23).

The title bestowed upon Him has nothing to do with God, nor does it concern the true Firstborn. He is not a powerful Messiah – a predatory, conventionalised image – but a servant.

It makes no sense whatsoever to ask Him for ‘mercy’ (v. 22)! Indeed – let’s be honest – despite our superficial ritual habits, here Christ actually seems quite angry (v. 23).

This is not a healthy relationship with the Lord: He does not punish, nor does He take pleasure in being implored by the needy.

Rather, he teaches as a friend, brother or parent would; and he does not grant favours by lottery, nor miracles out of sympathy or protection, nor favours based on territory – as the pagan gods do.

That image is completely misguided, but it is a false figure that emerges precisely from the ‘insiders’ (vv. 23–24), who would have nothing to object to on the matter (v. 23) .

Indeed, their own catechesis is the very source of it: the title ‘son of David’ sounds strange when uttered by a pagan.

 

Even today, this paternalistic, homogenising idea – of instilled guilt – tends to alienate those seeking a kind travelling companion.

Jesus recognises the priority given to ‘Israel’ because it is precisely the elder sons who must convert to a new Face of the first God of Sinai – still regarded as Lawgiver and Judge, rather than as the Creator and Redeemer of our intellect and freedom.

[Although in a good-natured, childlike way, they unfortunately continue to propagate this image of Him as a stern notary, right from the pre-catechism stage] .

Jesus distances himself from those who make demands whilst at the same time diverting the souls of the needy who seek him.

Furthermore, in spiritual terms, no one can lay claim to anything: the truly sacred Gifts do not stem from any relationship of selective election, nor even from patronage [of the buy-and-sell variety].

 

So, to become close to Christ… can one be content with the Eucharistic ‘crumbs’ – that is, ‘minimal salvation’?

Can one feel satisfied with mere crumbs that fall from the table of the self-important, trapped in their narrow-minded ways (vv. 26–27)?

Certainly, for it is Faith that saves (v. 28), not a grand gesture or a long-standing practice in the disciplines of the mystical – nor a code of purity.

The true Lord says only:

‘Woman, your faith is great! Let it be done for you as you wish’ (v. 28) – that is, go ahead and embrace the joy of a full life, one that can be passed on to ‘offspring’ not destined for torment or premature death.

And no longer burdened by the judgement of others, with its usual deceptive flaws, such as feelings of inadequacy.

Thanks to Him, we are not drawn into a superficial religious practice, but into a Relationship that is shaped over time (vv. 22–28).

 

How do we find our way?

Instead of the strict Law, it is the Gospel that fully empowers us.

As if we were ‘little dogs’ (vv. 26–27) seeking life and nourishment, proceeding instinctively [by ‘scent’] along unexplored paths. And who, according to their character, inclination, and Calling by Name, appeal to other secret forces.

In short, all people – even if they are still far from an explicit commitment of faith – are imbued with this knowledge, which is at once personal and primordial, and which guides them immediately and infallibly.

So, in simplicity, we too shall do the same, to find the Way.

Indeed, Faith has no nationality, and is the only valid language, relationship and path for communication between God and both woman and man.

The proposal is universal; it transcends time, denominational and even religious boundaries.

 

Commenting on the Tao Te Ching (LVIII), Master Wang Pi states:

‘ He who governs well has neither form nor name; he does not initiate administrations. The various categories divide and separate; this is why the people are fragmented.’

Master Ho-shang Kung adds:

‘When the ruler is liberal, the people are united in wealth and contentment: people love one another and get on well together.’

 

Today, it is a matter of sharing the crumbs and fragments of that ‘something extra’ which we in the West have inherited from past generations.

A very instructive and comfortable ‘something extra’; bestowed in superabundance, yet received without ‘too much of anything’ [ne quid nimis] nor too many merits or risks (from ‘good Christians...’).

And all the while respecting the hierarchy of veterans, cliques and the powerful – who are always rather reluctant to live together in genuine harmony.

Christ, on the other hand, is wisdom-filled nourishment for free circulation; not food that is withheld, to be kept locked away in tabernacles.

His virtue is now understood only outside the sacristies – by those far off and remote (vv. 21–22) – where even a crumb of Bread instils trust and brings new life through sharing.

To break the Eucharist, which is both source and summit, is to proclaim it a Gift not to be withheld or kept intact, but rather to be displayed and distributed without prior moralising.

To share that Food is to participate in the very root of existence, in what we have and what we are; it is the measure of what we proclaim, believe and practise.

 

Unfortunately, it is not uncommon for outsiders and those who are different to be more hungry for the true Manna from Heaven.

Sated to the point of nausea – and perhaps still unable to grasp its meaning – why should we experience this shared Nourishment [perhaps with little regard for its significance] as a problem and a source of fear?

 

 

To internalise and live out the message:

 

If they are not part of ‘your own people’, are you at least willing to speak to them – even if veterans, internal circles and the establishment forbid it?

Don’t you think the synodal journey is a good opportunity to reconsider abstract positions?

Do you know of any small church community that leaves no room for outsiders?

Do you know people hurt by exclusion? What do you do – remain silent in acquiescence?

 

 

Multiplication through Division, on the journey

 

The simple (Eucharistic) Mystery

(Mt 15:29–37)

 

‘Man is the being of limits who has no limits’ (Fratelli Tutti, no. 150).

In our hearts we have a great longing for fulfilment and happiness. The Father has placed it there; He Himself fulfils it – but He wants us to be partners in His work – both within and outside ourselves.

The Son reflects God’s plan in his compassion for the crowds in need of everything (vv. 30, 32) and – despite the plethora of teachers and experts – devoid of any authentic teaching [cf. Mt 9:36, 14:14].

His solution is very different from that of all ‘spiritual’ guides, because He does not gloss over our plight with an indirect paternalism [cf. Mt 14:16] that wipes away tears, heals wounds or erases humiliations.

He invites us to make use, in our own person, of what we are and what we have, even though it may seem ridiculous. Yet he teaches quite unequivocally that by channelling our energies, we can achieve marvellous results.

Thus we respond in Christ to the world’s great problems: by reclaiming the condition of the ‘homo viator’ – a being on a journey, his essential nature – and by sharing our goods; not by leaving everyone to fend for themselves [cf. Mt 14:15].

Our true vulnerability, the trials and tribulations, and the experiences of our many brothers and sisters—in all their diversity—are resources not to be viewed with suspicion, ‘as competitors or dangerous enemies’ of our fulfilment (FT no. 151).

Not only will the little we carry be enough to satisfy us: there will be enough left over for others, and with the same fullness of truth—human and epoch-making [vv. 34, 37: the passage emphasises the Semitic symbolism of the number ‘seven’].

 

In Matthew, Jesus is the new Moses who ascends ‘the Mountain’ of authentic relationships – to usher in an alternative Time, which marks true history.

The people no longer remain in the valley below waiting: they gather around Him, coming just as they are, bearing the burden of their many different needs.

God’s new people are not a stationary crowd of the elect, the chosen and the pure.

Each person brings with them their own journey, their own worries and problems, which the Lord heals – not by imposing a solution from above or from outside.

In short: another world is possible, but only by breaking one’s own (even meagre) bread.

A wise, unbroken and effective solution, if it is allowed to emerge from within, whilst on the journey and whilst being in the midst – not in front, not at the head, not on high (v. 36).

 

The place of God’s Revelation was to be one of thunderbolts, on a ‘mountain’ smoking as if from a furnace (Ex 19:18)... but in the end even Elijah’s violent zeal had to be reconsidered (1 Kgs 19:12).

Even to the pagans, the Son reveals a Father who does not simply remove infirmities: he helps them to understand these as a place that is preparing the way for personal growth, and that of the Community.

It was imagined that in the time of the Messiah, the lame, the deaf and the blind would disappear (Isaiah 35:5ff.). A golden age: everything at the summit, no abyss.

In Jesus – the Bread that is shared – an unusual fullness of time is revealed, seemingly nebulous and fragile, yet real and capable of revitalising people and relationships.

The Spirit of God does not act by descending like a bolt of lightning from on high, but rather by activating within us capacities that appear intangible, yet capable of gathering together our scattered being—deemed insubstantial, which encompasses the sum total of our daily lives—and re-evaluating it.

 

The Incarnation weaves our hearts anew, in dignity and fulfilment; it truly unfolds, for it not only sweeps away obstacles but rests upon them.

And it does not erase them at all: thus it transcends them, yet by transforming them – breathing new life into them.

Life-giving sap that draws nourishment and brings forth flowers from the very same muddy yet fertile soil, and shares them with us.

A solidarity to which everyone is invited, not just those deemed to be in a state of perfection and wholeness.

 

Our shortcomings make us attentive and unique. They are not to be despised, but rather embraced, placed in the hands of the Son and revitalised (v. 36).

Our very failures can be a precious sign: in Christ, they are no longer demeaning humiliations, but rather signposts along the way. Perhaps we are not making the best use of our resources or investing them wisely.

Thus, setbacks can quickly be transformed into new ascents – different, not pre-packaged – and a quest for total fulfilment in Communion.

Therefore, in the ideal of realising our Vocation and discerning the kind of contribution to offer, there is nothing better than a vibrant environment that does not clip our wings: a fraternity alive with exchange and shared living.

Not so much to cushion us from the jolts, but so that we may be enabled to build reservoirs of wisdom unbound by categorisations – from which everyone can draw, even those who are different and far removed from us.

And if, even here, a shortcoming should come our way, it will be to teach us to be present in the world in (perhaps) other and further directions, or to bring forth our mission and creative maturation – not to remain fixated on partialities and minutiae.

 

The allusion to the seven loaves (multiplied because they were shared) reinforces the references to the malleable substance of biblical icons.

Here, Moses and Elijah on ‘the Mount’: figures from the five Books of the Pentateuch (the first Nourishments), plus the two sections of the Prophets and the Writings.

All together, ‘seven loaves’: an abundance of nourishment and wisdom for the soul, called to move beyond the surrounding hedges, breaking through the barriers of a mindset enslaved to its immediate surroundings.

This is the basic nourishment of the human-divine spirit, to which, however, is added a fresh and youthful accompaniment, which indeed draws us in (v. 34).

[As St Augustine said: ‘The Word of God, which is explained to you every day and, in a certain sense, “broken”, is itself Daily Bread’ (Sermo 58, IV: PL 38,395)] .

Complete nourishment: staple food and ‘accompaniment’ – historical and ideal, in principle and in practice.

Here, in Christ, we become a living, dynamic body of witnesses (and Scriptures!) that is sensitive to the world.

Admittedly limited, not yet fully realised – and devoid of heroic feats, yet markedly wise and practical.

Proclaimers and sharers, without sensational proclamations of self-sufficiency.

Never confined within archaic boundaries: always a work in progress – and thus able to perceive unknown paths.

 

And ‘breaking the Bread’… that is, taking action, moving forward, sharing what little we have – to nourish, to overflow (multiplying God’s listening and action) and to help even the desperate regain their self-respect.

We are children: like a few small fish (v. 34), but ones who do not wallow in competitions that make life toxic.

On the contrary: we are personally called to write a unique, empathetic and sacred Word-event.

As infants in the Lord, we swim in this different Water. At times, perhaps, outwardly veiled or muddy and turbid…

Ultimately made transparent simply because it is yielding, compassionate (v. 32) and benevolent.

The old, exclusive puddle of religion that does not dare to take the risk of Faith (v. 33) would not have helped us to take on board the message of Jesus the Messiah, Son of God, Saviour – an acrostic of the Greek term Ichtys [fish].

He is the Father’s Initiative-Response, a support on the (not particularly ethereal) journey in search of the Hope of the poor – of all of us who are destitute and waiting.

 

Active Faith therefore has as its emblem the Eucharist, a revolution in sacredness. It seems strange to us who have become accustomed to it.

Indeed, the aim of evangelisation is to participate in and liberate the whole person from everything that threatens them, not only in extreme circumstances: but also in their everyday actions – to the point of seeking the sharing of goods.

In Mark (7:31–37), the miracle is placed after the ‘opening of the senses’. Here, it follows the healings by the Sea of Galilee (vv. 29–31).

The Sign, which is both the Source and the Culmination of the community of children, is a creative gesture that demands a shift in perspective, an entirely new way of seeing.

Faced with the destitution of many – caused by the greed of a few – the attitude of the authentic Church does not content itself with emblems and pious platitudes, nor with partial calls to distinguish itself through almsgiving.

The breaking of the Bread takes the place of the Manna sent down from on high in the desert (Mt 15:33) and entails its distribution – not merely in specific situations.

We must not be content merely to multiply life for all.

This is the attitude of the living Body of the miracle-working Christ [not the miracle-worker] who feels called to take action in every circumstance.

 

If participation in the Eucharist does not merely give rise to occasional almsgiving, outward piety and perfunctory charity, here is the Result:

Women and men will eat, they will be satisfied, and there will be food left over for others still (not all those invited by God are yet present...).

 

We note that it had not even crossed the disciples’ minds that the solution might come from the people themselves and from their spirit.

Not merely from the paternalism of the leaders, or from some individual benefactor.

An unexpected solution: the question of food is resolved not from above, but from within the people themselves and with the few loaves they had brought with them.

There is no solution in the verb ‘to multiply’ – that is, ‘to increase’… relationships that matter, to increase wealth, to hoard cunning.

The only remedy is ‘to break’, ‘to give’, ‘to hand out’ (v. 36). And everyone is involved; no one is given preferential treatment.

 

At that time, competitiveness and class-based thinking characterised the society of the empire – and were already beginning to seep into the small community, still in its infancy.

As if the Lord and the God of self-interest could still coexist side by side.

It is the fellowship of the needy that, on the contrary, takes centre stage in the unpretentious Church.

Genuine sharing acts as a teacher to the ever-present veterans—worldly-wise and pretentious—who are the only ones still in need of conversion.

The seed of their ‘endurance’ should lie not in high status or role, but in love.

Such is the sole meaning of sacred gestures; not other schemes tainted by abuse of power or by a desire to appear important.

 

Those who ‘belong’ are left dumbfounded.

For the Lord, those who are far away (though still wavering in their choices) are full participants in the messianic banquet – without exclusions, nor the mysteries of the arcane with their nerve-wracking expectations.

Conversely, that Table calls out in favour of others who have yet to be called. For a sort of restoration of the original Unity.

 

In short, Redemption does not belong to the elites concerned with the stability of their rule – which it is, in fact, the weak who must uphold.

 

The life of the saved comes to us through incorporation.

 

 

To internalise and live out the message:

 

Have you ever broken your bread, shared joy and brought about reconciliations that renew relationships, lifting up people who lack even self-esteem? Or have you favoured indifference, constraints and elitist attitudes?

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

This Sunday’s Gospel passage begins by indicating the district to which Jesus was going: Tyre and Sidon, to the north-west of Galilee, a pagan land. And it was here that he met a Canaanite woman who spoke to him, asking him to heal her daughter who was possessed by a demon (cf. Mt 15:22). 

In her supplication we can already discern the beginning of a journey of faith, which in her conversation with the divine Teacher grows and becomes stronger. 

The woman was not afraid to cry to Jesus “Have mercy on me”, an expression that recurs in the Psalms (cf. 50:1), she calls him “Lord” and “Son of David” (cf. Mt 15:22), thus showing a firm hope of being heard. What was the Lord’s attitude to this cry of anguish from a pagan woman?

Jesus’ silence may seem disconcerting, to the point that it prompted the disciples to intervene, but it was not a question of insensitivity to this woman’s sorrow. St Augustine rightly commented: “Christ showed himself indifferent to her, not in order to refuse her his mercy but rather to inflame her desire for it” (Sermo 77, 1: PL 38, 483).

The apparent aloofness of Jesus who said: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (v. 24), did not discourage the Canaanite woman who persisted: “Lord, help me” (v. 25). And she did not even desist when she received an answer that would seem to have extinguished any hope: “it is not fair to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs” (v. 26). She had no wish to take anything from anyone; in her simplicity and humility a little was enough for her, crumbs sufficed, no more than a look, a kind word from the Son of God. And Jesus was struck with admiration for an answer of such great faith and said to her: “Be it done for you as you desire” (v. 28).

Dear friends, we too are called to grow in faith, to open ourselves in order to welcome God’s gift freely, to have trust and also to cry to Jesus “give us faith, help us to find the way!”. This is the way that Jesus made his disciples take, as well as the Canaanite woman and men and women of every epoch and nation and each one of us.

Faith opens us to knowing and welcoming the real identity of Jesus, his newness and oneness, his word, as a source of life, in order to live a personal relationship with him. Knowledge of the faith grows, it grows with the desire to find the way and in the end it is a gift of God who does not reveal himself to us as an abstract thing without a face or a name, because faith responds to a Person who wants to enter into a relationship of deep love with us and to involve our whole life. 

For this reason our heart must undergo the experience of conversion every day, every day it must see us changing from people withdrawn into themselves to people who are open to God’s action, spiritual people (cf. 1 Cor 2:13-14), who let themselves be called into question by the Lord’s word and open their life to his Love. 

Dear brothers and sisters, let us therefore nourish our faith every day with deep attention to the word of God, with the celebration of the Sacraments, with personal prayer as a “cry” to him, and with charity to our neighbour. 

Let us invoke the intercession of the Virgin Mary, whom we shall contemplate tomorrow in her glorious Assumption into Heaven in body and soul, so that she may help us proclaim and witness with our lives to the joy of having encountered the Lord.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 14 August 2011]

1. The ‘miracles and signs’ that Jesus performed to confirm his messianic mission and the coming of the Kingdom of God are ordered and closely linked to the call to faith. This call, in relation to the miracle, takes two forms: faith precedes the miracle; indeed, it is a condition for its occurrence; faith is an effect of the miracle, for it is brought about by the miracle in the souls of those who have received it or witnessed it.
It is well known that faith is man’s response to the word of divine revelation. The miracle takes place in an organic connection with this revealing word of God. It is a ‘sign’ of his presence and his working—a sign, one might say, of particular intensity. All this sufficiently explains the special bond that exists between Christ’s ‘miracles-signs’ and faith: a bond so clearly outlined in the Gospels.
6. Particularly moving is the episode of the Canaanite woman, who kept asking Jesus for help for her daughter, who was ‘cruelly tormented by a demon’. When the Canaanite woman prostrated herself before Jesus to ask for his help, he replied: ‘It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the little dogs’ (this was a reference to the ethnic difference between the Israelites and the Canaanites, which Jesus, son of David, could not ignore in his practical conduct, but to which he alluded as a methodological device to provoke faith). And so the woman, guided by intuition, performed an extraordinary act of faith and humility. She said: ‘It is true, Lord . . . but even the little dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ Faced with these words—so humble, courteous and trusting—Jesus replied: ‘Woman, your faith is truly great! Let it be done for you as you wish’ (cf. Mt 15:21–28).
It is an event that is hard to forget, especially when one thinks of the countless ‘Canaanites’ of every age, country, race and social condition, who hold out their hands to ask for understanding and help in their time of need!
[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 16 December 1987]

This Sunday’s Gospel (see Mt 15:21-28) describes the meeting between Jesus and the Canaanite woman. Jesus is to the north of Galilee, in foreign territory. The woman was not Jewish, she was Canaanite. Jesus is there to spend some time with His disciples away from the crowds, from the crowds whose numbers are always growing. And behold, a woman approached Him seeking help for her sick daughter: “Have mercy on me, Lord!” (v. 22). It is the cry that is born out of a life marked by suffering, from the sense of the helplessness of a mamma who sees her daughter tormented by evil who cannot be healed; she cannot heal her. Jesus initially ignores her, but this mother insists; she insists, even when the Master says to the disciples that His mission is directed only to “the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (v. 24) and not to the pagans. She continues to beg Him, and at that point, He puts her to the test, citing a proverb. It’s a bit…this seems almost a bit cruel, but she puts her to the test: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs” (v. 26). And right away, the woman, quick, anguished, responds: “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table” (v. 27).

And with these words, that mother shows that she has perceived the goodness of the Most High God present in Jesus who is open to any of His creatures necessities. And this wisdom, filled with trust, touches Jesus’s heart and provokes words of admiration: “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish” (v. 28). What type of faith is great? Great faith is that which brings its own story, marked even by wounds, and brings it to the Lord’s feet asking Him to heal them, to give them meaning.

Each one of us has our own story and it is not always a story “of export”, it is not always a clean story… Many times it is a difficult story, with a lot of pain, many misfortunes and many sins. What do I do with my story? Do I hide it? No! We must bring it before the Lord. “Lord, if You will it, you can heal me!” This is what this woman teaches us, this wonderful mother: the courage to bring our own painful story before God, before Jesus, to touch God’s tenderness, Jesus’s tenderness. Let’s try this story, this prayer: let each one of us think of his or her own story. There are always ugly things in a story, always. Let us go to Jesus, knock on Jesus’s heart and say to Him: “Lord, if You will it, you can heal me!” And we can do this if we always have the face of Jesus before us, if we understand what Christ’s heart is like, what Jesus’s heart is like: a heart that feels compassion, that bears our pains, that bears our sins, our mistakes, our failures. But it is a heart that love us like that, as we are, without make-up: He loves us like that. “Lord, if You will it, you can heal me!” This is why it is necessary to understand Jesus, to be familiar with Jesus. I always go back to the advice that I give you: always carry a small pocket-size Gospel and read a passage every day. There you will find Jesus as He is, as He presents Himself; you will find Jesus who loves us, who loves us a lot, who tremendously wants our well-being. Let us remember the prayer: “Lord, if You will it, you can heal me!” A beautiful prayer. Carry the Gospel: in your purse, in your pocket and even on your mobile phone, to look at. May the Lord help us, all of us, to pray this beautiful prayer, that a pagan woman teaches us: not a Christian woman, not a Jewish woman, a pagan woman.

May the Virgin Mary intercede with her prayer so that the joy of faith might grow in every baptized person as well as the desire to communicate it through a consistent witness of life, that she give us the courage to approach Jesus and to say to Him: “Lord, if You will it, you can heal me!”

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 16 August 2020]

The itinerary of the creature (and of the Church) that realizes in itself the victory of Life over death

 

Mary is an icon of how to find the right path, from which the events of life can step us away or take us away.

Emblem of those who are on their own conformal story in person, Gem of comparison so as not to betray our identity-vocational character and innate disposition.

Like her however giving in; nevertheless, changing. And thus realizing our true nature, in the pilgrimage towards the Core of being - because present to things, in the different ways of taking field in the world, clearly.

Her soul possessed a youthful freshness, an ability to approach herself without however losing the scope of the comparisons: in noticing, living of every Gift.

Whoever follows her style embraces and adores the unexpected, and when the Novelty of the Spirit breaks in, the heart immediately makes room for it.

The attitude of his soul did not turn to the banal repetition: amazed by a Word, stunned by the Unexpected, surprised by a Wound.

Itinerant, she taught to open the will and mind to new paths that not only dodged but even flew over the preponderant of conditionings.

She spontaneously activated flows of possibilities that put so many habits behind, without even fighting them.

Mary disposed herself to grasp the variations, the nuances of the soul; even the unusual feelings that maybe we repudise to attribute to her and that instead she felt. Sometimes even getting lost in the labyrinths of a frightening epochal struggle with the «dragon», the ideology of power.

A full life, as a family mother, not as an incorporeal creature that withdraws, and only modest.

Nothing naive and enslaved. Free woman, Mary leaves without asking for authorization of the delayed, hierarchical and still patriarchal society.

And she does not associate herself with reassuring caravans, because she’s not a person of a pack but of novelty.

She didn’t walk along the Jordan, which was the most travelled and safest road. But why to risk life in hostile land? Because love knows no obstacle.

And exuberance doesn’t repeat conformity. Life flowing from Galilee to Judaea, that is, from the periphery to the center.

So she agreed to make cohabit in herself and make the variegated situations coexistent with the facets of the many appeals, the afflatus of the care and the spirit of decision - as an emancipated person.

As today’s Liturgy expresses, the Woman accepted the Desert but found a Refuge, «forgetting her people and her father’s house».

Solidarity, Sobriety, Silence: the experience of the Exodus. Novelty, Fraternity and Person’s Horizon: that allow the rediscovery of one’s own ‘seed’ - and the sense of the Church.

Mary is a sign of the paradoxical existence of the believer, who knows his baseness and the Unpredictable of God: in her travel we recognize the ideal path of our journey.

 

We cannot ignore that in the world sometimes strength prevails over weakness, need makes love pale, decline seems to ridicule life...

But in the dialectic of losing ourselves in order to find ourselves, we introduce new energies; like Her, we acquire an ability to see the graves wide open, grasping life even in places of death.

In this way, Lk is the evangelist who celebrates the reversals of the situations [pharisee and tax collector, first and last place, unruly son and firstborn, so on].

In such reverses Life in the Spirit does not manifest itself as a reply that reassures or sacralizes positions, but as an attitude to gain in loss; a flowering, in the bitterness of the cross.

Knowing how to find opportunities for growth even in the apparent degradation.

And in us? The redefinition of what is "deal or humiliation" can become redeemed history, the authentic disruptive force in the course of events, and of any situation.

In the defenceless and incapable of miracle there is in fact the perception of a power that knows how to recover the whole being. Virtue that reassembles the harmony of the vital wave.

Project that wants to raise the poor from garbage, to turn us into masterpieces - starting from the truth of lowest and beggar roots [where we are ourselves].

The challenge of Faith is open.

The itinerary of the creature (and of the Church) who realises in herself the victory of Life over death

 

Mary is Icon of how to find the right path, from which the vicissitudes of life can lead us away or take us away.

Emblem of those who are on their own and conforming path, Gem of comparison for not betraying our identity-vocational character and innate disposition.

Like Her, however, surrendering ourselves; yet changing. And thus realising our true nature, in the pilgrimage towards the Core of Being - being present to things, in the different ways of being in the world, sharply.

His soul possessed a youthful freshness, an ability to approach itself without losing the scope of feedback: in realising, living from every Gift.

Those who follow his style embrace and adore the unexpected, and when the Newness of the Spirit suddenly bursts in, they immediately know how to make room for it.

The attitude of his soul did not turn to banal repetitiveness: amazed by a Word, stunned by the unexpected, surprised by a Wound.

Itinerant, she taught to open the heart and mind to new paths that not only dodged but even flew over the preponderance of conditioning.

She spontaneously activated streams of possibilities that put so many habits behind them, without even fighting them.

Maria disposed herself to grasp the variants, the nuances of the soul; even the unaccustomed feelings that we may be loathe to attribute to her and which she felt instead. Sometimes even losing herself in the labyrinths of a frightening struggle with the 'dragon', the ideology of power.

A full life, as a mother of a family, not as an incorporeal creature who only recoils.

 

Nothing naive or subservient. A free woman, Maria sets off without asking for permission from the backward, hierarchical and still patriarchal society.

And she does not associate herself with reassuring caravans, because she is not a person of the herd but of novelty.

She did not set out along the Jordan, which was the beaten and safe road. But why risk your life in a hostile land? Because love knows no obstacle.

And exuberance does not repeat conformity. Life that flows from Galilee to Judea, that is, from the periphery to the official religious centre, never vice versa.

 

Not infrequently, for the devout in an observant territory, any announcement of life and any novelty are perceived with extreme distrust [an attack on one's security and personal offence, instead of service].

This is why when she arrives at the house of the man of worship she does not even 'greet' him. Elizabeth (she too seems to be a forgotten one) cultivated the promise ["Elì-shébet" the Lord My-Personal has sworn; as in "God is faithful to Me"].

He Zechariah ["Zachar-Ja" the Lord yes but not Mine but of Israel "remembers"; OK, God does not suffer amnesia but has been, has been... and who knows when 'He comes']. He could not move from religiosity to Faith.

Usual cliché, not innate ability:

In ancient religions the priest is the elder of great reminiscences. He makes devout memories - all right - but as if still in a museum, almost embalming temporal decay.

The man of the cult is part of a class that likes to frequent the places that count; refractory to a Spirit that insists and appeals, that throws life [also of institutes] into the air by breaching and inflaming consciences, to stir up situations.

Here instead is the poor woman. She prophesies - like the first communities of evangelisation that are represented there in a watermark.

She was not a legal person in that culture, rather a non-person, who even had to ask permission from her son, about everything.

The opposite of authority and officialdom (inside and outside the House), who remained incapable of communicating anything: not 'blessed' but unhappy; 'mute' because he had nothing more to say to those waiting outside the Temple.

Nothing vital and no real blessing to pass on to people; zero with which to fill the existence of his neighbour.

So the Soul Bride girl is the one who seems to ignore the still practitioner of the sacred and the ritual!

She does not even speak to him - for she is destined for 'heavenly glory', not to be drawn into the minutiae of reasoning and a rationality that makes love pale.

 

Creature and authentic community that reflects Jesus.

Instead, it teaches us to do our part, precisely by attempting to allow the things we like and the dissimilarities that arise to coexist.

All this, without inhibitions - seeking the Meaning of contradictions instead of taming them regardless; because one-sidedness would have made her fragile, arid, incomplete.

So she accepted to make the multifaceted situations cohabit within her and make them coexist with the facets of the many appeals, the afflatus of caring and the spirit of decision - as an emancipated woman.

As today's Liturgy recites, the Assumption accepted the Desert but found a Refuge, "forgetting her people and her father's house".Solidarity, Sobriety, Silence: the Exodus experience. Novelty, Fraternity and Person Horizon that enable the rediscovery of one's seed - and the meaning of the Church.

 

Mary teaches the paradoxical existence of the believer, who knows his lowliness and the Unpredictability of God: in her story we recognise the ideal path of our journey.

We cannot ignore that in the world sometimes strength prevails over weakness, need makes love pale, decline seems to ridicule life...

But in the dialectic of losing oneself in order to find oneself again, we introduce new energies; we acquire, like her, an ability to see graves wide open, glimpsing life even in places of death.

In this way, Lk is the evangelist who celebrates the reversals of situations [Pharisee and publican, first and last place, scape-goat son and first-born; and so on].

In these reversals, Life in the Spirit does not reveal itself as a replication that reassures or sanctifies positions, but as an attitude of gain in loss; a flowering in the bitterness of the cross.

A knowing how to find opportunities for growth even in the apparent degradation of the corrupt [even pious and respectable] world.

And in us? The redefinition of what is 'affair or humiliation' can become redeemed history, the authentic disruptive force in the course of events, and of any affair.

Indeed, in the helpless and incapable of miracles lies the perception of a power that can reclaim the whole being. Virtue that recomposes the harmony of the vital wave.

Project that wants to raise the poor from the rubbish, to transform us into masterpieces - starting from the truth of pitocche radici [where we are ourselves].

The challenge of Faith is open.