Turnover in the Church, antidote to unilaterality

(Mt 5:1-12)

 

We feel ephemeral and often disappointed, yet we want to be happy, not just here and there: we are uncertain, yet we seek full and lasting joy.

Of course we can only find it in a disconcerting proposal.

 

In the Gospel of Mt Jesus is the new Moses who rises on «the Mount». But the young Legislator does not proclaim norms on a stone code, but his own experience of the Father... «by seeing the crowds» (v.1).

At the crossroads between divine condition and fullness of humanization, the new Rabbi outlines a sort of his Self-Portrait: as a Son; in favor of his brothers. Gathered in Family spirit.

A sprout of hospitable world - which in its small churches Mt wants to encourage. Where there is no man above and little ones always below; or the character in front and the others behind.

Only humanizing upheavals [such as the reversal of roles and conditions] that strengthen the concordant tissue.

So in the House of All there will have to be a replacement and reversal of figures, of situations and criteria of eminence, therefore chains of command - signs of the Coming Kingdom. 

Overturning capable of sharpening the sensitivities to Communion [at that time there was lively friction between Judaizing experts, first in the class, and the last arrived at threshold of faith’s fraternities].

 

On «the Mount» is announced the discreet work of the Spirit, which designates the character of a modest holiness, animated by gift’s Love, in itself divinizing and humanizing [quality that is manifested in the so-called "poor in Spirit"].

In fact, the authentic disciple reaches tears: they express the dimension of intimate energy that purifies external ideas; it makes us true from within, and essential on the outside.

Affliction drives to return into ourselves; it re-proposes the contact with our land and the virtues that regenerate.

Sadness that in the condition of finitude and conscious limit, makes us empathetic, splendidly human.

Deeply dissatisfied: opponents of injustices. Because every person who is not placed in the position of being able to express his abilities is an insult to the Salvation Design.

In fact, in each excluded person hides an Artist who is not allowed to express himself, who is neither discovered nor valued in favor of himself and others; rather, considered extraneous or deviant.

 

The Spirit of Christ is spontaneously identified not with the usual aggressive energy of the feral animals, of those who prevail because more astute and strong.

We are women and men characterized by heart of flesh - not of beast (Dan 7).

The Beatitudes - the new Decalogue of «the Mount» - allude precisely to a sort of divine condition embodied and transmissible to anyone, pacified and creative like love, therefore all to be discovered.

This is not a proposal that pushes back eccentricities: on the contrary, very nice and lovable, inclusive.

That of the Blessed is therefore the condition that makes us Unique - not sanctity regulated by procedures, which is always there to abhor the danger of the unusual.

Nor does it exclude our right to do something great... but it does not identify it with having, power, appearing.

There is no "race" to be won. And the Lord makes us reflect on the authentic realization: it’s not an outward conquest.

 

Blessed is the trait and outcome of the true and full development of the divine project on humanity - paradoxical in character.

The Lord is pleased with those who undertake this orientation, where his feelings become deeply ours.

Blood relatives; already here and now able to experience the blissful life of Heaven: being with and for others, being ourselves.

 

 

[4th Sunday in O.T. (year A)  February 1st, 2026]

Turnover in the Church, an antidote to unilateralism

(Mt 5:1-12)

 

In Matthew's Gospel, Jesus is the new Moses who climbs "the Mountain." But the young Lawgiver does not proclaim rules on a stone code, but rather his own experience of the Father... "seeing the crowds" (v. 1).

At the crossroads between divine condition and fullness of humanisation, the new Rabbi outlines a sort of self-portrait: as Son; in favour of his brothers. Gathered together in a spirit of family.

A sprout of a hospitable world - which Matthew wants to encourage in his small churches. Where there is no one above and no one below; no one in front and no one behind.

Only humanising upheavals [such as the reversal of roles and conditions] that strengthen the fabric of harmony.

Therefore, in the House of all, there must be a change and reversal of figures, situations and criteria of eminence, and therefore chains of command - signs of the Kingdom to Come. 

A reversal capable of heightening sensitivity to Communion [at that time, there was lively friction between Jewish experts, top of the class, and newcomers to the fraternal community of faith].

 

At that time, the mentality of precedence and supremacy was so deeply rooted that all religions recognised hierarchies.

Those who considered themselves entitled to precedence [in the community!] always raised a question of apparent obviousness:

Is it not in the natural order of things that in human society there are first and last, learned and ignorant, sovereigns and subjects?

After all, the legal principle that once governed, for example, all private property rights in the Latin world is also the motto of a well-known official Catholic newspaper: Unicuique Suum.

Even Leo XIII, the pope of social encyclicals, recognised that 'in human society, it is according to the order established by God that there are princes and subjects, masters and proletarians, rich and poor, learned and ignorant, nobles and plebeians; the obligation of charity on the part of the rich and the wealthy is to provide for the poor and the needy'.

It was the mentality of a sin of simple omission: it is enough to do charity.

The Lord's position is very, very different: the powerful are not at all blessed by God - as the rich patriarchs of the First Testament were also supposed to be.

Their alien world, their palaces, and even their refined clothing, are a perfect metaphor for the inner emptiness and transience in which they revel.

Their gluttony is a sign of an inner abyss to be filled - a kind of nervous hunger that causes vertigo.

And so it goes, from alienation to alienation.

On 'the Mount', on the other hand, the discreet work of the Spirit is announced, which designates the character of a modest holiness, animated by the Love of gift, in itself deifying and humanising [a quality that manifests itself in the so-called 'poor in Spirit'].

Holiness that surpasses the ancient fiction of the rulers, who overlapped each other reciting the same script.

Until now, in fact, the masses remained empty-handed: whoever the ruler who seized power, the small flock remained submissive, sad and suffocated; unworthy even of presenting themselves before the Lord.

All condemned and inadequate.

Even the people of the disciples are heartbroken because they do not accept the inequalities of a pyramidal society, which tends to level and destroy the gifts of God spread throughout humanity - of any social class.

The authentic disciple is moved to tears: they express the dimension of intimate energy that purifies external ideas; making us true on the inside and essential on the outside.

Affliction guides us to return to ourselves; it re-establishes contact with our earth and the primordial virtues that regenerate us.

Sadness that, in the condition of finitude and conscious limitation, makes us empathetic, splendidly human.

Intimately dissatisfied: opponents of injustice. Because every person who is not placed in a position to express their abilities is an insult to the Plan of Salvation.

This is not about charity or philanthropy: it is a precise, social choice (v.5).

In fact, hidden within each outcast is an artist who is not allowed to express themselves, who is not discovered or valued for their own sake or that of others; rather, they are considered an outsider or a deviant.

Annalena Tonelli spoke of the least among us, whose pain she wished to alleviate, as 'murdered Mozarts': she wanted to recover them and involve them, to enrich each other. She had a mother's heart and compassion for the misery of her abandoned brothers and sisters.

 

The same severity prevailed in religions, whose leaders instilled in the people a strong and vulgar nationalist impulse and the consolation of the herd.

In the Kingdom of Jesus, however, there must be no ranks, which is why the plans of the ambitious and infallible do not coincide with his.

The Spirit of Christ spontaneously identifies not with the usual aggressive energy of wild beasts, of those who prevail because they are more cunning and stronger, but with the person who makes himself available.

We are women and men characterised by hearts of flesh, not of beasts (Dan 7).

 

The Beatitudes - the new Decalogue of 'the Mountain' - allude precisely to a sort of divine condition incarnate and transmissible to anyone, peaceful and creative like love, and therefore waiting to be discovered.

 

Blessed is the trait and outcome of the true and full development of the divine plan for humanity.

In the Gospels, this character is not hindered by those who frequent places of ill repute, but paradoxically by the regulars of sacred enclosures.

According to Jesus, purity of heart is not linked to external legal purity - as was believed in all devotions - but to a purified gaze and a lack of duplicity. 

The growth and humanisation of the people is therefore not opposed by sinners, but precisely by those who have the ministry of making the Face of God known to all!

In short, the burden of preconceptions with which they approach reality and relationships does not allow the established and fixed authorities to recognise the Lord's calls in the facts of life and Nature itself.

The same is true of peacemakers.

They work for the complete reconstruction of Life and Fraternity, of naturalness itself and of equitable coexistence.

All this is done in a spirit of selflessness that integrates selfishness by recognising the poor 'We' that expands throughout the world.

 

The self-portrait of Jesus as revealed in the Beatitudes of Matthew embraces the icon of a young boy - who at that time counted for nothing.

The Lord recognises himself in a household servant, a shop assistant, who nevertheless has a mysterious and pleasant divine spark within him.

It is the only identification that Jesus loves and desires to give us: that of one who cannot afford not to recognise the needs of others.

A dimension of sacredness without distinctive halos: not cynical, but shareable. Because it is linked to perception and instinctive reciprocity, to spontaneous friendship towards women and men - experienced in the likeness of the Father.

Obviously, this is not a proposal compromised by the usual inexorable routine [doctrine and discipline] that pushes eccentricities back: on the contrary, it is very sympathetic and lovable, inclusive.

 

The Blessed One's condition is therefore the one that makes us Unique - not the holiness regulated by procedures, which always abhors and exorcises the danger of the unusual.

Precisely for this reason, however, the fixation on antecedents has characterised the life of the Church for centuries, as has the feudal and monarchical idol of stability for life.

The Master does not exclude our right to do something great... but he does not identify it with having, power, or appearance.

For a path of Bliss and Divinisation, the Master does not excite the impulses of holding back, climbing, dominating: they do not give Happiness.

Rather, he counts on our spontaneous freedom to give, descend and serve - a franchise entrusted first and foremost to the top of the class. Those who throughout history have become accustomed to overwhelming others with moralism and cunning.

 

God does not deny the legitimate impulses of the ego to be recognised. We do not participate in life as if we were destined to fail, but as if we were promoted - those who do not suppress their own requirements.

But not in order to win 'the race'. In this way, the Lord makes us reflect on authentic fulfilment.

It is not an external conquest, but an intimate one that we make our own. It is thus able to sculpt our deepest inclinations, in its richness of faces and in the time of a Journey.

Aristotle stated that - beyond artificial begging the question or apparent proclamations - we truly love only ourselves. This is no small question mark.

Admittedly, the growth, promotion and flowering of our qualities lies within a wise Way.

A path that is even interrupted, but which knows how to allow itself the right pace - also to encounter new states of being.

Genuine and mature love expands the boundaries of the ego that loves primacy, visibility and gain. It integrates it with primordial, dormant energies that we have not given space to - understanding the You in the I.

A path and a vector that then expands our abilities and our lives. Otherwise, in every circumstance and, unfortunately, at any age, we will remain in the childish game of those who elbow their way up the steps to prevail.

As Pope Francis said about mafia phenomena: 'We need men and women of love, not honour!'.

The Tao Tê Ching (XL) writes: 'Weakness is what the Tao uses'. And Master Wang Pi comments: 'The high has the low as its foundation, the noble has the base as its foundation'.

 

We feel ephemeral and often disappointed, yet we want to be happy, not just here and there: we are uncertain, yet we seek full and lasting joy. Obviously, we can only find it in a disconcerting proposal.

In ancient times, it was thought that God could be encountered in the intoxicating emotions generated by successful experiences, typical of successful men. But the persecuted and crucified Son challenges this outward appearance.

Other decisive encounters were considered to be those on the peaks of evocative heights, or devout and paroxysmal self-sacrifice within the sacred enclosures that Jesus intended to dismantle, forcing the people to leave them [Jn 10:1-16 Greek text].

Luther interprets the Son of God on the Mount as 'Mosissimus Moses'. However, Matthew speaks of 'the Mount' - not a platform - as the figure and context of an eternal Appeal, not only intended for members of the most equipped institutes of perfection who are able to climb.

In concrete terms, these are the moments when we ourselves, incorporated into the human completeness of Christ, feel the fullness of being: like the passing of the soul bride in her sacred centre, and a special harmony of ideas, words and actions between our nature and the divine.

'The Mountain' is the (theological) place where we abandon the cunning, conformist thoughts, knowledge and calculations of the worldly plain. Where the assumptions of fleeting, joyful happiness [the kind that lasts a minute or an hour] are levelled out.

Therefore, blessed are the poor 'in spirit' - or 'by the Spirit' - says Jesus [v.3a Greek text].

In the Christian community, it is important (precisely) to enrich together.

The Lord is pleased with those who take this approach, where his feelings become deeply ours - and it is not the details that are important, but the direction of travel.

The particular details of the life of love are left to personal creativity and the variety of people, sensibilities, cultures and situations. 

What counts is the fundamental choice for goodness and communion, understood not as uniformity but as conviviality of differences.

This is not to hysterically despise wealth: it is a matter of exchanging it so that it multiplies, avoiding keeping it for oneself. Otherwise, everything becomes an insurmountable obstacle to life and the preserve of the quickest.

Those who have freely expropriated the superfluous in order to share it do so 'for the Spirit', that is, for Love: by free choice, with passion and without distinction between beneficiaries within and outside their circle.

Thus, the enriched become lords.

In turn, the miserable may not be poor 'in Spirit' if they are full of themselves, boastful, arrogant, uninterested in others; if they lack openness of heart, are strangers to dialogue, intent on improving their condition through compromise and deception - only desiring to replace the rich and then imitate their deceitful, subjugating and opportunistic ways.

 

The voluntary renunciation of the selfish and mediocre use of our material and intellectual resources distinguishes us as children of God.

We are blood relatives; already here and now able to experience the blessed life of Heaven: being with and for others, while being ourselves.

In fact, the promise that accompanies the first Beatitude (v.3a) does not guarantee access to Paradise in the afterlife, in some distant future.

The exchange of gifts guarantees the experience of divine life itself, right here on earth.

In pagan religions, the condition of Blessed Life was a jealous and exclusive characteristic of the gods, who reluctantly shared it; and reassuringly, only after death. However, only halfway.

In Christ and through the Way, despite partial failures, or our possible limited abilities and natural fragility - indeed, because of them - we discover a Father who is a friend of full, intense Joy: immediate, energetic, limitless Happiness. Which arises even from unstable states.

The Father is not the God of religions that cloud and trouble life: he does not bless the greed of the few, which makes the multitudes needy.

Did the last of the commandments require us to feel satisfied and not desire the possessions of others?

The first of the Beatitudes proposes that we desire that others also have the same things and opportunities in life as we do.

The dynamic of falling in love, in all its forms, presupposes a vibrant Fullness that flows everywhere - recognising the opposites in ourselves and the legitimate desire for expressive fulfilment in our brothers and sisters.

 

 

To internalise and live the message:

 

How do you overcome doubt, by retreating? What do you proclaim with your life? Does it go beyond direct experience? Do you know of realities that manifest the Risen One? How do you point to paths overflowing with hope? Or are you selective and silent?

 

 

 

They let the Light pass through

 

All the Saints, between religious sentiment and Faith

 

    Embodying the spirit of the Beatitudes, we ask ourselves what is the difference between common 'religious sentiment' and 'living by Faith'.

In ancient devotions, the Saint is the composed, perfect and detached [but predictable] man; and the opposite of Saint is 'sinner'.

In the proposal of a life full of the Lord, the 'saint' is a person of communicative understanding who lives for conviviality, creating it where it does not exist.

On the path of children, the saint is indeed the excellent man, but in his fullest sense - complete and dynamic, multifaceted; even eccentric. Not in a unilateral, moralistic or sentimental sense.

In Latin, perfìcere means to bring to completion, to go all the way.

In this complete and integral sense, 'perfect' becomes an authentic embodied value: a possible attribute of every person who is aware of their own vulnerability and does not despise it.

Women and men of faith value every opportunity or emotion that lays bare their nakedness [not guilt] in order to open new paths and renew themselves.

From the perspective of life in the Spirit, the saint [in Hebrew Qadosh, divine attribute] is indeed the 'detached' person, but not in a partial or physical sense, rather in an ideal sense.

It is not the person who at some point in life distances themselves from the human family to embark on a path of purification that would elevate them. Deluding themselves into thinking they are improving.

As the encyclical Fratelli Tutti emphasises: 'A human being [...] does not realise, develop, find fulfilment [... and] come to a full recognition of his or her own truth except in encounter with others' (n.87).

The authentic witness is not motivated by contempt for existential chaos - nor is he eager to outsource the difficulties of managing his own freedom by handing it over to an alienating agency with a detached mentality (which resolves the drama of personal choices).

In Christ, man is "disconnected" from the common mentality, in that he is faithful to himself, to his own Fire that never goes out - to his passions, to his own unrepeatable uniqueness and Vocation.

And at the same time, he is "separated" from external competitive criteria: of having, of power, of appearing. Self-destructive powers.

He concretely replaces these with the fraternity of giving, serving and diminishing oneself [from the 'character']. Fruitful energies.

Everything for global Communion, and in Truth even with one's own intimate character seed - avoiding proselytism and showing off on the catwalk.

The true believer knows his redeemed limit, sees the possibilities of imperfection... Thus, he replaces the assumptions of holding back for himself, of climbing over others and dominating them, with a fundamental humanising triptych: giving, freedom to 'come down', collaborating.

This is authentic Detachment, which does not flee from one's own and others' inclinations, nor despise the complex nature of the human condition.

In this way, the 'saint' experiences the essential Beatitude of the persecuted (Mt 5:11-12; Lk 6:22-23) because he has the freedom to 'lower himself' in order to be in tune with his own essence, coexisting in his originality.

In terms of Faith, the Saint is therefore no longer physically "separated", but "United" with Christ - and banished like Him, in the weak brothers and sisters.

In short, the divine plan is to compose a Family of the small and infirm, not to carve out a group of "strong" friends who are "better" than others.

Only this horizon of the Focolare moves us to set out.

Consequently, the opposite of a saint is not a 'sinner', but rather someone who is unrealised or unfinished.

 

Let us look again at the reason for this (vocational and personal paths).

Jesus was a friend of tax collectors and public sinners not because they were better than the good, but because in religion the 'righteous' are often not very spontaneous; making themselves impervious, closed, resistant to the action of the Spirit.

Surprisingly, the Lord himself repeatedly experienced that it was precisely those who were devoutly lacking who were inclined to question, notice, rework, deviate from habit - in order to build new paths, even if proceeding by trial and error.

Unable to enjoy the respectable cloak of social screens, after becoming aware of their situation (and over time) - compared to those who considered themselves 'successful' and friends of God - from being 'distant' they became people more 'impeccable' and willing to love.

 

Questioning oneself is fundamental from a biblical perspective.

At every turn, Scripture offers us a spirituality of Exodus, that is, a path of liberation from shackles, travelled on foot, step by step. Therefore, it values paths of research, exploration, discovery of oneself and of the Newness of a God who does not repeat, but creates.

The appeal that the Word makes is to embark on a journey; this is the point. And we have always been 'those of the Way' who do not pass by, who do not look the other way [cf. Lk 10:31-33; FT, 56ff].

 

According to the classical pagan mentality, women and men are essentially 'nature', so their being in the world is conditioned [I remember that my professor of theological anthropology, Ignazio Sanna, even said 'de-centred'], even determined by birth (fortunate or otherwise).

According to the Bible, women and men are creatures, splendid and adequate in themselves for their mission, but pilgrims and lacking.

God is the One who 'calls' them to complete themselves, recovering their dissimilar aspects.

 

In order to become the image and likeness of the Lord, we must develop the ability to respond to a Vocation that makes us neither phenomena nor 'perfect' exceptions, but rather special Witnesses.

Chosen by Name, just as we are; embracing our deepest being - even if unexpressed - to the point of recognising it in You, and unfolding it in Us.

A person's holiness is therefore combined with many of their states of dissatisfaction, of limitation, and even of partial failure - but always thinking and feeling reality.

For a New Covenant.

 

In the Old Testament, believers came into contact with divine purity by frequenting sacred places, fulfilling prescriptions, reciting prayers, respecting times and spaces, avoiding embarrassing situations, and so on.

Our experience and conscience attest infallibly that strict observance is too rare, or mannered: inside, it often does not correspond to us - nor does it humanise us.

Sooner or later, it becomes a house of cards, all the more unstable the higher it points. It is enough to arrange a single card clumsily, and the artificial construction collapses.

We realise our natural inability to satisfy sterilisation, maps (of others) and such high standards.

With Jesus, Perfection does not concern 'thought' or compliance with an abstract Code of Observance. Fulfilment refers to a quality of Exodus and Relationship.

In ancient contexts, the path of children was cloaked in a mystical or renouncing proposal made up of abstinence, fasting, retreats, secluded life, obsessive cultic fulfilments... which in many situations constituted the backbone of pre-Conciliar spirituality.

But in Scripture, the saints do not have halos or wings.

They are not saints because they performed incomparable and amazing miracles of healing: rather, they are women and men who were part of the ordinary world and its most common aspects. 

They know the problems, weaknesses, joys and sorrows of everyday life; the search for their own identity, character or deep inclination.

And the apostolate; family, the education of children, work. Even the seductive power of evil.

 

In the First Testament, 'Qadosh' referred exclusively to an attribute of the Eternal One [the only unchanging Person] - and his separateness from the often confused web of earthly ambitions.

Despite our flaws, however, in Christ we become capable of listening, of perception; thus enabled to seize every opportunity to bear witness to the innate, vital gratuitousness of the divine and real initiative.

Providential life incessantly proposes itself and comes to meet us to open up unthinkable passages that break through.

Its unprecedented paths of growth renew our entire chained and conformist existence.

This also amazes us with our inner resources, previously unknown or unacknowledged and unspoken, or unpredictably hidden behind dark sides.

 

What is Distinguished is no longer hidden behind clouds and placed in secure enclosures.

Therefore, God's adversary will not be transgression: on the contrary, it becomes the lack of a spirit of Communion in differences.

The enemy of the history of Salvation is not religious incompleteness, but the gap between the Beatitudes - and the spirit in fieri of the 'wayfarer' for whom 'pilgrimage' is also synonymous [not paradoxically] with 'wandering'.

The opposite of God is therefore not 'sins', but 'Sin' [in the singular, a theological term, not a moralistic one].

'Sin' is the inability to respond to an indicative Call, which acts as a springboard to complete us, to regenerate us in a non-partial way. This harmonises the opposite sides - in being ourselves and being-With.

Here it is Faith that 'saves' us, at the point where we find ourselves - because it destroys 'the sin of the world' (Jn 1:29), that is, self-contempt and guilt; the humiliation of unbridgeable distances.

In fact, Jesus does not recommend doctrines, nor does he recommend fragmenting one's life with occasional drunkenness. Nor does he propose any religious ascent [in terms of progressiveness] seasoned with effort.

Nowhere in the Gospels does Christ say to anyone, 'become holy', but rather with Him, like Him and in Him - united, to encounter one's own deepest states incessantly.

Recognising them better, thanks also to You and Us.

 

The saint is the little one, not the hero who is all of a piece, uniform, predictable, taken for granted.

A saint is someone who, walking his own path in the wake of the Risen One, has learned to 'identify with the other, without paying attention to where [or] where from [...] ultimately experiencing that others are his own flesh' (cf. FT 84).

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

On this Fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time, the Gospel presents the first great discourse that the Lord addresses to the people on the gentle hills encircling the Sea of Galilee. “Seeing the crowds,” St Matthew writes, “he went up on the mountain, and when he sat down his disciples came to him. And he opened his mouth and taught them” (Mt 5:1-2). 

Jesus, the new Moses, “takes his seat on the cathedra of the mountain” (Jesus of Nazareth, Doubleday, New York 2007, p. 65) and proclaims “blessed” the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the merciful, those who hunger for righteousness, the pure in heart, the persecuted (cf. Mt 5:3-10). It is not a new ideology, but a teaching that comes from on high and touches the human condition, the condition that the Lord, in becoming flesh, wished to assume in order to save it. 

Therefore “the Sermon on the Mount is addressed to the entire world, the entire present and future, and yet it demands discipleship and can be understood and lived out only by following Jesus and accompanying him on his journey” (Jesus of Nazareth, p. 69). 

The Beatitudes are a new programme of life, to free oneself from the false values of the world and to open oneself to the true goods, present and future. Indeed, when God comforts, he satisfies the hunger for righteousness, he wipes away the tears of those who mourn, which means that, as well as compensating each one in a practical way, he opens the Kingdom of Heaven. “The Beatitudes are the transposition of the Cross and Resurrection into discipleship” (ibid., p. 74). They mirror the life of the Son of God who let himself even be persecuted and despised until he was condemned to death so that salvation might be given to men and women.

An ancient hermit says: “The Beatitudes are gifts of God and we must say a great ‘thank you’ to him for them and for the rewards that derive from them, namely the Kingdom of God in the century to come and consolation here; the fullness of every good and mercy on God’s part … once we have become images of Christ on earth” (Peter of Damascus, In Filocalia, Vol. 3, Turin 1985, p. 79). 

The Gospel of the Beatitudes is commented on with the actual history of the Church, the history of Christian holiness, because, as St Paul writes, “God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong, God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are” (1 Cor 1:27-28). 

For this reason the Church has no fear of poverty, contempt or persecution in a society which is often attracted by material well-being and worldly power. St Augustine reminds us that “it serves nothing to suffer these evils, but rather to bear them in the Name of Jesus, not only with a serene soul but also with joy” (cf. De sermone Domini in monte, i, 5,13: ccl 35, 13).

Dear brothers and sisters, let us invoke the Virgin Mary, the Blessed par excellence, asking her for the strength to seek the Lord (cf. Zeph 2:3) and to follow him always, with joy, on the path of the Beatitudes.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 30 January 2011]

3. “Blessed are you!”, he says, “all you who are poor in spirit, gentle and merciful, you who mourn, who care for what is right, who are pure in heart, who make peace, you who are persecuted! Blessed are you!” But the words of Jesus may seem strange. It is strange that Jesus exalts those whom the world generally regards as weak. He says to them, “Blessed are you who seem to be losers, because you are the true winners: the kingdom of heaven is yours!” Spoken by him who is “gentle and humble in heart” (Mt 11:29), these words present a challenge which demands a deep and abiding metanoia of the spirit, a great change of heart. 

You young people will understand why this change of heart is necessary! Because you are aware of another voice within you and all around you, a contradictory voice. It is a voice which says, “Blessed are the proud and violent, those who prosper at any cost, who are unscrupulous, pitiless, devious, who make war not peace, and persecute those who stand in their way”. And this voice seems to make sense in a world where the violent often triumph and the devious seem to succeed. “Yes”, says the voice of evil, “they are the ones who win. Happy are they!”

4. Jesus offers a very different message. Not far from this very place Jesus called his first disciples, as he calls you now. His call has always demanded a choice between the two voices competing for your hearts even now on this hill, the choice between good and evil, between life and death. Which voice will the young people of the twenty-first century choose to follow? To put your faith in Jesus means choosing to believe what he says, no matter how strange it may seem, and choosing to reject the claims of evil, no matter how sensible or attractive they may seem. 

In the end, Jesus does not merely speak the Beatitudes. He lives the Beatitudes. He is the Beatitudes. Looking at him you will see what it means to be poor in spirit, gentle and merciful, to mourn, to care for what is right, to be pure in heart, to make peace, to be persecuted. This is why he has the right to say, “Come, follow me!” He does not say simply, “Do what I say”. He says, “Come, follow me!” 

You hear his voice on this hill, and you believe what he says. But like the first disciples at the Sea of Galilee, you must leave your boats and nets behind, and that is never easy – especially when you face an uncertain future and are tempted to lose faith in your Christian heritage. To be good Christians may seem beyond your strength in today’s world. But Jesus does not stand by and leave you alone to face the challenge. He is always with you to transform your weakness into strength. Trust him when he says: “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9)! 

5. The disciples spent time with the Lord. They came to know and love him deeply. They discovered the meaning of what the Apostle Peter once said to Jesus: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (Jn 6:68). They discovered that the words of eternal life are the words of Sinai and the words of the Beatitudes. And this is the message which they spread everywhere.

At the moment of his Ascension Jesus gave his disciples a mission and this reassurance: “All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations . . . and behold I am with you always, until the end of the age” (Mt 28:18-20). For two thousand years Christ’s followers have carried out this mission. Now, at the dawn of the Third Millennium, it is your turn. It is your turn to go out into the world to preach the message of the Ten Commandments and the Beatitudes. When God speaks, he speaks of things which have the greatest importance for each person, for the people of the twenty-first century no less than those of the first century. The Ten Commandments and the Beatitudes speak of truth and goodness, of grace and freedom: of all that is necessary to enter into Christ’s Kingdom. Now it is your turn to be courageous apostles of that Kingdom!

Young people of the Holy Land, Young people of the world: answer the Lord with a heart that is willing and open! Willing and open, like the heart of the greatest daughter of Galilee, Mary, the Mother of Jesus. How did she respond? She said: “I am the servant of the Lord, let it be done to me according to your word” (Lk 1:38). 

O Lord Jesus Christ, in this place that you knew and loved so well, listen to these generous young hearts! Continue to teach these young people the truth of the Commandments and the Beatitudes! Make them joyful witnesses to your truth and convinced apostles of your Kingdom! Be with them always, especially when following you and the Gospel becomes difficult and demanding! You will be their strength; you will be their victory!

O Lord Jesus, you have made these young people your friends: keep them for ever close to you! Amen.

[Pope John Paul II, homily to young people, Mount of Beatitudes, 24 March 2000]

This Sunday’s liturgy leads us to meditate on the Beatitudes (cf. Mt 5:1-12) which open up the great so-called Sermon on the Mount, the “Magna Carta” of the New Testament. Jesus manifests God’s desire to lead men to happiness. This message was already present in the preaching of the prophets: God is close to the poor and the oppressed, and delivers them from those who mistreat them. But in this preaching of his, Jesus follows a particular path: he starts with the word “blessed”, that is, happy. He continues with the indication of the condition to be so; and he concludes by making a promise. The cause of blessedness, that is, of happiness, lies not in the requisite condition — for example, “poor in spirit”, “mourning”, “hungry for righteousness”, “persecuted” — but in the subsequent promise, to be welcomed with faith as a gift of God. One starts from a condition of hardship in order to open oneself to God’s gift and enter the new world, the “Kingdom” announced by Jesus. This is not an automatic mechanism, but a way of life in following the Lord, through which the reality of hardship and affliction is seen in a new perspective and experienced according to the conversion that comes about. One is not blessed if one is not converted, capable of appreciating and living God’s gifts.

I pause on the first Beatitude: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (v. 3). The poor in spirit is he who has assumed the feelings and attitudes of those poor people who, in their state, do not rebel, but who know how to be humble, meek, open to God’s grace. The happiness of the poor — of the poor in spirit — has a twofold dimension: with regard to riches and with regard to God. With regard to possessions, to material possessions, this poverty in spirit is sobriety: not necessarily sacrifice, but the ability to savour the essence, to share; the ability to renew every day the wonder at the goodness of things, without being weighed down in the obscurity of voracious consumption. The more I have, the more I want; the more I have, the more I want: this is voracious consumption. This kills the soul. Men or women who do this, who have this attitude, ‘the more I have, the more I want’, are not happy and will not attain happiness. With regard to God, it is praising and recognizing that the world is a blessing and that at its origin is the creative love of the Father. But it is also opening to Him, docility to his Lordship: it is He, the Lord, He is the Great One. I am not great because I have so many things! It is He: He who wanted the world for all mankind, and who wanted it so that men and women might be happy.

The poor in spirit is the Christian who does not rely on himself, on material wealth, is not obstinate in his own opinions, but who listens with respect and willingly defers to the decisions of others. If in our communities there were more of the poor in spirit, there would be fewer divisions, disagreements and controversies! Humility, like charity, is an essential virtue for living together in Christian communities. The poor, in this evangelical sense, appear to be those who keep alive the objective of the Kingdom of Heaven, offering a glimpse of it revealed as a seed in the fraternal community which favours sharing over ownership. I would like to emphasize this: to favour sharing over ownership. Always having the heart and hands open (he gestures), not closed (he gestures). When the heart is closed (he gestures), it is a shrunken heart. It doesn’t even know how to love. When the heart is open (he gestures), it is on the path of love.

May the Virgin Mary, model and first fruit of the poor in spirit because she is wholly docile to the Lord’s will, help us to surrender ourselves to God, rich in mercy, so that we may be filled with his gifts, especially the abundance of his forgiveness.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 29 January 2017]

(Mk 4:35-41)

 

The whole Gospel of Mk is an articulated answer to the question: ‘who is Jesus?’ (v.41). His direction of travel seems to the wrong direction, and brazenly breaks the rules accepted by all.

While the disciples caressed nationalist desires, the Master begins to make it clear that He is not the vulgarly awaited Messiah, restorer of the late empire of David [or the Caesars, in succession struggle under the eyes of Mk’s Roman community: Galba, Oton, Vitellius, Vespasian].

The Kingdom of God is open to all humanity, which in those times of turmoil - torn apart by the civil war after Nero’s follies - sought security, hospitality, points of reference.

Everyone could find a home and shelter there (v.32b).

But some remained insensitive to an overly broad idea of ​​Fraternity. The young Rabbi's proposal displaced them.

The teaching and call imposed on Jesus' intimates is to pass to the other shore (v.35), that is, not to hold back for oneself.

The Father's riches had to be communicated to the pagans.

Yet some “veterans” did not want to know about ‘risky disproportions’. They were calibrated on habits of common religiosity, and a circumscribed ideology of power.

So to exorcise the danger of the mission, they were already trying to take the Master hostage (v.36).

From the very beginning, the resistance to the divine office and the lacerating internal debate that had resulted from it, unleashed great storm in the assemblies of believers.

«And a large wind storm comes and the waves spilled into the boat, so that the boat was already filling up» (v.37).

The storm concerns the disciples, the only dismayed; not Jesus - at the stern, that is, at the helm, driving the boat [v. 38 - and on the «cushion»: it is about the Risen One].

 

What happens ‘inside’ is not a simple reflection of what happens "outside"! This is the mistake to be corrected.

From the peace of the divine condition that dominates chaos (v.39) the Lord draws attention and reproaches the apostles, accusing them of not having «Faith» (v.40).

 

In short, are we confused, embarrassed, and is the chaos of the schemes raging? Paradoxically, we are on the right path of the Exodus - but we must not get caught up in fear.

Emotionally relevant situations make sense, carry a meaningful appeal, introduce a different introspection, the decisive change; a new 'Genesis'.

Trial in fact activates souls in the most effective way, because it disengages us from the idea of stability, and brings us into contact with dormant energies, initiating the ‘new dialogue with events’.

In Him, we are therefore imbued with a different vision of danger.

Indeed, it seems that Jesus expressly wants the “dark moments” of confrontation and doubt (v.35).

Textbook expectations and the habit of setting up conformist harmonies block the flowering of what we are and hope for.

What is annoying or even ‘against’ has something decisive to tell us.

 

So even in the little boat of the churches (v.36) the discomfort must express itself.

Ours is an inverted, upside down, unequaled stability - uncertain, inconvenient - yet energetic, capable of reinventing itself.

It will even be excessive, but from the disruptions. And observing in others our own dark sides.

For a proposal of Tenderness without a plan, not corresponding; wich is not a relaxation area.

Love that rhymes with terrible anxiety, which however puts us in immediate contact with our deepest layers - and the ‘suburbs’!

 

 

[Saturday 3rd wk. in O.T.  January 31, 2025]

(Mk 4:35-41)

 

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni

"Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni" - with these and similar words the Church's liturgy repeatedly prays [...].

These invocations were probably formulated in the period of the decline of the Roman Empire. The disintegration of the supporting orders of law and of the basic moral attitudes, which gave them strength, caused the breaking of the banks that had hitherto protected peaceful coexistence between men. A world was passing away. Frequent natural cataclysms further increased this experience of insecurity. No force could be seen to halt this decline. All the more insistent was the invocation of God's own power: that He would come and protect men from all these threats.

"Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni". Today, too, we have many reasons to associate ourselves with this prayer [...] The world with all its new hopes and possibilities is, at the same time, distressed by the impression that the moral consensus is dissolving, a consensus without which legal and political structures do not function; consequently, the forces mobilised to defend these structures seem doomed to failure.

Excita - the prayer is reminiscent of the cry addressed to the Lord, who was sleeping in the disciples' storm-tossed boat that was close to sinking. When His powerful word had calmed the storm, He rebuked the disciples for their little faith (cf. Mt 8:26 and par.). He wanted to say: in yourselves faith has slept. He also wants to say the same thing to us. Even in us so often faith sleeps. Let us therefore pray to Him to awaken us from the sleep of a faith that has become tired and to restore to faith the power to move mountains - that is, to give right order to the things of the world.

[Pope Benedict, to the Roman Curia 20 December 2010].

 

The whole Gospel of Mark is an articulate answer to the question: 'who is Jesus?' (v.41).

The direction of travel imposed by Jesus on his followers seems to go against the grain, and brazenly breaks the rules accepted by all.

While the disciples were fondling nationalist desires, the Master begins to make it clear that He is not the vulgarly expected Messiah, restorer of the defunct empire of David.

[Or of the Caesars, then struggling for succession under the eyes of the Roman community of Mk: Galba, Otone, Vitellius, Vespasian].

The Kingdom of God is open to all mankind, who in those turbulent times - torn apart by the swift but bloody civil war that followed Nero's follies - sought security, welcome, points of reference.

Everyone could find home and shelter there (Mk 4:32b).

But the still Judaizing apostles and church veterans seemed averse to Christ's proposals; they remained insensitive to an overly broad idea of fraternity.

Compared to the teaching received from the fathers of the ancient tradition, the young Rabbi's proposal displaced them.

It is a problem that is still alive and very serious.

 

The teaching and reminder imposed on Jesus' intimates was to pass to the other shore (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22), that is, not to keep for oneself.

The riches of the Father were to be communicated to the pagans, commonly considered unclean and infamous.

Yet his people did not want to know about risky disproportions, which would make the unpredictable action of the Son of God stand out.

They were calibrated to common religiosity customs and a circumscribed ideology of power.

So to exorcise the danger of the mission - and having to accommodate people, rework situations, welcome surprises that would agitate them [questioning them] - they attempted to take the Master hostage (v.36).

 

From the very beginning, the resistance to the divine commission and the resulting lacerating internal debate stirred up a great storm in the assemblies of believers.

"And behold, there came a great stirring in the sea, so that the boat was covered with waves" (Mt 8:24).

"And there came a great gale of wind, and the waves rolled into the boat, so that the boat was already filled" (Mk 4:37).

The storm affected only the disciples, the only ones dismayed; not Jesus: "but he was asleep" (Mt 8:24).

"In the stern" (Mk 4:38), that is, at the helm, leading.

And "on the pillow" (Mk 4:38): this is the Risen One - well alive although apparently absent.

 

What happens "inside" is not a mere reflection of what happens "outside"! This is the error to be corrected.

Such identification blocks and makes life chronic, starting with the handling of emotionally relevant situations - which have their own meaning.

They carry a meaningful appeal, they introduce a different eye and dialogue.

Even from the peace of the divine condition that dominates chaos, the Lord calls attention to and rebukes the apostles, accusing them of not having "Faith" (v.40).

Here by Faith is meant an ounce of risk of love - like a "mustard seed" (v.31) - to be brought to humanity for renewal. 

 

In short, we are confused, embarrassed, and the chaos of schemes rages on, not excluding healthy selfishness for our destiny?

We are paradoxically on the right path of the Exodus - but we must not get caught up in fear.

In Him, we are imbued with a different view of danger.

 

Says the Tao Tê Ching (xxii): "The saint does not see by himself, therefore he is enlightened. Even in straits.

Indeed, it seems that Jesus expressly wanted the dark moments of confrontation and doubt for the apostles (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22b).

This is also true for us, even if we were church leaders; otherwise there will be no cleansing from repetitive convictions.

Textbook expectations and the habit of setting up conformist harmonies block the flowering of what we are and hope for.

Especially what is annoying or even 'against' has something decisive to tell us.

 

Even in the little boat of the churches (Mk 4:36), discomfort must express itself:

"And He was in the stern, on the pillow, asleep. And they woke him up and said to him, "Master do you not care that we are lost?" (v.38).

"And drawing near they woke him, saying, Lord, save us, we are lost" (Mt 8:25).

All this is to revive the essence of each person and of the community itself.

To introduce the hidden or repressed change, and to activate it in the most effective way.

In every situation, it is good to be activated by contact with the hidden or primordial energies.

More than opposing frictions and conflicting external events, anxiety, impression and anguish come from the very fear of facing the normal or decisive questions of existence.

This is out of mistrust: feeling in danger perhaps only because we perceive ourselves to be intimately undeveloped, incapable of other conversation, of having the guts to discover and rework, convert, or remodel.

 

The fatigue of questioning ourselves and the suffering that the adventure of Faith holds, will also fade amidst the discomfort of the rough sea - which precisely does not want us to return to 'those of before'.

It is enough to disengage ourselves from the idea of stability, even religious stability, and listen to life as it is, embracing it.

Recognising it as one's own even in its crowd of bumps, bitterness, dashed hopes of harmony, sorrows...

Engaging with this flood of new emergencies, and encountering one's own profound nature.

The best vaccine against the anxieties of the adventure together with Christ on the changing waves of the unexpected, will be precisely not to avoid worries upstream - on the contrary, to go towards them and welcome them; to recognise them, to let them happen.

 

Even in times of global crisis, the apprehensions that seem to want to devastate us, come to us as preparatory energies of other joys that wish to break through.

The upheavals are arranging new cosmic attunements; for wonderment starting with ourselves. As a present guide, and an appeal from beyond.

Our little boat is in an inverted stability, upside down, unequal - uncertain, inconvenient - yet energetic, prickly, capable of reinventing itself.

It may even be excessive, but it is disruptive. And by observing in others their own dark sides.

For a proposal of Tenderness without a plan, not corresponding; which is not a relaxation zone.

Love that rhymes with terrible anxiety, which, however, puts us in immediate contact with our deepest layers - and peripheries!

 

 

To internalise and live the message:

 

On what occasions have you found easy what previously seemed impossible?

Do you ever get in the way?

Is your life the same or different - able to address and accommodate the distant or new?

 

 

Some other providence, which you ignore

 

"It is good not to fall, or to fall and rise again. And if you do happen to fall, it is good not to despair and not to become estranged from the love the Sovereign has for man. For if he wills, he can do mercy to our weakness. Only let us not turn away from him, let us not be distressed if we are forced by the commandments, and let us not be disheartened if we come to nothing [...].

Let us neither hurry nor retreat, but always begin again [...].

Wait for him, and he will show you mercy, either by conversion or by trials, or by some other providence that you do not know."

[Peter Damascene, Second Book, Eighth Discourse, in La Filocalia, Turin 1982, I,94].

We have just heard the Gospel reading of the calming of the storm, which was presented with a brief but incisive passage from the Book of Job, in which God reveals himself as the Lord of the sea. Jesus rebukes the wind and orders the sea to be calm, he speaks to it as if it were identified with the power of the devil. In fact, according to what the First Reading and Psalm 107[106] tell us, in the Bible the sea is considered a threatening, chaotic and potentially destructive element which God the Creator alone can dominate, govern and calm.

Yet, there is another force a positive force that moves the world, capable of transforming and renewing creatures: the power of "Christ's love" (2 Cor 5: 14) as St Paul calls it in his Second Letter to the Corinthians not, therefore essentially a cosmic force, but rather divine, transcendent. It also acts on the cosmos but, in itself, Christ's love is "another" power and the Lord manifested this transcendent otherness in his Pasch, in the "holiness" of the "way" he chose to free us from the dominion of evil, as happened for the Exodus when he brought the Jews out of Egypt through the waters of the Red Sea. "Your way, O God, is holy", the Psalmist exclaims, "Your way was through the sea/ your path through the great waters" (Ps 77[76]: 13, 19). In the Paschal Mystery, Jesus passed through the abyss of death, because in this way God wanted to renew the universe through the death and Resurrection of his Son, who "died for all", that all might live "for him who for their sake died and was raised" (2 Cor 5: 15), and not live for their own sake alone.

The solemn gesture of calming the stormy sea was a clear sign of Christ's lordship over negative powers and induces one to think of his divinity: "Who then is this", his own Disciples asked fearfully, "that even wind and sea obey him?" (Mk 4: 41). Their faith is not yet firm, it is being formed; it is a mingling of fear and trust; on the other hand, Jesus' confidant abandonment to the Father is total and pure. This is why he could sleep during the storm, completely safe in God's arms. The time would come, however, when Jesus too would feel fear and anguish, when his hour came he was to feel the full burden of humanity's sins upon him, like a wave at high tide about to break over him. That was indeed to be a terrible tempest, not cosmic but spiritual. It was to be the final, extreme assault of evil against the Son of God.

Yet, in that hour Jesus did not doubt in the power of God the Father or in his closeness, even though he had to experience to the full the distance of hatred from love, of falsehood from the truth, of sin from grace. He experienced this drama in himself with excruciating pain, especially in Gethsemane, before his arrest, and then throughout his Passion until his death on the Cross. In that hour, Jesus on the one hand was one with the Father, fully abandoned to him; on the other, since he showed solidarity to sinners, he was as it were separated and felt abandoned by Him.

[Pope Benedict, homily 21 June 2009]

The storm calmed on the Lake of Genesaret can be reread as a "sign" of Christ's constant presence in the "boat" of the Church, which many times throughout history is exposed to the fury of the winds during stormy hours. Jesus, awakened by the disciples, commands the winds and the sea to be becalmed. Then he says to them, "Why are you so fearful? Have you no faith yet?" (Mk 4:40). In this, as in other episodes, one can see Jesus' desire to inculcate in the apostles and disciples faith in his operative and protective presence even in the most stormy hours of history, in which doubt about his divine assistance could infiltrate the spirit. In fact, in Christian homiletics and spirituality, the miracle has often been interpreted as a 'sign' of Jesus' presence and a guarantee of trust in him on the part of Christians and the Church.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 2 December 1987]

Today’s liturgy tells the episode of the storm calmed by Jesus (Mk 4:35-41). The boat in which the disciples are crossing the lake is beaten by the wind and the waves and they fear they will sink. Jesus is with them on the boat, yet he is in the stern asleep on the cushion. Filled with fear, the disciples cry out to him: “Teacher, do you not care if we perish?” (v. 38).

And quite often we too, beaten by the trials of life, have cried out to the Lord: “Why do you remain silent and do nothing for me?”. Especially when it seems we are sinking, because love or the project in which we had laid great hopes disappears; or when we are at the mercy of unrelenting waves of anxiety; or when we feel we are drowning in problems or lost amid the sea of life, with no course and no harbour. Or even, in moments in which the strength to go forward fails us, because we have no job, or an unexpected diagnosis makes us fear for our health or that of a loved one. There are many moments when we feel we are in a storm; when we feel we are almost done in.

In these situations and in many others, we too feel suffocated by fear and, like the disciples, risk losing sight of the most important thing. In the boat, in fact, even if he is sleeping, Jesus is there, and he shares with his own all that is happening. If on the one hand his slumber surprises us, on the other, it puts us to the test. The Lord is there, present; indeed, he waits — so to speak — for us to engage him, to invoke him, to put him at the centre of what we are experiencing. His slumber causes us to wake up. Because to be disciples of Jesus, it is not enough to believe God is there, that he exists, but we must put ourselves out there with him; we must also raise our voice with him. Hear this: we must cry out to him. Prayer is often a cry: “Lord, save me!”. I was watching, on the programme “In his Image”, today, the Day of Refugees, many who come in large boats and at the moment of drowning cry out: “Save us!”. In our life too the same thing happens: “Lord, save us!”, and prayer becomes a cry.

Today we can ask ourselves: what are the winds that beat against my life? What are the waves that hinder my navigation, and put my spiritual life, my family life, even my psychological life in danger? Let us say all this to Jesus; let us tell him everything. He wants this; he wants us to grab hold of him to find shelter from the unexpected waves in life. The Gospel recounts that the disciples approach Jesus, wake him and speak to him (cf. v. 38). This is the beginning of our faith: to recognize that alone we are unable to stay afloat; that we need Jesus like sailors need the stars to find their course. Faith begins from believing that we are not enough for ourselves, from feeling in need of God. When we overcome the temptation to close ourselves off, when we overcome the false religiosity that does not want to disturb God, when we cry out to him, he can work wonders in us. It is the gentle and extraordinary power of prayer, which works miracles.

Jesus, begged by the disciples, calms the wind and waves. And he asks them a question, a question which also pertains to us: “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” (v. 40). The disciples were gripped with fear, because they were focused on the waves more than on looking at Jesus. And fear leads us to look at the difficulties, the awful problems, and not to look at the Lord, who many times is sleeping. It is this way for us too: how often we remain fixated on problems rather than going to the Lord and casting our concerns to him! How often we leave the Lord in a corner, at the bottom of the boat of life, to wake him only in a moment of need! Today, let us ask for the grace of a faith that never tires of seeking the Lord, of knocking at the door of his Heart. May the Virgin Mary, who in her life never stopped trusting in God, reawaken in us the basic need of entrusting ourselves to him each day.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 20 June 2021]