Prayer-event, for awe

The encounter with the Lord has its own essential radicality. It is precisely the Easter event that reveals and communicates the absolute newness of the story of the children of God.

It is the birth of a new life that allows events to be freed from all limitations. Jesus assumes them all.

This absoluteness is able to bring every vicissitude and condition to blossoming, transforming all prayers into sanctuaries of absolute newness.

A power that rejects the torment of vulnerability, indeed transforms precariousness into a resource (a quality of ethical progress).

For an experience of the fullness of being, the virtuous and singular effort of the lonely and titanic torment of those who want to free themselves with their muscles from infractions is not enough.

Religiosity does not constitute us.

Authentic Power is only accepted - in the Spirit, which resurrects life from dust and obfuscation.

Illusory to eliminate all personal limits and conditioning: we would be outside the truth of the Easter Event.

A gift, not an appearance of impossible, out-of-scale hypocrisy.

Such is the dimension of the Easter 'Different' between religiosity and Faith,

We begin to take the divine Project and God Himself in others seriously, precisely when we begin to be patient with our own equivocal, mediocre affairs of such insufficiency.

E.g. by avoiding acceleration, or recognising the fruitfulness of one's own boundaries - including laziness to be redeemed, or any kind of excuses made for not moving; but in due time.

That of Love is a Path.

Thus, after the varied journey, as in the Gospels of Easter morning and Easter Day, we begin to glimpse Life even amidst signs of death! 

And the gaze fixed on the tomb turns to the Risen One, the Living One who enlivens us with other, unexpected processes.

Accepting oneself and one's history is a fundamental stage of the believer's journey: a new Covenant.

It is artificial to have sympathy for one's brothers if one is harsh and not tolerant - not even in manners.

From the point of view of Faith, it is precisely our eccentricities [and the most bizarre] that are interesting events to understand. Even those that have sent us into crisis and shamed us.

Inwardly, they speak of our essence and open missionary, cultural, affective, unusual, awe-inspiring horizons.

Achievements can evaporate, successes are often ephemeral. What does not pass is the deep relationship with one's 'self'. 

To know how to be with oneself means to esteem oneself without calculation, therefore not to torment oneself - and in return not to nag those around.

In the discouragement of betrayed Love... perhaps the most relevant aspect of the devout man who seeks Perfection is paradoxically that towards his own self.

The solution is provided by the believer in the Faith, affectively integrated because in deep prayer he has understood that a life of salvation is not identifiable with fortune, appearance, performance.

It is far more springing and unconditional reality.

And it is blossoming, now, astonishingly; it does not require a struggle against oneself, in order to go on stage.

On the contrary, it goes hand in hand with the growing awareness that it is good to start taking care of precisely the 'shadows'.

Grey areas perhaps accentuated by guilt - inculcated and underlined by our inevitable neglect of roles, mannerisms, the 'rule'.

Beware the filter of external expectations: especially those considered spiritual risk being illusory.

And in the pastoral of consensus [I give you what you want] totally conforms.

The poisons of criticism or self-criticism must be swept away, but not with laceration.

We should take the wise path that amplifies the horizon and puts the expectations of our imaginary spectacles first in the background, then behind us.

Let them flow, then perhaps they will play a role.

One must not get wrapped up in fragmentary considerations or schematic goals. Thus displeasing the personal soul with the comparison of what is in one's mind, making insufficiency to models the protagonist!

A little experience is enough to make us remember how many certainties we were once convinced of, have vanished, evaporated suddenly.

And in spite of this, we remain perhaps still outwardly full of certainties and false perceptions; sometimes with people we seem like a river in flood, about this.

Then we are no longer ourselves in the field with our attitudes, but our official persona, or someone else's dream.

And we do not see well what we actually need, which real life spontaneously brings - stronger than us.

In our innermost selves we grasp the Presence as of an 'innate knowledge', an original Wisdom that is a trace of God's signature in our souls - which every now and then bursts forth.

Presence that does not want to be submerged by induced ideas; those that cause personal character and its destiny to founder.This Invisible Friend suggests, and guides us far better than an unfailing falseness.

Because it leads the real game in synergy with our inclination and deep Calling, which is a trace of Creation.

If we do not listen to the Voice of this navigator who knows where to go, it is because we have allowed ourselves to be identified with tasks, robes, offices, positions, levels, titles, styles, ideologies or mental models that lead away from the Essence - as well as from the kind of change that belongs to us.

But although full of plans and dreams in the drawer, the soul chooses for us.

Every now and then the Roots break through the asphalt and come up unexpectedly. 

They reveal themselves like those of the pine trees; they are branching horizontal presences, just beneath the layer of earth that covers them.

To enrich Easter Love, the great work is not to seem 'better' at all costs, but to care for what emerges as estrangement from the standard of identified 'dispositions'.

And to be reborn upon it. Even suddenly; it is not the result of intentions, intentions and performance!

Regenerating... is when something non-ordinary is triggered: also a nice No to cages (within which idols and fixations bounce).

Therefore, one might even indulge in a dual or even distracted mind from time to time, in order to go beyond the established model of perfection.

Detachment neither conforming nor configured; placing oneself in a condition to welcome the gift of reality.

And allow oneself the right to wander, or to pursue one's own Image-Vision where a Calling lurks.

Tinkering with an eccentric, seemingly absurd vocation - and not knowing how to be in the world.

It is important to tolerate oneself - it is not a luxury - in order not to have a life that is always the same, rather recognising that one possesses underlying capacities.

Allowing oneself to be saved without claiming to redeem oneself with one's genius and muscles means welcoming what happens.

And letting life, personal instinct in the Spirit, lead us; with a more conscious perception, with a look into the 'present'.

To love God is to learn to correspond within, to that which comes within us, even in the summary - even as annoyance.

It is a worthy energetic host, albeit a different one: for an Annunciation. Daily Easter. 

It is a sign that our soul does not want to put its hidden resources into oblivion.

Let us not forget: when our deep nature felt dissatisfied [or even wanted to ridicule us], it was because it wanted to express strong inner knowledge.

Ways of being or something that to our 'identity' does not fit - and frankly (spontaneously) does not fit.

Often material failure is just around the corner precisely because we are already identified with the 'character' and distract ourselves from the events, neglecting their significance.

We feel, however, that a predetermined situation distances us from ourselves,

The 'manner', even the glamorous 'manner', extinguishes the blaze and brio of the sacred, unquenchable Fire that burns in the heart.

No one can make it pale. Not even a considered choice of accommodation, within which we have forced ourselves and sat down.

After all, we know that happiness is not the past or fashionable, nor can it be postponed.

let alone being reduced to a journey on an uphill vehicle with predetermined stages, which ends at the planned terminus - which then turns out to be anonymous and still uncertain, even deserted.

Things that do not please and trouble the soul bring great wisdom to Love and Life.

They are not a problem, but rather signs that if taken seriously bring with them the solution to the great and true unknowns, the significant lacerations of personal existence, of the relationship with sisters and brothers, of the world around us.

How do we internalise our emotions and events wisely?

If we sometimes judge ourselves and continue to re-actualise the episode with a sense of unworthiness, it drags on and devastates. And when one feels guilty or compressed, one cannot love.

Filling the reposed brightness of Consciousness with burdens, lamentations, induced or calculated expectations, becomes a poison that not only does not honour the Lord who wants to germinate and incarnate again, within. It disempowers and dulls the existence of all the hearts at our side.

We would also dampen the mental system, along with our own. And all the implications and activities we deny will turn into ballasts: fears that block new paths, any real attunement with God and neighbour.

For healthy growth in generosity and Easter attitude, one must release and integrate stagnant power; lost in the vicious circles of dissatisfaction with what we 'want'. However, wonderful Surprises about intentions.

Oscar Wilde said: 'when the gods want to punish us, they answer our prayers'.

Easter means: no regrets! Stop tormenting ourselves by telling ourselves that we are wrong.So let us cultivate the passions, let us pursue the Icon that characterises us, let us fly the Call without self-design.

And we see it Present - dreaming, but with open eyes.

It is not the goal that gives us the joy of the experience of fullness of being.

Let us not pass off an identity that does not belong to us, or a contraband affectivity, with what Jesus suggests.

He comes not to impute us with inexorable failure even in the details - as in archaic religions - but to make us grow and enhance us in everything.

The discriminating choice is between an illusion of victory over death, which then disintegrates, or the dazzling Easter in Faith, which recovers being and constitutes us.

Finding ourselves, reaching ourselves on time.

From weakness to full life, eliminating contrived intentions.

And when we catch ourselves scrutinised by men - perhaps by ourselves - we will know that we are redeemed from within.

Contemplated by God, in reality he sees life even behind dark sides, and amidst signs of death.

Perhaps not a few are still surprised by the 'empty tomb': that is, a Risen Jesus only 'personal', lived in love, in the free normal, in the gift of self that conquers death. But without any 'mausoleum'.

Dear Brothers and Sisters!

From ancient times the liturgy of Easter day has begun with the words: Resurrexi et adhuc tecum sum – I arose, and am still with you; you have set your hand upon me. The liturgy sees these as the first words spoken by the Son to the Father after his resurrection, after his return from the night of death into the world of the living. The hand of the Father upheld him even on that night, and thus he could rise again.

These words are taken from Psalm 138, where originally they had a different meaning. That Psalm is a song of wonder at God’s omnipotence and omnipresence, a hymn of trust in the God who never allows us to fall from his hands. And his hands are good hands. The Psalmist imagines himself journeying to the farthest reaches of the cosmos – and what happens to him? “If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. If I say, ‘Let only darkness cover me’…, even the darkness is not dark to you…; for darkness is as light with you” (Ps 138[139]:8-12).

On Easter day the Church tells us that Jesus Christ made that journey to the ends of the universe for our sake. In the Letter to the Ephesians we read that he descended to the depths of the earth, and that the one who descended is also the one who has risen far above the heavens, that he might fill all things (cf. 4:9ff.). The vision of the Psalm thus became reality. In the impenetrable gloom of death Christ came like light – the night became as bright as day and the darkness became as light. And so the Church can rightly consider these words of thanksgiving and trust as words spoken by the Risen Lord to his Father: “Yes, I have journeyed to the uttermost depths of the earth, to the abyss of death, and brought them light; now I have risen and I am upheld for ever by your hands.” But these words of the Risen Christ to the Father have also become words which the Lord speaks to us: “I arose and now I am still with you,” he says to each of us. My hand upholds you. Wherever you may fall, you will always fall into my hands. I am present even at the door of death. Where no one can accompany you further, and where you can bring nothing, even there I am waiting for you, and for you I will change darkness into light.

These words of the Psalm, read as a dialogue between the Risen Christ and ourselves, also explain what takes place at Baptism. Baptism is more than a bath, a purification. It is more than becoming part of a community. It is a new birth. A new beginning in life. The passage of the Letter to the Romans which we have just read says, in words filled with mystery, that in Baptism we have been “grafted” onto Christ by likeness to his death. In Baptism we give ourselves over to Christ – he takes us unto himself, so that we no longer live for ourselves, but through him, with him and in him; so that we live with him and thus for others. In Baptism we surrender ourselves, we place our lives in his hands, and so we can say with Saint Paul, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” If we offer ourselves in this way, if we accept, as it were, the death of our very selves, this means that the frontier between death and life is no longer absolute. On either side of death we are with Christ and so, from that moment forward, death is no longer a real boundary. Paul tells us this very clearly in his Letter to the Philippians: “For me to live is Christ. To be with him (by dying) is gain. Yet if I remain in this life, I can still labour fruitfully. And so I am hard pressed between these two things. To depart – by being executed – and to be with Christ; that is far better. But to remain in this life is more necessary on your account” (cf. 1:21ff.). On both sides of the frontier of death, Paul is with Christ – there is no longer a real difference. Yes, it is true: “Behind and before you besiege me, your hand ever laid upon me” (Ps 138 [139]: 5). To the Romans Paul wrote: “No one … lives to himself and no one dies to himself… Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s” (Rom 14:7ff.).

Dear candidates for Baptism, this is what is new about Baptism: our life now belongs to Christ, and no longer to ourselves. As a result we are never alone, even in death, but are always with the One who lives for ever. In Baptism, in the company of Christ, we have already made that cosmic journey to the very abyss of death. At his side and, indeed, drawn up in his love, we are freed from fear. He enfolds us and carries us wherever we may go – he who is Life itself.

Let us return once more to the night of Holy Saturday. In the Creed we say about Christ’s journey that he “descended into hell.” What happened then? Since we have no knowledge of the world of death, we can only imagine his triumph over death with the help of images which remain very inadequate. Yet, inadequate as they are, they can help us to understand something of the mystery. The liturgy applies to Jesus’ descent into the night of death the words of Psalm 23[24]: “Lift up your heads, O gates; be lifted up, O ancient doors!” The gates of death are closed, no one can return from there. There is no key for those iron doors. But Christ has the key. His Cross opens wide the gates of death, the stern doors. They are barred no longer. His Cross, his radical love, is the key that opens them. The love of the One who, though God, became man in order to die – this love has the power to open those doors. This love is stronger than death. The Easter icons of the Oriental Church show how Christ enters the world of the dead. He is clothed with light, for God is light. “The night is bright as the day, the darkness is as light” (cf. Ps 138[139]12). Entering the world of the dead, Jesus bears the stigmata, the signs of his passion: his wounds, his suffering, have become power: they are love that conquers death. He meets Adam and all the men and women waiting in the night of death. As we look at them, we can hear an echo of the prayer of Jonah: “Out of the belly of Sheol I cried, and you heard my voice” (Jn 2:2). In the incarnation, the Son of God became one with human beings – with Adam. But only at this moment, when he accomplishes the supreme act of love by descending into the night of death, does he bring the journey of the incarnation to its completion. By his death he now clasps the hand of Adam, of every man and woman who awaits him, and brings them to the light.

But we may ask: what is the meaning of all this imagery? What was truly new in what happened on account of Christ? The human soul was created immortal – what exactly did Christ bring that was new? The soul is indeed immortal, because man in a unique way remains in God’s memory and love, even after his fall. But his own powers are insufficient to lift him up to God. We lack the wings needed to carry us to those heights. And yet, nothing else can satisfy man eternally, except being with God. An eternity without this union with God would be a punishment. Man cannot attain those heights on his own, yet he yearns for them. “Out of the depths I cry to you…” Only the Risen Christ can bring us to complete union with God, to the place where our own powers are unable to bring us. Truly Christ puts the lost sheep upon his shoulders and carries it home. Clinging to his Body we have life, and in communion with his Body we reach the very heart of God. Only thus is death conquered, we are set free and our life is hope.

This is the joy of the Easter Vigil: we are free. In the resurrection of Jesus, love has been shown to be stronger than death, stronger than evil. Love made Christ descend, and love is also the power by which he ascends. The power by which he brings us with him. In union with his love, borne aloft on the wings of love, as persons of love, let us descend with him into the world’s darkness, knowing that in this way we will also rise up with him. On this night, then, let us pray: Lord, show us that love is stronger than hatred, that love is stronger than death. Descend into the darkness and the abyss of our modern age, and take by the hand those who await you. Bring them to the light! In my own dark nights, be with me to bring me forth! Help me, help all of us, to descend with you into the darkness of all those people who are still waiting for you, who out of the depths cry unto you! Help us to bring them your light! Help us to say the “yes” of love, the love that makes us descend with you and, in so doing, also to rise with you. Amen!

[Pope Benedict, homily at the Easter Vigil 7 April 2007]

1. “Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen” (Lk 24:5).

These words of the two men dressed “in dazzling apparel” rekindle the hope of the women who had rushed to the tomb at the break of dawn. They had experienced the tragic events culminating in Christ’s crucifixion on Calvary; they had felt the sadness and the confusion. In the hour of trial, however, they had not abandoned their Lord.

They go secretly to the place where Jesus was buried in order to see him again and embrace him one last time. They are moved by love, that same love that led them to follow him through the byways of Galilee and Judea, all the way to Calvary.

What blessed women! They did not yet know that this was the dawn of the most important day of history. They could not have known that they, they themselves, would be the first witnesses of Jesus’ Resurrection.

2. “They found the stone rolled away from the tomb” (Lk 24:2).

So narrates the evangelist Luke, adding that, “when they went in they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus” (cf. 24:3). In one brief moment, everything changes. Jesus “is not here, but has risen”. This announcement, which changed the sadness of these pious women into joy, re-echoes with changeless eloquence throughout the Church in the celebration of this Easter Vigil.

A singular Vigil of a singular night. A Vigil, the mother of all vigils, during which the whole Church waits at the tomb of the Messiah, sacrificed on the Cross. The Church waits and prays, listening again to the Scriptures that retrace the whole of salvation history.

But on this night, it is not darkness that dominates but the blinding brightness of a sudden light that breaks through with the starling news of the Lord’s Resurrection. Our waiting and our prayer then become a song of joy: “Exultet iam angelica turba caelorum . . . Exult, O chorus of Angels!”

The perspective of history is completely turned around: death gives way to life, a life that dies no more. In the Preface we shall shortly sing that Christ “by dying destroyed our death, by rising restored our life”. This is the truth that we proclaim with our words, but above all with our lives. He whom the women thought was dead is alive. Their experience becomes our experience.

3. O Vigil imbued with hope, you fully express the meaning of the mystery! O Vigil rich in symbolism, you disclose the very heart of our Christian existence! On this night, everything is marvellously summed up in one name, the name of the Risen Christ.

O Christ, how can we fail to thank you for the ineffable gift which, on this night, you lavish upon us? The mystery of your Death and Resurrection descends into the baptismal waters that receive the old, carnal man and make him pure with divine youthfulness itself.

Into the mystery of your Death and Resurrection we shall shortly be immersed, renewing our baptismal promises; in a special way, the six catechumens will be immersed in this mystery as they receive Baptism, Confirmation and the Eucharist.

4. Dear Brother and Sister Catechumens, I greet you with all the warmth of my heart, and in the name of the Church gathered here I welcome you with brotherly affection. You come form different nations: Japan, Italy, China, Albania, the United States of America and Peru.

Your presence here in Saint Peter’s Square is indicative of the variety of cultures and peoples who have opened their hearts to the Gospel. On this night death gives way to life for you too, as for all the baptized. Sin is erased and a new life begins. Persevere to the end in fidelity and love. And do not be afraid when difficulties arise, for “Christ being raised from the dead will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him” (Rom 6:9).

5. Yes, dear Brothers and Sisters, Jesus lives and we live in him. For ever. This is the gift of this night, which has definitively revealed to the world the power of Christ, Son of the Virgin Mary, whom he gave to us as Mother at the foot of the Cross.

This Vigil makes us part of a day that knows no end. The day of Christ’s Passover, which for humanity is the beginning of a renewed springtime of hope.

“Haec dies quam fecit Dominus: exsultemus et laetamur in ea - This is the day that the Lord has made: let us rejoice in it and be glad”. Alleluia!

[Pope John Paul II, homily at the Easter Vigil 14 April 2001]

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

1. In the Gospel of this radiant night of the Easter Vigil, we first meet the women who go the tomb of Jesus with spices to anoint his body (cf. Lk 24:1-3). They go to perform an act of compassion, a traditional act of affection and love for a dear departed person, just as we would. They had followed Jesus, they had listened to his words, they had felt understood by him in their dignity and they had accompanied him to the very end, to Calvary and to the moment when he was taken down from the cross. We can imagine their feelings as they make their way to the tomb: a certain sadness, sorrow that Jesus had left them, he had died, his life had come to an end. Life would now go on as before. Yet the women continued to feel love, the love for Jesus which now led them to his tomb. But at this point, something completely new and unexpected happens, something which upsets their hearts and their plans, something which will upset their whole life: they see the stone removed from before the tomb, they draw near and they do not find the Lord’s body. It is an event which leaves them perplexed, hesitant, full of questions: “What happened?”, “What is the meaning of all this?” (cf. Lk 24:4). Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us. We are like the Apostles in the Gospel: often we would prefer to hold on to our own security, to stand in front of a tomb, to think about someone who has died, someone who ultimately lives on only as a memory, like the great historical figures from the past. We are afraid of God’s surprises. Dear brothers and sisters, we are afraid of God’s surprises! He always surprises us! The Lord is like that.

Dear brothers and sisters, let us not be closed to the newness that God wants to bring into our lives! Are we often weary, disheartened and sad? Do we feel weighed down by our sins? Do we think that we won’t be able to cope? Let us not close our hearts, let us not lose confidence, let us never give up: there are no situations which God cannot change, there is no sin which he cannot forgive if only we open ourselves to him.

2. But let us return to the Gospel, to the women, and take one step further. They find the tomb empty, the body of Jesus is not there, something new has happened, but all this still doesn’t tell them anything certain: it raises questions; it leaves them confused, without offering an answer. And suddenly there are two men in dazzling clothes who say: “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; but has risen” (Lk 24:5-6). What was a simple act, done surely out of love – going to the tomb – has now turned into an event, a truly life-changing event. Nothing remains as it was before, not only in the lives of those women, but also in our own lives and in the history of mankind. Jesus is not dead, he has risen, he is alive! He does not simply return to life; rather, he is life itself, because he is the Son of God, the living God (cf. Num 14:21-28; Deut 5:26; Josh 3:10). Jesus no longer belongs to the past, but lives in the present and is projected towards the future; Jesus is the everlasting “today” of God. This is how the newness of God appears to the women, the disciples and all of us: as victory over sin, evil and death, over everything that crushes life and makes it seem less human. And this is a message meant for me and for you dear sister, for you dear brother. How often does Love have to tell us: Why do you look for the living among the dead? Our daily problems and worries can wrap us up in ourselves, in sadness and bitterness... and that is where death is. That is not the place to look for the One who is alive! Let the risen Jesus enter your life, welcome him as a friend, with trust: he is life! If up till now you have kept him at a distance, step forward. He will receive you with open arms. If you have been indifferent, take a risk: you won’t be disappointed. If following him seems difficult, don’t be afraid, trust him, be confident that he is close to you, he is with you and he will give you the peace you are looking for and the strength to live as he would have you do.

3. There is one last little element that I would like to emphasize in the Gospel for this Easter Vigil. The women encounter the newness of God. Jesus has risen, he is alive! But faced with empty tomb and the two men in brilliant clothes, their first reaction is one of fear: “they were terrified and bowed their faced to the ground”, Saint Luke tells us – they didn’t even have courage to look. But when they hear the message of the Resurrection, they accept it in faith. And the two men in dazzling clothes tell them something of crucial importance: remember. “Remember what he told you when he was still in Galilee… And they remembered his words” (Lk 24:6,8). This is the invitation to remember their encounter with Jesus, to remember his words, his actions, his life; and it is precisely this loving remembrance of their experience with the Master that enables the women to master their fear and to bring the message of the Resurrection to the Apostles and all the others (cf. Lk 24:9). To remember what God has done and continues to do for me, for us, to remember the road we have travelled; this is what opens our hearts to hope for the future. May we learn to remember everything that God has done in our lives.

On this radiant night, let us invoke the intercession of the Virgin Mary, who treasured all these events in her heart (cf. Lk 2:19,51) and ask the Lord to give us a share in his Resurrection. May he open us to the newness that transforms, to the beautiful surprises of God. May he make us men and women capable of remembering all that he has done in our own lives and in the history of our world. May he help us to feel his presence as the one who is alive and at work in our midst. And may he teach us each day, dear brothers and sisters, not to look among the dead for the Living One. Amen.

[Pope Francis, homily at the Easter Vigil 30 March 2013]

Today we have an impression of oblivion, of the Lord.

The pit seems to be able to hide and silence Him, so much so that there is no need to contest him - it would be enough to neglect or pity him.

Instead, we want to meditate again on the revolution of Christ and his new Light, to recognize it as ours, assimilate and live it - right from the roots of being and on our journey.

God's Silence is part of Revelation: Glory and Life which correspond to us; in a democratic, multifaceted, not one-sided way.

Silence that respects our ‘flower’.

Thus, amidst the ups and downs of our lives as well, here is the laying and the mysterious plotting of ‘seeds’ - a whole series of alternatives:

A different Face of God, creator and redeemer of our intelligence and freedom; educator never sullen - nor dominator ready to unleash reprisals.

Not sovereign who governs by enacting laws, but Parent who transmits his own Life.

We do not meet Him by rising and forcing, for it is He who ceaselessly proposes, reveales Himself, and Comes.

He does not stand “at the head” and you at the back; he does not place himself above while you remain below.

It does not put itself “in front” so that someone is destined to fall behind [with the strongest, quickest and most organised ones always close, with no possibility of turnover and replacement].

An activity of denunciation of false religion: that of repetitive fulfilments - and of fixed or too sophisticated, disembodied ideas - beneath a cloak of plagiarism, fear, intimidation.

The Lord is righteous, for He understands us. Let's banish empty, futile, dissipative manners.

Whoever finds himself socially constrained is never himself and cannot love, as he is conditioned; overwhelmed one by comparisons and external needs.

A new authenticity of woman and man, no longer identified in roles and characters to be played and compared, but autonomous and realized by a personal Call.

Not attracted ones by the combination of culture-devotion-power-interest, but fascinated by the Wisdom that dwells in every slight and small Uniqueness.

So free and unambitious, they can willingly stoop to the less fortunate. Without intimate dissociation.

A new face of society, one that is neither competitive nor the prerogative of the cunning, interest groups, or circles, but characterised by the exchange of ‘gifts’.

Conviviality of the differences that accentuates and lets life flourish, of each and every one.

In short, we are not a typology of eternal failures.

The Father  wants people who travel towards themselves, and dreams a humanizing Family.

Lovable, because He does not absorb our energies, but rather transmits them.

Holy Saturday, Burial of the Lord [April 4, 2026]

FIRST MEDITATION

With increasing insistence one hears in our time about the death of God. For the first time, in Jean Paul, it is only a nightmarish dream: the dead Jesus announces to the dead, from the roof of the world, that on his journey into the afterlife he has found nothing, neither heaven nor merciful God, but only infinite nothingness, the silence of the gaping void. It is still a horrible dream that is put aside, groaning in awakening, like a dream, even though one will never be able to erase the anguish suffered, which was always lurking, gloomy, in the depths of the soul. A century later, in Nietzsche, it is a deadly seriousness that expresses itself in a shrill cry of terror: 'God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him!" Fifty years later, it is spoken of with academic detachment and preparations are made for a 'theology after the death of God', we look around to see how we can continue, and we encourage people to prepare to take God's place. The terrible mystery of Holy Saturday, its abyss of silence, has thus acquired an overwhelming reality in our time. For this is Holy Saturday: the day of God's concealment, the day of that unprecedented paradox that we express in the Creed with the words 'descended into hell', descended into the mystery of death. On Good Friday we could still look upon the pierced. Holy Saturday is empty, the heavy stone of the new tomb covers the deceased, all is past, faith seems to be definitively unmasked as fanaticism. No God saved this Jesus posing as his Son. One can be reassured: the cautious who had previously been a little hesitant in their hearts as to whether perhaps it might be different, were instead right.

Holy Saturday: day of God's burial; is not this in a striking way our day? Does not our century begin to be one big Holy Saturday, the day of God's absence, in which even the disciples have a chilling emptiness in their hearts that grows wider and wider, and therefore prepare themselves full of shame and anguish to return home and set off gloomy and broken in their despair towards Emmaus, not realising at all that he who was believed dead is in their midst?

God is dead and we have killed him: did we really realise that this phrase is taken almost literally by Christian tradition and that we often repeated something similar in our viae crucis without realising the tremendous gravity of what we were saying? We have killed him, enclosing him in the stale shell of habitual thoughts, exiling him in a form of piety without the content of reality and lost in the round of catchphrases or archaeological preciosities; we have killed him through the ambiguity of our lives, which has spread a veil of darkness over him as well: for what could have made God more problematic in this world if not the problematic nature of his believers' faith and love?

The divine darkness of this day, of this century that is increasingly becoming a Holy Saturday, speaks to our conscience. We too have to deal with it. But in spite of everything it has something consoling about it. The death of God in Jesus Christ is at the same time an expression of his radical solidarity with us. The darkest mystery of faith is at the same time the clearest sign of a hope that has no boundaries. And one more thing: only through the failure of Good Friday, only through the silence of death on Holy Saturday, could the disciples be brought to an understanding of what Jesus really was and what his message really meant. God had to die for them so that he could truly live in them. The image they had formed of God, in which they had tried to force him, had to be destroyed so that through the rubble of the ruined house they could see heaven, he himself, who always remains the infinitely greater. We need God's silence in order to experience anew the abyss of his greatness and the abyss of our nothingness that would open up if he were not there.

There is a scene in the Gospel that anticipates in an extraordinary way the silence of Holy Saturday and thus appears once again as the portrait of our historical moment. Christ sleeps in a boat that, battered by the storm, is about to sink. The prophet Elijah had once mocked the priests of Baal, who in vain cried out for their god to let fire descend on the sacrifice, urging them to cry out louder, just in case their god was asleep. But is God not really asleep? Does not the prophet's mockery ultimately also touch the believers of the God of Israel who travel with him in a sinking boat? God is sleeping while his things are about to sink, is this not the experience of our life? Does not the Church, the faith, resemble a small boat about to sink, struggling futilely against the waves and the wind, while God is absent? The disciples cry out in extreme despair and shake the Lord to wake him up, but he is astonished and rebukes their little faith. Is it any different for us? When the storm has passed, we will realise how much our little faith was laden with foolishness. And yet, O Lord, we cannot help but shake you, God who is silent and asleep, and cry out to you: wake up, do you not see that we are sinking? Awaken us, do not let the darkness of Holy Saturday last for ever, let a ray of Easter fall on our days too, accompany us as we set out in despair towards Emmaus so that our hearts may light up at your nearness. Thou who hast led in hidden ways the ways of Israel to be at last a man with men, do not leave us in the dark, do not let thy word be lost in the great waste of words of these times. Lord, give us your help, for without you we will sink.

Amen.

SECOND MEDITATION

God's hiding in this world constitutes the true mystery of Holy Saturday, a mystery already hinted at in the enigmatic words that Jesus "descended into hell". At the same time, the experience of our time has offered us a completely new approach to Holy Saturday, for the concealment of God in the world that belongs to him and that should with a thousand tongues proclaim his name, the experience of the powerlessness of God who is nevertheless the Almighty - this is the experience and misery of our time.

But even if Holy Saturday in this way has come closer to us, even if we understand the God of Holy Saturday more than the powerful manifestation of God amid thunder and lightning, of which the Old Testament speaks, the question of knowing what is really meant when it is said mysteriously that Jesus "descended into hell" remains unsolved. Let us say it with all clarity: no one can really explain it. Nor does it become any clearer by saying that here hell is a mistranslation of the Hebrew word shêol, which simply means the whole realm of the dead, and thus the formula would originally only mean that Jesus descended into the depths of death, really died and participated in the abyss of our destiny of death. For the question then arises: what really is death and what actually happens when we descend into the depths of death? We must pay attention here to the fact that death is no longer the same thing after Christ has undergone it, after he has accepted and penetrated it, just as life, the human being, are no longer the same thing after in Christ human nature was able to come into contact, and indeed did come into contact, with God's own being. Before, death was only death, separation from the land of the living and, albeit with different depths, something like 'hell', the nocturnal side of existence, impenetrable darkness. Now, however, death is also life, and when we cross the glacial solitude of death's threshold, we always meet again with the One who is life, who wanted to become the companion of our ultimate solitude and who, in the mortal loneliness of his anguish in the Garden of Olives and his cry on the cross "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?", became a sharer in our solitudes.

If a child were to venture alone into the dark night through a forest, he would be afraid even if he were shown hundreds of times that there is no danger. He is not afraid of something definite, to which a name can be given, but in the darkness he experiences insecurity, the orphan condition, the sinister character of existence itself. Only a human voice could console him; only the hand of a loved one could drive away the anguish like a bad dream. There is an anguish - the real anguish, lurking in the depths of our loneliness - that cannot be overcome through reason, but only through the presence of a person who loves us. For this anguish has no object to which we can give a name, but is only the terrible expression of our ultimate loneliness. Who has not felt the frightening sensation of this condition of abandonment? Who would not feel the holy and consoling miracle that a word of affection arouses in these circumstances? Where, however, there is such loneliness that can no longer be reached by the transforming word of love, then we speak of hell. And we know that not a few men of our time, apparently so optimistic, are of the opinion that every encounter remains on the surface, that no man has access to the ultimate and true depth of the other and that therefore in the ultimate depth of every existence lies despair, indeed hell. Jean-Paul Sartre expressed this poetically in one of his dramas and at the same time expounded the core of his doctrine on man. One thing is certain: there is a night in whose dark abandonment no word of comfort penetrates, a door that we must pass through in absolute solitude: the door of death. All the anguish of this world is ultimately the anguish caused by this loneliness. That is why in the Old Testament the term for the realm of the dead was identical to the term for hell: shêol. Death in fact is absolute solitude. But that solitude that can no longer be illuminated by love, that is so deep that love can no longer access it, is hell.

"Descended into hell": this Holy Saturday confession means that Christ has passed through the door of solitude, that he has descended into the unreachable and insuperable depths of our condition of loneliness. This means, however, that even in the extreme night in which no words penetrate, in which we are all like children cast out, weeping, there is a voice that calls to us, a hand that takes us and leads us. Man's insuperable loneliness was overcome from the moment he found himself in it. Hell has been conquered from the moment that love has also entered the region of death and the no-man's-land of solitude has been inhabited by him. In its depths man does not live by bread, but in the authenticity of his being he lives by the fact that he is loved and allowed to love. From the moment when the presence of love is given in the space of death, then life penetrates death: to your faithful, O Lord, life is not taken away, but transformed - the Church prays in the funeral liturgy.

No one can ultimately measure the extent of these words: 'descended into hell'. But if we are once given to approach the hour of our ultimate solitude, we will be allowed to understand something of the great clarity of this dark mystery. In the certain hope that in that hour of extreme loneliness we will not be alone, we can already now presage something of what is to come. And in the midst of our protest against the darkness of God's death we begin to become grateful for the light that comes to us from this very darkness.

THIRD MEDITATION

In the Roman breviary, the liturgy of the sacred triduum is structured with special care; the Church in its prayer wants, so to speak, to transfer us into the reality of the Lord's passion and, beyond words, into the spiritual centre of what happened. If one were to attempt to mark the prayerful liturgy of Holy Saturday in a few lines, then one would have to speak above all of the effect of profound peace that transpires from it. Christ has penetrated into concealment (Verborgenheit), but at the same time, in the very heart of impenetrable darkness, he has penetrated into security (Geborgenheit), indeed he has become the ultimate security. By now the psalmist's bold word has become true: and even if I wanted to hide in hell, you are there too. And the more one goes through this liturgy, the more one sees shining in it, like a morning dawn, the first lights of Easter. If Good Friday places before our eyes the disfigured figure of the pierced man, the liturgy of Holy Saturday draws rather on the image of the cross dear to the ancient Church: the cross surrounded by rays of light, a sign, in the same way, of death and resurrection.

Holy Saturday thus reminds us of an aspect of Christian piety that has perhaps been lost in the course of time. When we look at the cross in prayer, we often see in it only a sign of the Lord's historical passion on Golgotha. The origin of the devotion to the cross, however, is different: Christians prayed to the East to express their hope that Christ, the true sun, would rise over history, to express therefore their faith in the return of the Lord. The cross is at first closely linked with this orientation of prayer, it is represented as a banner, so to speak, that the king will raise in his coming; in the image of the cross, the advanced point of the procession has already arrived in the midst of those who pray. For early Christianity, the cross is thus above all a sign of hope. It implies not so much a reference to the Lord past, as to the Lord who is to come. Certainly it was impossible to escape the intrinsic necessity that, with the passage of time, our gaze should also turn to the event that took place: against every flight into the spiritual, against every misrecognition of the incarnation of God, it was necessary to defend the unimaginable prodigality of God's love who, out of love for the wretched human creature, became a man himself, and what a man! It was necessary to defend the holy foolishness of God's love, who chose not to utter a word of power, but to tread the path of powerlessness in order to pillory our dream of power and overcome it from within.

But then have we not forgotten a little too much about the connection between cross and hope, the unity between the East and the direction of the cross, between past and future that exists in Christianity? The spirit of hope that hovers over the prayers of Holy Saturday should once again penetrate our entire being as Christians. Christianity is not only a religion of the past, but, to no lesser extent, of the future; its faith is at the same time hope, since Christ is not only the dead and the risen, but also the one who is to come.

O Lord, enlighten our souls with this mystery of hope so that we may recognise the light that is radiated by your cross, grant us that as Christians we may go forward into the future, towards the day of your coming.

Amen.

PRAYER

Lord Jesus Christ, in the darkness of death Thou hast made light; in the abyss of deepest loneliness dwells now forever the mighty protection of Thy love; in the midst of Thy hiddenness we can now sing the hallelujah of the saved. Grant us the humble simplicity of faith, which does not allow itself to be misled when Thou callest us in the hours of darkness, of abandonment, when everything seems to appear problematic; grant us, in this time in which a mortal struggle is being fought around Thee, sufficient light so that we may not lose Thee; sufficient light so that we may give it to those who need it even more. Let the mystery of Thy paschal joy, as the dawn of the morning, shine in our days; grant that we may be truly paschal men in the midst of the Holy Saturday of history. Grant that through the bright and dark days of this time we may always with glad hearts find ourselves on the way to Thy future glory.

Amen.

[Pope Benedict, excerpt from "The Sabbath of History"; https://www.sabinopaciolla.com/benedetto-xvi-il-mistero-terribile-del-sabato-santo/]

Do you seek Jesus the Crucified? (Mt 28:5).

This is the question the women will hear when, "at dawn on the first day of the week" (Mt 28:1), they come to the tomb.

Crucified!

Before the Sabbath he was condemned to death and expired on the cross crying: "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" (Lk 23:46).

So they laid Jesus in a tomb, in which no one had yet been laid, in a tomb lent by a friend, and they went away. They all departed, in haste, to fulfil the rule of the religious Law. For they were to begin the feast, the Passover of the Jews, the memory of the exodus from the slavery of Egypt: the night before the Sabbath.

Then the Easter Sabbath passed and the second night began.

2. And behold, we have all come to this temple, as have so many of our brothers and sisters in the faith to the various temples throughout the globe, that holy night may descend upon our souls and hearts: the night after the Sabbath.

You are here, sons and daughters of the Church that is in Rome, sons and daughters of the Church that is spread across countries and continents, guests and pilgrims. Together we experienced Good Friday: the Stations of the Cross among the remains of the Colosseum - and the adoration of the Cross until the moment when a large stone was rolled over the door of the tomb - and a seal was put on it.

Why have you come now?

Do you seek Jesus Crucified?

Yes. We seek Jesus Crucified. We look for him on this night after the Sabbath, which preceded the arrival of the women at the tomb, when they with great astonishment saw and heard: "He is not here..." (Mt 28:6).

We have therefore come early, already late in the evening, to keep vigil at his tomb. To celebrate the Easter Vigil.

And we proclaim our praise on this wonderful night, pronouncing with the deacon's lips the "Exsultet" of the vigil. And we listen to the sacred readings, which compare this one night to the day of Creation and especially to the night of the exodus, during which the blood of the lamb saved the first-born sons of Israel from death and brought them out of slavery in Egypt. And then in the moment of renewed threat the Lord led them out to dry in the midst of the sea.

Let us therefore keep vigil on this unique night at the sealed tomb of Jesus of Nazareth, knowing that all that has been foretold by the Word of God throughout the generations will be fulfilled on this night, and that the work of man's redemption will reach its zenith on this night.

Let us therefore keep vigil, and though the night is deep, and the tomb sealed, let us confess that the Light has already been kindled in it, and it walks through the darkness of the night and the darkness of death. It is the light of Christ: "Lumen Christi".

3. We have come to immerse ourselves in his death; both we who long ago received the Baptism that immerses in Christ, and also those who will receive Baptism on this night. They are our new brothers and sisters in the faith; hitherto they were catechumens, and this night we can welcome them into the community of the Church of Christ, which is one, holy, catholic and apostolic. They are our new brothers and sisters in the faith and in the community of the Church, and they come from different countries and continents: Korea, Japan, Italy, Nigeria, Holland, Rwanda, Senegal and Togo.

We greet them cordially and joyfully proclaim the "Exsultet" in honour of the Church, our Mother, which sees them gathered here in the full light of Christ: "Lumen Christi".

And let us proclaim with them the praise of the baptismal water, into which, through Christ's death, the power of the Holy Spirit has descended: the power of the new life that gushes forth for eternity, for eternal life (cf. Jn 4:14).

4. So even before dawn breaks and the women arrive at the tomb from Jerusalem, we have come here to seek Jesus Crucified,

for: "Our old man was crucified with him, so that... we would no longer be slaves to sin..." (Rom 6:6);

for: we do not consider ourselves "dead to sin, but living for God, in Christ Jesus" (Rom 6:11): "As for his death, he died to sin once for all; but now by the fact that he lives, he lives for God" (Rom 6:10);

for: "Through Baptism we ... have been buried together with him in death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too may walk in a new life (Rom 6:4);

for: "If we have been completely united with him by a death like his, we shall also be completely united with him by his resurrection" (Rom 6:5);

for we believe: that "if we have died with Christ... we shall also live with him" (Rom 6:8);

and because we believe that "Christ risen from the dead, he no longer dies; death no longer has power over him" (Rom 6:9).

5. That is precisely why we are here. That is why we keep vigil at his tomb.

Let the Church keep vigil. And watch over the world. The hour of Christ's victory over death is the greatest hour in history.

[Pope John Paul II, homily at the Easter Vigil 18 April 1981]

1. In the Gospel of this radiant night of the Easter Vigil, we first meet the women who go the tomb of Jesus with spices to anoint his body (cf. Lk 24:1-3). They go to perform an act of compassion, a traditional act of affection and love for a dear departed person, just as we would. They had followed Jesus, they had listened to his words, they had felt understood by him in their dignity and they had accompanied him to the very end, to Calvary and to the moment when he was taken down from the cross. We can imagine their feelings as they make their way to the tomb: a certain sadness, sorrow that Jesus had left them, he had died, his life had come to an end. Life would now go on as before. Yet the women continued to feel love, the love for Jesus which now led them to his tomb. But at this point, something completely new and unexpected happens, something which upsets their hearts and their plans, something which will upset their whole life: they see the stone removed from before the tomb, they draw near and they do not find the Lord’s body. It is an event which leaves them perplexed, hesitant, full of questions: “What happened?”, “What is the meaning of all this?” (cf. Lk 24:4). Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us. We are like the Apostles in the Gospel: often we would prefer to hold on to our own security, to stand in front of a tomb, to think about someone who has died, someone who ultimately lives on only as a memory, like the great historical figures from the past. We are afraid of God’s surprises. Dear brothers and sisters, we are afraid of God’s surprises! He always surprises us! The Lord is like that.

Dear brothers and sisters, let us not be closed to the newness that God wants to bring into our lives! Are we often weary, disheartened and sad? Do we feel weighed down by our sins? Do we think that we won’t be able to cope? Let us not close our hearts, let us not lose confidence, let us never give up: there are no situations which God cannot change, there is no sin which he cannot forgive if only we open ourselves to him.

[Pope Francis, homily at the Easter Vigil 30 March 2013]

(Jn 18:1-19,42)

The core of the Gospels do not dwell on the horror and sadism of torments, because they were not written for the purpose of impressing, but to introduce us into an understanding of the boundless intensity of divine Love.

In Jn there is no hint to the suffering mysticism and divine abandonment: the evangelist wants to accompany us on the same journey as the Son towards the Father's Glory.

Jesus is master of himself, does not allow events to overwhelmed him.

He comes forward, he is still able to protect the disciples, and protagonist of the conversation with Pilate, a figure of the power of this world - who seems to be the accused.

Christ is not killed by the soldiers.

He is Alive, despite the gendarmes placed to protect the ancient world which remains hostile to the Lord, in order to perpetuate itself.

The short passage in Jn 19:25-27 is perhaps the artistic apex of the Passion narrative.

In the fourth Gospel the Mother appears twice, at the wedding feast of Cana and at the foot of the Cross - episodes present only in Jn.

Both at Cana and beneath the Cross, the Mother is a figure of the «Remnant of Israel», that is, of the honestly sensitive and faithful people.

The 'bride-nation' of the First Testament is as if waiting for genuine Revelation: it perceives all the limitation of the ancient idea of God, which reduced the joy of the wedding feast between the Father and his sons.

Life that flows as an essential and vital lymph in the authentic Church depicted in Mary, adoring in every event; standing upright (19:25). Present to herself.

The Israel vibrant with truth originated the Passage from religiosity to spousal Faith, from ancient law to the New Testament.

In the presence of the Cross, an alternative Kingdom is generated.

Fathers and mothers of a different, non-belligerent humanity are being formed: proclaiming the Good News of God this time for the exclusive benefit of every woman and man - in whatever condition.

To those who already wanted to disregard the teaching of the ancient “fathers”, Jesus proposes to make past and newness walk together.

And the beloved disciple is icon of the authentic son of God, Word-event spread, and New Pact.

The son himself must receive the Mother [the presence and culture of the covenant people] at his Home: in the nascent Community.

Thus new family relationships flourish: then the Church is born.

«I thirst»: quotes Psalm 69 - «They put poison in my food and when I was thirsty they gave me vinegar».

It is the disappointment and giddy sense of emptiness for a humanity that is still in dire need of being torn from the wild condition…

And the intense desire to make, of that pre-human abyss, people who tend to recover divine Gold within themselves.

Therefore Jesus pours out his Spirit without any delay (v.30).

And as from the side of the man God drew the woman, so from the side of the pierced Son comes forth the ‘community-spouse’, related to the two signs of the first sacraments.

It is our essential and vital lymph: because immersed and assimilated in such familiar gestures, we overcome the discomfort of feeling like objects, things.

We become Sons.

[Good Friday, April 3, 2026]

(Jn 18:1-19:42)

The core of the Gospels do not dwell on the horror and sadism of the torments, because they were not written with the aim of impressing, but to introduce us into an understanding of the boundless intensity of divine Love.

The Father does not neglect or retreat, for there is no inclusive purpose in making us suffer; rather, in welcoming and sharing. Neither are we in the world for scars, but for fulfilment.

In Jn there is no hint of the mysticism of suffering and abandonment: the evangelist wants to accompany us on the same journey as the Son towards the Father's Glory.

And the Eternal One does not delay in incorporating him into Himself: it is the Crucified One who delivers the Spirit (19:30).

Jesus, master of himself, does not allow himself to be overwhelmed by events.

He steps forward; he is still able to protect his own and is the protagonist of the conversation with Pilate, a figure of the power of this world [who seems to be the accused].

Neither is he finished by soldiers.

He is Alive, despite the gendarmes placed to protect the ancient world that remains hostile to the Lord, in order to perpetuate itself. Twilight zone - still and where you do not expect it.

The beloved disciple [each of us, genuine in Christ] is present to his own fate as a complete Gift: he reflects a single indestructible life, albeit humiliated.

It flows as essential and vital lymph into the authentic Church portrayed in Mary adoring in every event; standing upright (19:25) and well present to herself.

Able to unfold the meaning of Jesus' proposal through brand new rays of light - in a spirit of condescension and tenderness, but subversive.

Arrest (vv.1-19). In the Passion according to John, the voluntary offering of life by the Lord Jesus stands for the divine condition and the authentic prospect - of freedom and success - for us: the vocation, the call of the Father.

Judas' kiss is missing, for the Master presents himself directly, identifying himself in the revelation 'I Am'.

By coming forward, she asks that the disciples be left at liberty. It means: He does not lose any of us; he does not leave us as hostages.

But his arrest is attended by the leaders of official religion - and he is immediately seized at the home of the occult leader, Ananus [Hannas], although already deposed, but still the political puppeteer of the situation. 

Renegade, together with Peter.

The memory of the prophecy of the high priest who acts as his screen (v.14) projects us into the drama of the Passion of love of the Forsaken One. 

Rejected by the religious people. Betrayed, disowned, killed by all.

Peter's triple "I am not" contrasts with the dignity of Christ, who calls the 'head' of the church to another kind of testimony than the one he had in mind, desired, dreamed of.

While in the Synoptics He is shown as the Lamb led to slaughter without opening His mouth, the Fourth Gospel emphasises His Kingship.

Before Pilate, it becomes clear that Jesus' solemnity has no political character, so his disciples could not be considered disloyal citizens.

Facing Rome, Jn highlights the innocence of Jesus and of the Christians accused in the courts of the Empire.

The figure of the Roman governor is interesting, caught between instances of conscience and external pressures - while repeatedly seeking intermediate positions.

The Fourth Gospel frees 'diplomats' from direct responsibility, but admonishes them about respecting the Truth.

Those who do not accept him as he is and do not declare themselves in his favour by exposing themselves, remain caught in his own trap.

The 'Judge' looks like Jesus.

And its paradoxes question: who is the king of the Jews? Caesar or Christ?

The Jews deny themselves by claiming they have no king but the emperor; the officials acclaim him as king.

Third section (19:17-42). The executed had to be seen by as many people as possible, so they were displayed in a place near the city. 

But here and in the episode of the inscription [in the three ecumenical languages of the time, like the one on the first inner wall of the Temple, which forbade on pain of death further entry to the pagans] the theological theme of kingship comes in again: the result was a reminder to the Jews that they had a defeated king.

Jn distinguishes between the partitioning of the clothes and the drawing of the robe, because he understands the latter as the sacred robe of the true high priest, whose mantle could not be torn (Lev 21:10).

Without dwelling on the two condemned men at the side of the Crucified One, the evangelist notes that Jesus' legs were not broken.

This alludes to the Paschal Lamb, whose bones were not to be broken.

The short passage in Joh 19:25-27 is perhaps the artistic apex of the Passion narrative.

In the fourth Gospel the Mother appears twice, at the wedding feast of Cana and at the foot of the Cross - both episodes present only in Jn.Both at Cana and beneath the Cross, the Mother is a figure of the 'Remnant of Israel', that is, of the authentically sensitive and faithful people.

The 'bride-nation' of the First Testament is as if waiting for the genuine Revelation: it perceives all the limitation of the ancient idea of God, which has reduced the joy of the wedding feast between the Father and his children.

The Israel vibrant with truth originated the Passage from religiosity to spousal Faith, from the Old Law to the New Testament.

In the presence of the Cross, an alternative kingdom is generated.

The fathers and mothers of a different, non-belligerent humanity are formed; they proclaim the Good News of God this time in favour exclusively of every man - in whatever condition he finds himself.

In the theological intentions of John, the Words of Jesus "Woman, behold your son" and "Behold, your mother" were intended to help settle and harmonise the strong tensions that at the end of the first century were already opposing the different currents of thought on Christ [Judaizers; supporters of the primacy of faith over works; laxists who now considered Jesus anathema - intending to supplant him with a generic freedom of spirit without history].

At the beginning of the second century (e.g.) Marcion rejected the entire First Testament and seems to have appreciated only part of the New.

To those who wanted to disregard the teaching of the "fathers", Jesus proposes to make the past and the new walk together.

The beloved disciple is the icon of the authentic son of God, the Word-event spread, and the New Covenant.

The son himself must receive the Mother - the presence and culture of the covenant people - at home, i.e. in the nascent Community.

Even if it is in the Christian assembly that the full meaning of the whole of Scripture is discovered, the Person, the story and the Word itself cannot be grasped nor will it bear fruit with forward dreams alone, without the ancient root that generated it.

Thus new family relationships flourish: then the Church is born.

"I thirst": he quotes Psalm 69 - "They put poison in my food and when I was thirsty they gave me vinegar".

It is the disappointment and the giddy sense of emptiness for a humanity still in dire need of being wrenched out of the wilderness...

And the intense desire to make, of that pre-human abyss, people who tend to recover the divine Gold in themselves.

But disciples, crowd, soldiers, still do not understand.

It is clarified with recourse to the other psalm [63: "O God, you are my God, from dawn I seek you, my soul thirsts for you"] which in Hebrew begins with the invocation "Elohim, Eli [...]".

So Jesus pours out his Spirit without any delay (v.30).

And just as from the side of the man God drew forth the woman, so from the side of the pierced Son comes forth the 'community-bride', related to the two signs of the first Sacraments.

Precisely, our essential and vital lymph: because immersed and assimilated in such familiar gestures, we overcome the discomfort of feeling like objects, things.

We become Sons.

Sons, not things

God placed on the Cross of Jesus all the weight of our sins, all the injustice perpetrated by every Cain against his brother, all the bitterness of the betrayal of Judas and Peter, all the vanity of bullies, all the arrogance of false friends. It was a heavy Cross, like the night of the abandoned, heavy like the death of loved ones, heavy because it sums up all the ugliness of evil. However, it is also a glorious Cross like the dawn of a long night, because it depicts in all things the love of God that is greater than our iniquities and betrayals. In the Cross we see the monstrosity of man, when he allows himself to be led by evil; but we also see the immensity of God's mercy, who does not treat us according to our sins, but according to his mercy.

In front of the Cross of Jesus, we see almost to the point of touching with our hands how much we are eternally loved; in front of the Cross, we feel like "children" and not "things" or "objects", as St Gregory of Nazianzus said when addressing Christ with this prayer: "If I were not You, O my Christ, I would feel like a finite creature. I am born and I am dissolved. I eat, I sleep, I rest and walk, I fall ill and heal. Cravings and torments assail me without number, I enjoy the sun and all that the earth bears fruit. Then, I die and the flesh becomes dust like that of animals, which have no sins. But I, what more do I have than they? Nothing but God. If I were not You, O my Christ, I would feel like a finite creature. O our Jesus, lead us from the cross to the resurrection and teach us that evil will not have the last word, but love, mercy and forgiveness. O Christ, help us to exclaim again: "Yesterday I was crucified with Christ; today I am glorified with Him. Yesterday I was dead with Him, today I am alive with Him. Yesterday I was buried with Him, today I am risen with Him'".Finally, all together, let us remember the sick, let us remember all those abandoned under the weight of the Cross, that they may find in the trial of the Cross the strength of hope, of the hope of the resurrection and of God's love.

[Pope Francis, Way of the Cross at the Colosseum 18 April 2014].