The liturgy proposes to us, this year, the Gospel episode of Jesus who saves an adulterous woman condemned to death (Jn 8: 1-11). While he is teaching at the Temple the Scribes and Pharisees bring Jesus a woman caught in the act of adultery for which Mosaic law prescribed stoning. Those men ask Jesus to judge the sinful woman in order "to test him" and impel him to take a false step. The scene is full with drama: the life of that person and also his own life depend on Jesus. Indeed, the hypocritical accusers pretend to entrust the judgement to him whereas it is actually he himself whom they wish to accuse and judge. Jesus, on the other hand, is "full of grace and truth" (Jn 1: 14): he can read every human heart, he wants to condemn the sin but save the sinner, and unmask hypocrisy. St John the Evangelist highlights one detail: while his accusers are insistently interrogating him, Jesus bends down and starts writing with his finger on the ground. St Augustine notes that this gesture portrays Christ as the divine legislator: in fact, God wrote the law with his finger on tablets of stone (cf. Commentary on John's Gospel, 33,5). Thus Jesus is the Legislator, he is Justice in person. And what is his sentence? "Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her". These words are full of the disarming power of truth that pulls down the wall of hypocrisy and opens consciences to a greater justice, that of love, in which consists the fulfilment of every precept (cf. Rom 13: 8-10). This is the justice that also saved Saul of Tarsus, transforming him into St Paul (cf. Phil 3: 8-14).

When his accusers "went away, one by one, beginning with the eldest", Jesus, absolving the woman of her sin, ushers her into a new life oriented to good. "Neither do I condemn you; go, and do not sin again". It is the same grace that was to make the Apostle say: "One thing I do, forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead. I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus" (Phil 3: 13-14). God wants only goodness and life for us; he provides for the health of our soul through his ministers, delivering us from evil with the Sacrament of Reconciliation, so that no one may be lost but all may have the opportunity to convert. In this Year for Priests I would like to urge Pastors to imitate the holy Curé d'Ars in the ministry of sacramental pardon so that the faithful may discover its meaning and beauty and be healed by the merciful love of God, who "even forces himself to forget the future so that he can grant us his forgiveness!" (Letter to Priests for the Inauguration of the Year for Priests, 16 June 2009).

Dear friends, let us learn from the Lord Jesus not to judge and not to condemn our neighbour. Let us learn to be intransigent with sin starting with our own! and indulgent with people. May the holy Mother of God, free from all sin, who is the mediatrix of grace for every repentant sinner, help us in this.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 21 March 2010]

14. Jesus enters into the concrete and historical situation of women, a situation which is weighed down by the inheritance of sin. One of the ways in which this inheritance is expressed is habitual discrimination against women in favour of men. This inheritance is rooted within women too. From this point of view the episode of the woman "caught in adultery" (cf. Jn 8:3-11) is particularly eloquent. In the end Jesus says to her: "Do not sin again", but first he evokes an awareness of sin in the men who accuse her in order to stone her, thereby revealing his profound capacity to see human consciences and actions in their true light. Jesus seems to say to the accusers: Is not this woman, for all her sin, above all a confirmation of your own transgressions, of your "male" injustice, your misdeeds?

This truth is valid for the whole human race. The episode recorded in the Gospel of John is repeated in countless similar situations in every period of history. A woman is left alone, exposed to public opinion with "her sin", while behind "her" sin there lurks a man - a sinner, guilty "of the other's sin", indeed equally responsible for it. And yet his sin escapes notice, it is passed over in silence: he does not appear to be responsible for "the others's sin"! Sometimes, forgetting his own sin, he even makes himself the accuser, as in the case described. How often, in a similar way, the woman pays for her own sin (maybe it is she, in some cases, who is guilty of the "others's sin" - the sin of the man), but she alone pays and she pays all alone! How often is she abandoned with her pregnancy, when the man, the child's father, is unwilling to accept responsibility for it? And besides the many "unwed mothers" in our society, we also must consider all those who, as a result of various pressures, even on the part of the guilty man, very often "get rid of" the child before it is born. "They get rid of it": but at what price? Public opinion today tries in various ways to "abolish" the evil of this sin. Normally a woman's conscience does not let her forget that she has taken the life of her own child, for she cannot destroy that readiness to accept life which marks her "ethos" from the "beginning".

The attitude of Jesus in the episode described in John 8:3-11 is significant. This is one of the few instances in which his power - the power of truth - is so clearly manifested with regard to human consciences. Jesus is calm, collected and thoughtful. As in the conversation with the Pharisees (cf. Mt 19:3-9), is Jesus not aware of being in contact with the mystery of the "beginning", when man was created male and female, and the woman was entrusted to the man with her feminine distinctiveness, and with her potential for motherhood? The man was also entrusted by the Creator to the woman - they were entrusted to each other as persons made in the image and likeness of God himself. This entrusting is the test of love, spousal love. In order to become "a sincere gift" to one another, each of them has to feel responsible for the gift. This test is meant for both of them - man and woman - from the "beginning". After original sin, contrary forces are at work in man and woman as a result of the threefold concupiscence, the "stimulus of sin". They act from deep within the human being. Thus Jesus will say in the Sermon on the Mount: "Every one who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart" (Mt 5:28). These words, addressed directly to man, show the fundamental truth of his responsibility vis-a-vis woman: her dignity, her motherhood, her vocation. But indirectly these words concern the woman. Christ did everything possible to ensure that - in the context of the customs and social relationships of that time - women would find in his teaching and actions their own subjectivity and dignity. On the basis of the eternal "unity of the two", this dignity directly depends on woman herself, as a subject responsible for herself, and at the same time it is "given as a task" to man. Christ logically appeals to man's responsibility. In the present meditation on women's dignity and vocation, it is necessary that we refer to the context which we find in the Gospel. The dignity and the vocation of women - as well as those of men - find their eternal source in the heart of God. And in the temporal conditions of human existence, they are closely connected with the "unity of the two". Consequently each man must look within himself to see whether she who was entrusted to him as a sister in humanity, as a spouse, has not become in his heart an object of adultery; to see whether she who, in different ways, is the cosubject of his existence in the world, has not become for him an "object": an object of pleasure, of exploitation.

[Pope John Paul II, Mulieris Dignitatem]

The liturgy presents us the episode of the adulterous woman (cf. Jn 8:1-11). In it, there are two contrasting attitudes: that of the scribes and the Pharisees on the one hand, and that of Jesus on the other. The former want to condemn the woman because they feel they are the guardians of the Law and of its faithful implementation. Jesus, on the other hand, wants to save her because he personifies God’s mercy which redeems by forgiving and renews by reconciling.

Let us thus look at the event. While Jesus is teaching in the Temple, the scribes and the Pharisees bring him a woman who has been caught in adultery. They place her in the middle and ask Jesus if they should stone her as the Law of Moses prescribes. The Evangelist explains that they asked the question in order “to test him, that they might have some charge to bring against him” (v. 6). One might think that this was their purpose: behold the iniquity of these people — a ‘no’ to the stoning would have been a pretext to accuse Jesus of disobeying the Law; a ‘yes’ instead, to report him to the Roman Authority which had reserved such sentences to itself and did not permit lynching by the people. And Jesus must respond.

Jesus’ interrogators are confined to narrow legalism and want to oblige the Son of God to conform to their perspective of judgment and condemnation. However, he did not come into the world to judge and condemn, but rather to save and offer people a new life. And how does Jesus react to this test? First of all, he remains silent for some time and then he bends down to write on the ground with his finger, almost as if to remind them that the only Legislator and Judge is God who had inscribed the Law on stone. And then he says: “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her” (v. 7). In this way, Jesus appeals to the conscience of those men: they felt they were the ‘champions of justice’, but he reminds them of their own condition as sinners, due to which they cannot claim the right to life or death over one of their fellow human beings. At that point, one after the other, beginning with the eldest — that is, those who were more fully aware of their own failings — they all went away, and desisted from stoning the woman. This episode also invites each of us to be aware that we are sinners, and to let fall from our hands the stones of denigration, of condemnation, of gossip, which at times we would like to cast at others. When we speak ill of others, we are throwing stones, we are like these people.

And in the end only Jesus and the woman are left there in the middle: “misery with mercy”, as Saint Augustine says (In Joh 33:5). Jesus is the only one without fault, the only one who could throw a stone at her, but he does not do so, because God “does not want the death of the wicked but that the wicked convert and live” (cf. Ez 33:11). And Jesus sends the woman on her way with these wonderful words: “Go and do not sin again” (Jn 8:11). And thus Jesus opens a new path to her, created by mercy, a path that requires her commitment not to sin again. It is an invitation that applies to each one of us. When Jesus forgives us, he always opens a new path on which to go forward. In this Lenten Season, we are called to recognize ourselves as sinners and to ask God for forgiveness. And, in its turn, while forgiveness reconciles us and gives us peace, it lets us start again, renewed. Every true conversion is oriented toward a new future, a new life, a beautiful life, a life free from sin, a generous life. Let us not be afraid to ask Jesus for forgiveness because he opens the door to this new life for us. May the Virgin Mary help us to bear witness to all of the merciful love of God, who through Jesus, forgives us and renders our lives new, by always offering us new possibilities.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 7 April 2019]

The Lord of Life (or the pale sign)

(Jn 11:1-45)

The event of death is disconcerting, and that of a friend of God in community [Bethany] perhaps accentuates the questions about the meaning of our belief and commit ourselves thoroughly.

Why in the time of greatest need does the Lord let us fall? Why does He seem not to be there (v.21)?

Letting even His dearest friends die, Jesus educates us: it is not His intention to procrastinate biological existence (vv.14-15), nor simply improve it a little.

“Eternal” [in the Gospels, the very Life of the Eternal: Zoe aiònios] is not this form of life [in the Gospels: Bìos - possibly strengthened] but only its times of strong love.

Ultimate World does not interfere with the natural course.

For this reason the Lord does not enter the “village” where others went to console and give condolences.

He wants Mary to leave the house where everyone cries in despair and mourns funeral - as if everything was over.

He intends to get us out of the “small hamlet” where it is believed that the earthly end can be only delayed, until the tomb without a future.

The natural emotion for detachment does not hold back tears, which spontaneously «flow from the eyes, sliding down» [dakryein-edakrysen].

Intimate upheaval does not produce a broken and screamed cry [klaiein] as the inconsolable one of the Jews (vv.33.35).

No farewell. For this reason, it follows the order to remove the stone that at that time closed the tombs (v.39).

The strong Call is absolutely imperative: the ‘deceased’ ones are not ‘dead’ ones, as ancient religions believed; their lives goes on.

«Lazarus, out here!» (v.43): it is the cry of the victory of life. 

In the adventure of Faith in Christ we discover that life has no stones on it. Enough, mourning the deadly situations, and the "dead ones"!

The Appeal that the Lord makes is that there is no disappeared souls’ world, separated from us; stand-alone, devoid of communication with the actual one.

Archaic beliefs imagined Hades or Sheôl as a dark, fog-soaked cavern, populated here and there by insubstantial wandering larvae.

On the contrary, the world of the living ones is not separated from that of the ‘deceased’ ones.

«Lazarus is asleep» (v.11), that is: he is not a fallen, because men do not die. They pass from the creaturely life [bìos] to full Life [Zoe].

The ‘deceased’ left this world and entered the world of God, re-Born and begotten to his authentic, complete and definitive being.

Then: «Untie him and let him go!».

In short, Lazarus did not simply end up in the pit, nor, having been well put back on his feet by Christ, did he reappear in this form of life for another stretch... inexorably marked by the limit.

In the Gospel passage, in fact, while everyone goes to Jesus, Lazarus does not.

It is not this not what Jesus can do in the face of death. He does not immortalize this condition, otherwise all existence would continue to be a useless escape from the decisive appointment.

And it is time to stop crying our loved ones: «deceased», not ‘dead’.

We must not hold them back with obsessive visits, tormented memories, talismans, condolences: let them exist happily in their new condition!

Life for us and Life for those who have already flourished in the world of God's Peace - where we will live fully: with each other and for each other.

[5th ​​Sunday of Lent (year A), March 22, 2026]

The Lord of Life (or the pale sign)

(John 11:1–45)

     Last Sunday, the Gospel led us to reflect on the sign of the opening of the eyes.

Even in those who have lost their way, there can be a growing awareness of personal dignity and vocation through faith.

One question remains: if a Light is given at the right time... perhaps it is of little use.

Christ imparts to us a consciousness rich in perceptions and capable of wise, spiritual and missionary endeavour – but is there a final Goal, or does it all end here?

If we must manage on our own, what is the point of the biblical Promises? 

Why do we feel a longing for Fullness, only to plunge into nothingness?

Where is God’s love and omnipotence? And the Risen One, the life of the Eternal One present among us? Has not his very life already been given to us?

The event of death is disconcerting, and that of a friend of God in the community [Bethany] perhaps heightens the questions about the meaning of our faith and our wholehearted commitment.

Why, at the moment of greatest need, does the Lord allow us to fall? Why does He seem not to be there (v.21)?

Nevertheless, we understand that managing to endure an endless old age would not be a victory over death.

The belief of ancient cultures is that when the gods formed humanity, they assigned death to it, and kept life for themselves.

Anyone who had gone on a desperate quest for the mythical herb that makes the old young had to resign themselves to the fact that to die meant setting off for a land of no return.

By allowing even his dearest friends to perish, Jesus teaches us: it is not his intention to prolong biological existence (vv. 14–15), nor simply to improve it a little.

Christ is not a ‘doctor’ who comes to postpone the appointment with death, but rather the One who conquers death – because He transforms it into a Birth.

After all, a truly authentic, human and humanising life needs to face our condition head-on.

Health and physical life are gifts that everyone wishes to prolong, but which must ultimately be surrendered, in the Final Destination that no longer fades.

Eternal [in the Gospels, the very Life of the Eternal: Zoè aiònios] is not this form of life [in the Gospels: Bìos – perhaps enhanced] but only its moments of profound love.

This is the authenticity of the grace to be sought and cultivated. A permanence to which we must respond, a unique condition that cannot defeat us.

The Definitive World does not interfere with the natural course of events, although it may already manifest itself – in the intimate reality of multifaceted coexistence.

But this higher experience [of Covenant even amidst hardships] lies solely in that which is indestructible; personal, and in micro and macro relationships.

In particular, Communion: the sole sign of the form of Life that takes charge but does not falter, has no limits, and will have no end.

For this reason, the Lord does not enter the ‘village’ where others have gone to console and offer condolences.

He wants Mary to leave the house where everyone weeps in despair and offers funeral condolences – as if everything were over.

He intends to draw us out of the ‘little village’ where it is believed that the earthly end can only be senselessly postponed, until the grave with no future.

He wants us decisively out of the little village where everyone is in mourning and remains with the false consolation of funeral rites, ‘relief’ seasoned only with pretty little phrases.

The natural emotion of parting does not hold back the tears, which spontaneously ‘flow from the eyes, slide down’ [dakryein-edakrysen].

The emotion does not produce a wild, wailing cry [klaiein] like that of the inconsolable Jews [vv.33.35 Greek text; the English translation is confusing].

No farewell. For this reason, the command follows to remove the stone that at that time sealed the tombs (v.39).

The powerful call is absolutely imperative: the ‘deceased’ are not ‘dead’, as ancient religions believe; their life continues.

‘Lazarus, come out!’ [v.43 Greek text]: it is the cry of life’s victory. 

In the adventure of Faith in Christ, we discover that life has no stones laid upon it.

Enough of lamenting over life-destroying situations. They bring us closer to our roots, and to full blossoming.

And let us stop weeping for the ‘dead’!

The call the Lord makes today – even after two millennia! – is that there is no sunken world of the departed.

Compared to our journey on earth, those who have passed on are not clearly separated from us; in a place of its own, cut off from communication with the present.

Archaic beliefs, in fact, imagined that Hades or Sheol was a dark cave, shrouded in mist, here and there populated by insubstantial, wandering spirits.

The world of the living is not separated from that of the dead.

‘Lazarus has fallen asleep’ (v.11), that is to say: he is not fallen, for men do not die. They pass from creaturely life [bìos] to full Life [Zoè].

The deceased has left this world and entered the world of God, reborn and brought forth into his authentic, complete, definitive being.

Therefore: “Unbind him and let him go!”

In short, Lazarus has not simply ended up in the grave, nor, having been revived by Christ, does he return to this form of life for another spell… inexorably marked by its limits.

In the story, in fact, whilst everyone goes towards Jesus, Lazarus does not.

This is not what Jesus can do in the face of death. He does not immortalise this condition; otherwise, existence would continue to be a futile flight from the decisive rendezvous.

And it is time to stop mourning the loved one: ‘deceased’, not ‘dead’.

We must not hold them back with obsessive visits, tormented memories, talismans, condolences: let them exist happily in their new condition!

Life for us and Life for those who have already blossomed in the world of God’s Peace – where  we live life to the full: with one another and for one another.

A state which we can thus foreshadow, by dissolving no few inner blocks, external impediments, and relational bonds; drowned in the moods of bitterness, consternation, and despondency:

‘Even today, Jesus repeats to us: “Take away the stone”. God did not create us for the grave; he created us for life—beautiful, good, joyful.

We are therefore called to remove the stones of everything that smacks of death: for example, the hypocrisy with which faith is lived is death; destructive criticism of others is death; offence and slander are death; the marginalisation of the poor is death.

The Lord asks us to remove these stones from our hearts, and life will then blossom once more around us.

Christ lives, and whoever welcomes him and adheres to him comes into contact with life. Without Christ, or outside of Christ, not only is life absent, but one falls back into death.

May each of us be close to those who are undergoing trials, becoming for them a reflection of God’s love and tenderness, which frees from death and brings life to victory.”

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 29 March 2020]

To reflect on and live out the message:

When faced with bereavement, what atmosphere do you sense at home, in church, at the cemetery, during the funeral? And how do condolences affect you?

On Bethany [continuation of the passage on Lazarus]:

Jesus Comes to the Feast, but in Secret

(John 11:45–56)

    Christ is everything that the Jewish feasts had promised and proclaimed.

They interpreted these events authoritatively, yet unconsciously (verses 47–52 delight in words with double meanings).

The high priest was in fact speaking in the name of God: he interpreted the situation in a divinely inspired manner.

In Christ, the fulfilment of the promise made to Abraham was beginning: the era of the dispersion of mankind was coming to an end.

The Cross would fulfil the Temple’s vocation: the gathering of the people and the unity of the human being from the arid and distant land, in sharing and gratuitousness.

But what, even for Jesus, could have been the (energetic) starting point for not retreating within the confines of his own environment down to the smallest detail, and for setting in motion a path of rebirth?

The community of Bethany [‘house of the poor’] is an image of the earliest communities of faith, destitute and composed solely of brothers and sisters, without co-opted or appointed authorities. On a human scale.

Where those bonds that prevented one from going beyond the already known could be broken. Without patriarchs whose control was calibrated, obsessive and vindictive – where one does not watch over others.

A haven of healthy relationships, which managed to give meaning even to wounds.

It is the only place where Jesus felt at ease, that is, the only reality in which we can still recognise him as alive and present in our midst – indeed, the Source of life for the humble and the needy.

The Gospel passage jarrs with the vulgar cunning of the leaders and the out-of-scale nature of the venues and prescribed festivals.

As if no lifeblood flowed there between the holiness of God and the real lives of the humble.

Although the Master did good – as in all regimes, there was no shortage of informers (v.46).

On the other hand, a large part of the inhabitants of Jerusalem found their material sustenance in the income generated by the Temple’s activities.

Imagine if the top of the class would have let the bone be snatched from their mouths, to follow a stranger who intended to supplant the official institution and positions of privilege with a bare-bones utopia.

The throne of the princes of the fraternal House, on the other hand, was devoid of cushions, and the community’s coordinator was a woman: Martha [‘lady’]. A leader in reverse, a servant.

Far from a reactionary defence of privileged positions and the old order... still all downward pressures and a drive to ‘sort things out’ according to the chain of command, which never give us any inspiration for new life. A sticky situation that the synodal journey initiative is finally attempting to break free from.

Under Domitian, these small alternative communities – though caring for the little ones and the far-flung – had to live as Jesus did: in hiding.

They paid for unity with the cross. But they renewed the life of the empire.

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

In our Lenten journey we have reached the Fifth Sunday, characterized by the Gospel of the resurrection of Lazarus (Jn 11: 1-45). It concerns the last "sign" fulfilled by Jesus, after which the chief priests convened the Sanhedrin and deliberated killing him, and decided to kill the same Lazarus who was living proof of the divinity of Christ, the Lord of life and death. Actually, this Gospel passage shows Jesus as true Man and true God. First of all, the Evangelist insists on his friendship with Lazarus and his sisters, Martha and Mary. He emphasizes that "Jesus loved" them (Jn 11: 5), and this is why he wanted to accomplish the great wonder. "Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him out of sleep" (Jn 11: 11), he tells his disciples, expressing God's viewpoint on physical death with the metaphor of sleep. God sees it exactly as sleep, from which he can awaken us. Jesus has shown an absolute power regarding this death, seen when he gives life back to the widow of Nain's young son (cf. Lk 7: 11-17) and to the 12 year-old girl (cf. Mk 5: 35-43). Precisely concerning her he said:  "The child is not dead but sleeping" (Mk 5: 39), attracting the derision of those present. But in truth it is exactly like this: bodily death is a sleep from which God can awaken us at any moment. 

This lordship over death does not impede Jesus from feeling sincere "com-passion" for the sorrow of detachment. Seeing Martha and Mary and those who had come to console them weeping, Jesus "was deeply moved in spirit and troubled", and lastly, "wept" (Jn 11: 33, 35). Christ's heart is divine-human:  in him God and man meet perfectly, without separation and without confusion. He is the image, or rather, the incarnation of God who is love, mercy, paternal and maternal tenderness, of God who is Life. Therefore, he solemnly declared to Martha:  "I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die". And he adds, "Do you believe this?" (Jn 11: 25-26). It is a question that Jesus addresses to each one of us:  a question that certainly rises above us, rises above our capacity to understand, and it asks us to entrust ourselves to him as he entrusted himself to the Father. Martha's response is exemplary:  "Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world" (Jn 11: 27). Yes, O Lord! We also believe, notwithstanding our doubts and darkness; we believe in you because you have the words of eternal life. We want to believe in you, who give us a trustworthy hope of life beyond life, of authentic and full life in your Kingdom of light and peace. 

We entrust this prayer to Mary Most Holy. May her intercession strengthen our faith and hope in Jesus, especially in moments of greater trial and difficulty.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 9 March 2008]

1. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (Jn 11:21, 32).

These words, which you heard read in today’s Gospel, are spoken first by Martha, then by Mary, the two sisters of Lazarus, and are addressed to Jesus of Nazareth, who was a friend to them and to their brother.

Today’s liturgy brings the theme of death to our attention. This is now the fifth Sunday of Lent, and the time of Christ’s Passion is drawing near. The time of death and resurrection. Today we look at this reality through the death and resurrection of Lazarus. In Christ’s messianic mission, this profound event serves as a preparation for Holy Week and Easter.

2. “. . . my brother would not have died”.

In these words resounds the voice of the human heart, the voice of a heart that loves and bears witness to what death is. We constantly hear talk of death and read news reports about the deaths of various people. There is a steady stream of information on this subject. There are even statistics on death. We know that death is a common and unceasing phenomenon. If around 145,000 people die every day across the globe, it can be said that people are dying at every moment. Death is a universal phenomenon and an ordinary occurrence. The universality and normality of this fact confirm the reality of death, the inevitability of death, but, at the same time, they in a sense obscure the truth about death, its penetrating eloquence.

The language of statistics is not enough here. The voice of the human heart is needed: the voice of a sister, as in today’s Gospel, the voice of a person who loves. The reality of death can be expressed in all its truth only through the language of love.

For love, in fact, resists death and desires life . . .

Neither of Lazarus’s two sisters says, ‘My brother is dead’, but says: ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died’.

The truth about death can be expressed only from a perspective of life, from a desire for life: that is, from remaining in the loving communion of a person.

The truth about death is expressed in today’s liturgy in relation to the voice of the human heart.

3. At the same time, it is expressed in relation to the mission of Christ, the Redeemer of the world.

Jesus of Nazareth was a friend of Lazarus and his sisters. The death of his friend resonated in his own heart with a particular poignancy. When he arrived at Bethany, when he heard the weeping of the sisters and of others dear to the deceased, Jesus “was deeply moved and troubled”, and in this state of mind he asked: “Where have you laid him?” (Jn 11:33).

Jesus of Nazareth is at the same time the Christ, the one whom the Father sent into the world: he is the eternal witness to the Father’s love. He is the definitive Spokesperson for this love before mankind. In a certain sense, he is its Hostage in relation to each and every one. In him and through him, the Father’s eternal love is confirmed and fulfilled in human history; it is confirmed and fulfilled in an overflowing manner.

And love opposes death and desires life.

Since the time of Adam, human death has been opposed to love: it is opposed to the love of the Father, the God of life.

The root of death is sin, which too is opposed to the love of the Father. In human history, death is linked to sin and, like sin, is opposed to love.

4. Jesus Christ came into the world to redeem man’s sin; every sin rooted in man. For this reason, he confronted the reality of death; for death is indeed united with sin in human history: it is the fruit of sin. Jesus Christ became the Redeemer of mankind through his death on the cross, which was the sacrifice that atoned for every sin.

In this death of his, Jesus Christ confirmed the testimony of the Father’s love. The love that resists death and desires life was expressed in the resurrection of Christ, he who, to redeem the sins of the world, freely accepted death on the cross.

This event is called Easter: the Paschal Mystery. Every year we prepare for it through Lent, and today’s Sunday brings this mystery close to us, in which God’s love and power were revealed, for life has triumphed over death.

5. What took place in Bethany at the tomb of Lazarus was, as it were, the final proclamation of the Paschal Mystery.

Jesus of Nazareth stood by the tomb of his friend Lazarus and said: “Lazarus, come out!” (Jn 11:43). With these powerful words, Jesus raised him to life and brought him out of the tomb.

Before performing this miracle, Christ “raised his eyes and said: ‘Father, I thank you for hearing me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the sake of the people standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me’” (Jn 11:41–42).

At the tomb of Lazarus, a particular encounter took place between death and Christ’s redemptive mission. Christ was the witness to the Father’s eternal love, to that love which resists death and desires life. By raising Lazarus, he bore witness to this love. He also bore witness to God’s exclusive power over life and death.

At the same time, at the tomb of Lazarus, Christ was the prophet of his own mystery: of the Paschal Mystery, in which his redemptive death on the cross became the source of new life in the Resurrection.

8. The pilgrimage which you have undertaken today on account of the Jubilee introduces you, dear military personnel gathered here from different countries, to the mystery of redemption, through the liturgy of this Sunday in Lent, which invites us to pause, I would say, on the threshold of life and death, to adore the presence and love of God.

Here are the words of the prophet Ezekiel: “Thus says the Lord God: ‘You shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and raise you from your tombs, O my people’” (Ezek 37:12–13).

These words were fulfilled at the tomb of Lazarus in Bethany. They were definitively fulfilled at the tomb of Christ on Calvary. Today’s liturgy makes us aware of this.

In the resurrection of Lazarus, the power of God was manifested over the spirit and body of man.

In the resurrection of Christ, the Holy Spirit was given as the source of new life: divine life. This life is man’s eternal destiny. It is his vocation received from God. In this life, the eternal love of the Father is realised.

For love desires life and opposes death.

Dear brothers and sisters! Let us live this life! May sin not reign in us! Let us live this life, the price of which is redemption through Christ’s death on the cross!

“And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you” (Rom 8:11).

May the Holy Spirit dwell in you always through the grace of Christ’s redemption. Amen.

[Pope John Paul II, homily for the Jubilee of the Military, 8 April 1984]

The Gospel passage for this fifth Sunday of Lent is the resurrection of Lazarus (cf. Jn 11:1-45). Lazarus was Martha and Mary’s brother; they were good friends of Jesus. When Jesus arrives in Bethany, Lazarus has already been dead for four days. Martha runs towards the Master and says to Him: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died!” (v. 21). Jesus replies to her: “Your brother will rise again” (v. 23) and adds: “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live” (v. 25). Jesus makes himself seen as the Lord of life, he who is capable of giving life even to the dead. Then Mary and other people arrive, in tears, and so Jesus — the Gospel says — “was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.... Jesus wept” (vv. 33, 35). With this turmoil in his heart, he goes to the tomb, thanks the Father who always listens to him, has the tomb opened and cries aloud: “Lazarus, come out!” (v. 43). And Lazarus emerges with “his hands and feet bound with bandages and his face wrapped with a cloth” (v. 44).

Here we can experience first hand that God is life and gives life, yet takes on the tragedy of death. Jesus could have avoided the death of his friend Lazarus, but he wanted to share in our suffering for the death of people dear to us, and above all, he wished to demonstrate God’s dominion over death. In this Gospel passage we see that the faith of man and the omnipotence of God, of God’s love, seek each other and finally meet. It is like a two lane street: the faith of man and the omnipotence of God’s love seek each other and finally meet. We see this in the cry of Martha and Mary, and of all of us with them: “If you had been here!”. And God’s answer is not a speech, no, God’s answer to the problem of death is Jesus: “I am the resurrection and the life” ... have faith. Amid grief, continue to have faith, even when it seems that death has won. Take away the stone from your heart! Let the Word of God restore life where there is death.

Today, too, Jesus repeats to us: “Take away the stone”. God did not create us for the tomb, but rather he created us for life, [which is] beautiful, good, joyful. But “through the devil’s envy death entered the world” (Wis 2:24) says the Book of Wisdom, and Jesus Christ came to free us from its bonds.

We are thus called to take away the stones of all that suggests death: for example, the hypocrisy with which faith is lived, is death; the destructive criticism of others, is death; insults, slander, are death; the marginalization of the poor, is death. The Lord asks us to remove these stones from our hearts, and life will then flourish again around us. Christ lives, and those who welcome him and follow him come into contact with life. Without Christ, or outside of Christ, not only is life not present, but one falls back into death.

The resurrection of Lazarus is also a sign of the regeneration that occurs in the believer through Baptism, with full integration within the Paschal Mystery of Christ. Through the action and power of the Holy Spirit, the Christian is a person who journeys in life as a new creature: a creature for life, who goes towards life.

May the Virgin Mary help us to be compassionate like her son Jesus, who made our suffering his own. May each of us be close to those who are in difficulty, becoming for them a reflection of God’s love and tenderness, which frees us from death and makes life victorious.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 29 March 2020]

(Jn 7:40-53)

In the Gospel passage, the religious authorities judge everyone with contempt.

Anyone who has always imagined himself as master will not be willing to make himself a disciple of a subversive Revelation.

While the élite marginalizes Christ, even the gendarmerie commanded to perpetuate and oversee the world’s security is amazed by the power of the new Word-Person.

The Lord replaces the Torah (vv.37-38). And whoever comes into contact with the new Temple is guided by the intimate ‘root’ that he has in his womb: and he wants to recognize it, inside.

He himself becomes a bubbling Sanctuary, which begins to think and act in conscience - starting from its core [suffocated perhaps, but indestructible].

A lesson in thinking ‘from below’, given to "superiors". Example that re-evaluates the theological judgment of the impious plebs (v.49).

And it is curious that the disobedience saving Christ [present in his faithful] originates from the lack of minute knowledge of the Law.

There is a great confusion of opinions regarding Jesus among the people.

For the groups that have established the tyranny of norms, its unforeseen origin - non-mysterious nor overwhelming - is difficult to intend - unacceptable for calibrated thinking.

Some believe him to be the “son of David”, others a Prophet; a deceiver or a good man (v.12) or someone who has ‘no education’ (v.15).

The point is that He does not come to impose the outdated discipline again, nor to patch up its customs.

Not even to purify the Temple, renewing its propitiatory practice.

Christ supplants it with the «now» of Reality that reveals an inconceivable God’s Face, which is grasped and expanded even from within each of us.

It is by no means the quiet reconfirmation of the usual things.

Tradition [written and oral] boasts deep-rooted arguments, but its fame causes confusion and hard confrontation between opposing supporters.

There is never anything Exceptional in all of this.

But in the depths of each one dwells a ‘naturalness that teaches’, even to the masters of the paradigm.

Spontaneity will not lead us to the weak defense of Jesus made by Nicodemus (vv.51-53) who relies on another obvious law to save the situation.

When you stop wanting to be just addicted - comes the amazement, the God’s vertigo; different interests.

The Christ-icon of Jn 7 wants to develop in us the image and innate talent of the spirit’ teacher who simply draws from the personal experience of the Father, of himself, of the reality.

We should not expect true answers come from someone outside, rated more experienced - to whom instead have (we) to teach the New that comes to save us.

The Vocation by Name is entrusted to the unknown Rabbi who already lives in us - and wants to emerge, expressing the divine unconscious already present.

The indispensable Gold, without induced mental burdens: only in conscience and character.

[Saturday 4th wk. in Lent, March 21, 2026]

(Jn 7:40-53)

In the Gospel passage the religious authorities judge everyone with contempt.

Those who have always imagined themselves masters will not be willing to become disciples of a subversive Revelation.

Unthinkable novelty, and not dated, that dares to crumble pedestals and legalisms.

As the elite dump Christ, even the gendarmerie commanded to perpetuate and guard the security of the ancient world is stunned by the power of the new Word-Person.

The Lord replaces the Torah:

"Now on the last day, the great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink, he who believes in me. As the Scripture has said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water" (vv.37-38).

He who comes into contact with the new Temple is guided by the intimate root in his womb, and wants to recognise it in himself.

To give life, to promote it; to love, to rejoice in life itself.

He himself becomes a bubbling sanctuary, which begins to think and act in consciousness - from his own (perhaps suffocated, but indestructible) kernel.

A lesson in thinking from below, given to 'superiors'.

An example that re-evaluates the theological judgement of the ungodly plebs (v.49).

And it is curious that the disobedience that saves Christ from seizure in his faithful originates from a lack of minute knowledge of the Law.

There is great confusion of opinion about Jesus among the people.

For the sects that have established the tyranny of norms, his unforeseen, non-mystical or overwhelming origin - unacceptable to mundane thinking - makes it difficult.

Some consider him a son of David, others a Prophet; a deceiver or a good man (v.12) or someone who has no studies (v.15).

The point is that He does not come to impose the old discipline again, nor to patch up the customs.

Not even to purify the Temple, renewing its propitiatory practice.

Christ supplants it with the now of reality that reveals an inconceivable Face of God, which is grasped and expanded even from within each one of us.

It is by no means the quiet reconfirmation of the usual things.

Tradition (written and oral) boasts deep-rooted arguments, but its reputation causes confusion and harsh confrontation between opposing supporters, [even today] fashionable or not.

Nothing exceptional is ever found in all this.

It is fundamental to realise that we no longer need principals.

The discriminating factor is the Person, in the uniqueness of his Vocation; not the point of view corresponding to a greatness or a mania.

It is in the unexpected Son that the present and the future come - not in a code of ideas that can summarise the cues of "success" and embellish the already past.

Says the Tao Tê Ching (ii): 'The saint implements the unspoken teaching'. Master Wang Pi comments: 'Spontaneity is enough for him. If he rules, he corrupts'.

Within each person dwells a naturalness that teaches, even to masters of the law.

Spontaneity will not lead us to the feeble defence of Jesus made by Nicodemus (vv.51-53), who, in order to save the day, relies on another law, which is obvious after all.

When one stops wanting to be merely dependent - as one who is 'called' to stop the new that is appearing - comes the astonishment, the dizziness of God; different interests.

The Christ-icon of John 7 wants to develop in us the image and innate talent of the teacher of the spirit who simply draws from personal experience of the Father, of himself and of reality.

We should not expect answers to always come from someone outside, assessed as more experienced - instead it is we who must teach the new one who comes to save us.

The Calling by Name is entrusted to the unknown Rabbi who already inhabits us - and wants to surface, expressing the unconscious divine already present.

The indispensable Gold, without induced mental burdens: only in consciousness and character.

To internalise and live the message:

Do I feel able to receive the message of Life, or am I still jammed in the mechanism of the homologues who turn their eyes and ears away?

Do I remain sensitive to the call of the Lord even in the details of a life without glory or under investigation?

Words and Nature, codes that will not pass away

The Sources of Hope

(Lk 21:29-33)

The Sadducees thought that their exaggerated prosperity was the most expressive sign of the Messianic times.

The Essenes believed that the Kingdom of God [of which they wished to be a foretaste] could only be manifested when the chosen people had completely cleansed themselves of all obscurity and sacred market.

The Pharisees believed that the Messiah would be established when everyone had returned to the sacred traditions, written and oral.

Even among the early Christians, there was a variety of opinions on the matter.

Fortunately (then as now) some considered the Risen One already fully Present, never departed.

His living Spirit is manifested within each believer and in our midst - especially perceptible where there is a struggle for justice, emancipation, the fullness of life for all.

Luke ends his Apocalyptic Discourse with recommendations on the attention and penetrating gaze to be paid to the 'sign of the times'.

And - rooted in the Word of God that becomes an event and directs to the future, Hope ushers in a new phase of history.

Its depth surpasses all current possibilities, which on the contrary oscillate restlessly between signs of catastrophe.

(In old Europe, after several decades of an accommodating and soporific spiritual trend, we experience this by direct observation).

"When they have already sprouted, behold, by yourselves you know that summer is already near" (Lk 21:31).

Jesus reassures the disciples about their fears of the end of the world, and commands them not to look at coded messages, but at Nature.

Only in this way will they be able to read and interpret events.

Wise discernment, which serves not to close us off in the immediate present.

In fact, due to upheavals, a hasty evaluation could lead us to fear reversals, blocking growth and witness.

The world and things walk towards a Spring, and first and foremost in this sense we have a sentinel role.

On the ruins of a collapsing century, the Father makes clear what is happening - and continues to build what we hope [not according to immediate tastes].

Here and there we can catch its wisps, like the shoots on the 'fig tree'.

It is a tree that alludes to the fruit of love that God expects from his people, called to be tender and sweet: signs of the new season - that of healthy relationships.

In this way, the spirit of dedication manifested by the sons will be a prefiguration of the coming advent of a completely different empire - capable of replacing all others of a competitive nature in the consciousness.

The fig tree is precisely the image of the ideal people of blessings; Israel of the exodus to freedom, and a trace of the Father [in the reflective sobriety and sharing of the desert].

It remains for a long time bare and skeletal; suddenly its buds sprout, open up and in a few days it is clothed with luxuriant leaves.

Such will be the transition from chaos to the sensitive and fraternal order produced by the proclamation and assimilation of the Word: thought not equal; divine step into history.

Through suggestions that belong to the processes of nature, we are introduced to the discernment of the Mystery - expressed in the torrent of transformations.

Its riches are contained in the codes of the Word and in concrete ordinary events. Caskets of invisible realities, which do not pass away.

Such richness will even (and especially) develop out of confusion and collapse, as if by intrinsic strength and essence, day by day.

Not out of abstract exemplariness, but out of the fullness of life rediscovering its roots - rediscovering them in error and in the small.

A paradoxical seed of hope, and omen of better conditions.

For without imperfection and limitation there is no growth or blossoming, no neighbouring kingdom (vv.30-31) which always "makes contact with wounds" [Fratelli Tutti n.261].

The Tao Tê Ching (LII) says: "The world had a beginning, which was the mother of the world; whoever has come to the mother, from the mother knows the son; whoever knows the son and returns to preserve the mother, until death runs no danger [...] Enlightenment is to see the small; strength is to stick to softness [...] This is called practising the eternal".

The Word of God and the rhythms of Nature are codes that pass time. Authentic, created, given, and revealed.

Sources of discernment, of the penetrating gaze, of the signs of the times, of free thought, of the Hope that does not settle.

To internalise and live the message:

What have you learnt by contemplating nature? A different Wisdom? 

Why do you consider it so far removed from the usual doctrine and its dirigiste or cerebral codes, which over time prove to be shoddy?

The world becomes a book. Art of vigilance

One of the characteristic attitudes of the Church after the Council is that of a special attention over human reality, considered historically; that is, over the facts, events, phenomena of our time. A word of the Council has entered our habits: that of scrutinising 'the signs of the times'. Here is an expression, which has a distant evangelical reminiscence: "Do you not know how to discern - Jesus once asked his hostile and malicious listeners - the signs of the times?" (Matth. 16:4). At that time the Lord was alluding to the wonders He was performing, which were to indicate the coming of the Messianic hour. But the expression has today, along the same lines, if you like, a new meaning of great importance: in fact, Pope John XXIII took it up again in the Apostolic Constitution, with which he called the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, when, after observing the sad spiritual conditions of the contemporary world, he wanted to revive the hope of the Church, writing: "We like to place a firm trust in the divine Saviour ... who exhorts us to recognise the signs of the times", so that "we see amidst obscure darkness numerous signs, which seem to announce better times for the Church and for mankind" (A.A.S. 1962, p. 6). The signs of the times are, in this sense, portents of better times.

JOHN XXIII AND THE COUNCIL

The expression passed into the conciliar documents (especially in the Pastoral Constitution Gaudium et Spes, n. 4; we glimpse it in the admirable page of n. 10: then in n. 11; so in nos. 42, 44; so in the Decree on the Activity of the Laity, n. 14; in the Constitution on the Holy Liturgy, n. 43; etc.). This locution "the signs of the times" has therefore acquired a current use and a profound, very broad and very interesting meaning; namely that of the theological interpretation of contemporary history. That history, considered in its broad outlines, has offered Christian thought the opportunity, indeed the invitation, to discover a divine plan in it, has always been well known: what is 'sacred history' if not the identification of a divine thought, of a transcendent 'economy', in the unfolding of the events that lead to Christ, and from Christ they derive? But this discovery is posthumous; it is a synthesis, sometimes questionable in its formulations, that the scholar makes when the events are already complete, and can be considered in an overall perspective, and sometimes placed deductively in an ideological framework derived from other doctrinal sources, rather than from the inductive analysis of the events themselves. Now, instead, modern thought is offered the invitation to decipher in historical reality, in the present especially, the "signs", i.e. the indications of a meaning beyond that recorded by the passive observer.

This presence of the 'sign' in the realities perceived by our immediate knowledge deserves lengthy reflection. In the religious field, the "sign" holds a very important place: the divine realm is not ordinarily accessible to our knowledge by direct, experimental, intuitive means, but by way of signs (thus knowledge of God is possible for us through introspection of things, which take on the value of a sign [cf. Rom. 1:20]; thus the supernatural order is communicated to us by the sacraments, which are sensible signs of an invisible reality, etc.); human language, too, comes to us through conventional phonetic or scriptural signs, by which thought is transmitted; and so on. In the entire created universe we can find signs of an order, of a thought, of a truth, which can act as a metaphysical bridge (i.e. beyond the framework of physical reality) to the ineffable, yet surreal world of the 'unknown God' (cf. Act. 17, 23 ff.; Rom. 8, 22; Lumen gentium, no. 16). In the perspective that we are now considering, it is a question of identifying "in the times", that is, in the course of events, in history, those aspects, those "signs" that can give us some news of an immanent Providence (a thought that is usual for religious spirits); or there may be clues (and this is what interests us now) of some relationship with the "kingdom of God", with its secret action, or - even better for our study and our duty - with the possibility, with the availability, with the need for apostolic action. These clues seem to us to be precisely 'the signs of the times'.

THE WORLD BECOMES A BOOK

Hence a series of important and interesting conclusions. The world becomes a book for us. Our life today is very much engaged in the continuous viewing of the external world. The media are so overgrown, so aggressive, that they engage us, distract us, take us away from ourselves, empty us of our personal consciousness. Here: let us be careful. We can move from the position of mere observers to that of critics, of thinkers, of judges. This attitude of reflected knowledge is of the utmost importance for the modern soul, if it wants to remain a living soul, and not a mere screen of the thousand impressions to which it is subject. And for us Christians, this reflexive act is necessary, if we want to discover "the signs of the times"; because as the Council teaches (Gaudium et spes, no. 4), the interpretation of "the times", that is, of the empirical and historical reality, which surrounds and impresses us, must be done "in the light of the Gospel". The discovery of the "signs of the times" is a fact of the Christian conscience; it results from a confrontation of faith with life; not to artificially and superficially superimpose a pious thought on the cases of our experience, but rather to see where these cases postulate, due to their intrinsic dynamism, their very obscurity, and sometimes their very immorality, a ray of faith, an evangelical word, that classifies them, that redeems them; that is to say, the discovery of the "signs of the times" takes place in order to point out to us where they come of themselves to meet higher designs, which we know to be Christian and divine (such as the search for unity, peace, justice), and where a possible action of our charity or apostolate comes to match a maturing of favourable circumstances, indicating that the hour has come for a simultaneous progress of the kingdom of God in the human kingdom.

THE METHOD TO BE FOLLOWED

This method seems indispensable to us in order to avoid certain dangers, to which the attractive search for the "signs of the times" could expose us. First danger, that of a charismatic prophetism, often degenerating into bigoted fantasy, which gives fortuitous and often insignificant coincidences miraculous interpretations. The greed to easily discover "the signs of the times" can make us forget the often possible ambiguity of the evaluation of the facts observed; and this all the more so if we must recognise to the "People of God", that is, to every believer, an eventual capacity to discern "the signs of God's presence or design" (Gaudium et spes, no. 11): "the sensus fidei" can confer this gift of wise discernment, but the assistance of the hierarchical magisterium will always be providential and decisive, when the ambiguity of interpretation deserves to be resolved either in the certainty of the truth, or in the utility of the common good.

The second danger would be constituted by the purely phenomenal observation of the facts from which one wishes to extract the indication of the 'signs of the times'; and this is what can happen when these facts are detected and classified in purely technical and sociological schemes. That sociology is a science of great merit in itself and for the purpose that interests us here, that is, for the search for a superior and indicative meaning of the facts themselves, we gladly admit. But sociology cannot be a moral criterion in its own right, nor can it replace theology. This new scientific humanism could mortify the authenticity and originality of our Christianity and its supernatural values.

THE ART OF CHRISTIAN VIGILANCE

Another danger could arise from considering the historical aspect of this problem as prevalent. It is true that the study here is concerned with history, it is concerned with time, and it seeks to derive from it signs proper to the religious field, which for us is all gathered in the central event of the historical presence of Christ in time and in the world, from which the Gospel, the Church and its mission of salvation derive. In other words, the immutable element of revealed truth should not be subject to the mutability of the times, in which it spreads and sometimes makes its appearance with "signs" that do not alter it, but allow it to be glimpsed and realised in pilgrim humanity (cf. CHENU, Les signes des temps, in Nouv. Revue Théol. 1-1-65, pp. 29-39). But all this only calls us to attention, to the study of the "signs of the times", which must make our Christian judgement and our apostolate shrewd and modern in the midst of the torrent of transformations in the contemporary world. It is the ancient, ever living word of the Lord that resounds to our spirits: "Watch out" (Luc. 21:36). May Christian vigilance be the art for us in discerning the "signs of the times".

[Pope Paul VI, General Audience 16 April 1969].

Word and diversity

All human things, all things that we can invent, create, are finite. Even all human religious experiences are finite, they show one aspect of reality, because our being is finite and always understands only a part, some elements: "latum praeceptum tuum nimis". Only God is infinite. And therefore his Word is also universal and knows no boundaries. By entering therefore into the Word of God, we truly enter the divine universe. We leave the narrowness of our experiences and enter into reality, which is truly universal. By entering into communion with the Word of God, we enter into the communion of the Church that lives the Word of God. We do not enter into a small group, into the rule of a small group, but we step out of our limitations. We step out into the wide, into the true breadth of the one truth, the great truth of God. We are truly in the universal. And so we go out into the communion of all brothers and sisters, of all humanity, because in our heart is hidden the desire for the Word of God that is one. Therefore, evangelisation, the proclamation of the Gospel, the mission are not a kind of ecclesial colonialism, with which we want to include others in our group. It is getting out of the limits of individual cultures into the universality that connects all, unites all, makes us all brothers. Let us pray again that the Lord will help us to truly enter into the 'breadth' of his Word and thus open ourselves to the universal horizon of humanity, that which unites us with all diversity.

[Pope Benedict, Meditation to the 12th General Assembly of the Synod, 6 October 2008].