18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)  [2 August 2016]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (55:1–3)

We have reached the end of the second book of Isaiah, which is entirely focused on the end of the Exile and the return to the Promised Land, and is therefore called ‘the book of the consolation of Israel’. Chapter 54 heralds the long-awaited return, and this chapter specifies the spirit in which we are to return. Four major themes are evoked. The first theme is the gratuitous nature of God’s gifts: ‘Come, buy without paying’. Sometimes, it is precisely this gratuitousness that is the hardest to accept. We tend to think of merits and dignity that must be regained in order to stand before God, whilst mercy bends down to repentant sinners. Isaiah declares: ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways’ (55:8–9).    Voltaire used to say: “God made man in his own image, and man has done him a fine job of it.” He was right, because we sometimes imagine a God with the same feelings as our own – one who takes revenge and punishes – whereas in the Bible, God always shows such an abundance that is entirely free and generous that we might say that in God’s supermarket, everything is always free. But if everything is free, can we do as we please? Certainly not, because if we are touched by God’s love, our hearts change and we begin to resemble him. In a society founded more on commerce than on service, Christians must nurture the kingdom of gratuitousness, for if we stray from the path of gratuitousness, we are far from God’s ways. The second theme is the struggle against idolatry, a temptation that constantly resurfaces. Only God holds the keys to our happiness and freedom, and with Him, everything is given. We simply need to trust. The third theme is listening and trust – ‘Give ear and you shall live’  ‘Give ear and come to me; listen and you shall live’ (55:3). We lend an ear to so much commercial advertising; why, then, does this message from Isaiah – spoken in God’s name and marked by gratuitousness – fail to convince us? The way of gratuitousness stands above our ways of calculation and ‘quid pro quo’. Fourth theme: God’s faithfulness to the Covenant, another key theme in the sermons of Second Isaiah: the exiles feared they would be abandoned by God forever, yet His love is entirely gratuitous and unconditional, and He never calls His Covenant into question; indeed, He renews it at every moment.  

Responsorial Psalm (144/145)

Psalm 144/145 is an alphabetic psalm of praise for the Covenant. This Sunday’s first reading speaks of the gratuitousness and abundance of God’s gifts; this psalm says nothing other than this!  It is an alphabetic, acrostic psalm: it has as many verses as there are letters in the Hebrew alphabet, with each verse beginning with a different letter of the alphabet. This style of composition has a specific, consistent purpose: to express to God the believers’ gratitude for the gift of the Covenant. It is therefore no surprise to find in this psalm a reference to all aspects of the Covenant: the extraordinary discovery of a God who is both almighty and close to humankind. The Book of Wisdom made this clear: ‘You, Lord, who possess power, judge with gentleness; you rule us with great forbearance, for when you wish, you can use your power’ (12:16–18). Even before the Book of Wisdom, other Old Testament texts had powerfully proclaimed God’s greatness and goodness. At the outset, verse 8 of the psalm echoes God’s revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai: ‘The Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love and faithfulness’ (Ex 34:6); the burning bush: Exodus 3:1–6 presents a twofold revelation: God reveals himself to Moses in the burning bush whilst he was tending the flock of Jethro, his father-in-law, the priest of Midian (cf. Exodus 3:7). He always reveals himself to be compassionate and merciful = literally ‘a heart open to our miseries’, who takes the side of those in distress. Moses, who had previously veiled his face, realises that he need not be afraid. ‘My people’ is a reference to the Covenant with the people dating back to Abraham. Just as God had seen the misery of Abraham, an elderly man without children, so He has seen the misery of His people. In conclusion, this psalm, like the account of the Exodus, is important for the faith of Israel and therefore for our own: it reveals the dual nature of God as both the Wholly Other and the Wholly Near. He is the Wholly Other, to whom one approaches only with awe and reverence, and at the same time the Wholly Near, who sees the misery of his people and raises up a liberator. In the verses chosen from Psalm 144/145 for this Sunday, the emphasis is placed on this tenderness of God, a conviction that forever nourishes the faith of the Jewish people and our own, just as it filled the heart of Jesus of Nazareth.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (8:35, 37–39)

 Nothing can ever separate us from the love of God: this statement brings to a close Chapter 8, which we have been reading for several weeks, in which Paul marvels at God’s love. In Chapter 5 he had said: ‘The love of God has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit’ (Rom 5:5). Here he gives free rein to the exultation that fills the hearts of believers when they realise God’s work on their behalf: ‘God, who did not spare his own Son, but handed him over for us all’ (Rom 8:32). From now on, no one can break the covenant so closely bound between God and us. As the first Eucharistic Prayer of Reconciliation states, ‘with your arms outstretched on the cross, you have drawn between heaven and earth the indelible sign of the covenant’. From now on, every attempt at separation is doomed to failure. Paul takes up one of the major themes of Scripture: the very stake of the lives of the children of Adam is to remain attached to God, without allowing themselves to be separated from him by the Tempter. In the wilderness, Jesus faced the onslaught of the Tempter, who tempted him with power, ease and honours. Peter himself tempted Jesus to flee from the inevitable persecution. But nothing—neither hunger nor the mirages of success—could separate the Son from the Father. In turn, Paul and the other apostles draw from the Spirit of Christ the strength to remain grafted onto him. Paul offers us here a great profession of faith: ‘For I am convinced that neither death nor life… nor anything else will ever be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord’ (Rom 8:38–39). This is not pride, but the certainty of faith: Paul does not for a moment consider that the credit for this faithfulness lies with him. When he states, ‘In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us’, the key word is ‘through’ him. His declaration resembles that of the prophet Isaiah concerning the Servant of God: ‘The Lord God helps me; therefore I shall not be disgraced’ (Isaiah 50:7). 

From the Gospel according to Matthew (14:13–21)

The episode of the multiplication of the loaves follows immediately after the announcement of John the Baptist’s execution. Matthew recounts John’s death and concludes: ‘His disciples went and took his body, buried it, and went to tell Jesus’ (14:12).  Jesus’s first reaction, which appears to be prudence, is to withdraw: “On hearing this, Jesus got into a boat and withdrew to a deserted place by himself” (14:13). But he is immediately overtaken by the crowd’s pleas and “he had compassion on them” – literally, “he was moved to the depths of his being”, as Matthew puts it. Humanly speaking, Jesus commits an act of reckless folly. It was politically imprudent because the wise course of action at that moment would have been to keep a low profile, since his popularity would attract the hatred of the Pharisee leaders; it was folly because it was senseless to believe that five loaves and two fish would be enough to feed such a crowd. The disciples, being realists, pointed this out to him, but Jesus replied, unperturbed: ‘You yourselves give them something to eat’ (14:16). This episode brings to mind the prophet Elisha, in the Northern Kingdom, 800 years earlier, whose story was known to all. In the midst of a famine, a faithful follower had brought an offering of the first fruits of the harvest: twenty barley loaves that would normally have been Elisha’s due, but he, given the circumstances, decided to share them with everyone. Twenty loaves were too many for a single prophet, but they were a pittance for the hungry people around him: the text says there were a hundred people. Elisha had told his servant, ‘Give it to the people to eat’, but the servant could see that the numbers didn’t add up: ‘How can I set this before a hundred people?’.  And the prophet insisted: ‘Give it to the people to eat. For thus says the Lord: “They shall eat and there will be some left over.”’ And the servant distributed it: ‘They ate and there was some left over, according to the word of the Lord’ (2 Kings 4:42–44). In this miracle, too, we note the disparity between the number of diners, the few loaves and fish available, and the amount of leftovers collected. Matthew is keen to point out: ‘They all ate and were satisfied; and they carried away twelve baskets full of the fragments’ (14:20). What do Jesus and Elisha have in common? What is their secret? First of all, both believe that sharing is possible, whatever the number of diners, because both place their trust in God. They also share the mention of the leftovers and the precise statement that ‘everyone ate their fill’. This miracle brings to mind the gift of manna in the Book of Exodus: ‘I will satisfy you with bread, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God’ (Ex 16:12). Jesus, as the evangelist writes, had gone off to a deserted place on the outskirts in search of some peace and quiet, but he agrees to let himself be found, to draw near to the people, and this leads him to commit the ‘foolish recklessness’ I mentioned at the beginning. Disciples of all ages are in turn invited to nurture this reckless folly: in other words, it is enough to have faith to remember that sharing works miracles. And we must learn to rejoice in our own poverty, for it is the privileged place where God acts. When we recognise our powerlessness, we call upon God for help, and this is always the first thing to do. Whilst the first reading, taken from Isaiah, proclaims the abundance and gratuitousness of God’s gifts, Jesus’ multiplication of the loaves is a magnificent illustration of this.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Pure and impure: God's Law or formal blindness

(Mt 15:1-2.10-14)

The invisible Friend in us is the only Guide that should be followed with care and punctiliousness.

The only Master of Spirit who understands the different and does not harass him/her - because He does not use us.

Here comes the 'law or customs' paradox: «Why do you also transgress the Commandment of God in the name of your Tradition?» (v.3).

Sure, habits normalize manners.

Over time, mechanically fulfilled customs lose the sense of the Commandments from which they sprang.

And the vacuous standards then ruin life (vv.4-9), irritate, exacerbate tempers.

The purity laws discriminated against people and filled them with resentment.

Instead, no exclusivism is to be introduced at the Eucharistic Banquet. Nor are we to be part of the Lord's Community on the basis of artificial selections.

The ablution of the hands up to the elbows was customary practice, proclaiming the detachment of the Judaizers from the pagan world: a kind of rite celebrating the separation of the (supposedly) pure from the impure.

The 'breaking of the bread', on the other hand, is accessed without rigmarole or discipline of the arcane, nor prior x-rays.

All are welcome, because it is the encounter with God that makes humanity of all cultural backgrounds alive and healthy.

Christ opens a completely new Way, to bring ordinary people closer to a greater balance, animated by spousal, creative trust.

For Jesus, access to the Father is immediate and gratuitous.

In the area of Faith, it is Life that conquers death.

According to customary religiosity, it is conversely the germ of death that contaminates purity.

In this prison of screwed-up ideas, people lived with the fear of sin and transgressions (even unintentional ones) - just always stucked on to everybody.

In order to free the oppressed masses from the archaic ideology that subjected them to a daily barrage on all aspects of life, Jesus is forced to overthrow the 'in-out' hierarchy (v.11).

Spiritual leaders inculcated the idea that impurity came from without, and was so incisive as to contaminate even holy people [even for a mere rubbing - let alone the masses destined for an ordinary existence of deprivation].

Instead, Jesus makes us feel good: He reverses the virtues on the field. The Lord does so, well aware of the power of Life.

In doing so, He places the debate on 'pure or impure' at another level: of depth, behaviour, and relationship.

Father, Son, Spirit, emancipate us from corporate attitudes and from always being on the defensive; to restore our self-esteem, joy in life, and make us feel adequate, as in a Hearth.

His aim is to let us live intensely, with the perception that it is He in ourselves who is guiding the rudder; wisely, rather than letting us end up badly - as in the same, usual mass grave (v.14).

[Tuesday 18th wk. in O.T. (year A),  August 4, 2026]

(Mt 15:1–2, 10–14)

The encyclical Fratelli Tutti invites us to take a forward-looking perspective that inspires decision and action: a new way of seeing, filled with hope.

It ‘speaks to us of a reality that is rooted in the depths of the human being, regardless of the concrete circumstances and historical conditions in which they live. It speaks to us of a thirst, an aspiration, a yearning for fulfilment, for a life well-lived, for engaging with what is great, with what fills the heart and lifts the spirit towards great things, such as truth, goodness and beauty, justice and love. [...] Hope is bold; it knows how to look beyond personal comfort, the petty certainties and consolations that narrow the horizon, in order to open itself up to great ideals that make life more beautiful and dignified’ (no. 55; from an Address to young people in Havana, September 2015).

The Invisible Friend within us is the only Guide whom we should follow with prudence and diligence.

The sole Spiritual Teacher who understands diversity and does not harass it – because he does not use us (to promote himself or his own group).

The paradox of Law versus Tradition is found in verse 3 – initially included, then excluded from the Liturgy: ‘Why do you also transgress the Commandment of God in the name of your Tradition?’.

Habits normalise behaviour.

Over time, customs carried out mechanically cause us to lose sight of the meaning of the Commandments from which they sprang.

And hollow moral customs then ruin lives (vv. 4–9), cause annoyance and inflame tempers.

The laws of purity discriminated against people and filled them with resentment.

Instead, exclusivism must not be introduced at the Eucharistic Banquet. Nor does one belong to the Lord’s Community on the basis of ambiguous criteria.

The washing of hands up to the elbows was a customary practice, proclaiming the Judaizers’ detachment from the pagan world: a sort of rite celebrating the separation between the (supposedly) pure and the impure.

Access to the Eucharist, on the other hand, is without any secret rites or disciplines, nor any prior scrutiny.

Everyone is warmly welcomed, for it is the Encounter with God that makes humanity—whatever its cultural background—alive and whole.

For Jesus, access to the Father cannot be regulated: it depends on the individual and their life circumstances.

Communion with God is therefore immediate and free, entirely devoid of any prior conditions of perfection.

According to him, children may appear before the Father in any situation, at any time or in any manner: in a relationship of immediacy and freedom. 

Only a poor quality of relationship with one’s neighbour can taint a man or a woman; nothing else.

There are no other obligations or fears that can haunt us with feelings of imperfection, inadequacy or unworthiness.

Conversely, people lived in a climate of obsession, overwhelmed by fears about details that were of no concern to God.

And amidst the vibrancy of Semitic culture, there was certainly a current more attuned to the social and practical realities of life [linked to the theology of the prophets and the Psalms] which gave rise to Jesus of Nazareth.

A growing number of the faithful no longer agreed with the legalistic teaching of the official leaders.

Furthermore, the expectation of the Messiah helped them to hope for a path of ‘purity’ linked to the quality of life and to concrete relationships.

Christ opens up a completely new Way, to bring ordinary people closer to a greater balance; to an understanding and communion with the Father, animated by a spousal, creative trust.

Within the realm of Faith, it is Life that conquers death.

According to conventional religious thinking, it is, on the contrary, the seed of death that taints purity.

Trapped in this prison of misguided ideas, people lived in constant fear of sin and transgressions (even unintentional ones) that seemed to cling to them at all times.

To free the oppressed masses from the moralistic and devotional ideology that subjected them to a daily barrage across all aspects of life, Jesus found himself compelled to overturn the ‘inside-outside’ hierarchy (v. 11).

The spiritual leaders instilled the idea that impurity came from the outside, and was so pervasive that it could contaminate even holy people [even through a mere brush – let alone the masses destined for an ordinary existence of deprivation].

Jesus, on the other hand, makes us feel at ease.

He turns the tables, fully aware of the power of Life – and shifts the debate on purity and impurity to another level: that of depth, behaviour and relationship.

Even today, Faith instils in us balance and complete trust in the providential tide of true Grace, which, even in this time of rebirth from crisis, comes to revitalise us with its unexpected impulses – far from being merely religious or sterile.

It ceaselessly opens up new paths, to enable us to realise our potential and reach God. 

Father, Son and Holy Spirit free us from group-think and from always being on the defensive; to restore our self-esteem, our joy of living, and to make us feel as though we are in a ‘Focolare’.

In short, Christ’s teaching is Good News precisely because it is the exact opposite of established conventions.

Its aim is to let us live life to the full, with the sense that it is He within us who is at the helm. And to do so more wisely, rather than letting us come to a bad end – as if in the same old mass grave [v.14; where only a few contrived positions of leadership and manipulation are spared – which make no sense to us].

Towards a transparent way of living together

Jesus and the obsession with ruling: the blind and those made blind

[cf. Lk 6:39–45]

‘Leave them alone! They are blind guides. But if a blind man leads a blind man, both will fall into a pit’ (Mt 15:14).

‘How much our human family needs to learn to live together in harmony and peace without all of us having to be the same!’ (Pope Francis, FT no. 100).

To live in a fraternal and wise manner, it is not enough simply to be together in twos, threes, tens or more: we could be like so many blind people who do not know how to be at peace with themselves.

In that case, our relationships become superficial and can turn hollow – filled only with judgements: harsh, stubborn and narrow-minded.

Then resentment arises within us, at being forced into a constricting space that does not suit us.

The inevitable unease begins to subside if and when the very person leading the group or company lives out their role with extreme modesty, with an awareness of their own limitations.

The Way of the Spirit is, in fact, a vocational initiative and response to the need for an authentic Guide.

Authentic shepherds help only when they question themselves before questioning others, when they do not become entangled in an exercise of vacuous indoctrination and moralising that exasperates people and causes irritation.

Thus, the inner Friend who unfailingly guides souls does indeed wish to be reflected in the ‘masters’ – but only to the extent that they lead us to encounter ourselves and the wisdom of Scripture (rather than indulging in their own megalomaniacal pursuits).

Commenting on the Tao xxix, Master Ho-shang Kung points out (regarding those who wish to be lords of the world):

‘He wishes to govern creatures through action. In my view, he will not succeed, for the Way of Heaven and the hearts of men are clear.

The Way of Heaven [Perfection of Harmony] abhors confusion [regarding one’s own nature, expressed spontaneously] and impurity [artifice]; the human heart abhors excessive desires’.

The ancient chosen people found themselves hard-hearted, lost and without a sense of direction, because they were misguided by religious leaders who were self-serving and worldly.

Their blinding and contrived blindness was the actual ruin of the destiny and quality of life of the entire nation.

Jesus appeals to the apostles so that his congregations of the simple, the humble and the disoriented may not meet the same fate – due to a lack of integrity on the part of those in charge of the community.

The latter – if intoxicated by self-satisfaction – sometimes, instead of humanising, uplifting and bringing joy to the lives of ordinary people, willingly suffocate them with trivialities and lead them astray into trivialities.

The Lord absolutely does not want the leaders of his communities to allow themselves the luxury of setting themselves above others and claiming to be masters of the truth. Gospel Truth is not something one possesses, but something one lives out.

The Master is not one who simply imparts lessons: he accompanies his disciples and lives with them; he does not confine himself to mere manners.

He does not teach various subjects, etiquette, mannerisms or good manners: rather, he conveys the living and all-encompassing Person of Christ – even that aspect which defies etiquette – without stripping the disciple of his or her individuality.

In short, the Risen One is not merely an example to be imitated, a model that imposes obligations and minutiae, a founder of an institution, of a specific ideology, or of a religion (grammar, doctrine, style and discipline).

In Jesus we are called to identify with him – not ‘by ear’, nor by copying. Faith itself is a multifaceted relationship.

It drives us to reinterpret Christ in a novel way; each of us in relation to our life story, to new situations, events, cultural developments, sensibilities and the spirit of the age.

It is the direct and personal experience of the Father as championed by the Son. A triumph that shatters childish, worldly or conventional standards.

A source and an appropriation that allows us to boldly recognise ourselves as already redeemed, so that we may pass from darkness into light without conditions or relentless scrutiny.

The Lord’s Light is the fruit of the Spirit’s unprecedented and powerful Action.

An intuition of the signs and a Virtue that overcomes the disorientation of every straying soul, whether a prisoner of opinions, pettiness, or selfishness—whether solitary or otherwise.

An unexpected energy which nevertheless comes into play thanks to the stagnant situations to which it feels compelled to react; and it becomes a regenerating power, an unexpected life (for those saved already here and now).

Christ calls for an inventive attitude even in reaching out to one’s neighbour – without preconceived, suffocating, morbid or intellectual frameworks and caveats; without ‘maybes’, simply to welcome. 

Such openness is almost impossible if community leaders remain distracted or are already set in their ways – and thus unnecessarily rigid towards others.

In this way, they would remain pedantic, more impatient than the pagan god they still harbour within their bodies and minds.

All of us, healed without merit, have indeed been called by Name: in a special way – and to guide our brothers and sisters on fundamental choices. As expert guides of the soul and of the depth of relationship.

Not commanders and rulers with no possibility of replacement: but rather bread, support, nourishment, a luminous sign of the Lord, a spur in favour of the lives of others.

Church leaders must be very special points of reference and cornerstones of imaginative, regenerating communion – through whom the persistence and tolerance of a higher force of reciprocity shine through.

The eye of the believer in Christ remains clear and luminous because they find brilliant Friends who introduce them to engaging with and reflecting upon not external, imposed models (derived from opinions or intentions), but the Word.

Influenced by the barrage of the ‘external society’ or by trivial partisan interests, the spiritual guide themselves may, conversely, lose their creative discernment.

Thus they cling once more to the old man, bound to vain hopes; so many petty and insignificant trifles – and in the end they become ‘blind’ once more.

In the realm of darkness, unfortunately, there are not only those who are short-sighted, long-sighted or astigmatic, but above all those who see ‘far away’ (as they say) but not the people right before their eyes.

More agile and organised than others, they take control of the situation.

For a long time, things in their company seem pleasant, but having no deep roots, it is precisely these people who ultimately ruin the fate of the weak.

They organise events or festivals, instead of renewing from within, and singing the authentic song of a full life, joyful for all.

Beyond these shortcomings of vision, we must also be mindful of ‘moderation’: we are not called to become do-gooders who are impeccable, nor to be defeatists who are merely a little more prudent and ‘practical’.

All these are already old failures, which fail to face the present head-on and do not open up the future.

We have received as a gift the mission to build the world in the Risen One, who radiates strength and divine spark: radically new heavens and earth, even in our own quests.

Let alone dwell on ‘splinters’.

In short, through grace, guidance, driving direction and action, the genuine workings of vital Providence draw us away from the domination of ancient superstructures [‘beams’ in the eye].

With this personal wealth of experience, we can also become companions to a humanity that is no longer alienated, but rather enabled to breathe beyond the usual rants… which incite trifles.

Despite our flaws, guided and blessed by the great Master and his Word in the Spirit, it will be our desire for a full, broad and complete life that prevents us from losing sight of our sacred Oneness in the world.

Nella Liturgia della Parola di questa domenica emerge il tema della Legge di Dio, del suo comandamento: un elemento essenziale della religione ebraica e anche di quella cristiana, dove trova il suo pieno compimento nell’amore (cfr Rm 13,10). La Legge di Dio è la sua Parola che guida l’uomo nel cammino della vita, lo fa uscire dalla schiavitù dell’egoismo e lo introduce nella «terra» della vera libertà e della vita. Per questo nella Bibbia la Legge non è vista come un peso, una limitazione opprimente, ma come il dono più prezioso del Signore, la testimonianza del suo amore paterno, della sua volontà di stare vicino al suo popolo, di essere il suo Alleato e scrivere con esso una storia di amore. Così prega il pio israelita: «Nei tuoi decreti è la mia delizia, / non dimenticherò la tua parola. (…) Guidami sul sentiero dei tuoi comandi, / perché in essi è la mia felicità» (Sal 119,16.35). Nell’Antico Testamento, colui che a nome di Dio trasmette la Legge al popolo è Mosè. Egli, dopo il lungo cammino nel deserto, sulla soglia della terra promessa, così proclama: «Ora, Israele, ascolta le leggi e le norme che io vi insegno, affinché le mettiate in pratica, perché viviate ed entriate in possesso della terra che il Signore, Dio dei vostri padri, sta per darvi» (Dt 4,1).

Ed ecco il problema: quando il popolo si stabilisce nella terra, ed è depositario della Legge, è tentato di riporre la sua sicurezza e la sua gioia in qualcosa che non è più la Parola del Signore: nei beni, nel potere, in altre ‘divinità’ che in realtà sono vane, sono idoli. Certo, la Legge di Dio rimane, ma non è più la cosa più importante, la regola della vita; diventa piuttosto un rivestimento, una copertura, mentre la vita segue altre strade, altre regole, interessi spesso egoistici individuali e di gruppo. E così la religione smarrisce il suo senso autentico che è vivere in ascolto di Dio per fare la sua volontà - che è la verità del nostro essere - e così vivere bene, nella vera libertà, e si riduce a pratica di usanze secondarie, che soddisfano piuttosto il bisogno umano di sentirsi a posto con Dio. Ed è questo un grave rischio di ogni religione, che Gesù ha riscontrato nel suo tempo, ma che si può verificare, purtroppo, anche nella cristianità. Perciò le parole di Gesù nel Vangelo di oggi contro gli scribi e i farisei devono far pensare anche noi. Gesù fa proprie le parole del profeta Isaia: «Questo popolo mi onora con le labbra, ma il suo cuore è lontano da me. Invano mi rendono culto, insegnando dottrine che sono precetti di uomini» (Mc 7,6-7; cfr Is 29,13). E poi conclude: «Trascurando il comandamento di Dio, voi osservate la tradizione degli uomini» (Mc 7,8).

Anche l’apostolo Giacomo, nella sua Lettera, mette in guardia dal pericolo di una falsa religiosità. Egli scrive ai cristiani: «Siate di quelli che mettono in pratica la Parola, e non soltanto ascoltatori, illudendo voi stessi» (Gc 1,22). La Vergine Maria, alla quale ora ci rivolgiamo in preghiera, ci aiuti ad ascoltare con cuore aperto e sincero la Parola di Dio, perché orienti i nostri pensieri, le nostre scelte e le nostre azioni, ogni giorno.

[Papa Benedetto, Angelus 2 settembre 2012]

Therefore the first and principal meaning of penitence is interior, spiritual. The principal effort of penitence consists "in entering oneself", one's deepest being, entering this dimension of one's own humanity in which, in a certain sense, God is waiting for us. The "exterior" man must

— I would say — yield, in each of us, to the "interior" man and, in a certain sense, "make way for him". In current life, man does not live enough on the "interior" plane. Jesus Christ clearly indicates that also acts of devotion and penitence (such as fasting, charity, prayer) which because of their religious finality are mainly "interior", may yield to the current "exteriorism", and can therefore be falsified. Penitence, on the contrary, as turning to God, requires above all that man should reject appearances, succeed in freeing himself from falsity, and find himself again in all his interior truth. Even a rapid, summary look into the divine splendour of man's interior truth is already a success. It is necessary, however, to consolidate this success skilfully by means of systematic work on oneself. This work is called "ascesis" (it had already been given this name by the Greeks of the times of the origins of Christianity). Ascesis means an interior effort not to let oneself be swept along and pushed by the different "exterior" currents, in such a way as to remain always oneself and keep the dignity of one's own humanity. 

But the Lord Jesus calls us to do something more. When he says "go into your room and shut the door", he indicates an ascetic effort of the human spirit, which must not end in man himself. That shutting-in of oneself is, at the same time, the deepest opening of the human heart. It is indispensable for the purpose of meeting the Father, and must be undertaken for this purpose. "Your Father who sees in secret will reward you." Here it is a question of acquiring again the simplicity of thought, of will, and of heart which is indispensable to meet God in one's own "self". And God is waiting for that, in order to approach man who is absorbed interiorly and at the same time open to his word and his love! God wishes to communicate himself to the soul thus disposed. He wishes to give it truth and love, which have their real source in him.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 28 February 1979]

We too could ask ourselves: why do Jesus and his disciples disregard these traditions? After all, they are not bad things, but good ritual habits, simple cleansing before eating.  Why is Jesus  not concerned with this? Because for him it is important to bring faith back to its centre. We see it repeatedly in the Gospel: this bringing faith back to the centre. And to avoid a risk, which applies to those scribes as well as to us: to observe outward formalities, putting the heart and  faith in the background. Many times we too “put makeup” on our soul. Outward formality and not the heart of faith: this is a risk. It is the risk of a religiosity of appearances : looking good on the outside, while neglecting to purify the heart. There is always the temptation to “deal with God” with some outward devotion, but Jesus does not settle for this worship. Jesus does not want outward appearances, he wants a faith that touches the heart.

 In fact, immediately afterwards, he calls the people back to speak a great truth: “there is nothing outside  a man which by going into him can defile him; but the things which come out of a man are what defile him” (v. 15). Rather, it is “from within, out of the heart” (v. 21) that evil things are born. These words are revolutionary, because in the mindset of the time, it was thought that certain foods or external contacts would make one impure. Jesus reverses the perspective: it is not what comes from the outside that is harmful, but rather, what is born from within.

Dear brothers and sisters, this also pertains to us. We often think that evil comes mainly from the outside: from other people’s conduct, from those who think badly of us, from society. How often we blame others, society, the world, for everything that happens to us! It is always the fault of “others”: it is the fault of people, of those who govern, of misfortune, and so on. It seems that problems always come from the outside. And we spend time assigning blame; but spending time blaming others is wasting time. We become angry, bitter and keep God away from our heart. Like those people in the Gospel, who complain, who are scandalized, who cause controversy and do not welcome Jesus. One cannot be truly religious while complaining: complaining poisons, it leads you to anger, to resentment and to sadness, that of the heart, which closes the door to God.

Let us ask the Lord today to free us from blaming others — like children: “No, it wasn’t me! It’s the other one, the other one…”. Let us ask in prayer for the grace not to waste time polluting the world with complaints, because this is not Christian. Jesus instead invites us to look at life and the world starting from our heart. If we look inside ourselves, we will find almost all that we despise outside. And if, with sincerity,  we will ask God to purify our heart, then indeed we will be starting to make the world cleaner. Because there is an infallible way to defeat evil: by starting to conquer it within yourself. The first Fathers of the Church, the monks, when they were asked: “What is the path of holiness, how should I begin”? The first step, they used to say, was to blame oneself: blame yourself. Blaming ourselves. How many of us, during the day, in a moment of  the day or a moment in the week, are able to blame ourselves within? “Yes, this one did this to me, the other one … that one, a  barbarity…”. But me? Do I do the same thing, or do I do it this way.... It is wisdom: learning to blame yourself. Try to do it, it will do you good. It does me good, when I manage to do so, but it is good for us, it is good for everyone.

May the Virgin Mary, who changed history through the purity of her heart, help us to purify our own, by overcoming first and foremost the vice of blaming others and complaining about everything.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 29 August 2021]

The difficult condition of the disciple in the Church and the world

(Mt 14:22-36)

Having reached the ultimate condition (v.23) Jesus does not allow the Apostles to keep the treasures of God for themselves.

He compels his own to the mission to the Gentiles (v.22). But the 'headwinds' were many.

About half a century after the Lord's death, the communities of Galilee and Syria faced a difficult crossing.

The securities of the ancient religion and the sense of rootedness in the customs of the “chosen” people were breaking down. Even small privileges of position were crumbling.

With the increasing entry of pagans into communities, third-generation believers were forced to ask themselves how they could break out of their old cultural isolation and open up to a new way of seeing things.

In addition to the persecutions, internal conflicts intensified: for example, over the position to be taken in relation to the Empire itself.

There was no shortage of heated debates about the figure and history of the Master himself - as well as on the attitude to take towards the tradition of the 'fathers' [which to some seemed a call to turn back].

Even though the situation was fraught with friction, bitterness, and rancour between Judaizers and those from paganism, as well as impetuous dangers, the Glad Tidings of unconditional Salvation could not be kept in an inner circle.

The quotation of the divine Name «I Am» (v.27) refers here to the Exodus story (3:14).

It is a reminder to the disciples. They still seemed to be in the grip of immediate fears about the real power of Life and Deliverance of Christ - so much so that they did not recognize Him (v.26).

Without ceasing, the Risen One still makes himself Present, so that we can open up and move forward; without the burden of opposition or nostalgia. There is a whole new reality waiting.

We are inhabited by the power of God (vv.28-31).

Authentic communities - «flap of his cloak» (v.36) that is of his Person - will still experience the power of the Spirit.

Through evangelization and the new way of living and helping others gratuitously, any storms that may be gathering on the horizon will clear up.

It will be replaced by an ever deeper and more acute experience of the burgeoning diversity of the 'other shore'; of one's neighbour, of oneself, of the life to come, and of God.

But the virtue that dominates the elements cannot be experienced as Peter intended, that is, as an external, immediate, decisive, and final power - but rather as mysterious and inner, animated in time, and of profound relationship.

The “victory” will be the result of Faith alone: trust in the strength that the silent Messiah gives.

Potency far greater than what we already know about ourselves - despite the fact that we often (like Simone) pretend to an easier, quicker, immediately decisive shortcut.

Emotionally relevant situations have their own meaning, they carry a significant appeal; they introduce a different introspection, the decisive change - a new 'genesis'.

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

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

[Monday 18th wk. in O.T. (year A),  August 3, 2026]

The disciple’s difficult plight in the Church and in the world

Mt 14:22–33 (22–36)

Some other providential care, of which you are unaware

‘It is good not to fall, or to fall and get back up again. And if it happens that we do fall, it is good not to despair and not to turn away from the love that the Sovereign has for mankind. For if He so wishes, He can indeed show mercy towards our weakness. Let us simply not turn away from him; let us not feel distressed if we are constrained by the commandments, and let us not lose heart if we achieve nothing […].

We must neither be in a hurry nor give up, but always start afresh […].

Wait for him, and he will show you mercy, whether through conversion, through trials, or through some other providential means of which you are unaware.’

(Peter of Damascus, Book Two, Eighth Discourse, in *The Philokalia*, Turin 1982, I,94)

Once the final state had been reached (v. 23), Jesus did not allow the Apostles to keep God’s treasures to themselves.

He compelled his followers to undertake the mission to the Gentiles (v. 22). However, there were many ‘headwinds’.

Some half a century after the Lord’s death, the communities of Galilee and Syria were facing a difficult journey.

The certainties of the ancient religion and the sense of being rooted in the customs of the ‘chosen’ people were beginning to crumble. Even the minor privileges of status were eroding.

With the increasingly marked influx of pagans into the communities, the third-generation believers were forced to ask themselves how to break out of their former cultural isolation and open themselves up to a new way of seeing things.

In addition to persecution, internal conflicts were intensifying: for example, over the stance to adopt towards the Empire itself.

There was no shortage of heated debates concerning the very person and history of the Master – as well as the attitude to adopt towards the tradition of the fathers [which to some seemed a call to turn back].

Although the situation was fraught with friction, bitterness and resentment between those of Jewish background and those from pagan origins, as well as impetuous dangers, the Good News of unconditional salvation could not be confined to a narrow circle.

The invocation of the divine Name ‘I Am’ here refers to the account in Exodus 3:14. It is a call to the disciples, who were still in the grip of immediate fears regarding Christ’s true power of life and liberation – so much so that they did not recognise him (v. 26).

Ceaselessly, the Risen One makes himself present once more, so that we may open ourselves up and move forward; free from the burden of divisions or nostalgia.

A whole new reality awaits us.

We are filled with God’s vigour (vv. 28–31), and even today, for our rebirth from the global crisis, we are called to a response of love that is personal, cultural, radical and unprecedented: a response that involves introspection, but not as intimidated subjects; one that is bold, but not as those who rush to the surface.

Authentic communities – ‘the hem of his garment’ (v. 36), that is, of his Person – will once again experience the power of the Spirit.

Through evangelisation and a new way of living and helping others freely, any storm that may be gathering on the horizon will dissipate.

It will be replaced by an ever deeper and more acute experience of the flourishing diversity on the other shore; of one’s neighbour, of oneself, of life itself as it unfolds, and of God.

But the virtue that masters the elements cannot be experienced as Peter intended—that is, as an external, immediate, decisive and final power—but rather as something mysterious and inner, brought to life over time and rooted in deep relationship.

The ‘victory’ will be the fruit of Faith alone: trust in the strength that the silent Messiah bestows.

A power far greater than that which we already know of ourselves – even though we often (like Simon) demand an easier, swifter, instantly decisive shortcut.

(Mt 8:23–27)

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

Whilst the disciples harboured nationalistic desires, the Master begins to make it clear that he is not the Messiah commonly expected, a restorer of the defunct empire of David or of the Caesars.

The Kingdom of God is open to all humanity, which in those turbulent times was seeking security, welcome and points of reference. Everyone could find a home and shelter there (Mt 13:32c; Mk 4:32b).

But the apostles and the church elders seemed averse to Christ’s proposals; they remained unmoved by such a broad concept of brotherhood – one that threw them off balance. This is a problem that remains very much alive and extremely serious.

The teaching and call imposed on the disciples is to cross to the other side (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22), that is, not to keep things to themselves.

The Apostles have the task of communicating the Father’s riches to the pagans, who were regarded as impure and disreputable.

Yet it was precisely those closest to the Master who wanted nothing to do with risky excesses that would effectively highlight the far-reaching action of the Son of God.

They were content to adhere to the customs of common religiosity and an ideology of limited power.

Resistance to the divine commission, as well as the agonising internal debate that had ensued, had already, in the 70s, unleashed a great storm within the assemblies of believers.

‘And behold, a great storm arose on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves’ (Mt 8:24).

The storm affected only the disciples, who were the only ones filled with dread; not Jesus: ‘but he was asleep’ (v. 24c) [this is the Risen One].

What was happening ‘inside’ the little boat of the Church was not merely a reflection of what was happening ‘outside’! This is the error that must be corrected.

For us too, such identification can stifle and make life stagnant, starting precisely with how we handle emotionally significant situations – which have their own meaning.

They always carry a significant appeal, introducing a different perspective, introspection and dialogue.

In short, from the peace of the divine state that reigns over chaos, the Lord draws attention to the matter and rebukes the apostles, accusing them of lacking faith.

Although devout, they lack even a shred of risk-taking. They lack love – like a mustard seed (v. 26) – to bring to humanity in order to renew it.

And are we believers still confused, at a loss? Does the chaos of preconceived notions still rage – not excluding selfishness, which inexorably rears its head?

Paradoxically, we are walking the path of the Exodus, of the experience of the first believers; true ‘knowledge’, because it is direct. One warning: we must not let fear get the better of us.

In Him, we are imbued with a different perspective on danger.

The Tao Te Ching (xxii) says: ‘The sage does not see for himself; therefore he is enlightened.’ Even in the narrowest of passages.

In fact, at all times it seems that Jesus expressly desires for the apostles those dark moments of confrontation and doubt (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22b). First and foremost, it will be certain church leaders who are called to rid themselves of repetitive convictions. Only in this way will their Proclamation remain unhindered.

Indeed, textbook expectations (and the habit of creating conformist harmonies) stifle the blossoming of who we are and what we hope for.

Above all, what is troublesome or even ‘contrary’ has something crucial to tell us.

Even in the little boat of the congregations [cf. Mk 4:36], unease must find expression.

‘And they went up to him and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!”’ (v. 25).

Peril is an opportunity to revive the essence of each individual and of the community itself.

Trial brings about change (hidden or repressed) and sets it in motion in the most effective way.

Novelty arises from natural contact with latent, primordial energies.

More than from conflicting forces or external events, anxiety, unease and anguish arise, in fact, from the very fear of facing the normal or decisive questions of existence.

This may stem from a lack of confidence: sensing danger perhaps only because we perceive ourselves, deep down, as not yet fully mature, and incapable of any other form of dialogue; of discovering and re-evaluating, converting, or reshaping ourselves.

The struggle to question oneself and the suffering that the adventure of Faith holds in store will fade even amidst the turbulence of the rough sea – which, precisely, does not want us to return to being ‘who we were before’ .

We simply need to let go of the idea of stability – even religious stability – and listen to life as it is, embracing it.

Even amidst its multitude of setbacks, bitterness, shattered hopes of harmony and sorrows – engaging with this torrent of new challenges, and encountering our own deepest nature.

The best antidote to the anxieties of our journey with Christ across the shifting waves of the unexpected is precisely not to avoid worries in advance – but rather to face them head-on and welcome them; to recognise ourselves in them, and let them run their course.

Even in times of global crisis, the anxieties that seem intent on devastating us come to us as energies preparing the way for other joys that long to burst forth. New cosmic harmonies; for wonder beginning with ourselves – and guidance from beyond.

Our little boat is in a state of inverted stability, turned upside down, impossible to balance; uncertain, unsuitable – yet energetic, sharp, capable of reinventing itself.

And it may even be excessive, but let the upheavals come.

For a proposal of Tenderness (which does not correspond) that is no relaxation zone, because it rhymes with terrible anxiety and… still neglected outskirts!

To internalise and live out the message:

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

A splendid testimony:

    ‘Once, like the first disciples, we encountered the Lord and heard his word: “Follow me!” Perhaps at first we followed him somewhat hesitantly, looking back and wondering if this was truly our path. And at some point along the way, we may have had the same experience as Peter after the miraculous catch; that is, we were daunted by His greatness, by the magnitude of the task and by the inadequacy of our own humble selves, so much so that we wanted to turn back: ‘Lord, depart from me, for I am a sinner!’ (Luke 5:8) But then He, with great kindness, took us by the hand, drew us to Himself and said: ‘Do not be afraid! I am with you. I will not leave you; do not leave me!” And more than once, perhaps, the same thing has happened to each of us as it did to Peter when, walking on the water towards the Lord, he suddenly realised that the water was not supporting him and that he was about to sink. And like Peter, we cried out: “Lord, save me!” (Mt 14:30). Faced with the full fury of the elements, how could we have crossed the roaring, foaming waters of the last century and the last millennium? But then we looked to Him … and He took us by the hand and gave us a new ‘specific gravity’: the lightness that comes from faith and draws us upwards. And then He offers us the hand that sustains and carries us. He sustains us. Let us turn our gaze to Him again and again and stretch out our hands towards Him. Let us allow His hand to take hold of us, and then we shall not sink, but we shall serve the life that is stronger than death, and the love that is stronger than hatred. Faith in Jesus, the Son of the living God, is the means by which we grasp Jesus’ hand time and again, and through which He takes our hands and guides us. One of my favourite prayers is the petition that the liturgy places on our lips before Communion: ‘…never let me be separated from You’. We ask never to fall out of communion with his Body, with Christ himself, never to fall out of the Eucharistic mystery. We ask that he never let go of our hand…’.

[Pope Benedict, Chrism Mass homily, 13 April 2006]

Bread and miracles of the phantom Christ. And we, the hem of his cloak

(Mk 6:53–56 // Mt 14:34–36)

He who is devoted to the cause of non-violence and non-possession, who is driven by the search for truth and right vision, who is capable of resolving his own emotional and intellectual problems and can show others the way to overcome their emotional and intellectual problems, may wear the Master’s cloak [Acharya Mahaprajna].

Whilst crowds constantly throng around Jesus and prevent others from having a personal relationship with Him, we must find a way; at the very least, catch a glimpse of Him (v. 56).

‘And wherever He entered—whether villages, towns or hamlets—they would lay the sick out in the public squares and beg Him to let them touch even the fringe of His cloak. And all who touched Him were healed.’

In fact, the fringe of his cloak is his People – and each one of us, when by Grace we are enabled to perceive and extend his call, his spirit, his care, his action.

A ‘touch’ that is not merely a gesture: it calls for total involvement; personal faith, an inner search.

The crowds gathered around the Lord and the Church, his primary presence, seek bread and healing… but sometimes they forget to connect with the inner Person who gives and heals.

Yet even in these cases, the infallible Guide continues to offer his unbroken life-giving current – not through therapies that impose themselves upon souls like a bolt of lightning, but within real life.

God liberates, saves and creates, starting from tensions and flaws (including religious ones), because He wishes to lead us to awareness.

The Father desires to instil the value of the act of love that strengthens the weak; every re-creative, incarnate gesture, open to any sense of emptiness.

Troubles do not arise from misfortune or punishment: they come to allow us to blossom anew, precisely from the pains of the soul.

If they persist, there is no need to fear: they become more explicit messages from our own higher Self.

It means that something in our inner orchestra is out of tune or neglected, and must either fade away or be uncovered and brought into play.

Otherwise, we will not be able to grow towards the destiny that characterises a Calling and every hardship.

Even the symptoms of restlessness belong to our innate essence – which always holds the power of relevance.

The key, therefore, will not be our appearance, nor our health, but rather the very acceptance of bitterness and hardship, which come to clear away the non-essential – and to liberate trapped spiritual impulses.

These are energies of imbalance, yet they seek to be transformed into the ability to cast off ballast; as well as to better accommodate and integrate our calling into our own story, so as to build life anew.

Perhaps quite a few would prefer to await a miraculous arrival of the Master [the archetypal healer] who brings immediate benefit and instant favours.

An external salvation with a magical flavour – fleeting, even if physically palpable or even taking on an ethical guise.

A phenomenal, yet simplistic, Lord.

An Appearance that dies straight away, only for us to start all over again – were it not for the fact that He (within us, in our turning points) embraces the very uncertainties that mark us.

And the long duration of these processes, which gradually take on a more intimate significance.

Total and sacred redemption – truly messianic – is not given to superficial fanfare.

Healing is not a spectacle. It is achieved solely step by step; thus it remains profound and radical.

It becomes capable of new beginnings and acts of giving birth to energy that is still in its embryonic stage, precisely starting from individual precariousness.

His People of the inner circle – a presence no longer ineffable and mysterious – strive in closeness to erase the false image of the philosophical or legal God, who is always external. 

A sovereign or imperious driving force, distant and absent – touchy, predatory – who occasionally makes an appearance; he neither transcends nor reaffirms. He never looks upon our present.

Thus the Church rejects the idea of the Eternal One who ratifies, but also that of the mass miracle-worker, who provides immediate solutions – so dear to the merchants of miracles.

A figure who easily takes hold of our imaginations.

We proclaim his true Face through words and deeds, precisely to destroy the idea of the phantom Christ from the previous passage (v. 49), a deplorable and absurd figure.

An evanescent icon, purely apologetic, which, unfortunately, throughout history has given ample scope to those in business with the Most High.

In this way, being healed does not mean escaping transience.

For a life as the saved, a transformation from within is needed; a new beginning. A different foothold in goodness.

Jesus walks through our world like a silent wayfarer, and accepts even a rudimentary faith.

Yet, even with unassuming power, the divine impulse works within every seeker of meaning and every person in need.

It takes up residence there personally, beginning precisely with our interrupted dreams.

The Lord cannot be imprisoned or confined: he draws near to carry out a great cleansing, to shift our gaze, and to renew the stale universe.

Thus He transforms our soul, through the experience of His free communion,

a fellowship that seeks to take up residence within us, to merge with and expand the drive for life – perhaps lying dormant in our inaction. So that each of us may be amazed by ourselves, by unknown passions, by new relationships.

Believers and the community manifest, in empathetic ways, the incisive healing power of Faith in the Risen One, beginning with their own intimate lives.

We experience this alive in the monotonous, unfulfilling and precarious day-to-day – yet capable of changing the structure of existence hidden in humble neighbourhoods [v.56: ‘hamlets’] and its unspoken destiny.

Without disturbing us with special, one-sided or overbearing effects.

The Tao Te Ching (xi) states: ‘Thirty spokes meet at a single hub, and in its non-being lies the usefulness of the cart’.

Far removed from the civilisation of appearances lies the improvement of our condition and security, away from insecurity.

Not merely a superficial, indiscreet and fleeting recovery.

Phenomenal, yet merely fleeting and inconclusive, or one that ultimately fades away.

To internalise and live out the message:

How do you view Jesus? As a miracle-worker or a restorer?

How do you behave towards those who are excluded or seem to have no shepherd?

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni

“Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni” – with these and similar words, the Church’s liturgy prays repeatedly […]

These invocations were probably formulated during the twilight years of the Roman Empire. The collapse of the fundamental legal systems and the underlying moral attitudes that gave them strength led to the breaking of the defences that had hitherto protected peaceful coexistence amongst people. A world was coming to an end. Frequent natural disasters further heightened this sense of insecurity. There was no force in sight that could halt this decline. All the more insistent, then, was the invocation of God’s own power: that He might come and protect humankind from all these threats.

“Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni”. Even today we have many reasons to join in this prayer […] The world, with all its new hopes and possibilities, is at the same time troubled by the impression that the moral consensus is dissolving—a consensus without which legal and political structures cannot function; consequently, the forces mobilised to defend these structures seem destined to fail.

Excita – the prayer recalls the cry addressed to the Lord, who was sleeping in the disciples’ boat as it was being tossed about by the storm and on the verge of sinking. When his powerful word had calmed the storm, he rebuked the disciples for their lack of faith (cf. Mt 8:26 and parallels). He meant to say: faith has been sleeping within you. He means the same thing to us too. In us, too, faith so often lies dormant. Let us therefore pray to Him to rouse us from the slumber of a faith that has grown weary, and to restore to faith the power to move mountains – that is, to put the affairs of the world in their proper order.

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

Once, like the first disciples, we encountered the Lord and heard his words:  "Follow me!" Perhaps, to start with, we followed him somewhat hesitantly, looking back and wondering if this really was the road for us. And at some point on the journey, we may have had the same experience as Peter after the miraculous catch; in other words, we may have been frightened by its size, by the size of the task and by the inadequacy of our own poor selves, so that we wanted to turn back. "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord" (Lk 5: 8). 

Then,  however,  with  great  kindness, he took us by the hand, he drew us  to  himself  and  said  to  us:   "Do not fear! I am with you. I  will not abandon you, do not leave me!". 

And more than just once, the same thing that happened to Peter may have happened to us:  while he was walking on the water towards the Lord, he suddenly realized that the water was not holding him up and that he was beginning to sink. And like Peter we cried, "Lord, save me!" (Mt 14: 30). Seeing the elements raging on all sides, how could we get through the roaring, foaming waters of the past century, of the past millennium? 

But then we looked towards him... and he grasped us by the hand and gave us a new "specific weight":  the lightness that derives from faith and draws us upwards. Then he stretched out to us the hand that sustains and carries us. He supports us. Let us fix our gaze ever anew on him and reach out to him. Let us allow his hand to take ours, and then we will not sink but will serve the life that is stronger than death and the love that is stronger than hatred. 

Faith in Jesus, Son of the living God, is the means through which, time and again, we can take hold of Jesus' hand and in which he takes our hands and guides us. 

One of my favourite prayers is the request that the liturgy puts on our lips before Communion:  "...never let me be separated from you". Let us ask that we never fall away from communion with his Body, with Christ himself, that we do not fall away from the Eucharistic mystery. Let us ask that he will never let go of our hands...

[Pope Benedict, Chrism Mass homily, 13 April 2006]