Resilience not gritted teeth, and Resemblance not possessive

(Jn 15:9-11)

"Abide in love, my love [...] If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love [...] I have told you these things so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be full."

Jesus has just used the image of the vineyard to configure the character of his new people and the circulation of life that unites them.

Life of special intensity and temperament.

The allegory of the vine and the branches is now translated into existential terms.

The propagation of the divine dynamism in us initiates a particular and accentuated current of love.

The Lord does not ask to be loved, but to receive (before transfusing) God's way - the Gift that descends from the Father and from Him.

The fate of the withered branch [deprived of the sap of the Spirit] and cut off is the sense of futility and anguish (v.6).

But - in the Vineyard - even the cuts, castings, cleanings and purifications (v.2) that life imposes do not prevent it from producing abundant and juicy clusters.

A new song, finally free of dissociation.

In fact, discomfort brings an even more pronounced flow to the bower, a walk of character, and a dilation.

It is the liberating opportunity that re-actualises being, and can overflow.

He wants to bring us to the house that belongs to us, not into a territory of chronicity [nailed to the yoke of the canons].

The farmer is the Father (v.1) who cuts and trims the vine of useless shoots - though they too appear green (v.2) - in order to increase the vitality of the field.

Here we linger, surrendering our forecasts to Grace - in the paradoxical protection of personal concentration.

Let us leave it to Him to bring down the infecund disguises.

In this way, it will be the wise Farmer who extinguishes the dispersive patterns and ignites our voice - the voice that belongs to us.

The energy of metamorphosis that will expand from critical situations will make us be, instead of look like [outside].

From within, the searching gaze will be shifted and made essential, leaving room for the virtue of one's own roots.

Gradually the act that required sterile forcing will be skilfully dismantled - so that we do not close ourselves off in preconceptions.

Apparent strength will have to give way to real strength.

By Way, everyone will accept another self-image; without detaching themselves from living together.

Holding on will give way to flexibility, to vocational melody.

Thus, making way for the authentic way of being.

As we learn to take a good look and rely on all that providentially appears, elastic answers will spring forth.

Personal Joy will pour into the soul - not the fatuous one of euphoria or exaltation, transient of the many leaves [to be e.g. like the others; at all costs 'safe', accompanied or crowded].

Because by not having to hide other preferences, a different identifying character, or our own frailties, we will become stronger.

Without always having to control the situation.

The intimate joy that will activate us will be the fruit of a new awareness, which finally contributes to the 'catholic' conviviality of differences.

Awareness that combines the divine proposal of non-possessive similarity with our ability to welcome ourselves - not to struggle unnaturally.

Even in vulnerability. Despite the different tastes around.

An ad personam life-wave that becomes uncommon resilience, and different Happiness.

The experience of fullness, of correspondence in understanding the meaning of one's being, is an impossible task in terms of both capacity and project.

Or of cerebral predictions, normalised expectations, intentions of perfection. That would be a grave commandment.

By forcing, by not laying down mental models, by not stepping back a little in the induced thoughts, the feeling of a human being's condition on earth as a conflicting event, woven with restlessness - unfulfilled, tragic, absurd - would finally prevail.

Taking hold of God is not the result of any expectation, nor of emotions, situations on command, but of allowing oneself to be saved: being introduced into a life of the saved - which sometimes comes suddenly, always unexpectedly.

Loving (even) God cannot be a devout initiative: it is only a gritted-teeth response to an unthinkable and unprepared Manifestation, which precedes and astounds the religious, personal identification of the world.

By remaining in the Father-Son circulation of love, we will be enveloped by an intoxication that intuits the meaning and uniqueness of our seed.

It changes the way we see life, relationships, suffering, and Joy.

Laying aside the efforts and brooding, encountering the enigmas and unknown sides, here is the Wisdom that dwells within us.

To internalise and live the message:

What sap satiates you, the external one?What is your idea of improvement and Happiness?

What is your existential awareness of Revelation?

"Abide", and "observe my commandments". "Observe" only comes second. "Abide" comes first, at the ontological level, namely that we are united with him, he has given himself to us beforehand and has already given us his love, the fruit. It is not we who must produce the abundant fruit; Christianity is not moralism, it is not we who must do all that God expects of the world but we must first of all enter this ontological mystery: God gives himself. His being, his loving, precedes our action and, in the context of his Body, in the context of being in him, being identified with him and ennobled with his Blood, we too can act with Christ.

Ethics are a consequence of being: first the Lord gives us new life, this is the great gift. Being precedes action and from this being action then follows, as an organic reality, for we can also be what we are in our activity. Let us thus thank the Lord for he has removed us from pure moralism; we cannot obey a prescribed law but must only act in accordance with our new identity. Therefore it is no longer obedience, an external thing, but rather the fulfilment of the gift of new life.

I say it once again: let us thank the Lord because he goes before us, he gives us what we must give, and we must then be, in the truth and by virtue of our new being, protagonists of his reality. Abiding and observing: observing is the sign of abiding and abiding is the gift that he gives us but which must be renewed every day of our lives.

(Pope Benedict, Lectio at PSRM 12 February 2010) [more]

2. The loving God is a God who is not remote, but intervenes in history. When he reveals his name to Moses, he does so to assure him of his loving assistance in the saving event of the Exodus, an assistance which will last for ever (cf. Ex 3: 15). Through the prophets' words, he would continually remind his people of this act of love. We read, for example, in Jeremiah:  "Thus says the Lord:  "The people who survived the sword found grace in the wilderness; when Israel sought for rest, the Lord appeared to him from afar. I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you'" (Jer 31: 2-3).

It is a love which takes on tones of immense tenderness (cf. Hos 11: 8f.; Jer 31: 20) and normally uses the image of a father, but sometimes is also expressed in a spousal metaphor:  "I will betroth you to me for ever; I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy" (Hos 2: 19; cf. vv. 18-25).

Even after seeing his people's repeated unfaithfulness to the covenant, this God is still willing to offer his love, creating in man a new heart that enables him to accept the law he is given without reserve, as we read in the prophet Jeremiah:  "I will put my law within them, and I will write it upon their hearts" (Jer 31: 33). Likewise in Ezekiel we read:  "A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will take out of your flesh the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh" (Ez 36: 26).

3. In the New Testament this dynamic of love is centred on Jesus, the Father's beloved Son (cf. Jn 3: 35; 5: 20; 10: 17), who reveals himself through him. Men and women share in this love by knowing the Son, that is, by accepting his teaching and his work of redemption.

We can only come to the Father's love by imitating the Son in his keeping of the Father's commandments:  "As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love" (ibid., 15: 9-10). In this way we also come to share in the Son's knowledge of the Father:  "No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you" (ibid., v. 15).

4. Love enables us to enter fully into the filial life of Jesus, making us sons in the Son (...)

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 6 October 1999]

Jesus shows us the path to follow Him: the path of love. His commandment is not a simple teaching which is always abstract or foreign to life. Christ’s commandment is new because He realized it first, He gave His flesh and thus the law of love is written upon the heart of man (cf. Jer 31:33). And how is it written? It is written with the fire of the Holy Spirit. With this Spirit that Jesus gives us, we too can take this path!

It is a real path, a path that leads us to come out of ourselves and go towards others. Jesus showed us that the love of God is realized in love for our neighbour. Both go hand-in-hand. The pages of the Gospel are full of this love: adults and children, educated and uneducated, rich and poor, just and sinners all were welcomed into the heart of Christ.

Therefore, this Word of God calls us to love one another, even if we do not always understand each other, and do not always get along... it is then that Christian love is seen. A love which manifests even if there are differences of opinion or character. Love is greater than these differences! This is the love that Jesus taught us. It is a new love because Jesus and his Spirit renewed it. It is a redeeming love, free from selfishness. A love which gives our hearts joy, as Jesus himself said: “These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full” (Jn 15:11).

It is precisely Christ’s love that the Holy Spirit pours into our hearts to make everyday wonders in the Church and in the world. There are many small and great actions which obey the Lord’s commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you” (cf. Jn 15:12). Small everyday actions, actions of closeness to an elderly person, to a child, to a sick person, to a lonely person, those in difficulty, without a home, without work, an immigrant, a refugee.... Thanks to the strength of the Word of Christ, each one of us can make ourselves the brother or sister of those whom we encounter. Actions of closeness, actions which manifest the love that Christ taught us.

May our Most Holy Mother help us in this, so that in each of our daily lives love of God and love of neighbour may be ever united.

[Pope Francis, Regina Coeli 10 May 2015]

(Jn 15:1-8)

The allegory of the vine and the branches describes the Presence of the Lord in the midst of His own. He is the source of intimate life and works.

The imperative to believe in Him (c.14) becomes a requirement to ‘abide’ in Him [cf. Jn 6:56: Eucharistic theme of the ‘one body’].

Jesus uses the image of the vine and the branches to convey a teaching on familiarity with Him and fraternity among disciples, illustrating the profound bond.

Intimate union, common nourishment, solidarity, continuity of the friendship, require careful and constant work, including «cutting and cleaning» because not all shoots and sprouts bear fruitfulness.

But beware: divine Love is an impulse that demands that we “allow ourselves to be carried”. It drags; it takes us and becomes nourishing Sap. It invests us, purifying us.

It is not a dimension to be understood as an “effort” (basically ours) but as a... being grasped and becoming involved in the motion of the life of Grace.

Jesus invites us to take care of the codes of interiority: to take from them the resolute impulse to which we entrust our choices, and which has already guided us to grow.

In the Gospel passage the Creator-peasant «cuts and purifies», to rekindle this personal ‘understanding’.

Jesus speaks of «the Vine the real one» (v.1): He alone is the authentic Bud of the People planted by the Father.

It means that deviant teachings were inculcated around, and false “vines” were planted or displayed [like the fabulous one filled with golden pampins, on the door of the inner Sanctuary of the Jerusalem’s Temple].

The lifeblood does not flow from riches, nor from doctrines and disciplines - not even from the great, impressive magnificence of the old cult.

And the farmer’s interest is that the Vine brings more and more «Fruit»: Love, nothing else.

Christ's «abiding» in the disciples, His ‘union’ with each one, is essential to live the same divine life on earth.

Faith-love ‘incorporates’ and is contagious.

Where it meets with resistance, it is precisely this obstacle that will incite it to greater purity, hence to more vigour (v.2).

For this reason He first «Cuts off» what was lush in the past but would no longer give anything.

We realize this in the time of the crisis, which unmasks and overturns nagging and importunate positions that deaden development.

Then he «Purifies» (v.2: Greek text) i.e. He proceeds, as the good peasant does, to a second light pruning of the shoots of the vine; by detaching those that absorb sap but thicken too much and lack proper vitality [so as not to deprive the propulsive points of nourishment].

This passage has often been interpreted as an invitation par excellence to embrace a spirituality of 'pruning' [the term in the Gospels does not exist] that makes no sense from the perspective of Faith, that is, of Love.

In traditional religions it is the subject - the «branch» - that has to focus on himself, to identify the shortcomings, defects and vices, and “lopping”, "trimming” them.

Instead, only the Father-farmer knows how to recognize the harmful elements, those parasitic ones and without a future, that are not worth continuing to support.

Life in Christ does not settle us on an image of sterile external perfection, which God is not interested in.

A spontaneous Power, the mystery of vocational roots, the multi-layered work of a radical essence, innate, that accompanies us, are able to feed and correct any geometry at the desk.

It is the Father that takes care of the hindrances, not the individual branch or other branches.

In this way - by giving up external dirigisme - we will not produce irreparable damage.

To internalize and live the message:

Which Lymph satiates you, the external one? What mundane, normal geometry do you follow? What is your idea of improvement in the Faith?

[Wednesday 5th wk. in Easter, May 6, 2026]

(Jn 15:1-8)

The allegory of the vine and the branches describes the Presence of the Lord in the midst of his own. He is the source of intimate life and works.

The imperative to believe in Him (c.14) becomes a requirement to abide in Him [cf. Jn 6:56: Eucharistic theme of the "one body"].

The vine is a plant that demands much attention. In the biblical texts it is taken as a symbol of God's care for His people, and conversely its destruction depicted ancient national calamities.

Jesus uses the image of the vine and the branches to convey a teaching on familiarity with Him and fraternity between disciples, illustrating the deep bond.

Intimate union, common nourishment, solidarity and the continuity of the bond require careful and constant work, including cutting and pruning, because not all shoots and sprouts bear fruitfulness.

But beware: divine Love is an impulse that demands that we allow ourselves to be carried. It drags; it takes us and becomes nourishing sap. It invests us, purifying us.

It is not a dimension to be understood as an effort (essentially ours) but as a ... being grasped and becoming involved in the motion of the life of Grace.

In comparison with the allusions of the First Testament, one notices a substitution: although the vine-dresser continues to represent the Father, the vine is no longer a figure of the people, but of Jesus.

And 'bearing fruit' is a frequent expression indicating only Love: the true result that God expects, the unique work to be achieved in all our works.

Christ's abiding in the disciples, his union with each one, is essential to living the same divine life on earth.

Faith-love incorporates and is contagious. Where it encounters resistance, it is this very obstacle that will incite it to greater purity, hence to greater vigour (v.2).

The man, on the other hand, left to himself does not prolong the influence of Christ; he does not overcome the barriers of nomenclature and normality.

He who imagines himself to be self-sufficient - by breaking the union - cracks the Mystery that envelops him, and will fall prey to his own festering clusters.

But it is also true that a well-bred vineyard is intrusive by its very nature: it blatantly demonstrates a full willingness to express... love (fruit, taste, life).

In short, if mission is marking time today, it is because it has already lost its dynamic vitality: adaptation plans or narratives and external reform will not suffice to resurrect it.

It is the vital encounter that brings out the waves of strength and friendliness.

Over the years, the Vocation has guided and led us to a personal way of being and a characterising sphere of relationships.

Still the Lord continues to call us, so that by entering into his language [unrepeatable, commensurate with each story and sensitivity] we are removed from conditioning that does not belong to us.

Jesus invites us to take care of the codes of interiority, and from them to assume the resolute impulse to which we entrust our choices and which has already guided us to grow.

From the dawn of our history and personality, He alone continues to be the intimate and gushing source of development - even of the imprints we had withheld.

If we had relied on externality, the soul would have dissipated its sap, losing the essence that belonged to it and specified it.

Thus we would not have encountered ourselves and would never have nourished ourselves with the most efficient constituent resources, which now together give balance, greater wholeness, the ability to judge in a situation, amiable transparency.

One becomes oneself, one becomes a well-rounded person, one becomes a missionary, in the same way: by understanding that a lymph, a stimulus, runs through one's veins, which comes from One who knows more than us and opinions.

There are plants in the undergrowth, others towering up; still others, sneaking into the empty areas and mysteriously left to the full light are growing at a much faster rate than those that have been planted and installed for a long time - habitués to the point of seeming homologated.

The magic of creation - vines, shoots - speaks of another realm, of a Logos that relates to us and wisely directs its flows and life forces.

This is what happens in the Spirit, which internalises, calls, nurtures, transmits balance or prophecy, and generates the awe of wholeness and oneness.

How did those seeds (in the example I have in front of me, a double pine and a single pine) take root in precisely the right, intermediate and characteristic places - both aesthetically and in terms of utility, density and breadth? Not even I could have thought of them so neatly arranged; so perfectly aligned in proportion, size, volume and scale.

Only the Hidden Ally sees well the whole, the structure, the functionality and the details of our fibres.

He knows where to lead, and how to nourish us to regain the Ego, the qualitative unity of being.

He does this by sowing, injecting, regenerating, calibrating the energy of his and our Dream. At a convenient pace, and taking care of the rational utilitarian banality of our projects. 

Unceasingly refocusing personal bearing, self-awareness, spontaneous inclination.

As well as by detaching the soul from those who in a thousand ways want to leave us in ignorance of the Creatural Way, to hold on to the commonplaces and totems of their habitual, unnerving world.

This while the Spirit separates our multifaceted thinking from false, one-sided guides [old-fashioned and narrow-minded, or hysterical and sophisticated, but disembodied].

The top of the class perhaps stalk, press, and plagiarise, distracting us from the non-conformist Dialogue with the unrepeatable task of personal life.

In the Gospel passage, the Creator-farmer cuts and purifies, to reconnect.

Jesus speaks of "Vine the true one" (v.1): He alone is the authentic seed of the People planted by the Father.

He means that deviant teachings were being inculcated around, and false vines were being buried or displayed - like the fabulous one filled with golden vines on the door of the inner sanctuary of the Temple of Jerusalem.

The lifeblood does not flow from riches, nor from doctrines and disciplines - not even from the grand, impressive magnificence of the old cult. 

Not even from spineless, à la page fantasies.

The Farmer's interest is that the Vine bears more and more Fruit i.e. Love, nothing else.

In such a trajectory, the Farmer who knows what to do, 'cuts' (v.2) [also so that there are no gangs, no organised marpions. They who absorb the energies of his people [milked and sheared] without the slightest thought of communicating - in turn - authentic life to others.

First they 'cut off' what was thriving in the past but would no longer give anything.

We realise this in the time of the crisis, which unmasks and overturns nagging and importunate positions, mortifying development.

Then he "purifies" (v.2: Greek text), that is, he proceeds as the good peasant does, to a second light pruning of the shoots of the vine; detaching those that absorb sap but thicken too much and do not have the right vitality [so as not to take nourishment away from the propulsive points].

This passage has often been interpreted as an invitation par excellence to embrace a spirituality of 'pruning' [the term in the Gospels does not exist] that makes no sense from the perspective of Faith, that is, of Love.

In ancient religions, it is the subject - the "branch" - that has to focus on itself, identify its shortcomings, faults and vices, and "prune" them.

In contrast, only the Father-farmer knows how to identify the harmful elements, the parasitic ones with no future, which are not worth continuing to support.

He acts in the reality of our path, as one would do with an antiquated and intimately corrupt papier-mache construction [as well as, with fashionable fantasies, which lead to emptiness].

Life in Christ does not concern itself with external limits, indeed it avoids making the [renegade!] flaws of the spiritual life the protagonists.

Such a configuration would be obsessive, inconclusive, because settled on an image of sterile 'perfection' that God is not interested in.

Rather, it will be an astonishment to observe how on the path of Faith precisely the uncertain souls, their unsteady steps and sides considered obscure, can hide the true Pearls of the world.

A spontaneous Power, the mystery of images that spring from the depths of vocational roots and reactivate energies; the multi-layered work of a radical, innate essence that accompanies us [immanent being and knows more about it than we do] are energies all capable of nourishing and correcting any geometry at the table.

How not to produce irreparable damage? By giving in to external dirigisme.

The Father takes care of the impediments, not the individual branch, nor other branches - veterans, experts, veterans that is.

Though higher, bigger... elected to life, they would not provide the right vital mood, nor organic bonding: they would only present us with buried content, and the bill.

To internalise and live the message:

Which lymph satiates you, the external one?

What mundane, normal geometry do you follow?

What is your idea of improvement in the Faith?

The image of the vineyard with its moral, doctrinal and spiritual implications was to recur in the discourse at the Last Supper when, taking his leave of the Apostles, the Lord said: "I am the true vine and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch of mine that bears no fruit, he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes that it may bear more fruit" (Jn 15: 1-2). Thus, starting from the Paschal event, the history of salvation was to reach a decisive turning point and those "other tenants" were to play the lead as chosen shoots grafted on Christ, the true vine, and yield abundant fruits of eternal life (cf. Collect). We too are among these "tenants", grafted on Christ who desired to become the "true vine" himself. Let us pray the Lord that in the Eucharist he will give us his Blood, himself, that he will help us to "bear fruit" for eternal life and for our time.

[Pope Benedict, Homily XII Synod 5 October 2008]

The parable of the vine and the branches highlights, in a special way, that bond, in a certain sense 'organic', that exists between Christ and the Church: between Christ and all those who draw life from him, just as the branch draws life from the vine.

This refers to each individual man, and at the same time it refers to the entire community of God's people: to the Church.

The whole Church - as a rich 'whole' of branches remains in Christ: in the vine. From him it draws life. "Without him it can do nothing": nothing truly salvific.

All salvation, all grace, is found in him: in Christ. And in us: in men, from him, and only by him and through him.

2. Let us give thanks today to the eternal Father, 'for the Father is the vinedresser', for this life that has been revealed to us and given to us, men, in Jesus Christ crucified and risen.

We give thanks for the paschal mystery, in which Christ revealed himself once and for all as the vine, and at the same time revealed his Father as the one who cultivates.

We desire that every man, every Christian, may mature as the "divine cultivator" of the Father - in the Son - in the risen Christ.

We desire that each one, through this "organic" bond with him, bears much fruit.

3. And it is precisely this prayer of ours that we wish to present to the Mother of Christ, inviting her - laetare! - to the Easter joy of the Church.

May she help us to abide in her Son: in Christ the vine, that we may constitute with him one body, vivified by the Spirit of Easter Pentecost.

[Pope John Paul II, Regina Coeli, 5 May 1985]

The Lord presents himself as the true vine, and speaks of us as branches that cannot live without being united to him. He says: “I am the vine, you are the branches” (v. 5). There is no vine without branches, and vice versa. Branches are not self-sufficient, but depend totally on the vine, which is the source of their existence. 

Jesus insists on the verb “to abide”. He repeats it seven times in today’s Gospel reading. Before leaving this world and going to the Father, Jesus wants to reassure his disciples that they can continue to be united with him. He says, “Abide in me, and I in you” (v. 4). This abiding is not a question of abiding passively, of “slumbering” in the Lord, letting oneself be lulled by life: no, it is not this. The abiding in him, the abiding in Jesus that he proposes to us is to abide actively, and also reciprocally. Why? Because the branches can do nothing without the vine, they need sap to grow and to bear fruit; but the vine, too, needs the branches, because fruit does not grow on the tree trunk. It is a reciprocal need, it is a question of a reciprocal abiding so as to bear fruit. We abide in Jesus and Jesus abides in us.

First of all, we need him. The Lord wants to tell us that before the observance of his commandments, before the beatitudes, before works of mercy, it is necessary to be united to him, to abide in him. We cannot be good Christians if we do not abide in Jesus. With him, instead, we can do all things  (cf. Phil 4:13). With him we can do all things.

But Jesus needs us too, like the vine with the branches. Perhaps to say this may seem bold to us, and so let us ask ourselves: in what sense does Jesus need us? He needs our witness. The fruit that as branches we must bear, is the witness of our lives as Christians. After Jesus ascended to the Father, it is the task of the disciples — it is our task — to continue to proclaim the Gospel in words and in deeds. And the disciples — we, Jesus’ disciples — do so by bearing witness to his love: the fruit to be borne is love. Attached to Christ, we receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and thus we can do good to our neighbour, we can do good to society, to the Church. The tree is known by its fruit. A truly Christian life bears witness to Christ.

And how can we achieve this? Jesus says to us: “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you will, and it shall be done for you” (v.7). This too is bold: the certainty that what we ask for will be given to us. The fruitfulness of our life depends on prayer. We can ask to think like him, to act like him, to see the world and things with the eyes of Jesus. And in this way, love our brothers and sisters, starting from the poorest and those who suffer most, like he did, loving them with his heart and bringing to the world fruits of goodness, fruits of charity, fruits of peace.

Let us entrust ourselves to the intercession of the Virgin Mary. She always remained completely united to Jesus and bore much fruit. May she help us abide in Christ, in his love, in his word, to bear witness to the Risen Lord in the world.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 2 May 2021]

5th Easter Sunday (year A)  [3 May 2026]

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (6:1-7)

Paradoxically, the problem facing the early Christian community arose from its very success. In those days, as the number of disciples grew, the Greek-speaking believers began to grumble against the Hebrew-speaking ones (Acts 6:1). The numbers were growing so rapidly that maintaining unity became difficult. Every expanding group faces the same question: how to remain united when numbers grow? Numerous, and therefore diverse. In truth, the seeds of this difficulty were already present on the morning of Pentecost. In Jerusalem lived devout Jews from every nation under heaven (cf. Acts 2:5). On that day there were three thousand conversions, and others followed in the months and years that followed. All were Jews, for the question of non-Jews arose only later, but many were Jews who had come to Jerusalem on pilgrimage from all over the Empire. These were the Jews of the Diaspora known as Hellenists: their mother tongue was neither Hebrew nor Aramaic, but Greek, which was then the common language throughout the Mediterranean. Thus, the young community immediately found itself facing the ‘challenge of languages’. And we know that the language barrier is much more than a mere difficulty of translation: a different mother tongue means different cultures, customs, and ways of understanding life and solving problems. If language is a net cast over the reality of things, a different language is another net, and the meshes rarely coincide. The practical problem that arose in Jerusalem was the care of widows. Looking after them was a rule of the Jewish world and the community did so willingly, but those managing the service, recruited from the majority Hebrew-speaking group, tended to favour the widows of their own group, whilst the Greek-speaking widows were neglected. These complaints could only grow more bitter, until they reached the ears of the apostles. Their reaction can be summarised in three points. First: they summoned the entire assembly of disciples because every decision is taken in plenary session, given that the Church functions synodally: Why then has this been lost? Second: they recalled the objective. It is a matter of remaining faithful to three demands of apostolic life: prayer, the ministry of the Word and the service of the brothers and sisters. Third: they are not afraid to propose a new organisation. Innovation is not unfaithfulness; on the contrary: faithfulness demands the ability to adapt to new circumstances. Being faithful does not mean remaining fixated on the past, for example by entrusting all tasks to the Twelve simply because they were chosen by Jesus. Being faithful means keeping one’s eyes fixed on the goal, and the goal, as the evangelist John writes, is ‘that they may be one so that the world may believe’ (Jn 17:21). Accepting diversity is the challenge facing every growing community, and when conflicts arise, splitting up is not the best solution; this is why the apostles do not consider dividing the community in two, with Greeks on one side and Jews on the other. The Holy Spirit has brought about numerous and diverse conversions and now inspires the apostles to organise themselves differently to deal with the consequences. The Twelve therefore decide to appoint men capable of taking on the task of serving at the tables, since that is where the problem arises: “Brothers, choose seven of you, men respected by all, full of the Holy Spirit and wisdom, and we will entrust this task to them. We, for our part, will devote ourselves to prayer and the ministry of the Word’. The seven chosen all bear Greek names: they were therefore almost certainly part of the group of Greek-speaking Christians, from whom the complaints had come. Thus a new institution is born: these servants of the community do not yet have a title, and the text does not use the word ‘deacon’. Although we must not be too quick to identify these men with today’s deacons, one thing remains clear: in every age, the Spirit inspires innovations that are indispensable for faithfully fulfilling the Church’s various missions and priorities. 

Responsorial Psalm (32/33)

I shall begin where the reading of this psalm ends, for there lies a key to understanding the whole. I return to the penultimate verse, verse 18: “The Lord’s eye is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his love.” Here we discover a beautiful definition of “fear of God”: to fear the Lord is simply to place our hope in his love. The believer, in the biblical sense, is a person full of hope; and if they are so, whatever happens, it is because they know that ‘the earth is full of his love’, as verse 5, which we have just heard, says. Knowing that the Lord’s loving gaze is always upon us is the source of our hope. I should point out that, in the Hebrew text, the name ‘Lord’ is the one revealed to Moses in the burning bush: the four-letter name YHWH which, out of respect, Jews never pronounce, and which means something like ‘I am, I will be with you, from everlasting to everlasting, in every moment of your history’. This name reminds Israel of the care with which God surrounded his people throughout the Exodus. If we translate it as ‘God watches over’, this vigilance is well conveyed. Thus we understand the following verse: ‘to deliver him from death and sustain him in times of famine’ (v. 19). These are allusions to the exodus from Egypt: by leading the people across the sea on dry ground behind Moses, the Lord saved the people from the certain death decreed by the Pharaoh; then, by sending manna from heaven in the desert, he truly nourished his people in times of famine. Then praise flows spontaneously from the heart of those who have experienced God’s care: “Rejoice, O righteous ones, in the Lord; for the upright, praise is beautiful” (v. 1). The expression “the upright” may surprise us, yet it is common in the Bible. One is considered upright/righteous who enters into God’s plan, who is united with God like a well-tuned musical instrument. This is said of Abraham: Abraham believed in the Lord, and it was credited to him as righteousness (Gen 15:6). He had faith, that is, he trusted in God and in his plan. Therefore, we could translate “righteous men”, in Hebrew hassidim, as “the men of the Covenant”, or “the men of God’s merciful plan”: those who have accepted the revelation of God’s benevolence and respond to it by adhering to the Covenant. These titles, “righteous men” and “upright men”, do not denote moral qualities, for the hassid is a man like any other, a sinner like any other, but he lives within the Lord’s Covenant; he lives in trust in the faithful God. And since he has discovered the God of tenderness and faithfulness, quite logically he lives in praise: “Rejoice in the Lord, you righteous; praise is fitting for the upright.” This call to praise was the entrance hymn of a liturgy of thanksgiving. We note in passing an indication of how the psalms were performed and of at least one of the instruments used in the Temple of Jerusalem: this psalm was probably intended to be accompanied by a ten-stringed harp. Singing a new song to the Lord does not mean a song never heard before, but a new song in the sense that words of love, even the most familiar ones, are always new. When lovers say ‘I love you’, they are not afraid to repeat the same words, and yet the wonder is that that song is always new. One more note: “The word of the Lord is upright, and all his works are trustworthy” (v. 4). Contrary to appearances, these are not two separate statements, one concerning the word of God and the other concerning his works, because in the Bible the Word of God is already an act in progress: “God said, and it was done,” repeats the account of creation in the first book of Genesis. It is no coincidence that this psalm has twenty-two verses, corresponding to the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet: it is a tribute to the Word of God, as if to say that it is the whole of our life, from A to Z. And it is no empty compliment, for Israel recognises that from God’s first word to his people, Israel has simultaneously experienced how the promised Word of liberation is, at the same time, already God’s liberating intervention: in every age, the Word of God calls to freedom, and is at the same time a divine force acting within humanity to secure freedom from all idolatry and all slavery. Finally: “He loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of the Lord’s love” (v. 5). Here the vocation of the whole of creation is described: God is love, and the earth is called to be a place of love, righteousness and justice. Remember the prophet Micah: ‘O man, it has been taught to you what is good and what the Lord requires of you: to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God’ (Mic 6:8).

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Peter the Apostle (2:4–9)

In Hebrew, the same verb is used to mean ‘to build a house’, ‘to found a family’ and ‘to found a society’. For this reason, even in the Old Testament, the prophets readily used the language of building to speak of human society. Isaiah, for example, devised a parable: he compared the kingdom of Jerusalem to a building site (Isaiah 28:16–17). On that site there was a remarkable block of stone that was meant to become the cornerstone of the building, but the architects scorned that block and preferred to use stones of poor quality. This was a way of accusing the authorities of abandoning true values to build society on false ones. Over time, it became customary to apply the term ‘cornerstone’ to the Messiah: he would be able to take over and restore God’s building site. Peter, in turn, develops this comparison to speak of Christ. Jesus, the Messiah, is truly the most precious stone that God has placed at the centre of the building; and all people are called upon to become stones in this spiritual edifice. Those who agree to become one with him are integrated into the structure, becoming supporting elements themselves. But of course this is a choice to be made, and people may also choose the opposite path, that is, to reject the project and even sabotage it. Then everything happens for them as if the keystone were not at the heart of the building: it has remained on the ground, an admirable block but a hindrance on the building site. The stone rejected by the builders has become the cornerstone, a stumbling block and a stone of offence (cf. 1 Pet 2:7–8). Our Baptism was the moment of choice. Since then, we have been integrated into the building of what Peter calls the spiritual temple, as opposed to the stone temple in Jerusalem where animal sacrifices were offered. From the beginning of history, humanity has sought to reach God by worshipping him in the way it believes is worthy of him. Along its journey, the chosen people discovered the true face of God and learnt to live within his Covenant. Little by little, in the light of the prophets’ teaching, it was discovered that the true temple of God is humanity itself, and that the only worship worthy of him is love and service to our brothers and sisters, and no longer animal sacrifices. But this places a tremendous responsibility upon us: the temple in Jerusalem was the sign of God’s presence among his people. Now, the sign of God’s presence visible to the world is us, the Church of Christ. Peter’s words then resound as a vocation: “Like living stones, you too are being built into a spiritual house” (1 Pet 2:5). Peter distinguishes between those who entrust themselves to Christ and those who reject him. ‘Believing’ and ‘rejecting’ are two acts of free will, and those who do not accept Christ, Peter affirms, stumble because they do not obey the Word. This was their destiny (cf. v. 5); this phrase speaks only of the consequence of their free choice, not of predestination by God’s arbitrary decision: the liberating God can only respect our freedom. At the presentation of Jesus in the temple, Simeon had announced to Joseph and Mary: ‘He is here for the fall and the rising again of many in Israel’ (cf. Lk 2:34). Simeon does not speak of a necessity willed by God, but of the consequences of Jesus’ coming. In fact, his presence was for some an occasion of total conversion, whilst others hardened their hearts. Peter concludes: ‘ But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood” (1 Pet 2:9). On the day of our Baptism, grafted into Christ, we became members of Christ, the one true “priest, prophet and king”. United with him, we have become part of his holy people; we have acquired a new citizenship, that of the people of God, and our national anthem is now the Alleluia. Peter concludes by telling us that we are charged with proclaiming the marvellous works of the One who has called us out of darkness into his marvellous light.

From the Gospel according to John (14:1–12)

If Jesus begins by saying, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled’ (Jn 14:1), it is because the disciples were not hiding their anguish, and one can understand why. They knew they were surrounded by general hostility and sensed that the countdown had begun. This anguish was compounded, at least for some of them, by a terrible disappointment: “We had hoped that he would be the one to redeem Israel” (from the Romans), the disciples of Emmaus would say (cf. Lk 24:21). The apostles shared this political hope; now their leader is about to be condemned and executed, and their illusions are coming to an end. Jesus sets about redirecting their hope: he will not fulfil the expectations his miracles have raised; he will not lead the national uprising against the occupier; on the contrary, he will not cease to preach non-violence. The liberation he has come to bring lies on another plane: he does not wish to fulfil his people’s earthly and political expectation of the Messiah, but to make them understand that he is the one who has always been awaited. He begins by appealing to their faith, that is, to that fundamental attitude of the Jewish people which we read of in all the psalms, for hope can rest firmly only on faith. This is why Jesus returns repeatedly to these words: ‘believe’, ‘let not your hearts be troubled (for) you believe in God’. Yet it is one thing to believe in God—and this is a given—and quite another to believe in Jesus, precisely at the moment when he seems to have definitively lost the battle. For his contemporaries, to accord Jesus the same faith as God required a tremendous leap, and Jesus seeks to help them perceive the profound unity existing between the Father and himself. Here we have the second key theme of this text: “I am in the Father and the Father is in me” (a phrase he repeats twice). And then: “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father”, and this last phrase resonates in a very special way in the light of what will happen a few hours later, for the revelation of the Father reaches its climax when Jesus dies on the cross. As he dies, Jesus continues to love mankind, all mankind, and even forgives his executioners. It would be necessary to dwell on every sentence of this final conversation between Jesus and his disciples, indeed on each of the words laden with the whole of biblical experience: to know, to see, to abide, to go towards. Every word is at the same time an event, a ‘work’. When he says: ‘I am’, to Jewish ears this clearly evokes God himself, and he dares to say: “I am the way, the truth and the life”, identifying himself with God himself. And at the same time, the Father and he are two distinct persons, for Jesus says: “I am the way” (implied: to the Father). No one comes to the Father except through me. Another way of saying “I am the way” or “I am the gate”, as in the discourse on the Good Shepherd. And when we are united with him, the divine plan of our solidarity in Jesus Christ with the whole of humanity is realised. This is truly a mystery, and we struggle greatly to grasp it, yet it is the very essence of God’s merciful plan, which St Augustine calls the “total Christ”. This solidarity in Jesus Christ is present throughout the New Testament. Paul, for example, evokes it when he speaks of the New Adam and also when he says that Christ is the head of the Body of which we are the members. “The whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth until now” (Rom 8:22): the birth of which he speaks is precisely that of the Body of Christ. Jesus himself very often used the expression ‘Son of Man’ to announce the definitive victory of the whole of humanity gathered together as one man. If we take seriously the expression ‘No one comes to the Father except through me’ and if we consider the solidarity existing among all men in Jesus Christ, then we must also say that Christ does not go to the Father without us. This is the meaning of these words of Jesus: “Where I am, there you will be too”, and again, “When I have gone and prepared a place for you, I will come again and take you to be with me”. Paul affirms this in another way when he writes: “Nothing can ever separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus” (Rom 8:39). Jesus concludes with a solemn promise: “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do.” After all that Jesus has just said about himself, the term “works” certainly does not refer solely to miracles, for throughout the Old Testament, when the word “work” is used in reference to God, it always refers to God’s great work of liberating his people. This means that the disciples are now associated with the work undertaken by God to free humanity from all physical or moral bondage. This promise of Christ encourages us to believe that, even though history shows the enduring presence of many forms of slavery, this liberation is possible and will come to pass. It is up to each of us to make our own contribution.

+Giovanni D’Ercole