[15 August 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Revelation (11:19a; 12:1–6a, 10a)

For the early persecuted community, the entire Book of Revelation is a message of victory, rich in imagery: the Ark of the Covenant, three figures, the woman, the dragon and the infant. 

1. The Ark of the Covenant recalls the gilded wooden chest that accompanied the people during the Exodus to Sinai, a constant reminder to Israel of the Covenant with God. That ark had been lost during the Babylonian exile; it was said that Jeremiah had hidden it on Mount Nebo (2 Maccabees 2:8), and it was believed that it would reappear at the coming of the Messiah. Now John sees it reappear: (Rev 11:19) and for him this is the sign that the end of time has come and that God’s Covenant with humanity has been definitively fulfilled. 

2. The woman, Israel and the Messiah born of the Chosen People. “Then there appeared, still in heaven, ‘a woman clothed with the sun…’” (Rev 12:1–2).  In the Old Testament, the relationship between God and Israel is often described in terms of a wedding. Hosea speaks of God’s betrothal to his people. Isaiah develops the theme of the wedding to the point of presenting the coming of the Messiah as a birth; Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Second and Third Isaiah use the vocabulary of betrothal and marriage (Jer 2:2); (Isa 62:5). The Song of Songs, a dialogue of love in seven poems that never identifies the two lovers, is seen by the Jews as a dialogue between God and his people; for this reason, they read it on the Sabbath of Easter week, the great feast of God’s Covenant with Israel. Unfortunately, Israel was often an unfaithful bride (idolatrous: jealousy, adultery, but also reconciliation and forgiveness, for God remains faithful). Thus, the woman of Revelation represents the chosen people who give birth to the Messiah. A painful labour for Christ’s disciples facing persecution, to whom John says: ‘You are giving birth to the new humanity.’

3. The dragon: the forces of evil. The dragon lying in wait ‘before the woman to devour her newborn child’ (Rev 12:4) symbolises the battle waged by the forces of evil against God’s plan. For persecuted Christians, the word ‘dragon’ is not too strong, for it conveys the violence they face: the dragon is ‘enormous… as red as fire, with seven heads and ten horns, and on his heads seven diadems’. The heads and horns signify intelligence and strength; the diadem denotes imperial power with its very real capacity to cause harm. And indeed, he manages to drag down ‘a third of the stars of heaven and cast them to the earth’. However, it is only a third of the stars: therefore, merely a semblance of victory, and the rest of the passage will show that the power of evil is temporary. 

4. The child is the Risen Messiah. ‘She gave birth to a son, destined to rule all the nations with an iron sceptre’ (Rev 12:5). John identifies the Messiah and alludes to Psalm 2: ‘You are my Son; today I have begotten you… You shall break them with a rod of iron’ (2:7–9). ‘Shepherd’ was also a classical term used to refer to the Messiah. This is followed by the image of the child being taken up ‘to God and his throne’: a symbol of Christ’s Resurrection. This was perfectly clear to the early Christians, who were accustomed to speaking of Him as the ‘Firstborn’, now seated at the right hand of God. Yet His people remain in the world—a difficult world, but one in which they are assured of God’s protection: this is the significance of the desert, another reference to the Exodus, in which God never ceased to care for His people. Believers may take heart: if the dragon has failed in heaven, he cannot succeed on earth. The conclusion is the victory that began with the Resurrection. To the early Christians who were giving birth to a new humanity amidst the pain of persecution, the Book of Revelation proclaims victory: ‘Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Christ’ (Rev 12:10).  Ever since the Messiah rose from the dead, victory has begun.

Responsorial Psalm (44/45) 

This psalm allows us to witness the wedding ceremony of the King of Jerusalem to a young foreign princess (v. 10) to seal the covenant between two peoples. Marriages have always marked alliances between states, but for Israel the Covenant is exclusive to the one God; therefore, any foreign girl who became queen had to embrace the king’s religion. Specifically, in this psalm, the princess from Tyre must renounce her idolatrous practices to be worthy of her new people and her king: ‘Listen, my daughter; look, and give ear: forget your own people and your father’s house’ (v. 11). Solomon married pagan foreign women; Ahab married Queen Jezebel, leading to the great confrontation between the prophet Elijah and the many priests and prophets of Baal. For those who can read between the lines, this advice to the princess of Tyre is in fact addressed to Israel. The royal bridegroom described in the psalm is none other than God himself, and this ‘daughter of a king, led in all her splendour to her bridegroom’ is the people of Israel admitted into the intimacy of their God. Through the relationship between God and his people, an allusion is then made to the marriage between God and all humanity.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians (15:20–27)

Here, three figures are set side by side: Mary, Jesus of Nazareth and Adam. Mary, the model of faith, is proclaimed blessed because she believed in the word of God. In her life she experienced the sorrow foretold by Simeon, yet she never ceased to trust in God. Jesus follows the same path in total trust in the Father, and everything about him is summed up in these words: ‘Father, I have come to do your will’. His resurrection demonstrates that trust in God leads to true life, which passes through suffering and death. St Paul contrasts Adam and Christ: two opposing attitudes. Adam is the man who distrusts God and wishes to decide for himself; Christ, on the other hand, represents the man who entrusts himself completely to God. According to Paul, everyone behaves like Adam when they refuse to trust in God, and for this reason all die in Adam. Whereas those who follow Christ’s example enter into true life, founded on love and communion with God. The Assumption is God’s plan for faithful humanity: Mary experienced ageing and, having left her earthly life behind, entered fully into the life of God. The Eastern tradition speaks of her Dormition as her passing into a new form of existence with God: human beings are therefore not destined to remain forever in their earthly condition but are called to a transformation. Jesus, put to death by human hatred, was raised from the dead by God and, as the first of the risen, opens the way to eternal life for all humanity. Mary and Jesus show that the path to true life is not Adam’s self-sufficiency, but trust in God 

From the Gospel according to Luke (1:39–56)

The episode of the Visitation highlights the role of Mary, the new Ark of the Covenant and model of faith. When Elizabeth says, ‘How is it that the mother of my Lord should come to me?’, the evangelist deliberately alludes to David’s transfer of the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. There are numerous similarities: both the Ark and Mary journey through the hills of Judea; the Ark brings blessing to the house of Obed-Edom, whilst Mary brings joy to the house of Zechariah and Elizabeth; both remain for three months in the house that welcomes them; David dances before the Ark, whilst John the Baptist leaps for joy in his mother’s womb at the sight of Mary.

For Luke, none of this is coincidental. Mary is the new presence of God. The Ark was the sign of God’s presence amongst his people. By presenting Mary as the new Ark, Luke wishes to affirm that God is present in a unique way in the child she carries in her womb. Thus the mystery of the Incarnation is fulfilled. Mary becomes the living dwelling place of the divine presence. Elizabeth proclaims: ‘Blessed is she who has believed’; and Mary’s true greatness lies not merely in being the mother of Jesus, but in having trusted in God’s plan even without fully understanding it. In response to Elizabeth, Mary sings the Magnificat, and she does not invent new words, for it is composed of expressions drawn from the Psalms and other biblical prayers. Two lessons emerge from this. Humility: Mary does not place herself at the centre, but places herself within the tradition of faith of her people; a spirit of community: her prayer concerns not only her personal circumstances, but God’s work on behalf of the whole people. This is why Mary is presented as the new Ark of the Covenant, carrying within her God made man, whilst the Magnificat shows that every authentic vocation is not a personal privilege, but a call to serve others and the whole people of God.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time  (year A)   [9 August 2026]

First Reading from the First Book of Kings (19:9a, 11–13a)  

In the 9th century BC, in the Kingdom of Israel, Queen Jezebel, wife of King Ahab, introduced the worship of the god Baal in Samaria. Faced with the spread of idolatry, the prophet Elijah stands up with great zeal to defend the faith of his people. Convinced that God’s superiority must be demonstrated through signs of power, Elijah foretells a long drought and subsequently organises a contest on Mount Carmel between the priests of Baal and the God of Israel. Two altars are prepared, and it is decided that the true God will be the one who answers by sending fire from heaven. The priests of Baal pray in vain; when Elijah, however, calls upon the Lord, divine fire consumes the sacrifice. The people acknowledge the victory of the God of Israel. Nevertheless, Elijah, driven by his fervour, has the priests of Baal put to death – an act which God had not asked him to perform. When Jezebel learns of what has happened, she swears to take revenge and to kill Elijah. The prophet flees into the desert and, exhausted, comes to long for death. On his journey to Mount Horeb, he undergoes a profound inner crisis which becomes the starting point of his conversion. Elijah gradually realises that he had imagined God as a deity of strength and power, not unlike the very deities he had been fighting against. On Mount Horeb, where Moses too had once encountered God, the Lord reveals himself to him in an unexpected way. It is not in the storm, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the ‘still small voice’ The Hebrew text uses the expression: קוֹל דְּמָמָה דַקָּה
Qôl demāmāh daqqāh. Literally, this means: qôl = voice, sound; demāmāh = silence, deep stillness, calm; daqqāh = subtle, delicate, faint. A very faithful translation might be: ‘a voice of subtle silence’, or ‘the sound of a delicate silence’.

Elijah thus discovers that true divine power is not expressed through violence, clamour or coercion, but through gentleness, patience, mercy and discretion. The account represents a fundamental stage in biblical revelation: God teaches his prophet to move from a form of religiosity based on force to a faith founded on trust and gentleness. Elijah’s great discovery is that God does not conquer through fear, but through love.

Responsorial Psalm (84/85)  Psalm 84/85 was composed almost 50 years after the return of the people of Israel from the Babylonian exile (538 BC). When the exiles returned to their land full of enthusiasm and hope, they believed that a new life was beginning, that God had wiped the slate clean and that everything could start afresh. However, reality proved more difficult than expected. Breaches of the Covenant resurfaced; conversion was not automatic; and the returnees—often born in exile or having left as young people—encountered obstacles, misunderstandings and resistance, even in the reconstruction of the Temple. For this reason, the psalmist expresses conflicting feelings. On the one hand, he gives thanks to God for bringing his people back to the Promised Land and for forgiving their sins; on the other, seeing that the difficulties persist, he wonders whether divine wrath is not still present and pleads: ‘Show us your love, Lord, and grant us your salvation’. The central theme of the psalm is the dual meaning of the verb ‘to return’: the people have already physically returned to their land, but they must still make the most important return of all – that of the heart to God. True conversion is a gift from God, but it also requires human commitment, a willingness to listen to and follow his word. This is why the psalmist declares: ‘I will listen to what the Lord says’, recognising that peace springs from trusting obedience to God. The final part of the psalm is a magnificent hymn of hope. The poet looks forward to the day when God’s plan will be fully realised: ‘Love and truth shall meet; justice and peace shall kiss’. This is not a naïve dream, but the certainty that God is guiding history towards a future of reconciliation, brotherhood and peace amongst humankind. 

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (9:1–5)

In chapters 9–11 of the Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul addresses an issue particularly close to his heart: if many Jews have not recognised Jesus Christ as the Messiah, does this perhaps mean that God has rejected his people? Paul is well aware of this problem because he himself, before his conversion on the road to Damascus, had been a strict Jew and even a persecutor of Christians. After his encounter with Christ, he realised that the Christian faith does not contradict the faith of Israel, but rather fulfils it. However, the majority of the Jewish people do not accept this conviction and, indeed, often oppose Paul’s preaching. This gives rise to his question: if Israel does not recognise the Messiah, is it perhaps excluded from the Covenant? And if God were to revoke his promises to Israel, how could Christians trust in his faithfulness? To answer this, Paul traces the entire course of sacred history. He recalls that Israel has received unique gifts: adoption as God’s children, the glory of his presence, the covenants, the Law, worship, the promises, the patriarchs and even the privilege that the Messiah should be born of his people. The whole of biblical history bears witness to God’s irrevocable commitment to Israel. Paul’s conclusion is clear: God has not abandoned the Jewish people. His promises are definitive, because God is faithful to himself. The Covenant has not been annulled. For Paul, the rejection of Jesus by many Jews remains a mystery, but it does not call into question the election of Israel. This final certainty is expressed in a decisive statement: ‘God remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself’ (2 Tim 2:13). The central message of the text is therefore that God’s faithfulness is stronger than human unfaithfulness. 

From the Gospel according to Matthew (14:22–33)

This Gospel episode takes place immediately after the feeding of the five thousand. After feeding the crowd, Jesus Christ instructs the disciples to leave and goes up the mountain alone to pray. On the one hand, his mission cannot stop at the success of the moment; on the other, Jesus wishes to avoid the risk of triumphalism and spectacle, a temptation he had already faced in the desert. Prayer enables him to remain in deep communion with the Father and to discern the path to follow. Meanwhile, the disciples’ boat is being tossed about by the waves of the Sea of Tiberias. During the night, they see a figure walking on the water and, terrified, think it is a ghost. But Jesus reassures them with words that run through the entire Gospel: ‘Take heart! It is I; do not be afraid.’ At that point, Peter, trusting in the Master’s voice, asks to be allowed to go to him by walking on the water. Jesus simply replies: ‘Come.’ Peter then accomplishes the impossible and walks on the water, but when he takes his eyes off Jesus and focuses on the force of the wind, he is overcome by fear and begins to sink. In this action, Peter represents every disciple: generous and sincere in his enthusiasm, yet fragile when put to the test. His fall does not stem from a lack of love, but from doubt and fear. Nevertheless, he makes the right choice: he cries out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Jesus reaches out his hand, seizes him and brings him to safety, asking him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’ The story teaches us that faith consists in keeping our gaze fixed on Christ even when difficulties seem to overwhelm us. Our frailties, doubts and even our failures are not the final word: what matters is that we continue to call upon his help. When Jesus steps into the boat, the wind dies down and the disciples come to understand more deeply who he is. They fall down before him and proclaim: ‘Truly, you are the Son of God.’ The central message of the passage is that the life of faith alternates between moments of strength and moments of weakness, as happened to Peter. But whenever a person is in danger of sinking, they can entrust themselves to Christ, and God’s hand is always ready to sustain them.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

(Mt 18:21-19,1)

Throughout the ancient Middle East, non-disproportionate retaliation one to one [not cruel] was a sacred law.

Forgiveness was a humiliating and absurd attitude, an incomprehensible principle to anyone experiencing any injustice.

Conversely, in the dynamic of Faith, forgiveness becomes a power, which not only makes the air breathable, but activates our personal destiny.

Peter instead wants to know the limits of forgiveness (v.21).

Historically, at the end of the first century the picky, severe, style of the synagogue and of the Empire [«divide et impera»] reappear in believers. 

A question arises: will we have to stop welcoming?

In addition, in the same churches one begins to think that someone has sinned in lese majesty towards those who - now hard and heartless - are used to being revered.

Veterans who make trouble more than others and then dot on the minutiae of others (the weak brothers, considered subjected and destined to the fiscal rigour of moralisms, as well as penances).

While religious discipline exacerbates minute defects, the very experience of the disproportion between the forgiveness received from the Father and what we are able to offer to the brothers, makes us understand the need for tolerance.

Church should be this space of the experience of God who return life, an alternative place of fraternity.

Imperial society was harsh and uncompassionate, with no room for the small and shaky, who unassumingly sought any refuge for their hearts - but no religion gave them an answer.

Synagogues, too, identified material and spiritual blessings. Cloaked with requirements, purity rules and fulfilments, they did not offer the warmth of a welcoming place for the weak.

The issue was that in the early Christian communities themselves, some people insisted on the rigour of norms, customs and hierarchies, demanding coexistence based on the Judaizing model.

Furthermore, as the Letter of James testifies, towards the end of the first century the identical divisions of society, between miserables and wealthy, were already beginning to manifest themselves in the churches of Christ!

Welcoming space of the communities that in the Spirit had been given the task by the Lord to enlighten the world with their seed of life as a ‘shelter for all’ (and of alternative relationships) ran the risk of becoming again a place of conflict, judgement, punishment, condemnation.

«So also my heavenly Father will do to you, if you do not condone each one to his own brother from your heart» (v.35).

Divine forgiveness becomes effective and evident only in the testimony of the Church (v.35) where sisters and brothers - instead of showing themselves to be meticulous, let themselves be guided by a Vision of new heavens and new earth.

For this reason - without any effort, indeed blessing the needs of others as territories of preparatory energies - they live the communion of resources and remit even material debts, a misery.

Otherwise, we would always have to live in the incumbency of an indulgent God perhaps, but at times, and according to the cases retracting the doing of mercy.

It would be a life without surprising developments, all weighted down in a swamp of little pennies.

Instead, it is the active energy of the Faith that does not condemn us to trudge.

The magnanimity that comes out of the automatisms shifts our gaze and brings us an ineffable and growing wave, far ahead of what we can imagine.

Our surrenders are preparing new developments - the ones that count, without limitations.

The "win-or-lose" alternative is false: you have to get out of it.

[Thursday 19th wk. in O.T.  August 13, 2026]

(Mt 18:21-19:1)

Throughout the ancient Middle East, disproportionate retaliation (one for one, not cruel) was sacred law.

Forgiveness was a humiliating and absurd attitude, an incomprehensible principle for anyone who experienced injustice or tragedy.

Conversely, in the dynamic of faith, forgiveness becomes a power that not only makes the air breathable, but also activates our personal destiny.

The Gospel according to Matthew devotes considerable attention to the theme of forgiveness and the need to resolve internal friction within the Church, where everyone seems to want to crush the other, even if only out of spiritual envy.

One wonders: is there a different counterpart to the pagan principle of retributive justice [uncuique jus suum], which, taken to extremes, ends up accentuating divisions?

What is the most reasonable behaviour for those who have been welcomed by God and forgiven in an exorbitant way?

It is not enough to counter this with a good-natured, even noble, value - but for this very reason, out of proportion - if it excludes the time of a journey, the horizon of development that ultimately supplants [and does not simply overlook: the so-called 'being positive'].

The only solution free of dormant revenge is to have a sense of the immeasurable, of gratuitous forethought - received without merit or conditions; with a view to new paths.

First of all, we must realise that the decisive element in overcoming obstacles is not our strength or an induced voluntarism, which tears us and our brothers apart and destroys the atmosphere of conviviality.

Only a dizzying emotion can integrate our impulses and all our affections, and bring to the surface the seeds of passions that make us dizzy.

Personal or external ecstasy; unknown and neglected or unexpressed, to which we have not yet given space.

In fact, in our daily lives, it seems normal to react immediately and violate situations with impudence, then raise hell over minor infractions by others - even claiming to suffocate those responsible for trifles.

Obviously, even immediately after we have begged and promised in the ritual.

Matthew offers even paradoxical nuances on forgiveness, always placing his catechesis on a priceless level, in the perspective of spousal and creative faith.

He insists on this in several passages because the communities he addresses are very poor, still rooted in the narrow-mindedness of ancient religiosity.

As happens not only in groups linked to the baggage of the tradition of the 'fathers' - not of the Father - the members of the communities of Galilee and Syria experienced the normality of disagreements, different opinions and all conflicts as an affront.

It seems incredible, but those who feel they possess a licence of immunity [linked to futuristic myths or sacred inhibitions, outdated restraints and observances or cosmic projects of abstract subversion] find it more difficult to enter into the minute logic of coexistence, of confrontation - of disproportion, of boundlessness, of the Gift that favours coexistence itself.

Peter wants to know the limits of forgiveness (v. 21).

Historically, at the end of the first century, the scrupulous, severe style of the synagogue and the Empire [divide et impera: 'divide and rule'] had reappeared among believers.

The question arose and was raised again: should we stop welcoming?

In addition, within the churches themselves, people began to think that some had committed lese majesty against those who, now hardened and heartless, were accustomed to being revered.

Veterans who did more than others and then nitpicked at the minutiae of others (the weak brothers, considered subordinates and destined for the fiscal rigour of moralism and penance).

Does the insolvent debtor of the Gospel take it out on those who owe him a few pennies?

The excessive forgiveness of the living and true God can only be manifested to the world through a community that raises grudges and relationships to a new level - simply a more normal one.

The Tao Te Ching (x) says: 'Let creatures live and feed them, let them live and do not keep them as your own; work and expect nothing, let them grow and do not govern them. This is the mysterious virtue'.

In commentary, Master Wang Pi writes: 'The Tao never acts, creatures transform themselves. Do not obstruct their source, do not hinder their nature. Creatures grow and satisfy themselves by themselves'.

Master Ho-shang Kung adds: 'The Tao makes the ten thousand creatures grow and nourishes them, but does not harm them by governing them as if they were instruments. The implementation of virtue by the Tao is mysterious and obscure, and cannot be scrutinised. It wants to induce men to be like the Tao'.

Even today, legalistic practice exaggerates minor faults, but the very experience of the disproportion between the forgiveness received from the Father and what we are able to offer to our brothers and sisters makes us understand the need for indulgence.

Tolerance lived in a situation, not just in principle.

Even more so in times of global crisis, the Church should be this space of experience of God who restores life. An alternative place of fraternity that is less cheap, less sophisticated.

Imperial society was harsh and without compassion, with no room for the small and weak, who without too many pretensions sought any refuge for their hearts - but no religion responded to their need for understanding.

Even the synagogues identified material and spiritual blessings. Shrouded in prior requirements, purity rules and obligations, they did not offer the warmth of a welcoming place for the weak.

The trouble was that in the early Christian communities themselves, some insisted on strict rules.

They demanded that people live together according to the Jewish model or according to rigid, abstract principles that had no practical application.

Furthermore, as the letter of James testifies, towards the end of the first century, the same divisions that existed in society were already beginning to appear in the churches of Christ, between the poor and the wealthy!

The welcoming space of the communities that had been given the task by the Lord in the Spirit to enlighten the world with their seed of life as Houses for all, of alternative relationships, was in danger of becoming once again a place of conflict, judgement, punishment and condemnation.

As usual: no Good News for the least, who were exhausted everywhere. 

And this unspeakable climate sowed death even for others, even those more fortunate - but trapped in harsh reality.

What to do?

The fundamental educational function of the Church is still to include; to make people understand that the initiative can only come from the creditor (vv. 21-22, 27, 33): he too is one of the 'lost' (v. 25).

Only through an intimate awareness of the Faith can we overcome the ruthlessness of competition and retributive justice.

There is no wisdom in being pretentious and unforgiving just to feel important (vv. 28-30).

Our failures are preparing new developments - those that matter, without limitations.

"So also my heavenly Father will do to you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart" (v. 35).

Divine forgiveness becomes effective and evident in the witness of the Church, where sisters and brothers, instead of being petty, are moved to help one another.

They allow themselves to be guided by a vision of new heavens and a new earth.

For this reason, without any effort, indeed blessing the needs of others as territories of preparatory energies, they live in communion of resources and forgive even material debts, which are ultimately a poverty.

Otherwise, we would always have to live under the shadow of a God of retribution.

And in this way we would reveal him: perhaps indulgent, but only for a time; a God who withdraws his mercy, as Pope Francis would say.

Thus, we would live under the whip of our tormentors, who advocate a way of life that is proper but artificial, made up of exchanges without imagination.

An anticipated hell of pettiness, which underestimates and ridicules the Measure of the Gospel. Good News that goes hand in hand with differences.

Even the balancing of remissions would not save us from the offence (this one truly enormous) of stagnation that levels essences - and therefore from ruin.

It is beautiful and fruitful to live in the imbalance of gratuitousness, rather than in giving and receiving. This also happens with God.

Through forgiveness, we not only improve the obsessive atmosphere and attest to our belief - e.g. in the Cross - but we also build a flexible and malleable experience, full of recovery and being. 

Amazement; openness, flexibility, disproportion.

The rest remains mere commentary.

Echoes of a subject that trivially proposes to ratify the 'contract'.

Traces of an environment that remains where it is - until new forces take over.

It would be a life without wonderful developments, weighed down by the 'do ut des' and the swamp of small change.

Instead, it is the active energy of Faith that overcomes defined agreements. And it does not condemn us to struggle.

The ever-increasing magnanimity that emerges from automatisms shifts the gaze away from small cuts.

It brings an ineffable and growing Wave. Much further ahead than we can imagine.

The 'victory or defeat' alternative is false: we must get out of it.

To internalise and live the message:

Do you know how to live in the imbalance of gratuitousness?

Do you rush and judge, or do you perceive and wait?

Is your life of faith constituted by the giving and receiving typical of banal religion, or by the awareness that you are bound to echo what the Father has already given you in abundance?

What is the space for reconciliation in your reality?

What do you mean in concrete terms by the Gospel?

Forgiveness and Faith: A living encounter

Eccentric gratuitousness, moving forward: the sacrament of humanity as such

(Lk 17:1-6)

Knowledge of God is not a confiscated good or an acquired and already seized science: it moves from one action to another, incessantly; it is realised in an ever-living Encounter that neither blocks us nor dissolves us.

The experience of the 'little ones' [mikròi v.2] is typical. From the earliest communities of faith, they were those who lacked security and energy; unstable and without support.

The 'little ones' have always been the beginners, the newcomers who have heard about Christian brotherhood but are sometimes forced to stand aside or give up the journey.

But the criterion of welcome, tolerance, communion, even of material goods, was the first and main catalyst for the growth of the assemblies.

It was even the source and meaning of all the formulas and signs of the liturgy.

The existential and ideal centre towards which to converge. For a proactive and self-transforming faith.

In the Spirit of the Master, even for us, the reconciliation of friction is not simply a work of magnanimity.

It is the beginning of the future world. The beginning of an unpredictable and indescribable adventure. And with it, we are suddenly reborn: we have come into direct contact with Christ. He who does not extinguish us at all.

Hence the Christian forgiveness of children, which is not... 'looking on the bright side' and 'turning a blind eye': rather, it is the Newness of God that creates an environment of Grace, propulsive, with enormous possibilities.

A force that bursts forth and paradoxically allows the dark poles to meet, instead of shaking them off. Genuinely eliminating comparisons, useless words and burdens that block the transparent Exodus.

A dynamic that leads to the indispensable and essential: shifting one's gaze. Teaching us to become aware of our own hysteria, to know ourselves, to face anxiety and its causes, to manage situations and moments of crisis.

A malleable virtue that allows us to listen intimately to our personal essence.

Thus, solid, broad empathy introduces new energies; it brings together our deepest states, even our standard lives... giving rise to other knowledge, different perspectives, unexpected relationships.

In this way, without too much struggle, it renews us and curbs the loss of truthfulness [typically in favour of circumstantial manners]. It accentuates the capacity and horizons of Peace - breaking down primates and stagnant equilibriums.

The discovery of new sides to our being conveys a sense of greater completeness, thus spontaneously curbing external influences, dissolving prejudices and preventing us from acting on an emotional, impulsive basis.

Rather, it places us in a position to reveal the hidden and astonishing meaning of being. Unfolding the crucial horizon.

Activating 'Forgiveness' is a free restoration of one's character, of all lost dignity, and far beyond.

By setting aside judgements, the art of tolerance broadens our gaze [even our inner gaze]. It improves and enhances the dull aspects of ourselves, those we ourselves had detested.

In this eccentric way, it transforms those considered distant or mediocre [mikroi] into trailblazers and brilliant inventors. Because what was unthinkable yesterday will be a source of clarification and inspiration tomorrow.

Confusion will acquire meaning - precisely thanks to the thinking of minds in crisis and the actions of the despised, the intruders, those outside the circle and beyond predictability.

A life of pure faith in the Spirit: that is, the imagination of the 'weak'... in power.

Because it is the paradoxical mechanism that makes us evaluate the crossroads of history, activates passions, creates sharing and solves real problems.

And so it pushes difficult moments forward (bringing us back to the true path) and directs reality towards concrete good.

Making it fly towards itself.

The 'victory or defeat' alternative is false: we must get out of it. It is in this 'void' and Silence that God makes his way.

Mystery of Presence, overflowing. New Covenant.

The words spoken by Jesus after his invocation, “Father”, borrow a sentence from Psalm 31[30]: “into your hand I commit my spirit” (Ps 31[30]:6). Yet these words are not a mere citation but rather express a firm decision: Jesus “delivers” himself to the Father in an act of total abandonment. These words are a prayer of “entrustment” total trust in God’s love. Jesus’ prayer as he faces death is dramatic as it is for every human being but, at the same time, it is imbued with that deep calmness that is born from trust in the Father and from the desire to commend oneself totally to him.

In Gethsemane, when he had begun his final struggle and his most intense prayer and was about to be “delivered into the hands of men” (Lk 9:44), his sweat had become “like great drops of blood falling down upon the ground” (Lk 22:44). Nevertheless his heart was fully obedient to the Father’s will, and because of this “an angel from heaven” came to strengthen him (cf. Lk 22:42-43). Now, in his last moments, Jesus turns to the Father, telling him into whose hands he really commits his whole life. 

Before starting out on his journey towards Jerusalem, Jesus had insisted to his disciples: “Let these words sink into your ears; for the Son of man is to be delivered into the hands of men” (Lk 9:44).

Now that life is about to depart from him, he seals his last decision in prayer: Jesus let himself be delivered “into the hands of men”, but it is into the hands of the Father that he places his spirit; thus — as the Evangelist John affirms — all was finished, the supreme act of love was carried to the end, to the limit and beyond the limit.

Dear brothers and sisters, the words of Jesus on the Cross at the last moments of his earthly life offer us demanding instructions for our prayers, but they also open us to serene trust and firm hope. Jesus, who asks the Father to forgive those who are crucifying him, invites us to take the difficult step of also praying for those who wrong us, who have injured us, ever able to forgive, so that God’s light may illuminate their hearts; and he invites us to live in our prayers the same attitude of mercy and love with which God treats us; “forgive us our trespasses and forgive those who trespass against us”, we say every day in the Lord’s prayer. 

At the same time, Jesus, who at the supreme moment of death entrusts himself totally to the hands of God the Father, communicates to us the certainty that, however harsh the trial, however difficult the problems, however acute the suffering may be, we shall never fall from God’s hands, those hands that created us, that sustain us and that accompany us on our way through life, because they are guided by an infinite and faithful love. Many thanks.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience, 15 February 2012]

2. Forgiveness! Christ taught us to forgive. He spoke of forgiveness many times and in various ways. When Peter asked him how many times he should forgive his neighbour, "up to seven times?", Jesus replied that he should forgive "up to seventy times seven" (Mt 18:21f). This means, in practice, always: in fact, the number "seventy" for "seven" is symbolic and means, rather than a specific quantity, an incalculable, infinite quantity. Responding to the question of how we should pray, Christ uttered those magnificent words addressed to the Father: "Our Father who art in heaven"; and among the requests that make up this prayer, the last one speaks of forgiveness: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" (= "our debtors"). Finally, Christ himself confirmed the truth of these words on the Cross when, turning to the Father, he pleaded: "Forgive them!", "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Lk 23:34).

"Forgiveness" is a word spoken by the lips of a man who has been wronged. Indeed, it is the word of the human heart. In this word of the heart, each of us strives to overcome the barrier of enmity that can separate us from others, seeking to rebuild the inner space of understanding, contact and bond. Christ taught us with the words of the Gospel, and above all with his own example, that this space opens up not only before other people, but at the same time before God himself. The Father, who is a God of forgiveness and mercy, desires to act precisely in this space of human forgiveness. He desires to forgive those who are capable of forgiving one another, those who seek to put into practice those words: "Forgive us... as we forgive".

Forgiveness is a grace that must be considered with deep humility and gratitude. It is a mystery of the human heart that is difficult to explain.

5. Christ taught us to forgive. Forgiveness is also indispensable so that God can pose questions to the human conscience, questions to which He awaits an answer in all inner truth.

In this time, when so many innocent people are dying at the hands of other people, there seems to be a special need to approach each of those who kill, to approach them with forgiveness in our hearts and with the same question that God, Creator and Lord of human life, asked of the first man who had attempted to take the life of his brother and had taken it from him — had taken what belongs only to the Creator and Lord of life.

Christ taught us to forgive. He taught Peter to forgive 'seventy times seven times' (Mt 18:22). God himself forgives when man responds to the question addressed to his conscience and to his heart with all the inner truth of conversion.

Leaving to God himself the judgement and sentence in its definitive dimension, we do not cease to ask: "Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors".

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 21 October 1981]

This […] Gospel passage (cf. Mt 18:21-35) offers us a lesson on forgiveness which does not deny wrongdoing, but recognizes that human beings, created in God’s image, are always greater than the evil they commit. Saint Peter asks Jesus: “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” (v. 21). To Peter, forgiving the same person seven times already seemed the maximum possible. And perhaps to us it may already seem too much to do so twice. But Jesus answers, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven” (v. 22), meaning always. You must always forgive. And he confirms this by telling the parable of the merciful king and the wicked servant, in which he shows the inconsistency of the man who was first forgiven and then refused to forgive.

The king in the parable is a generous man who, spurred by compassion, forgives an enormous debt — “10,000 talents”: enormous — to a servant who beseeches him. That same servant, however, as soon as he meets another servant like himself who owes him 100 dinarii — which is much less — behaves in a ruthless way and has him thrown in prison. The servant’s inconsistent behaviour is the same as ours when we refuse to forgive our brothers and sisters. Whereas the king in the parable is the image of God who loves us with a love that is so rich in mercy as to welcome us, love us and forgive us continuously.

From the time of our Baptism, God has forgiven us, releasing us from an intractable debt: original sin. But that is the first time. Then, with boundless mercy, he forgives us all our faults as soon as we show even the least sign of repentance. This is how God is: merciful. When we are tempted to close our heart to those who have offended us and tell us they are sorry, let us remember our Heavenly Father’s words to the wicked servant: “I forgave you all that debt because you besought me; and should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?” (vv. 32-33). Anyone who has experienced the joy, peace and inner freedom which come from being forgiven should open him or herself up to the possibility of forgiving in turn.

Jesus wished to introduce the teaching of this parable into the Our Father. He linked the forgiveness which we ask from God with the forgiveness that we should accord our brothers and sisters: “And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Mt 6:12). God’s forgiveness is the symbol of his “overflowing” love for each of us. It is the love that leaves us free to distance ourselves, like the prodigal son, but which awaits our return every day. It is the resourceful love of the shepherd for the lost sheep. It is the tenderness which welcomes each sinner who knocks at his door. The Heavenly Father —  our Father — is filled, is full of love and he wants to offer it to us, but he cannot do so if we close our heart to love towards others.

May the Virgin Mary help us to become ever more aware of the gratuitousness and the greatness of the forgiveness received from God, to become merciful like him, Good Father, slow to anger and great in love.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 17 September 2017]

In the midst of the reconciled: the change of course and destiny in the Kingdom

(Mt 18:15-20)

«The word that the Evangelist uses for "agree" is synphōnēsōsin:  there is reference made to a "symphony" of hearts» [Pope Benedict].

This new malleable energy has a mysterious grip on the reality core - which is always stronger than we are; it unfolds the plot and proposes, but here, conversely, it welcomes us.

Or it disturbs us with discomfort... which, however, is already therapy. Because every tear leads to the deep layers of our primordial being, our seed and its own world of relationships.

And then the soul loosens up, becomes less tortuous, follows a direction it was not thinking of; it finds the intoxicating road of deep attunements, abandons the shoddy path.

It prefers the Way that corresponds to person, more than the identifications: all the idols that previously held sway, which - despite appearances - struggled with our essential destination.

And without running away from ourselves, but only from external conventions, 'together' we can move from one-sidedness to wholeness, from banality to fullness; to the reason why we are in the world; to the destiny of being that we are.

Perhaps we could not perceive it before, because the eye was bouncing between the walls of the usual domestications.

And the ephemeral, addictive thought did not destroy the idea [without perception] of ourselves; an idea without listening, which did not vanish.

Fraternal correction tugs at our throats, but it is that bitterness that brings back the essentials; it is that anxiety (if accepted) that truly heals us.

Mt suggests dialogue, which attempts to understand the motives of the other.

Indeed, in the early Judeo-Christian realities, the climate was perhaps overly scrupulous.

Thus detachment from the community was also foreseen, but there remained the knowledge that the sinner was not a divided from God, even 'outside' the particular church: «Where are two or three gathered in my Name» (v.20).

It is the centre of the new pedagogical concept - no longer “religious” and mass, but of living and personal Faith.

The expression «in my Name» indicates that Jesus himself had his hands full with the judges of his time.

All real. Even an exclusion can unite us to Him and bring Him to life concretely.

If the true - not vague - Christ remains the pivot of the fraternity, the Father will grant the return of the excluded brother.

Obviously, this can only happen if the excluded person experiences that community leaders first, seek human confrontation - following the same position as the Master: «in the midst».

Equidistant from all people, and every now and then with a turnover of tasks.

Those who still show us the living Jesus today are not “above” others. They do not take the lead, nor do they place themselves “at the front” – so that some are close by whilst others remain at a safe distance.

People amongst people. We are called to rediscover the bond between honouring God and a humanising understanding of our sisters and brothers.

Love calls for love, forgiveness spontaneously attracts forgiveness - not out of effort, not out of good manners or duty, but as a channel for to enter the world new preparatory energies, and twists.

Fragrant sign of the Church is the reversal of roles and courses.

[Wednesday 19th wk. in O.T.  August 12, 2026]

In the midst of the reconciled: the change of course and destiny in the Kingdom

(Mt 18:15-20)

"The verb the evangelist uses for 'they will be reconciled' is synphōnēsōsin: there is a reference to a 'symphony' of hearts" [Pope Benedict, Vespers at the Conclusion of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, 25 January 2006].

This new malleable energy has a mysterious grip on the heart of reality - which is always stronger than we are; it unfolds the plot and proposes, but here, conversely, it welcomes us.

That is, it disturbs us with discomfort... which, however, is already the therapy. Because every tear leads to the deep layers of our primordial being, our seed and its own world of relationships.

And then the soul loosens up, becomes less tortuous, follows a direction it was not thinking of; it finds the intoxicating road of deep attunements, it abandons the bad path.

It prefers the Way that corresponds to it, more than identifications: all the idols that previously had the upper hand, which - despite appearances - struggled with our essential destination.

- Without escaping from oneself, but only from external conventions, Together we can move from one-sidedness to wholeness, from banality to fullness; to the reason why we are in the world; to the destiny of being that we are.

Perhaps we could not perceive it before, because the eye bounced between the walls of the usual domestication.

And ephemeral, habituated thought did not destroy the idea [without perception] of ourselves; idea without hearing, which did not fade away.

Fraternal correction clutches at our throats, but it is that bitterness that brings back the essential; it is that anxiety (if accepted) that truly heals us.

After the destruction of Jerusalem, the contrast between the world of the synagogue and the new fraternities in Christ was growing.

Converts to the Lord Jesus from the Judaizing communities of Galilee and Syria were experiencing a time of great tension, even within their families of origin.

At the same time, the influx of pagans was beginning, who were gradually accentuating their detachment from Judaism - both in the external confrontation, between synagogue and 'ecclesiology', and in the internal debate in the small assemblies.

It was not at all easy to rebuild relationships and bring people from different backgrounds into dialogue, with a cultural background marked by adherence to archaic forms of religiosity; devotion that made them obstinate in everything.

But the Risen One sees far ahead.

In the spirit of Faith that supplants the narrow-mindedness of impulsive or idolatrous convictions, Mt seeks to sustain the conviviality of differences in his communities.

The evangelist does this by emphasising reconciliation, and the right position of those who wished to make themselves a living sign of the Lord's Presence.

At the threshold of the tiny churches, newcomers often failed to find a serene welcome; rather, they had to undergo examination and rigmarole by malphilic veterans, and live in an atmosphere of suspicion.

Those at the top of the class, always punctilious in the defence of their beliefs and prominent positions, felt the presence of some brethren of faith (freer than themselves) as an encumbrance and a burden.

Many heathens who were initially confident and motivated by expectations of candour were also turning away, annoyed by the mistrustful climate of the legalists. Legalists who in fact tended to reproduce the same competitive atmosphere as the ancient religions.

Other defections were also motivated by the emergence of grey areas and internal scandals.

Some perhaps took advantage of the management of goods, or despite formal conversion remained selfish and withheld their own - usurping the dignity of the Minims and defacing the atmosphere of cordiality.

Almost all of them [the same ones who wanted to corner the new or erring ones] squabbled for precedence, creating a climate of resentment that accentuated friction and dampened the Faith, even to the point of historically ruining it.

Matthew suggests dialogue, which attempts to understand the motives of the other.

Indeed, in the early Judeo-Christian realities, the climate was perhaps overly scrupulous. [Later excommunication also became a weapon...].

Thus detachment from the community was also foreseen, but the knowledge remained that the sinner was still not separate from God, even 'outside' the particular church: "Where two or three are gathered together in my Name..." (v.20).

This is the centre of the new pedagogical conception - no longer 'religious' and mass, but of living and personal Faith.

The expression 'in my Name' indicates that Jesus himself had his hands full with the judges of his time.

All real. Even an exclusion can unite one to Him and make Him come alive concretely.

If the true - not vague - Christ remains the pivot of the fraternity, the Father will grant the return of the excluded brother.Of course, this can only happen if the excluded one experiences that community leaders first seek human confrontation - not being princely, but rather following the same position as the Master: 'in the middle'.

Equidistant from everyone, and every now and then with a nice change of duties - an event foreseen by the new canon law, but totally disregarded on the ground - because still only the chosen ones can actually put their noses into the things that matter, and hands and feet into the leading roles.

Those who still make us see Jesus alive today do not stand 'above' others; they do not take the lead, nor do they place themselves 'in front' [so that some are close and others always far away].

People among people. We are called to rediscover the weld between honour to God and love for our sisters and brothers - not only of conforming faith.

Love calls for love, forgiveness spontaneously attracts forgiveness - not out of effort, not out of good manners or duty, but as a channel for new preparatory energies and twists to enter the world.

Fragrant sign of the Church is the reversal of roles and fates. The 'victory-or-defeat' alternative is false: one must come out of it.

To internalise and live the message:

What convinces people to forgive or make fraternal correction, perhaps the example of gratuitousness and the way church leaders position themselves? 

Do they correct each other amiably or is there envy and friction?

In your community, are those who claim to represent Christ in the middle or are they always head and shoulders above the table?