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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (144/145)

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

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

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

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

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

+Giovanni D’Ercole

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [26 July 2026]

First Reading from the First Book of Kings (3:5, 7–12)

This passage from the First Book of Kings recounts the first great celebration of the reign of Solomon, David’s successor on the throne of Jerusalem. After his coronation, Solomon went to the sanctuary at Gibeon to offer a great sacrifice and there uttered a prayer that would become a model for all Israel.

However, the historical context shows that Solomon was not a perfect man. His accession to the throne was marked by dynastic struggles, political intrigues and violence. Although he was one of David’s youngest sons, he managed to secure power thanks to the rivalries among his elder brothers and the decisive intervention of his mother, Bathsheba. After his coronation, he swiftly eliminated his opponents. Therefore, his renowned wisdom was not an innate quality, but a gift received from God. True wisdom thus emerges as the most precious of all goods. Once in power, Solomon realised the difficulty of governing. This realisation represents the first sign of his wisdom. He recognised that the most precious good is not wealth or power, but wisdom, and that it comes only from God. In his prayer, he presents himself with humility: ‘I am a young and inexperienced man; grant your servant a discerning heart to govern your people and to distinguish between good and evil.’ His request recalls the hidden treasure and the precious pearl of which Jesus will speak in the Gospel (Mt 13:44–46): wisdom is worth more than any other good. Here is a lesson for all those who govern. The second lesson concerns not only kings, but anyone who exercises authority. Solomon does not ask for personal advantages, a long life, riches or victory over his enemies. He asks only for what is necessary to serve the people entrusted to him. In this, he shows that he has understood the ideal of the monarchy of Israel: the ruler must not seek his own interests, but the good and safety of the people. The prophets, beginning with Nathan, constantly reminded the kings of Israel of this mission. God’s response is generous: He appreciates the selflessness of the request and responds by granting Solomon a wise and discerning heart, superior to that of all other kings; by giving him the ability to discern and govern justly; and, furthermore, by granting him what he had not asked for: wealth, glory and prestige. This reveals God’s generosity: those who seek His will above all else also receive other gifts in addition. The theme echoes Jesus’ teaching: ‘Seek first the Kingdom of God, and all these things will be given to you as well’ (Mt 6:33).

Responsorial Psalm (118/119)

In the First Reading, Solomon, at the beginning of his reign, had grasped the essential truth: true wisdom is the most precious treasure and can come only from God. 

He continues in the psalm: ‘The law from your mouth is more precious to me than thousands of pieces of gold and silver.’ And the psalmist adds: ‘How wonderful are your commandments; that is why I keep them!’ For the believer, faithfulness to the commandments is a delight, not a burden. This psalm is a litany of love for the Law; today’s verses are just a short stanza from a very long psalm: 176 verses = 22 stanzas of 8 verses each.  Why 22 stanzas? Because there are 22 letters in the Hebrew alphabet. Each stanza is an ‘acrostic’: all 8 verses begin with the same letter, and the stanzas follow the alphabetical order from Alef to Tav.  This is not literary virtuosity. It is a true profession of faith: a poem in honour of the Law, a meditation on the gift of God that is the commandments. Rather than a ‘psalm’, it is a litany in honour of the Law. It may sound strange to us, but that is how it is. In the Bible, to love the Law is to love the Father’s gift; this is why the biblical believer truly loves the Law. The commandments are not endured as God’s dominion over us, but as advice—the only valid advice for living happily. When the biblical person says this, they mean it with all their heart. And the Law is not endured as dominion; it is received as a gift that God gives to his people to warn them against all false paths. It is said that God ‘gives’ his Law, and it is indeed regarded as a ‘gift’. God did not merely free Israel from slavery in Egypt. By giving his Law, God has, in a sense, provided the ‘user’s manual’ for freedom. The Torah is an expression of God’s love for his people. If God is Love, his Law leads to love.  We did not have to wait for the New Testament to discover that God is Love and that the Law has but one purpose: to lead us along the path of love. The entire Bible is the story of the chosen people’s learning, in the school of brotherly love, from Deuteronomy (Dt 6:4) to Leviticus (Lv 19:18).  The famous Rabbi Hillel, who lived from 70 BC to 10 AD, said: ‘Do not do to your neighbour what you would hate for yourself: this is the whole of the Torah; the rest is commentary. Go and study.’ He also said: ‘Do not judge your neighbour until you have been in his place.’ Jesus takes the same line: the two commandments of love for God and for one’s neighbour sum up the whole Law. And the Golden Rule echoes this as follows: ‘Do to others whatever you would have them do to you: for this is the Law and the Prophets’ (Mt 7:12). Finally, this psalm resembles a litany: after the first three verses, which affirm the happiness of those faithful to the Law, the remaining 173 verses address God directly, at times in a contemplative tone, at others in supplication: ‘Open my eyes, that I may see the wonders of your Law’ (v. 18), and the litany continues, almost always repeating the same phrases. In Hebrew, eight identical words recur throughout all the stanzas to describe the Law: Law, Word, Precepts, Statutes, Commandments, Judgements, Promises, Ways. Only lovers repeat themselves like this without ever tiring. Nor is the number 8 coincidental: in the Bible, it is the number of the new creation. God created the first Creation in seven days; therefore, the eighth day will be that of the renewed Creation, of the ‘new heavens and new earth’. This will finally come to pass when all humanity lives according to God’s Law—that is, in love—because they are one and the same. 

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (8:28–30)

For weeks now we have been reading chapter eight of the Letter to the Romans: Paul contemplates the whole of human history as a long journey towards a magnificent future. One day we shall be like Jesus Christ, in his image, and we shall be one with him.  This is God’s plan: ‘God calls those he loves according to his plan’ (Rom 8:28), with the best commentary: ‘God chose you from the very beginning for salvation, through the Holy Spirit who sanctifies and through faith in the truth. For this is what he has called you to through our Gospel, so that you may share in the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (2 Thessalonians 2:13–14). This plan, which culminates in union with Christ, is the work of the Spirit, made possible by our free participation. Paul puts it even more simply: ‘God calls you to his Kingdom and to his glory’ (1 Thessalonians 2:12). We are on a journey towards the transformation of our whole being, a ‘shaping’ that will mould us in the image of Christ.  Earlier, Paul had compared this transformation to a birth: ‘The whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth’ (Rom 8:22). Here we see the image of entering into a great family: God has ‘predestined us to be conformed to the image of his Son, so that he might be the firstborn among many brothers’ (Rom 8:29).  Shortly before, he had called us “children of God” and had continued: “If we are children, then we are also heirs: heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ” (Rom 8:17). To God’s invitation to take part in this great plan, we respond with faith and trust. It is often said: “Man proposes, God disposes”, but here Paul says the opposite: ‘God proposes, man disposes’. God does not impose his plan on us; he proposes it to us. From the very beginnings of Revelation, we hear God calling humankind and proposing his Covenant to us, as if God were tirelessly repeating: ‘Love me, trust me, for I love you’. And this plan of God depends on our freedom.  In today’s passage, the freedom to accept or refuse is expressed as follows: ‘Moreover, we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, for those who are called according to his purpose’ (Rom 8:2).  The verb ‘to love’ indicates man’s free response to God’s proposal. It is not a feeling, it is an impulse, it is the adherence of ‘faith’ . Yet we remain free not to love God. In Paul’s vocabulary, we are all ‘known, called, justified, and brought into his glory’, provided we accept him. And he describes the journey of those who wish to enter into this plan of salvation.  First, God sent his Son (Col 1:18). Thus, those who respond to God’s love resemble that Son who fulfilled the Father’s will for salvation: predestined, called, justified, glorified—that is, brought into perfect harmony with God, made partakers of his divine nature, already welcomed into his glory. It is no surprise that Paul concludes immediately afterwards: ‘What more can be said?’ Rom 8:31.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (13:44–52)

In this passage from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus presents four brief parables to explain the meaning of the Kingdom of Heaven: the hidden treasure, the pearl of great price, the net cast into the sea, and the householder who brings out of his treasure things both new and old. The treasure and the pearl: the absolute value of the Kingdom. The first two parables convey the same message: a man discovers a treasure hidden in a field; a merchant finds a pearl of exceptional value. In both cases, the protagonists sell everything they own to acquire that unique treasure. This act of renunciation is not experienced as a loss, but as a joy, because the value of the treasure infinitely surpasses that of everything else. Jesus teaches that the Kingdom of God is the greatest good that exists. Those who discover it realise that it is worth more than any earthly wealth, security or success. The net and the final judgement. The third parable describes a bountiful catch. Once the net has been hauled ashore, the fishermen separate the good fish from the bad. Jesus applies this image to the Last Judgement: at the end of time, there will be a definitive distinction between what belongs to the Kingdom and what opposes it. As in the parable of the wheat and the tares, however, it is not simply a matter of dividing people into two rigid categories. Good and evil coexist within every person’s heart. The parable highlights the gravity of human choices: one cannot serve both God and other ‘masters’ at the same time. This is why Jesus continually calls for conversion: ‘Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near.’ The same teaching emerges in his encounter with the rich young man: called to leave everything to follow Christ and gain a treasure in heaven, he is unable to give up his securities and goes away sad. These parables show that following Christ requires concrete decisions. There are no half-measures: every choice must be assessed in the light of the Kingdom of God. To welcome the Kingdom means being willing to let go of whatever prevents one from fully adhering to God’s will, just as one who sells everything to acquire the treasure or the pearl—a treasure both ancient and new. After asking his disciples whether they had understood his teaching, Jesus adds a fourth parable: ‘Every scribe who has become a disciple of the Kingdom of Heaven is like a householder who brings out of his treasure things both new and old.’ The scribes had a profound knowledge of the Old Testament Scriptures. However, in order to welcome the Kingdom proclaimed by Jesus, they had to open themselves to the newness of his revelation without losing the heritage they had received. The true disciple cherishes both: the treasure of the Old Covenant and the newness brought by Jesus Christ. This is why Jesus affirms: ‘I have not come to abolish the Law and the Prophets, but to bring them to fulfilment.’ The Old and New Testaments are not opposed to one another: the former prepares and announces, the latter realises and brings to fulfilment. Knowing both constitutes the true treasure of the Christian faith. The life of Paul of Tarsus represents a living synthesis of these parables. Having enjoyed prestige as a Jew and a Pharisee, he regards all that as a loss compared with the knowledge of Christ. In his letter to the Philippians, he states that every human privilege pales in comparison with the gift of Christ, for which he was willing to lose everything. Ultimately, the four parables converge on a single teaching: the Kingdom of God is the supreme treasure; it is worth giving up everything to obtain it; our choices have decisive consequences; the disciple must embrace both the richness of the Old Covenant and the newness of Christ; true wisdom lies in recognising that nothing is of greater value than communion with God. The ‘treasure hunt’ of which Jesus speaks is not the pursuit of material goods, but the discovery of the Kingdom, a treasure so great that it renders everything else secondary.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

From the fascinating proposal of Faith to the fatigue of withdrawal

(Mt 13:36-43)

The parable of the Sower as historically narrated by Jesus (vv.3-8) and that of the tares (vv.24-30) denote the total positivity of his Message.

The Lord proclaimed a new world; above all a different, tolerant and benevolent Heaven.

Even vv.18-23 contain a Good News, rather than a judgment: in our field both good wheat and weeds arise spontaneously, but all this is not a curse; on the contrary (v.23c).

It must however be admitted that the metaphor of vv.37-43 transforms the original parable (vv.24-30) into a moral allegory.

With symbolic elements, the different figurative expressions take up the original narrative of Jesus, trying to interpret it according to the common codes of traditional rabbinic preaching.

As for the teachers of Israel, here too the [next] intent is to shake the listeners, in order to emphasize the personal, community and spiritual importance of the fundamental choices - in the present.

At House (v.36), that is, in the Church, a debate is created first of all on the explanation of why Jesus does not impose a preventive sterilization of the wheat field.

In the uncertainty, particular clarifications are attempted - according to which, however, the passage [which is the result of subsequent editing, debate and reflection] risks overturning the meaning of the Jesus parable itself.

Well, in his people of brethren and in society, the Master did not intend to erase a priori the profitable sense of the ineffable and mysterious dynamics of ‘mixing’: reality of this world with full rights.

Such is the essential, universalist Proclamation of the young Rabbi, in spite of the ancient purist clichés.

Legalist religiosity was selective, élitist, conformist; attentive to the maintenance of social hierarchies.

In this way, it constituted a dense-mesh cultural hood, and evaluated in an abstract, preventive mode, what should be considered good or bad for all.

Yet the idea of algid perfection [sterile of life] did not allow the energies of concrete existence to prepare the future and generate the same Novelty of the Spirit.

Christ's encounter with the believer changes everything in his life, certainly - but not from an assumed gradation of values, procedures and pre-written sentences.

In reality one becomes attentive to perceive the eccentricity of the sisters and brothers by the fact that one has experienced the blessing embrace of the Father on his own "defects".

Not for a sense of emotional paternalism, but because not infrequently the resources that solve real problems and activate the Redemption of God come from the whirlwind of precious contradictions and indigences that we have inside.

They make us less one-sided, more flexible and complete. Exceptional, alive; able to rely on the internal world, instead of the external one.

So capable to implement a turning point.

We see it: to make the world grow and reborn from the global crisis, each subject (even institutional) is called to reinvent itself outside of every score already arranged and recognized.

And today perhaps starting from what in the habit of thought was  considered nothing but sin, or annoying dissonance; incompleteness, limit... so on.

Suddenly and blatantly, imbalances and fluctuations make a difference also in terms of quality. They become opportunities not to be missed: an extra gear; spring power, a drive to activate the unprecedented, and open up.

Here is a substantial difference between common religiosity and the life of Faith. The character of Duplicity makes us healthier and more perfect - and God is not biased.

Indeed, in the eyes of the Father it is precisely the unrepeatable uncertainties [not by protocol] that make every one of his sons special, unique.

In short, you grow, get richer, and correspond to your personal Vocation, only by putting into play, integrating and transmuting boundaries - not denying them.

[Tuesday 17th wk. in O.T.  July 28, 2026]

(Mt 13:36-43)

Completeness: Duplicity

From the fascinating proposal of Faith to the fatigue of retreat (2)

The parable of the Sower as historically narrated by Jesus (vv.3-8) and the parable of the tares (vv.24-30) denote the total positivity of his Message.

The Lord proclaimed a new world; first of all a different, tolerant and benevolent Heaven.

The principle of our life as saved is not what we do for God, but what He (Generous and Patient) creates for us.

Just like a condescending and longsuffering Parent, who ceaselessly provides opportunities for life.

The Master intended to shift the criterion of the pious life: from personal effort to allowing oneself to be saved, surrendering one's point of view.

Redemption is rooted in His providential initiative, in His gratuitous liberality, in His serene calm.

All conditions that allow each one a process of interaction, assimilation and reworking: a broad time of growth.

But the reflection that immediately follows - just a few decades after the Lord's death - begins to suffer from the dominant cultural cliché on the side, and unfortunately undermines both its character and its transparency.

The Son proclaimed only the longsuffering of the Father: Subject, Motive and Engine of our ability to face every path of flourishing.

In later reflection, the original parables become allegories, overflowing with symbols of defined moralistic meaning - all in all, banal.

In this way, we see them veined with impersonal considerations about the quality of the soil, or even of the Seed!

The latter - no longer identified with His Word, but in a certain zealous type of disciples [of little specific weight and proposal: those who would always feel surrounded by adversaries].

Such an inauspicious passage testifies to the difficulty of understanding the Son of God's astounding call from the earliest communities.

The Lord intended to suggest a path of Faith to all, precisely to supplant the anxiogenic yoke of the religious model - which, on the other hand, remained as an attractive archetype of discernment criteria.

A heavy yoke, albeit a usual one, that did not start from Love; for the very fact that it presupposed stinginess, inadequacies, and shame everywhere - even in the spiritual life [shrunken, perpetually in the balance, stingy, always insufficient].

We know the situations.

Instead, even vv.18-23 contain a glad tidings, rather than a judgement: in our field both good wheat and weeds arise spontaneously, but this is not a curse regardless; on the contrary (v.23c).

However, it must be admitted that the metaphor of vv.37-43 transforms the original parable (vv.24-30) into a moral allegory.

The metaphor that follows the initial parable is intended to emphasise that the presence of "evil" in the world is not to be attributed to the lack of vitality of the Seed, nor to the divine Work.

The protagonist of the passage [from v.18 and v.36] is no longer God and His munificent gesture, who spares no expense in sowing His Seed, but rather the type of soil - or here the new "good seed": the apostle himself - who would become the true "subject" of the spiritual path.

One thus enters the minefield of devotions: it seems that it is the woman and the man, the one who actually receives the Word, who must focus on himself, and identify his own shortcomings.

In addition - having finally become aware of them, a clear conscience, a natural ability and even familiarity - to strive to 'improve' according to models, on pain of exclusion from the ranks of the 'best'.

[All this leads normal people to a depersonalisation of the very quality of the Calling, and to an insane expenditure of energy].

The ethical idea - in fact - erases trust. It does not enhance the propulsive dynamism of ordinary existence. It always finds before it imperfections and tangles to unravel.

It is these, and thoughts, that get in the way. Conversely, in order to realise and complete oneself, such ballasts should be placed in the background, thrown behind one's back; flown forward.

The danger of such an approach is that it will end up piling distinction upon distinction, obsessing people with invincible sin. And affect the character lines of those who take the legalist binary seriously.

Such disembodied ethics cages the most sensitive - who unfortunately gradually exchange self-consciousness for the guilt-ridden myths [artefacts] of perfection.

Except for the careless and opportunistic, 'religion' taken head-on has always rhymed with prison.

Indeed, it still paradoxically makes the judgement of still being 'bad seed' the protagonist of our path! Other people's opinion and exterior.

In addition, there is the torment of still feeling under the cloak of perpetual 'sin': transgression and guilt that the fundamental option for God was intended to exorcise.In fact, epidermic sentencing does not know the different and very normal energies of man - all mouldable and potentially preparatory, to be fully perceived, assumed, invested.

Every prejudice, even a sacred one, actually overlooks the multifacetedness of the person, and finally turns into that deadening principle of self and others, which by proclamation would never want to be.

Because of extrinsic or recondite efforts, every external paradigm ends up losing the Way of God's Newness, its relevance, and the real Vocation - perhaps mistaking them for ballast.

The metaphor (vv.37-43) is precisely the result of the interpretation of early assemblies still under the influence of the ancient target of external, formal, apparent 'sterilisation' and 'coherence' - ethical rather than relational.

Similarly to what has already been mentioned above, even vv.18-23 contain a Glad Tidings, rather than a judgement: in our field both good wheat and weeds arise spontaneously, but this is not a curse regardless; on the contrary (v.23c).

However, it must be admitted that the metaphor of vv.37-43 transforms the original parable (vv.24-30) into a moral allegory.

With symbolic elements, the different figurative expressions take up the original narrative of Jesus, trying to interpret it according to the common codes of traditional rabbinic preaching.

As with the teachers of Israel, the next intent here is to shake up the listeners, in order to emphasise the personal, communal and spiritual importance of the diriment choices - in today's world.

However, in this passage we get the impression that the editors got caught up in the banal idea of immediate and decisive justice.

And yet haste is always inimical to the things of God.... [apart from the fact that time is often the medicine that makes useless branches, or so many parasitic elements, spontaneously wither].

In the House (v.36), i.e. in the Church, there is first of all a debate as to why Jesus does not impose a preventive sterilisation of the cornfield.

In doing so, he unfortunately opens the door to that 'purism' which the Son of God abhorred as nefarious.

This, although the evangelist's attempt to stem defections was understandable - screening well any attempt to adapt to cultural frames, to situations.

But by yielding to evaluations of efficacy and outline, the central point of the original narration of the Son of Man - and He Himself - is as if broken up into pattern elements.

A casuistry perhaps easier to digest, but even independent of the sense of the main narrative (vv.18-23).

Finally, there is the risk of identifying the Will of God with that of a Church of the elect and impecunious. A community almost placed upstream of any growth process.

In the uncertainty, particular clarifications are attempted here - according to which, however, the passage, the result of subsequent drafting, debate and reflection, risks overturning the meaning of the Jesus parable itself.

Indeed, in his people of brothers and society, the Master did not intend to erase a priori the fruitful sense of the ineffable and mysterious dynamics of 'mixing': a reality of this world in its own right.

Such was the essential, universalist proclamation of the young Rabbi; in spite of ancient purist clichés, or spineless fashions.

Legalistic religiosity was selective, elitist, conformist; concerned with maintaining social hierarchies.

As such, it constituted a tightly knit cultural cloak, and assessed in an abstract, pre-emptive way what should be considered good or bad for everyone.

Yet the idea of icy perfection [sterile of life] did not allow the preparatory energies of concrete existence to prepare the future and generate the very Newness of the Spirit.

Yet (the passage in Matthew bears witness to this) soon after Christ's death the conviction of undefiledness and the mentality of distinctions began to creep in again and take over.

This was due to the fact that externally, small communities had to confront (head-on) the rankings, the context of religions, moralistic conformisms, and the usual paradigms of widespread culture.

In some cases, this configuration led to a lack of humanity.

Historically speaking - in the second and third generation of believers, the acceptance of Jesus as Lord of one's life was perhaps in danger of becoming more binding and identifying than propelling the character of personal uniqueness - activating Freedom.

Christ's encounter with the believer changes everything in his life, certainly - but not from a presupposed hierarchy of values, procedures and pre-written sentences.

One actually becomes alert to perceive the eccentricity of one's brothers and sisters because one has experienced the Father's blessing embrace of one's 'faults'.Not out of a sense of emotional paternalism, but because not infrequently the resources that solve the real problems and activate God's Redemption come from the whirlwind of precious contradictions and destitution within us.

It is precisely these that make us less one-sided, more ductile and complete. Exceptional, alive; able to rely on the inner world instead of the outer world.

Therefore capable of a breakthrough.

Instead, exclusivism - where established morality takes the lion's share, hand in hand with appearance - has never let the living Faith, nor the world, grow.

We can see it: in order to make the world grow and make it reborn from the global crisis, each subject [even institutional] is called upon to reinvent itself outside of any already arranged and recognised score.

And today, perhaps precisely from what in the custom of thought was considered nothing more than a flaw, or annoying dissonance; incompleteness, limitation... and so on.

Suddenly and blatantly, imbalances and oscillations also make a difference in terms of quality.

They become opportunities not to be missed: an extra gear; spring power, a drive to activate the unheard of, and open up.

Here is a substantial difference between common religiosity and the life of Faith.

Duplicity makes us healthier and more perfect - and God is not prejudiced.

On the contrary, in the Father's eyes, it is precisely the unrepeatable uncertainties (not protocol) that make each of his children special, unique.

In short, one grows, is enriched and corresponds to one's personal Vocation only by bringing into play, integrating and transmuting boundaries - not by denying them.

47. Some recent theologians are of the opinion that the fire which both burns and saves is Christ himself, the Judge and Saviour. The encounter with him is the decisive act of judgement. Before his gaze all falsehood melts away. This encounter with him, as it burns us, transforms and frees us, allowing us to become truly ourselves. All that we build during our lives can prove to be mere straw, pure bluster, and it collapses. Yet in the pain of this encounter, when the impurity and sickness of our lives become evident to us, there lies salvation. His gaze, the touch of his heart heals us through an undeniably painful transformation “as through fire”. But it is a blessed pain, in which the holy power of his love sears through us like a flame, enabling us to become totally ourselves and thus totally of God. In this way the inter-relation between justice and grace also becomes clear: the way we live our lives is not immaterial, but our defilement does not stain us for ever if we have at least continued to reach out towards Christ, towards truth and towards love. Indeed, it has already been burned away through Christ's Passion. At the moment of judgement we experience and we absorb the overwhelming power of his love over all the evil in the world and in ourselves. The pain of love becomes our salvation and our joy. It is clear that we cannot calculate the “duration” of this transforming burning in terms of the chronological measurements of this world. The transforming “moment” of this encounter eludes earthly time-reckoning—it is the heart's time, it is the time of “passage” to communion with God in the Body of Christ[39]. The judgement of God is hope, both because it is justice and because it is grace. If it were merely grace, making all earthly things cease to matter, God would still owe us an answer to the question about justice—the crucial question that we ask of history and of God. If it were merely justice, in the end it could bring only fear to us all. The incarnation of God in Christ has so closely linked the two together—judgement and grace—that justice is firmly established: we all work out our salvation “with fear and trembling” (Phil 2:12). Nevertheless grace allows us all to hope, and to go trustfully to meet the Judge whom we know as our “advocate”, or parakletos (cf. 1 Jn 2:1).

[Pope Benedict, Encyclical Spe Salvi no.47]

5. One of the parables narrated by Jesus on the growth of the Kingdom of God on earth makes us discover very realistically the character of struggle that the kingdom entails, due to the presence and action of an "enemy", who "sows tares (or weeds) in the midst of the wheat". Jesus says that when "the harvest flourished and bore fruit, behold, the weeds also appeared". The servants of the master of the field would like to pluck it, but the master does not allow them to do so, "lest . . . uproot the wheat also. Let the one and the other grow together until the harvest, and at the time of the harvest I will say to the reapers, 'Harvest the darnel first and bind it in bundles to burn it; but the wheat put it in my barn' (Mt 13:24-30). This parable explains the coexistence and often the intertwining of good and evil in the world, in our lives, in the very history of the Church. Jesus teaches us to see things with Christian realism and to treat every problem with clarity of principles, but also with prudence and patience. This presupposes a transcendent vision of history, in which we know that everything belongs to God and every final outcome is the work of his Providence. However, the final fate - with an eschatological dimension - of the good and the bad is not hidden: it is symbolised by the harvesting of the wheat in the storehouse and the burning of the tares.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 25 September 1991]

These Sundays the liturgy proposes several Gospel parables, that is, short stories which Jesus used to announce the Kingdom of Heaven to the crowds. Among those in today’s Gospel, there is a rather complex one which Jesus explained to the disciples: it is that of the good grain and the weed, which deals with the problem of evil in the world and calls attention to God’s patience (cf. Mt 13:24-30, 36-43). The story takes place in a field where the owner sows grain, but during the night his enemy comes and sows weed, a term which in Hebrew derives from the same root as the name “Satan” and which alludes to the concept of division. We all know that the demon is a “sower of weed”, one who always seeks to sow division between individuals, families, nations and peoples. The servants wanted to uproot the weed immediately, but the field owner stopped them, explaining that: “in gathering the weeds you root up the wheat along with them” (Mt 13:29). Because we all know that a weed, when it grows, looks very much like good grain, and there is the risk of confusing them.

The teaching of the parable is twofold. First of all, it tells that the evil in the world comes not from God but from his enemy, the evil one. It is curious that the evil one goes at night to sow weed, in the dark, in confusion; he goes where there is no light to sow weed. This enemy is astute: he sows evil in the middle of good, thus it is impossible for us men to distinctly separate them; but God, in the end, will be able to do so.

And here we arrive at the second theme: the juxtaposition of the impatience of the servants and the patient waiting of the field owner, who represents God. At times we are in a great hurry to judge, to categorize, to put the good here, the bad there.... But remember the prayer of that self-righteous man: “God, I thank you that I am good, that I am not like other men, malicious” (cf. Lk 18:11-12). God, however, knows how to wait. With patience and mercy he gazes into the “field” of life of every person; he sees much better than we do the filth and the evil, but he also sees the seeds of good and waits with trust for them to grow. God is patient, he knows how to wait. This is so beautiful: our God is a patient father, who always waits for us and waits with his heart in hand to welcome us, to forgive us. He always forgives us if we go to him.

The field owner’s attitude is that of hope grounded in the certainty that evil does not have the first nor the last word. And it is thanks to this patient hope of God that the same weed, which is the malicious heart with so many sins, in the end can become good grain. But be careful: evangelical patience is not indifference to evil; one must not confuse good and evil! In facing weeds in the world the Lord’s disciple is called to imitate the patience of God, to nourish hope with the support of indestructible trust in the final victory of good, that is, of God.

In the end, in fact, evil will be removed and eliminated: at the time of harvest, that is, of judgment, the harvesters will follow the orders of the field owner, separating the weed to burn it (cf. Mt 13:30). On the day of the final harvest, the judge will be Jesus, He who has sown good grain in the world and who himself became the “grain of wheat”, who died and rose. In the end we will all be judged by the same measure with which we have judged: the mercy we have shown to others will also be shown to us. Let us ask Our Lady, our Mother, to help us to grow in patience, in hope and in mercy with all brothers and sisters.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 20 July 2014]

(Mt 13:31-35)

Jesus helps people to discover the things of God and man in everyday life.

The Master teaches that the extraordinary of the eternal world is hidden in ordinary things: life itself is a transparency of the Mystery.

He reveals the Kingdom becoming Present, describing precisely the essential characteristics of the community of disciples - and using here the simple comparisons of the «mustard seed» and the «leaven».

To say: the authentic Church is within reach of everyone, everywhere - nonetheless exiguous; inapparent, yet intimately dynamic.

In it, we experience a contrast between beginnings and term: we experience the Kingdom 'within' each one that welcomes the character of an inapparent Word-event, but one that activates transformative and hospitable capacities.

The first term of comparison related to the life of the people [the little seed] mentions the story of a very small grain: a common concrete event, which is not very noticeable.

Around the Lake of Galilee, mustard shrubs can reach a maximum height of 3 metres, no more.

It is not the same development as the majestic cedars of Lebanon - rather of just any small tree in the kitchen garden (v.32), however, capable of giving a little refreshment to the birds that take refuge there.

It indicates a presence of little fuss: quite normal, mixed in with aubergines, courgettes and cucumbers...

Nothing big, yet hospitable to those suffering from the powerful heat of those places.

In short, the fraternities that the Lord dreams of will have nothing magnificent and outward, but they will know how to give shelter and rest.

The strength of the «mustard speck» is intimate, yet strong-willed: it will grow - though not by much.

That is, the authentic Church should not resemble a majestic ocean liner.

Maybe it will be more like a small barque: no big deal - yet it will raise hopes of life.

It will do so through the discreet witness of amiable evangelisers, who still proclaim and work, radiating light, captivating people.

Whoever approaches the threshold of the churches - the reference is to the distant and pagan - must feel at ease, at home.

Even the 'wanderers' will be fully entitled to take up their position and build their nest [in such a common Abode] even if they then decide to take flight again as soon as they have used it.

The next comparison - of the «leaven» (v.33) - insists on caring for the life goals of other brethren, with respect to the Community of believers.

In this way, it is called to be a sign of the Father's concern for all his sons.

The leaven is not useful to itself, but to the mass.

Likewise, the Church shall not serve itself; it will not be concerned with its own celebration and development [material, or with a view to proselytism; and so on].

Every Fraternity in Christ is a function of people's lives alone, where and how they are - just as they are.

To internalize and live the message:

What seed had you neglected because of its smallness, and then it turned out to be essential for your growth and the needs of others as well?

[Lunedì 17.a sett. T.O.   27 luglio 2026]