30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [25 October 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Exodus 22:20–26 

This text forms part of the Book of the Covenant, that is, the law which God gave at Sinai immediately after the Ten Commandments. It is not an isolated civil law, but the practical consequence of the Covenant that has just been made. Israel has come out of Egypt, has experienced slavery and liberation, and now God says to them: your freedom must become justice for the most vulnerable.

Four groups are protected in this text: the stranger, the widow and the orphan, and the poor person seeking a loan. Three different groups, yet united by a single principle: those without protection must find divine protection in Israel. For the stranger, the historical memory applies: ‘You were strangers in the land of Egypt.’ Those who have known what it is like to live without rights cannot allow others to remain without rights, and God reminds Israel of its own history to prevent it from becoming an oppressor. For the widow and the orphan, the rationale is even stronger. In ancient patriarchal society, without a husband and without adult sons, these people were vulnerable to the confiscation of their property, to exploitation and to starvation. This is why the law states: ‘If you afflict them, when they cry out to me, I will hear their cry and my anger will be kindled.’ The verb ‘to hear’ is central. The cry of the poor, zaaq in Hebrew, is the prayer that God cannot ignore. God takes the side of the wronged. Not afflicting the widow and the orphan is not merely a social duty; it is an act of fidelity to God himself. For the poor debtor, the law intervenes on two fronts. It commands that usury must not be practised: do not impose interest on those who are already poor; in other words, do not turn another’s need into profit. And return the pledge before sunset. In the ancient world, a cloak was the poor person’s only possession – a blanket at night and a garment by day – so taking it as a pledge meant leaving the person unprotected. The law commands that it be returned because human dignity is worth more than financial security. The conclusion, then, is the key to it all: when the poor cry out, I will hear them, for I am merciful; and God calls for social justice because, if He is merciful, so too must His people be. Here, then, is the text’s deepest message: God does not present Himself as a cold lawgiver or a distant judge, but as the One who listens and is moved. True liturgy and true worship are not the sacrifice offered on the altar if the heart remains indifferent to the cry of the weak. God’s holiness is not power; it is active compassion, and human holiness consists in imitating this compassion of His.

This message is of burning relevance today. Today’s strangers are migrants, refugees and undocumented people, but also the new neighbour, the one who is different in culture or faith. Many of our families were once migrants themselves and know what it means to be welcomed or rejected. The memory of our own past as strangers must challenge us: are our homes, our parishes, our country a welcoming inn or a fortress that turns people away? Our widows and orphans are the single mothers, the abandoned elderly, the children without a future, the victims of violence, and the young people without work. When a system crushes them with bureaucracy, unaffordable rents and precarious living conditions, God hears their cry. We cannot claim to love God whilst remaining indifferent. Our poor debtors are the families strangled by mortgages, by easy loans, by three-figure interest rates, by gambling. The biblical principle stands: no debt can take away dignity. Even today, one cannot take a man’s cloak – that is, his last possession – as security. The economy must always retain a human face. This is why Exodus 22:20–26 is not merely an ancient text; it is a call to translate faith into concrete actions. To welcome the stranger, to visit those who are alone, to lend without exploiting, to return what is needed to live. Then the cry of the poor will no longer be an accusation against us, but will become an opportunity to respond to the cry of God, who invites us to be merciful as he is merciful.

 Responsorial Psalm (17/18)

The title of the psalm attributes it to David, the Lord’s servant, who addressed the words of this song to the Lord when he was delivered from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul. It is a true hymn of thanksgiving, not a private prayer, but a liturgical song following a victory. We are probably at the Feast of the Covenant or the commemoration of a deliverance, and the king speaks in the first person, yet he represents the people. Here, only a few of the 51 verses of the psalm are quoted; it opens with a profession of faith: ‘I love you, O Lord, my strength, my rock, my fortress, my deliverer.’ Seven divine titles, like a crown. God is not described in the abstract, but in relation to concrete salvation. The Psalm goes on to recount the danger and the answered prayer. The king is grappling with the waters of death, the snares of Sheol, the torrents of Belial. It is the experience of mortal anguish, but the prayer from the temple is heard: ‘From his temple he heard my voice.’ Then comes the theophany, which forms the heart of the Psalm. God intervenes as a cosmic warrior. The earth trembles, the mountains smoke, the heavens draw near; God rides upon a cherub, hurling lightning and hail. The language is drawn from Sinai and from the myth of the warrior God who battles the sea and chaos. This is not a scientific description, but poetic language to convey that when God acts, the entire universe participates in the salvation of his chosen one. The king’s justice and victory follow. After the storm, God reaches out his hand and delivers from the deep waters and from powerful enemies. The rationale is central: ‘The Lord has rewarded me according to my righteousness.’ This is not presumption: David presents himself as one who observes the Law, a man of integrity. The Psalm echoes the theology of retribution: to those who are faithful, God is faithful; to those who are good, you are good; to the upright, you are upright. The Psalm concludes with a universal perspective: the delivered king sings not only for Israel, but proclaims God’s name amongst the nations.

For the believer today, this Psalm teaches us to pray in times of trial by invoking God’s names, to recognise that deliverance comes from him, and to live consistently, for faithfulness attracts faithfulness. The theophany reminds us that our personal history is part of a cosmic plan: God does not save on a small scale; he saves in such a way as to make the waters of chaos tremble, like a victorious warrior.

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians (1:5c–10)

Paul expresses his gratitude to the community in Thessalonica, which received the Gospel with genuine faith, despite difficulties and persecution. He recognises in the Thessalonians the tangible fruits of God’s work: their lives have been transformed by the Word and their witness has become an example to other believers. It was a newly formed community, born in difficult circumstances, yet it had managed to take root in the faith. Paul thus shows that the strength of the Church does not depend on the absence of problems, but on the ability to receive and live out the Gospel in the power of the Holy Spirit. First of all, Paul recalls that the Thessalonians received the Word ‘with the joy of the Holy Spirit’, even in the midst of tribulations. Their faith did not remain a mere theoretical commitment, but became an experience capable of facing difficulties. Christian joy, in fact, does not consist in the absence of suffering, but in the certainty of God’s presence even in the most difficult moments. And in this way, the Thessalonians became a model for the believers in Macedonia and Achaia. Their faith spread beyond the boundaries of the community, as a living proclamation of the Gospel. Paul emphasises that Christian witness is expressed not only through words, but above all through a life transformed by the encounter with Christ; and proof that the Thessalonians had been converted lies in their turning away from idols to serve the living and true God and to await his Son, Jesus, risen from the dead. This is a radical change: it is not merely a change in the way one thinks, but a shift in the very centre of one’s existence. Christian faith always involves a concrete choice: to leave behind what distances us from God, to live in his service, and to keep our gaze fixed on Christ, our hope.

St Paul invites us to reflect on the quality of our faith. To embrace the Gospel means allowing the Word to transform our daily choices, our relationships and the way we face life’s trials; and the joy of the Holy Spirit reminds us that even in suffering we can find strength and hope. Furthermore, like the Thessalonians, we are called to become credible witnesses to Christ, not so much through grand speeches as through concrete acts of love, service and solidarity. Finally, turning away from idols is more necessary than ever in our own time, for even today we can place the idols of consumer culture at the centre of our lives: success, money, power or the pursuit of approval. Conversion means recognising that only God can give fulfilment to our existence and living in confident anticipation of Jesus’ return. In conclusion, we can say that here Saint Paul presents a journey of faith that leads from listening to the Word to conversion, from conversion to witness, and from witness to hope. The Christian community thus becomes a tangible sign of God’s presence in the world, capable of proclaiming through its very life that Christ is risen and that salvation is found in him.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (22:34–40)

The greatest commandment. We are in Jerusalem, in the final days of Jesus’ life. Following the exchange with the Sadducees on the resurrection, the Pharisees gather in council, not to seek the truth, but to trap him. They send a teacher of the Law – an expert in the 613 precepts of the Law – with a trick question: which is the greatest commandment? For the rabbis, this is a classic debate between different rabbinic schools. Many rabbis of the school of Shammai maintained that the Sabbath was the greatest commandment; others, that it was circumcision; and still others, that it was the study of the Torah. Jesus responds succinctly, yet with startling depth. He does not cite any of the 613 commandments found in the Babylonian Talmud, Makkot 23b, and in the subsequent rabbinic tradition (248 positive commandments corresponding to the limbs or parts of the human body and 365 negative commandments corresponding to the days of the year), but draws upon two fundamental texts for Israel: the Shema: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your strength’, found in Deuteronomy (cf. 6:5) and which every Jew recited morning and evening because, ultimately, it is the fundamental act of faith. The second text is found in the Book of Leviticus: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ (cf. 19:18). Jesus does something unprecedented: he places the two texts on an equal footing and says that the second is like the first, using the Greek term homoios, meaning equal in nature, not merely similar in importance. And he concludes: ‘On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.’ The image that emerges is that of a building: the entire Torah hangs on these two nails, and if you remove these two nails, the whole structure collapses. Jesus, therefore, does not abolish the 613 precepts, but points out the centre that sustains them. The Law is not, therefore, a burden of rules; it is the concrete expression of a twofold love, and Jesus reveals to us that God does not want mere religiosity; He asks for love – total love. To love God with all one’s heart, with all one’s soul, with all one’s mind means not reserving just a corner of one’s life for God, but the centre and the entirety of one’s life; for the heart is the will, the soul is life itself, and the mind is thought. It is not enough to say one believes; one must love through one’s choices, through one’s very breath, through one’s reason… To love one’s neighbour as oneself is the revolution. It does not say to love one’s neighbour more than oneself; it says ‘as oneself’, that is, with the same natural care with which we look after ourselves, nourish ourselves and seek what is good. One’s neighbour, therefore, is not a stranger; they are another version of oneself. And who is one’s neighbour? In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus explains that we are called to be a neighbour to anyone we meet on our path, even to the enemy and the stranger. Loving God and loving one’s neighbour point to two inseparable forms of love, for one cannot claim to love God whilst hating one’s brother; nor can one truly love one’s brother without loving God, because it is only in God that we find the strength to love those who do not love us. These two pillars are like the wings of a bird: without a wing, no bird can fly. But how do we live out this new commandment today? On closer inspection, in our world we are witnessing a reversal of this hierarchy of values, for we place ourselves at the centre whilst God and our neighbour become mere options. We betray our first love every time our heart is divided amongst a thousand idols: work, success, money, image, power. We love God with our lips, but our minds and hearts are elsewhere. Jesus asks us today: have you given God first place, or just the leftovers of your time? It is easy to betray our love for our neighbour in this paradoxical age of connection and loneliness. We know everything about everyone on social media, yet we do not know our next-door neighbour, and perhaps not even those living under our own roof. Our neighbour sometimes becomes a nuisance, a rival, someone to be judged. Jesus reminds us that the measure of love is not a feeling, but a concrete act. Loving our neighbour as ourselves means treating others as you would wish to be treated when you are sick, poor, lonely or a stranger. The challenge, therefore, is a practical one. Love for God is measured by love for one’s neighbour, and love for one’s neighbour is rooted in the love of God. We cannot separate them, and when we truly love, the whole Law and the Prophets are fulfilled.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Theatrical actors and neutrality

(Lk 13:10-17)

Old and new opinions or common ideas stand in the way of life that calls, that reveals something else, that ignites passions, that wants totality, and activates transformation.

As always, Jesus is present in "synagogue" not to make codified prayers: He is among his people to «instruct» (v.10). The Lord is educating his intimates, in a very decisive way.

In the place of worship the Master finds a subordinate humanity, a panorama of minimums still harassed by the ancient religious obsession - then folded in on themselves, weary, unable to lift their heads.

The spirit of weakness that the same environment injected precisely to the sick and troubled, it made the faithful of the assembly [or the habituals in it] totally passive.

A curved existence, dragged at least worse; without horizons.

Christ’s Action extracts from the addicted crowd, frees from conformity and massification. He puts back on its feet the faltering ‘woman’, who takes to praise God seriously, with joy, immediately (vv.12-13).

Figure who although "participated" in the rite, and always among the people gathered together. But before meeting the Lord personally she did not glorify the Father in a real way - nor did she honour his very existence.

No joyful expression for the healing, on the part of leaders - accustomed to inoculating in the souls a soporific climate - indeed, only condemnation. Illustrious and distant authorities.

Individualistic negotiators of the power on duty, incapable of proximity. This was also for various interests of circle, doctrine, supremacy, and institutional prestige.

Then - in the common idea - it seemed that in legalistic or rubricistic terms the sanctification of the day dedicated to the Lord excluded any involvement, and even good works!

In addition to this unhealthy belief, even touching a wounded "flesh" was imagined could make impure!

In short, the spirit of the commandment that imposed the Sabbath rest [historically born for the protection of vast social, cultic, and identity needs] had been completely manipulated and overthrown.

The logic of the young Rabbi is opposed to protocols: only the neglect of the marginalized and enslaved dishonours God.

The only non-negotiable principle is the good of the real woman and man: this is the only key to reading the Gospels.

And the rite must celebrate precisely a fraternal life of welcome and sharing, of happiness, personalization, care, love.

The rest is for Jesus an unbearable comedy, from which his church leaders must stay away: «Theatricals» (v.15) would also define them today - otherwise - our Lord.

We are worth much more than oxen and donkeys (vv.15-16).

The relationship with God is feast, healing, salvation: all concrete - fruit of choice, even social.

Spirituality not empty, and any - where the little ones are forced to delegate their dreams to others.

[Monday 30th wk. in O.T.  October 26, 2026]

Theatre actors and neutrality

(Luke 13:10-17)

Our passion for a full existence would like to guide us who knows where, but sometimes there is an external force that holds us back. A dark power that even prevents us from discovering our true nature.

The opinions of others, doctrines, customs, and common ideas, both old and new, stand in the way of the life that calls us, that makes us discover other things, that ignites passions, that wants totality, and activates transformation.

Meanwhile, the perception that we may be failing to follow the 'right' path creates external conflicts; it intimidates, causes suffering, induces guilt, and sometimes blocks the most sensitive souls.

Those who accuse us then leverage the fear of having to pay the price of freedom (of character and vocation) for any 'mistakes' we may encounter by straying from the prescribed path.

The same dynamics apply, on the one hand, to deference to customs and, on the other, to adherence to fashions, even the most sophisticated and 'up-to-date' ones.

Especially in cultures or religions without the leap of faith, all this takes root and causes discomfort; it makes us believe that we are much less than we should be.

Conversely, even if it seems that we are walking on reckless paths (but ones that belong to us), the risks could bring us joy, greater fulfilment and realisation.

As always, Jesus is present in the 'synagogue' not to recite codified prayers: he is among his people to 'teach' (v. 10).

In particular, he teaches that the Father is not in conflict with his subjects. On the contrary, he supports all his children and gives them a different posture from that of the 'animal' world - to which normal beliefs might perhaps reduce us.

At that time, no woman could participate directly in a liturgy, but in the Gospels, female figures are a parable of the people themselves [in Hebrew, the term Israel is feminine].

Luke brings a 'woman' onto the scene to allude to all oppressed figures, to whom the praying community sometimes offers no comfort or concrete action for emancipation.

People subjected to the 'cultural' paradigm of their particular environment and to the conditioning power of family tradition.

At that time, this cloak forcibly transmitted a paradigmatic spirituality that was reassuring but absolutely conformist.

The common people were completely subject to the head of the family; in addition, they were subject to political power and even enslaved to the fundamentalism of the religious authorities.

It was a humiliating, even atrocious, 'bestial' panorama.

The Lord is educating his intimates in a very decisive manner.

In the place of worship, the Master finds a subordinate humanity, a panorama of the lowly still oppressed by ancient religious obsession - therefore withdrawn, weakened, unable to lift their heads.

The spirit of weakness that this same environment instilled in the infirm made the faithful of the assembly (or those who frequented it) totally passive.

A hunched existence, dragged along as best they could, without horizons.

Christ's action draws out of the addicted crowd, frees them from conformism and massification, and puts the faltering 'woman' back on her feet, who immediately begins to praise God in earnest, with joy (vv. 12-13).

She was a figure who 'participated' in the ritual, and was always among the gathered people, but before meeting the Lord personally, she did not truly glorify the Father - nor did she honour her own existence.

There was no joyful expression of healing on the part of the religious leaders - accustomed to instilling a soporific atmosphere in souls - on the contrary, only condemnation. Distinguished and distant.

Individualistic negotiators of the power of the moment, incapable of closeness. This was also due to various interests of circles, doctrine, supremacy, and institutional prestige.

Then - in the common idea - it seemed that in legalistic or rubric terms, the sanctification of the day dedicated to the Lord excluded any involvement, and good works!

In addition to this unhealthy belief, even touching wounded 'flesh' was thought to make one impure!

In short, the spirit of the commandment that imposed rest on the Sabbath [historically created to protect vast social, cultural and identity needs] had been completely manipulated and overturned.

The young Rabbi's logic is opposed to the protocols: only the neglect of the marginalised and enslaved dishonours God.

The only non-negotiable principle is the good of real women and men: this is the only key to understanding the Gospels.

And the ritual must celebrate a fraternal life of welcome and sharing, of happiness, personalisation, care and love.

The rest is, for Jesus, an unbearable comedy, from which his church leaders must keep their distance: 'Theatre actors' (v. 15) is how our Lord would describe them even today, if not otherwise.

We are worth much more than oxen and donkeys (vv. 15-16).

Our relationship with God is a celebration, healing, salvation: all concrete - the result of choice, even social choice.

And finally, the new Magisterium also breaks away from the previous mentality, which was often diplomatic and neutral:

'Jesus' conclusion is a request: Go and do likewise (Lk 10:37). In other words, he challenges us to put aside all differences and, in the face of suffering, to draw close to everyone. Therefore, I no longer say that I have 'neighbours' to help, but that I feel called to become a neighbour to others" [Fratelli Tutti, n.81].

“Now this woman, being a daughter of Abraham […] should she not be freed from this bond on the Sabbath?” (Lk 13:16).

Spirituality that is not empty, and any kind of spirituality where the little ones are forced to delegate their dreams to others.

39. To suffer with the other and for others; to suffer for the sake of truth and justice; to suffer out of love and in order to become a person who truly loves—these are fundamental elements of humanity, and to abandon them would destroy man himself. Yet once again the question arises: are we capable of this? Is the other important enough to warrant my becoming, on his account, a person who suffers? Does truth matter to me enough to make suffering worthwhile? Is the promise of love so great that it justifies the gift of myself? In the history of humanity, it was the Christian faith that had the particular merit of bringing forth within man a new and deeper capacity for these kinds of suffering that are decisive for his humanity. The Christian faith has shown us that truth, justice and love are not simply ideals, but enormously weighty realities. It has shown us that God —Truth and Love in person—desired to suffer for us and with us. Bernard of Clairvaux coined the marvellous expression: Impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis[29]—God cannot suffer, but he can suffer with. Man is worth so much to God that he himself became man in order to suffer with man in an utterly real way—in flesh and blood—as is revealed to us in the account of Jesus's Passion. Hence in all human suffering we are joined by one who experiences and carries that suffering with us; hence con-solatio is present in all suffering, the consolation of God's compassionate love—and so the star of hope rises. Certainly, in our many different sufferings and trials we always need the lesser and greater hopes too—a kind visit, the healing of internal and external wounds, a favourable resolution of a crisis, and so on. In our lesser trials these kinds of hope may even be sufficient. But in truly great trials, where I must make a definitive decision to place the truth before my own welfare, career and possessions, I need the certitude of that true, great hope of which we have spoken here. For this too we need witnesses—martyrs—who have given themselves totally, so as to show us the way—day after day. We need them if we are to prefer goodness to comfort, even in the little choices we face each day—knowing that this is how we live life to the full. Let us say it once again: the capacity to suffer for the sake of the truth is the measure of humanity. Yet this capacity to suffer depends on the type and extent of the hope that we bear within us and build upon. The saints were able to make the great journey of human existence in the way that Christ had done before them, because they were brimming with great hope. 

40. I would like to add here another brief comment with some relevance for everyday living. There used to be a form of devotion—perhaps less practised today but quite widespread not long ago—that included the idea of “offering up” the minor daily hardships that continually strike at us like irritating “jabs”, thereby giving them a meaning. Of course, there were some exaggerations and perhaps unhealthy applications of this devotion, but we need to ask ourselves whether there may not after all have been something essential and helpful contained within it. What does it mean to offer something up? Those who did so were convinced that they could insert these little annoyances into Christ's great “com-passion” so that they somehow became part of the treasury of compassion so greatly needed by the human race. In this way, even the small inconveniences of daily life could acquire meaning and contribute to the economy of good and of human love. Maybe we should consider whether it might be judicious to revive this practice ourselves.

[Pope Benedict, Spe Salvi]

1. When we speak of the dignity and mission of women according to the doctrine and spirit of the Church, we must look to the Gospel, which is the light by which Christians see, evaluate and judge everything.

In the previous catechesis, we saw how Revelation helps us to understand the identity and destiny of women, using the Virgin Mary as an example, according to what the Gospel says. But in that same divine source we find other signs of Christ's will regarding women. He speaks of them with respect and kindness, showing in his attitude a willingness to welcome women and to call upon them to commit themselves to the establishment of the Kingdom of God in the world.

2. We can recall first of all the numerous cases of women being healed (cf. John Paul II, Mulieris dignitatem, 13). And those in which Jesus shows his heart as Saviour, full of tenderness when he encounters those who suffer, both men and women. "Do not weep!" he says to the widow of Nain (Lk 7:13). And then he restores her son, risen from the dead. This episode gives us some insight into Jesus' intimate feelings towards his mother, Mary, in the dramatic perspective of participating in his Passion and Death. Jesus also speaks tenderly to Jairus' dead daughter: "Little girl, I say to you, get up!" And, after raising her from the dead, he orders "give her something to eat" (Mk 5:41, 43). Again, he shows his sympathy for the bent woman, whom he heals: and in this case, with the allusion to Satan, he also makes us think of the spiritual salvation he brings to that woman (cf. Lk 13:10-17).

3. In other parts of the Gospel we find Jesus' admiration for the faith of certain women expressed. For example, in the case of the woman with the haemorrhage: "Your faith has saved you," he tells her (Mk 5:34). This praise is all the more valuable because the woman had been subject to segregation imposed by ancient law. Jesus also frees the woman from this social oppression. In turn, the Canaanite woman receives recognition from Jesus: "Woman, your faith is great" (Mt 15:28). It is a compliment that has special significance, considering that it was addressed to a foreigner in the world of Israel. We can also recall Jesus' admiration for the widow who offers her gift in the temple treasury (cf. Lk 21:1-4); and his appreciation for the service he receives from Mary of Bethany (cf. Mt 26:6-13; Mk 14:3-9; Jn 12:1-8), whose gesture, he announces, will be made known to the whole world.

4. Even in his parables, Jesus does not hesitate to use similes and examples drawn from the female world, unlike the midrash of the rabbis, where only male figures appear. Jesus refers to both women and men. If we wanted to make a comparison, we could perhaps say that the advantage lies with women. This means, at the very least, that Jesus avoids even the appearance of attributing inferiority to women.

Furthermore, Jesus opens the door to his Kingdom to women as well as to men. By opening it to women, he wants to open it to children. When he says, 'Let the children come to me' (Mark 10:14), he is reacting to the vigilance of the disciples who wanted to prevent women from presenting their children to the Master. It is as if he were agreeing with the women and their love for children!

In his ministry, Jesus is accompanied by many women who follow him and help him and the community of disciples (cf. Lk 8:1-3). This is a novelty compared to Jewish tradition. Jesus, who attracted these women to follow him, shows in this way how he overcame the prejudices prevalent in his environment, as in much of the ancient world, about the inferiority of women. His struggle against injustice and oppression also includes his rejection of discrimination between women and men in his Church (cf. John Paul II, Mulieris dignitatem, 13).

5. We cannot fail to add that the Gospel also shows Jesus' benevolence towards certain sinners, whom he asks to repent, but without railing against them for their mistakes, especially since these involve the co-responsibility of men. Some episodes are truly significant: the woman who goes to the house of the Pharisee Simon (cf. Lk 7:36-50) is not only forgiven her sins, but also praised for her love; the Samaritan woman becomes a messenger of the new faith (cf. Jn 4:7-37); the adulterous woman receives, together with forgiveness, the simple exhortation not to sin again (cf. Jn 8:3-11); (John Paul II, Mulieris dignitatem, 14). Without doubt, Jesus does not accept evil, sin, or anyone who commits it: but how much understanding he shows for human frailty and how much goodness he shows towards those who already suffer from their spiritual misery and, more or less consciously, seek the Saviour in him!

6. Finally, the Gospel says that Jesus expressly calls women to collaborate in his work of salvation. Not only does he allow them to follow him to help him and the community of disciples, but he also asks for other forms of personal commitment. Thus, he asks Martha to commit herself to faith (cf. Jn 11:26-27): and she, responding to the Master's invitation, makes her profession of faith before the resurrection of Lazarus. After the Resurrection, he entrusts to the pious women who had gone to the tomb and to Mary Magdalene the task of transmitting his message to the Apostles (cf. Mt 28:8-10; Jn 20:17-18): "The women were thus the first messengers of Christ's Resurrection to the Apostles themselves" (Cathechismus Catholicae Ecclesiae, 641). These are quite eloquent signs of his desire to involve women in the service of the Kingdom.

7. This behaviour of Jesus has its theological explanation in his intention to unify humanity. As St Paul says, he wanted to reconcile all people through his sacrifice, "in one body" and make them all "one new man" (Eph 2:15-16), so that now "there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus" (Gal 3:28). And here is the conclusion of our catechesis: if Jesus Christ has united men and women in the equality of their status as children of God, He commits both to His mission, not by suppressing diversity at all, but by eliminating all unjust inequality and reconciling everyone in the unity of the Church.

8. The history of the early Christian communities tells us how much women helped to spread the Gospel: starting with "Phebe, our sister," as St. Paul calls her, "deaconess of the Church of Cenchreae: . . . she has helped many, including myself" (Rom 16:1-2). I would like to pay tribute to her memory and to that of the many other women who collaborated with the Apostles in Cenchreae, in Rome and in all the Christian communities. With them, we also remember and praise all the other women - religious and lay - who over the centuries have borne witness to the Gospel and transmitted the faith, greatly influencing the growth of a Christian climate in the family and in society.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 6 July 1994]

There are five verbs of "closeness" that Jesus lives firsthand and which indicate the criteria of the "final protocol": seeing, calling, speaking, touching, and healing. Not only pastors, who are the first to run the risk of being "hypocrites," but all men will be judged on this. With the warning that fine words and good manners are not enough, because Jesus asks us to touch the flesh of others with our own hands, especially if they are suffering. This is "the way of the good shepherd" that the Pope pointed out in the Mass celebrated on Monday, 30 October, at Santa Marta.

'In this passage from the Gospel,' Francis immediately pointed out, referring to the passage from Luke (13:10-17), 'we find Jesus not on the road as was his custom, but in the synagogue: on the Sabbath, the community goes to the synagogue to pray, to listen to the word of God and also to the sermon; and Jesus was there, listening to the word of God'. But "he also taught, because he had authority, such great moral authority, that they invited him to say a word," precisely to "teach the people." And "in the synagogue there was a woman who was bent over, completely bent over, poor thing, and could not stand up straight: a disease of the spine that had kept her that way for years."

And "what does Jesus do? I am struck," the Pope confided, "by the verbs the evangelist uses to describe what Jesus did: 'he saw' her; 'he called' her; 'he said to her'; 'he laid his hands on her and healed her'." These are "five verbs of closeness."

First of all, the Pontiff explained, "Jesus approached her: the attitude of the good shepherd, closeness." Because "a good shepherd is always close: think of the parable of the good shepherd that Jesus preached," so "close" to the lost sheep that he leaves the others and goes to look for her.

After all, Francis said, "the good shepherd cannot be far from his people, and this is the sign of a good shepherd: closeness. Instead, the others, in this case the head of the synagogue, that small group of clerics, doctors of the law, some Pharisees, Sadducees, the illustrious, lived separated from the people, constantly rebuking them." But, the Pope reiterated, "these were not good shepherds; they were closed off in their own group and did not care about the people. Perhaps they cared, when the religious service was over, about going to see how much money there was in the offerings; that mattered to them, but they were not close to the people, they were not close to the people."

This is why "Jesus always presents himself in this way, close," the Pontiff pointed out. And "many times in the Gospel it appears that closeness comes from what Jesus feels in his heart: 'Jesus was moved,' says a passage from the Gospel, for example, he feels mercy, he draws near." For this reason, "Jesus was always there with the people discarded by that small clerical group: there were the poor, the sick, the sinners, the lepers: they were all there because Jesus had this ability to be moved by illness; he was a good shepherd." And "a good shepherd draws near and has the ability to be moved."

"And I will say," Francis affirmed, "that the third trait of a good shepherd is not to be ashamed of the flesh, to touch the wounded flesh, as Jesus did with this woman: 'he touched', 'he laid his hands on', he touched the lepers, he touched the sinners." It is "a very close closeness, very close." Touching "the flesh," therefore. Because "a good shepherd does not say: 'But, yes, it's okay, yes, yes, I am close to you in spirit'." In reality, "this is a distance" and not closeness.

Instead, the Pope insisted, "the good shepherd does what God the Father did, drawing near, out of compassion, out of mercy, in the flesh of his Son. This is a good shepherd." And 'the great shepherd, the Father, taught us how to be a good shepherd: he lowered himself, he emptied himself, he annihilated himself, he took the form of a servant'.

This is precisely 'the way of the good shepherd', explained the Pontiff. And here we may ask ourselves: ' But what about the others, those who follow the path of clericalism, who do they approach?" These people, Francis replied, "always approach either the power of the moment or money, and they are bad shepherds: they only think about how to climb the ladder of power, be friends with those in power, and negotiate everything or think about their pockets, and these are the hypocrites, capable of anything." Certainly, "these people do not care about the people. And when Jesus calls them that beautiful adjective he uses so often with them — 'hypocrites' — they are offended: 'But we, no, we follow the law'." Instead, "the people were happy: it is a sin for the people of God to see when bad shepherds are beaten; it is a sin, yes, but they have suffered so much that they 'enjoy' this a little bit."

"Let us think," suggests the Pontiff, "of the good shepherd, let us think of Jesus who sees, calls, speaks, touches and heals; let us think of the Father who becomes flesh in his Son, out of compassion." And "this is the way of the good shepherd, the shepherd we see here today, in this passage from the Gospel: it is a grace for the people of God to have good shepherds, shepherds like Jesus, who are not ashamed to touch wounded flesh, who know that on this — not only them, but all of us — we will be judged: I was hungry, I was in prison, I was sick... '.

'The criteria of the final protocol,' concluded the Pope, 'are the criteria of closeness, the criteria of this total closeness' in order to 'touch, share the situation of God's people'. And 'let us not forget this: the good shepherd always draws close to the people, always, just as God our Father drew close to us, in Jesus Christ made flesh'.

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano, 31 October 2017]

No forced compliance: only profound Quality compels

(Mt 22:34-40)

That of the ‘Great commandment’ was the most familiar catechism rule, even to infants.

Jesus is questioned to retort: and why do you not keep the one commandment that even God fulfils - the Sabbath rest?

The unique disposition in which the Father recognizes himself is Love, not some particular precept - because only profound Quality obliges.

The spiritual proposal of the Master makes the narrative of God's people and the practice of the Prophets its own: all heart, feet, hands - and intelligence.

Complete Love for God envelops the creature in every decision [heart], every moment and aspect of its concrete 'life', all its resources [strength].

Mt does not explicitly mention this last aspect, perhaps to emphasize that the Father does not absorb energies in any way, but transmits them.

And Jesus adds to the nuances of authentic understanding with God enumerated in the First Testament an unexpected side to those who think of love as a feeling only emotional.

The Lord suggests study, discernment and understanding of our perceptions (v.37) - the mental and deep intelligence aspect that complements Dt 6.

At first glance, it appears to be a secondary facet or even a frill for the qualitative leap from a common religious sense to the wisely and personally configured existence of Faith.

The exact opposite is true: we are children of a Father who does not supplant us, nor absorb our forces or potential, depersonalising us; not even from the mental point of view.

Practicality alone makes us fragile, not very aware; and when we are not convinced, we will not be reliable either, always at the mercy of changing situations and the conformist, fashionable, other people’s opinion.

Jesus does not speak of love for God in terms of intimacy and feeling, but of a totally involving affinity, made less oscillating precisely by the development of our sapiential measure on issues.

Here is a decisive appointment, of the Love in the round.

It would be unnatural to recognise a Lord of Heaven who does not come to meet us and instead towers over us with an objective of his own, which is extrinsic to us and makes us marginal.

Loving «How [and Because] yourself»: it is a new Genesis in the spirit of Giving.

All this involves practising kindness, even towards oneself. The journey to Heaven is intertwined with the path of the Person.

God’s «great commandment» encompasses real life and concerns not only the quality of our relationship with the world and our neighbour, but also our overall reflection on ourselves. 

The paradox suggested by Jesus is that we love for the care to meet - and because we love ourselves - by expanding the ‘I’ into the ‘You’.

The ‘You’ that speaks to us of ourselves.

We should not be afraid of other doctrines and disciplines, neglecting the challenges even intellectual ones that call into question beliefs, works, one’s worldview, language, style, and thought itself.

All added values.

Needless to complain, if the ecclesial realities that do not update or deepen, and remain in the inherited commonplaces [or vogues] slowly decay, then disappear.

Therefore to the ancient notes of true love, the Son of God adds the ‘quality of mind’: we are not gullible, clueless, one-sided.

Our outstretched hands are the result of free and conscious choice. No forced surrender.

«Faith that does not become culture is a faith that is not fully accepted, not entirely thought out, not faithfully lived» [John Paul II].

To internalize and live the message:

What is Great for you? Do you document and update yourself in order to better correspond to God’s Call?

[Friday 20th wk. in O.T.  October 25, 2026]

Only Quality is binding. No forced compliance

(Mt 22:34–40)

Jesus turns what was the most trivial of catechism questions into a crucial issue: what is the ‘great’ commandment? 

Despite the various theological schools of thought, the answer was known to all: the Sabbath rest, the only precept observed (even) by God.

The question put to the Master by the expert in the Law was not so innocent, but ‘to test him’ (Mt 22:35; Lk 10:25) – that is, to retort: ‘So why, then, do you not fulfil the Sabbath commandment?’

Christ simplifies the tangled web of disputes concerning the expansion or reduction of theoretical casuistry, and gets to the heart of the matter.

Always averse to doctrinal squabbles, He proposes a way of life as the unifying principle of the demands of the Covenant.

All rules have an essence; otherwise, they remain a scattered jumble. They find their spontaneous foundation and natural meaning in the gift of self – though a motivated one.

But what is the solid foundation and context of such an invitation? A vague feeling, one emotion amongst many, a passing impulse? Philanthropy? Or an experience?

We are thirsty for affection and offer friendship in fits and starts, to the extent that love becomes a source of misunderstandings, rooted in the need to feel complete.

This is why the second commandment appears as an explanation of the first, not a reduction of it [Mt 22:39; Mk 12:31; Lk 10:27].

In the ancient world, it made no sense to speak of love for God, the ineffable Mystery.

It was the Most High who favoured certain individuals by bestowing material fortune upon them, and these individuals recognised a duty of worship and sacrifice towards Him.

The same applied to the less fortunate, at least to avoid reprisals (and to keep him on their side).

With Jesus, we speak openly of gratuitousness – not mere gratitude – as the unifying core of both the individual and the history of salvation.

The idea of an exchange of favours comes to an end.

The Father needs nothing; He does not take pleasure in seeing us submissive or in feeling recognised [a pattern of pagan religiosity] as a sovereign might towards his subjects.

The relationship with the Eternal One remains concrete, but honour towards the Most High is manifested by embracing His plan for the good and growth of humankind, and by recognising oneself within it.

God’s plan unfolds… with a living urgency. But there is a Starting Point, a Centre and a Destination. In reality, a new Genesis.

In any case, only God’s initiative draws out the best in us: more talent, more desire, more interests, more untapped abilities, more originality – rather than torments that hurt the soul.

This is the difference between a form of religiosity that dulls the personality, and Faith.

Through Faith, a special creative Relationship is kindled: that of the one who welcomes the Call by Name, as well as the proposals from the very Source of being – wave upon wave.

These proposals anticipate our own initiatives and guide us infallibly towards the perfect blossoming of our own and others’ Seed.

Particularly in Matthew (22:38–39) and Mark (12:29–31), it is clear that love for one’s neighbour stems from the experience and awareness of being loved first and without preconditions by God – looked upon, accepted, valued, uplifted, rejoiced in, and made whole.

We love not through effort [effort is a coercive lever: it produces situations that make life worse] but on the basis of how much we feel loved – and with immediacy, repeatedly, unconditionally.

We love on the basis of the ‘risking everything’ that we have already experienced in our own favour through Providence, which gives meaning and value to human actions.

Not out of infatuation with external, induced expectations – which, in any case, belong to others.

Even in the spiritual realm, quite a few behaviours deemed capable of solving problems often end up making them chronic.

In this way, they rely on an idea of permanence – not on the dynamic of vocational gratuitousness, on the unimaginable Gift to be received.

So the issue is either to live according to the resources that come our way, or to fall into the distortion of models typical of a moralistic mindset.

In fact, the notion of omnipotence in the realm of good, paradoxically, stifles the self and its strengths, and distorts its perspective.

But beyond all these nuances, we are heartened that the first and second commandments concern Love: what we most desire to give and receive. It is a vital necessity of life.

Yet we must be wise, so that the framework of paradigms or the impulses of natural affection and impulsiveness do not overwhelm and sweep away – turning upside down – every good intention.

Love cannot bear an excess of expectations, for it springs from an experience of Perfection that comes to us; offered, unexpected, unpredictable. Not staged according to a chain of ordinary, pre-determined plans.

If it is authentic, over time we shall experience its blossoming; not in anticipation of a return, but first and foremost as a Gift beyond time. For it has already sated and convinced us – with contemplative wonder – and made us leap for joy.

Thus, the vocational and foundational Eros will continue to shape us, with its perpetually exploratory virtue, capable of bringing about new Births.

Personal energy – without the usual baggage of torment, reservations, outward appearances… and (once again) frowns.

The Great Commandment: only profound Quality is binding

The only disposition in which the Father recognises Himself is Love, in its fullness and in every respect; not some particular precept.

For Jesus, there are no hierarchies in the affairs of God and man – indeed, He showed a marked tendency to summarise the many principles – because only profound Quality is binding.

The Master’s spiritual teaching embraced the narrative of the people of God and the practice of the Prophets: all heart, feet, hands – and intellect.

Complete love for God must envelop the creature in every decision [heart].

Likewise, in every moment and aspect of one’s concrete ‘life’, it must also engage all one’s resources [strengths: cf. Mk 12:30; Lk 10:27].

Deut 6:5 (Hebrew text) in fact reads: ‘with all your “very much”’, meaning concrete participation in both liturgical life and material fellowship – providing for and helping with one’s own possessions.

Matt 22:37 does not explicitly mention this latter aspect, perhaps to emphasise that the Father does not drain one’s energy in any way, but rather imparts it.

But Jesus adds to the nuances of authentic communion with God enumerated in the First Testament an unexpected dimension for those who conceive of love as a delicate, purely emotional sentiment.

The Lord suggests the study, discernment and understanding of our perceptions [Mt 22:37; Mk 12:30; Lk 10:27], accompanied by the mental aspect and profound intelligence (which is excluded in Deut 6).

At first glance, this seems like a secondary facet or even a mere embellishment for the qualitative leap from a common religious sense to a life of Faith wisely and personally shaped.

The exact opposite is true: we are children of a Father who does not supplant us, nor does He absorb our potential or energies, thereby depersonalising us; not even from a mental perspective.

This is a crucial aspect of our dignity and fulfilment – including our human fulfilment – and a specific distinguishing feature in discerning Faith in Christ, as opposed to all other approaches devoted to the search for the Absolute (whatever that may be).

Practicality alone renders us fragile and lacking in awareness; and when we are not convinced, we cannot even be relied upon, remaining perpetually at the mercy of changing circumstances and the conformist, fashionable opinions of others.

It is not uncommon to shy away from the all-encompassing engagement that would enrich each of us – precisely because of incompetence.

But we are not one-sided gullible souls. Being attentive and up to date, and possessing the capacity for critical thought, is an essential expansion required for the development of one’s human, moral, cultural and spiritual vocation.

Trivialities, superficial identifications, impersonal plagiarism and thoughtless, collective repetitions hinder the flow of life, this divine cascade of everlasting energy that pulses and never ceases.

On the contrary, it comes with stirring calls: it calls us to open ourselves wide to new attractions in relationships and other interests, including intellectual ones; even denominational ones.

Jesus does not speak of love for God in terms of intimacy and sentiment, but of a wholly all-encompassing affinity, made less uncertain precisely by the development of our wisdom in assessing these matters.

Devotion swallows everything up. Faith, on the other hand, does not allow itself to be swayed by local or external influences: it presupposes an ability to engage competently in personal assessments or in debates within the community and on a broader scale – both historical and contemporary.

The witness of our Hope does not shy away from being enriched by dialogue with those who possess greater expertise in psychology or biblical studies, specialised pastoral care and social work, as well as archaeology, bioethics, economics, science and so on.

This is a commitment that demonstrates a genuine interest in the Sacred [admittedly, all aspects to be assessed, not as if they were merely academic options].

But we must admit that one of the most organic expressions of great Catholic theology is what was once called the ‘doctrine’ of the seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit.

In the existence of Love, the primacy (including the relational primacy) of the Gift of the Spirit was recognised, which complemented the ‘natural’ possibilities of expression of the cardinal and theological virtues, leading them to fulfilment.

No fewer than four of the seven Gifts were associated with a character of profound knowledge: Wisdom, Understanding, Counsel and Knowledge.

In short: here lies yet another decisive rendezvous for all-encompassing Love.

Anyone can indulge in a few remarks along religious lines [whether as an individual or within a circle], but the ability to delve into the matter properly belongs only to those who have sought to examine and live out these themes – because they are more interested in understanding the Face of God and His Plan for humanity than in reiterating false narrative certainties.

It would be unnatural to recognise a Lord of Heaven who does not come to meet us; as if He were towering above us with ‘His own’ objective (external to us) and thus rendering us all marginal.

[In sects – even those that appear good-natured – it is forbidden to delve deeper in order to understand: the position is already established; the candidate must ‘merely’ conform].

‘As (and why) yourself’ [meaning of the Greek text: Mt 22:39; Mk 12:31; Lk 10:27]: this is a new Birth into life, a new Genesis in the spirit of Gift.

The paradox suggested by Jesus goes beyond the ancient precept of Lev 19:18. 

We love not only the children of our own people, ‘simply because’ we take care to come together and wish to enrich ourselves together, expanding the ‘I’ into the ‘You’.

God’s ‘Great Commandment’ encompasses real life and concerns not only the quality of our relationship with the world and our neighbour, but also our reflective relationship with ourselves.

We must not be afraid of other doctrines and disciplines, nor neglect analytical challenges beyond the ‘organic’ ones – those of the long term.

All of them call into question our beliefs, our actions, our own worldview; our language, style, and thought itself.

We still have a great need to broaden our minds and become as vast as a panorama. And to reharmonise the opposites we carry within us.

Hidden facets and pearls to which we have not yet given breath or visibility – and which we may never have considered as allies.

The troubled fate shared by prophets remains unique, but it is not certainties (whether ancient, sophisticated, fashionable or à la page) that constitute the added value of the adventure of Faith in Love – rather, it is the risk of placing oneself in the balance and a comprehensive re-evaluation.

It is, moreover, pointless to complain if ecclesial realities that fail to keep up with the times, and remain mired in inherited clichés, slowly decay and thus disappear.

Despite their dazzling heritage and fairy-tale events.

In this way, the ‘teacher of the law’ is perhaps already close [Mk 12:34; Lk 10:28] but must still keep an eye on Jesus, to understand in Him the broader meaning of total self-giving, in its specifically personalised form, which is by no means naïve.

The Lord restores the meaning of the norms to their profound and original function: to serve as a provision for every Encounter that elevates events, people of every background, and creation itself.

In conclusion, experience and ritual find their centre in the reciprocity of love.

Life in all its facets becomes a Liturgy more meaningful than the established act of worship; its truly broken Bread becomes a compelling call to Communion and Mission.

Even if it does not make the news, the true barometer of our journey will not be the volume or the pile of important things we do, but rather the beating of a regenerated heart and mind.

This is why, to the ancient notes of true Love, the Son of God adds the quality of thought: we are not gullible, naive or one-sided.

Our outstretched hands are the fruit of a free and conscious choice. There is no forced submission.

‘A faith that does not become culture is a faith that has not been fully embraced, not entirely thought through, not faithfully lived’ [John Paul II].

To internalise and live out the message:

What is Great to you? Titles? Possessions, power, appearances?

In your experience of Love, what is the Starting Point, the Centre and the Destination?

Do you keep yourself informed and up to date so that you can better respond to God’s Call?