The movement of the priesthood of Christ

(Mk 10:46-52)

The encyclical Fratelli Tutti invites a perspective gaze, one that does not adapt.

Pope Francis proposes visions that provoke decision and action: new, energetic, visionary eyes, filled with "passage" and Hope.

It "speaks to us of a reality that is rooted in the depths of the human being, regardless of the concrete circumstances and historical conditioning in which he lives. It speaks to us of a thirst, of an aspiration, of a yearning for fullness, for a fulfilled life, of a measuring oneself with what is great, with what fills the heart and lifts the spirit towards great things, such as truth, goodness and beauty, justice and love. [...] Hope is bold, it knows how to look beyond personal comfort, the small securities and compensations that narrow the horizon, to open up to great ideals that make life more beautiful and dignified" (n.55) [quoted from a greeting to young people in Havana, September 2015].

Distressed, Paul VI admitted:

"Yes, there are many mediocre Christians; and not only because they are weak or lack formation, but because they want to be mediocre and because they have their so called good reasons of the right middle, of ne quid nimis, almost as if the Gospel were a school of moral indolence, or almost as if it authorised them to serve conformity. Is this not hypocrisy? Incoherence? Relativism according to the wind that blows?" [passim].

It looks like a portrait of Bartimaeus' shabby, blind life: 'nothing too much', 'never the excessive'.

A sort of Don Abbondio-like existence, in contrast to which Manzoni delineates the icon of the man of Faith - who precisely stands out over the mediocre devotee - in the solemn and decisive figure of Cardinal Federigo.

A prelate who instead "had to fight with the gentlemen of ne quid nimis, who, in everything, would have wanted him to stay within the limits, that is, within their limits".

Not the reassured qualunquism of a pious coward and situationalist, who pretends not to see, is content with his half-assed niche; he sits in the shabby threshing-floor of the minimum wage, he muddles along and does not expose himself.

The passage in Mark is the agile fruit of the interweaving of a catechesis explaining the immediately preceding passage [the Apostles' aims] and the teaching on the very first forms of baptismal liturgy reserved for the new believers, called 'photismòi-illuminati' [those who from the darkness of pagan life finally opened their eyes to the Light].

The passage illustrates what happens to a person when he meets Christ and receives his existential orientation: he abandons established but not personally reworked positions and becomes a critical witness.

The narrative is set on the comparison between downward material gazes (such as those of pagans or arrogant followers) and open gazes, capable of lifting man's eye from the fetters of appearance, habit, and destructive external or internal powers.

Comparison brings to the surface what counts in life, what has weight and is not swept away by the impediments of an empty spirituality, enraptured or attracted by epidermic cravings; harnessed to the trappings of social roles or cultural and spiritual conformisms - by customs inherited but not sifted.

In short: the Lord wants us to understand that conformity to the environment and empty devotion inculcate a swampy, lifeless, irrelevant understanding.

What, then, is needed to 'see' with the perception of God, beyond appearances, and to lift oneself up from a grey life of almsgiving, literally to the ground? And how do we heal the view of those who do not get their bearings?

Even the 'neighbours' have more or less clear expectations of how to enter Christ's priesthood movement.

The disciples themselves are influenced by an often qualunquistic crowd around them that expects little but quiet, leisure and favours; and that presses to be 'within their limits'.

The crouching at the edge Bartimaeus [textually, the 'son of the prized one'] represents us: he is not a free man, capable of activism.

Rather, influenced by a hunger and thirst for prestige and recognition - hunger and thirst that have been passed on by his own family and a whole old mentality that has remained haughty.

The 'child of the honoured one' is not biologically blind (the Italian translation is uncertain) but one who adjusts at random.

He is unable to "look up" [the Greek key-verb in vv.51-52 is aná-blépein] because he does not cultivate ideals; he is content with what passes the outline, which anaesthetises him.

Conditioned by false masters and approximate spiritual guides, seduced by a whole civilisation of the outside world, he too is blocked by a spirit of lethargy - grandiose only in wishful thinking - that nevertheless points his existence downwards.

Spiritual consequence: the victims of an indolent ideology may confuse the Son of God who gives everything of himself and transmits vitality, with the son of David (vv.47-48) who does not give but takes away life.Jesus resembles and refers to the Father, not to an albeit prestigious ruler like David; an able and quick-witted man, a figure of a violent style of domination in constant revenge.

The misunderstanding has heavy consequences.

Initially, every seeker of God runs the risk of mistaking the Lord for a superman and phenomenal captain who blesses and favours his friends in their expectations of tranquillity, unconcern and mediocre stasis, or worldly glory and prestige.

A fine defect of vision, because one reverses the criteria of a wise and solid existence at all - risking sticking it in a puddle of illusions; at best, dragging it down to the ground.

If one finds oneself at this level of short-sightedness, it is better to 'lift one's gaze' bent on one's own navel, to petty petty petty petty petty.

Bartimaeus is a man of habit, he is accompanied to the same places every day by the same people.

He is standing still, 'sitting' (v.46) at the edge of a road where people are moving forward and not just surviving as he does, resignedly, unshaken.

[As I was writing this, one of my high school professors - a person of great faith and dynamism - sent me an Indian proverb: 'if you see everything grey in front of you, move the elephant'].

Bartimaeus types expect everything from the recognition of others; they live only by begging. All they do is repeat the same words and gestures over and over again.

Their horizon at hand does not allow him to enter the flow of the Way where people are busy building, evolving, expressing themselves, providing for their less fortunate brothers and sisters.

An existence dragged along the margins of any interest other than its own neglectful pouch.

Yet they are endowed with an old-fashioned religious sense; but for this very reason - lacking the leap of faith - they are centred on themselves and the ideas that have been transmitted.

They live on the movement of others; they live on petty benevolences and opinions bartered by those who pass by, out of listlessness never reviewed and made their own.

The Word of the Nazarene [in the language of the Gospels, the epithet "being from Nazareth" meant "revolutionary, hot-headed, subversive"] triggers the indolent.

His new attitude becomes rather that of the 'newborn'. In doing so, it engages in an industrious, creative, practical - futuristic model of living.

He resurrects dynamically, shedding the rags on which he expected others to lay down something in his favour.

The old dress ends up in the dust - thrown far away as in the ancient baptismal liturgies: at any age it undertakes, outclassing small-minded securities.

He changes his life, looks it in the face; even though he knows he is complicating it, making it challenging and countercultural.

Personal contact with Jesus has corrected his gaze, made him recover his ideal outlook.

Now he understands the primordial and regenerating - indeed, recreating - sense of the Newness of God.

The face-to-face encounter gave him a diametrically opposed model of a successful man; not submissive to tacticism.

In short, Jesus corrects the inert myopia of those who are fond of their mediocre place.

"The wind that blows" infuses us with a lethal poison: the renunciatory poison of the identify-as-we-are, which rhymes with surrender and growing old.

Healing from such blindness cannot be a... Miracle! Religiosity or personal faith: it is a diriment choice.

It means lazily adapting to fashions of circumstance or the old dress of already 'said' behaviour and usual friendships, just waiting for some solution-lightning that does not involve too much...

That is, to depart from there, to reinvent one's life, to abandon the 'cloak' [cf. Mk 10:50] on which common comments and oblations were gathered.

Opening the eyes and 'lifting them up', as an already divine man would do. Pocketing nothing but pearls of light, instead of handouts.

On muddy roads we may get dirty and be uncertain, but we can proceed with confidence: on the path that belongs to us; in the movement of the priesthood of Christ. With healthy perception.

In fact - as in this episode - the Gospels not infrequently insist on the (devoutly absurd) criterion that the enemy of God is not sin, but the 'average life' and passive of the 'honoured', now identified and placed.

To internalise and live the message:

Did the encounter with Christ remove like a veil from your eyes?

Have you seized the opportunity to be born as a new man, and lift up your gaze? Or do you remain myopic and inert?

The Passover Passage

One day Jesus, approaching the city of Jericho, performed the miracle of restoring sight to a blind man begging along the road (cf. Lk 18:35-43). Today we want to grasp the significance of this sign because it also touches us directly. The evangelist Luke says that the blind man was sitting by the roadside begging (cf. v. 35). A blind man in those days - but also until not so long ago - could only live on alms. The figure of this blind man represents so many people who, even today, find themselves marginalised because of physical or other disadvantage. He is separated from the crowd, he sits there while people pass by busy, absorbed in their own thoughts and many things... And the road, which can be a place of encounter, for him instead is a place of solitude. So many crowds passing by... And he is alone.

It is a sad image of an outcast, especially against the backdrop of the city of Jericho, the beautiful and lush oasis in the desert. We know that it was in Jericho that the people of Israel arrived at the end of the long exodus from Egypt: that city represents the gateway to the promised land. Let us recall the words that Moses spoke on that occasion: "If there be among thee any of thy brethren that are in need in any of thy cities in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not harden thine heart, neither shalt thou close thy hand before thy brother in need. Since the needy will never be lacking in the land, then I give you this command and say to you: Generously open your hand to your poor and needy brother in your land" (Deut 15:7, 11). The contrast between this recommendation of the Law of God and the situation described in the Gospel is jarring: while the blind man cries out for Jesus, the people rebuke him to keep quiet, as if he had no right to speak. They have no compassion for him; on the contrary, they are annoyed by his cries. How often do we, when we see so many people in the street - people who are in need, who are sick, who have nothing to eat - feel annoyed. How often, when we are faced with so many refugees and displaced persons, we feel discomfort. It is a temptation we all have. Everyone, me too! This is why the Word of God admonishes us, reminding us that indifference and hostility make us blind and deaf, prevent us from seeing our brothers and sisters and do not allow us to recognise the Lord in them. Indifference and hostility. And sometimes this indifference and hostility also becomes aggression and insult: "but throw them all out!", "put them somewhere else!". This aggression is what people used to do when the blind man shouted: 'but you go away, come on, don't speak, don't shout'.

Let us note an interesting detail. The Evangelist says that someone from the crowd explained to the blind man the reason for all that, saying: "Jesus, the Nazarene, is passing by!" (v. 37). The passage of Jesus is indicated with the same verb used in the book of Exodus to speak of the passage of the exterminating angel saving the Israelites in the land of Egypt (cf. Ex 12:23). It is the 'passage' of the Passover, the beginning of deliverance: when Jesus passes by, there is always deliverance, there is always salvation! To the blind man, therefore, it is as if his Passover were being announced. Without being intimidated, the blind man cries out several times to Jesus, recognising him as the Son of David, the awaited Messiah who, according to the prophet Isaiah, would open the eyes of the blind (cf. Is 35:5). Unlike the crowd, this blind man sees with the eyes of faith. Thanks to it, his supplication has a powerful efficacy. Indeed, on hearing this, "Jesus stopped and commanded them to bring him to him" (v. 40). In doing so, Jesus takes the blind man off the side of the road and places him in the centre of attention of his disciples and the crowd. Let us also think, when we have been in bad situations, even sinful situations, how it was Jesus himself who took us by the hand and took us off the side of the road and gave us salvation. A twofold passage is thus realised. First: the people had proclaimed good news to the blind man, but wanted nothing to do with him; now Jesus forces everyone to become aware that good news implies putting the one who was excluded at the centre of their path. Secondly, in turn, the blind man could not see, but his faith opened the way of salvation to him, and he found himself in the midst of those who had taken to the streets to see Jesus. Brothers and sisters, the passing of the Lord is an encounter of mercy that unites all around Him so that we can recognise those in need of help and consolation. Even in our lives Jesus passes by; and when Jesus passes by, and I notice it, it is an invitation to come closer to Him, to be better, to be a better Christian, to follow Jesus.

Jesus turns to the blind man and asks him: "What do you want me to do for you?" (v. 41). These words of Jesus are striking: the Son of God now stands before the blind man as a humble servant. He, Jesus, God, says: "But what do you want me to do to you? How do you want me to serve you?" God becomes the servant of sinful man. And the blind man answers Jesus no longer by calling him "Son of David", but "Lord", the title that the Church from the beginning applies to the Risen Jesus. The blind man asks to see again and his wish is granted: "Have sight again! Your faith has saved you" (v. 42). He showed his faith by calling on Jesus and absolutely wanting to meet him, and this brought him salvation as a gift. Thanks to faith, he can now see and, above all, feel loved by Jesus. That is why the account ends by reporting that the blind man "began to follow him glorifying God" (v. 43): he becomes a disciple. From beggar to disciple, this is also our way: we are beggars, all of us. We always need salvation. And all of us, every day, must take this step: from beggars to disciples. And so, the blind man sets out after the Lord, becoming part of his community. He who they wanted to silence, now testifies aloud his encounter with Jesus of Nazareth, and "all the people, seeing, gave praise to God" (v. 43). A second miracle occurs: what happened to the blind man makes people finally see too. The same light illuminates all, uniting them in the prayer of praise. Thus Jesus pours out his mercy on all those he encounters: he calls them, brings them to himself, gathers them, heals and enlightens them, creating a new people that celebrates the wonders of his merciful love. Let us also be called by Jesus, and let us be healed by Jesus, forgiven by Jesus, and go after Jesus praising God. So be it!

[Pope Francis, General Audience 15 June 2016]

The miracle of the healing of blind Bartimaeus comes at a significant point in the structure of Saint Mark’s Gospel.  It is situated at the end of the section on the “journey to Jerusalem”, that is, Jesus’ last pilgrimage to the Holy City, for the Passover, in which he knows that his passion, death and resurrection await him.  In order to ascend to Jerusalem from the Jordan valley, Jesus passes through Jericho, and the meeting with Bartimaeus occurs as he leaves the city – in the evangelist’s words, “as he was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a great multitude” (10:46).  This is the multitude that soon afterwards would acclaim Jesus as Messiah on his entry into Jerusalem.  Sitting and begging by the side of the road was Bartimaeus, whose name means “son of Timaeus”, as the evangelist tells us.  The whole of Mark’s Gospel is a journey of faith, which develops gradually under Jesus’ tutelage.  The disciples are the first actors on this journey of discovery, but there are also other characters who play an important role, and Bartimaeus is one of them.  His is the last miraculous healing that Jesus performs before his passion, and it is no accident that it should be that of a blind person, someone whose eyes have lost the light.  We know from other texts too that the state of blindness has great significance in the Gospels.  It represents man who needs God’s light, the light of faith, if he is to know reality truly and to walk the path of life.  It is essential to acknowledge one’s blindness, one’s need for this light, otherwise one could remain blind for ever (cf. Jn 9:39-41).

Bartimaeus, then, at that strategic point of Mark’s account, is presented as a model.  He was not blind from birth, but he lost his sight.  He represents man who has lost the light and knows it, but has not lost hope: he knows how to seize the opportunity to encounter Jesus and he entrusts himself to him for healing.  Indeed, when he hears that the Master is passing along the road, he cries out: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (Mk 10:47), and he repeats it even louder (v. 48).  And when Jesus calls him and asks what he wants from him, he replies: “Master, let me receive my sight!” (v. 51).  Bartimaeus represents man aware of his pain and crying out to the Lord, confident of being healed.  His simple and sincere plea is exemplary, and indeed – like that of the publican in the Temple: “God, be merciful to me a sinner” (Lk 18:13) – it has found its way into the tradition of Christian prayer.  In the encounter with Christ, lived with faith, Bartimaeus regains the light he had lost, and with it the fullness of his dignity: he gets back onto his feet and resumes the journey, which from that moment has a guide, Jesus, and a path, the same that Jesus is travelling.  The evangelist tells us nothing more about Bartimaeus, but in him he shows us what discipleship is: following Jesus “along the way” (v. 52), in the light of faith.

Saint Augustine, in one of his writings, makes a striking comment about the figure of Bartimaeus, which can be interesting and important for us today.  He reflects on the fact that in this case Mark indicates not only the name of the person who is healed, but also the name of his father, and he concludes that “Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, had fallen from some position of great prosperity, and was now regarded as an object of the most notorious and the most remarkable wretchedness, because, in addition to being blind, he had also to sit begging. And this is also the reason, then, why Mark has chosen to mention only the one whose restoration to sight acquired for the miracle a fame as widespread as was the notoriety which the man’s misfortune itself had gained” (On the Consensus of the Evangelists, 2, 65, 125: PL 34, 1138).  Those are Saint Augustine’s words.

This interpretation, that Bartimaeus was a man who had fallen from a condition of “great prosperity”, causes us to think.  It invites us to reflect on the fact that our lives contain precious riches that we can lose, and I am not speaking of material riches here.  From this perspective, Bartimaeus could represent those who live in regions that were evangelized long ago, where the light of faith has grown dim and people have drifted away from God, no longer considering him relevant for their lives.  These people have therefore lost a precious treasure, they have “fallen” from a lofty dignity – not financially or in terms of earthly power, but in a Christian sense – their lives have lost a secure and sound direction and they have become, often unconsciously, beggars for the meaning of existence.  They are the many in need of a new evangelization, that is, a new encounter with Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God (cf. Mk 1:1), who can open their eyes afresh and teach them the path.  It is significant that the liturgy puts the Gospel of Bartimaeus before us today, as we conclude the Synodal Assembly on the New Evangelization.  This biblical passage has something particular to say to us as we grapple with the urgent need to proclaim Christ anew in places where the light of faith has been weakened, in places where the fire of God is more like smouldering cinders, crying out to be stirred up, so that they can become a living flame that gives light and heat to the whole house.

The new evangelization applies to the whole of the Church’s life.  It applies, in the first instance, to the ordinary pastoral ministry that must be more animated by the fire of the Spirit, so as to inflame the hearts of the faithful who regularly take part in community worship and gather on the Lord’s day to be nourished by his word and by the bread of eternal life.  I would like here to highlight three pastoral themes that have emerged from the Synod.  The first concerns the sacraments of Christian initiation.  It has been reaffirmed that appropriate catechesis must accompany preparation for Baptism, Confirmation and Eucharist.  The importance of Confession, the sacrament of God’s mercy, has also been emphasized.  This sacramental journey is where we encounter the Lord’s call to holiness, addressed to all Christians.  In fact it has often been said that the real protagonists of the new evangelization are the saints: they speak a language intelligible to all through the example of their lives and their works of charity.

Secondly, the new evangelization is essentially linked to the Missio ad Gentes.  The Church’s task is to evangelize, to proclaim the message of salvation to those who do not yet know Jesus Christ.  During the Synod, it was emphasized that there are still many regions in Africa, Asia and Oceania whose inhabitants await with lively expectation, sometimes without being fully aware of it, the first proclamation of the Gospel.  So we must ask the Holy Spirit to arouse in the Church a new missionary dynamism, whose progatonists are, in particular, pastoral workers and the lay faithful.  Globalization has led to a remarkable migration of peoples.  So the first proclamation is needed even in countries that were evangelized long ago.  All people have a right to know Jesus Christ and his Gospel: and Christians, all Christians – priests, religious and lay faithful – have a corresponding duty to proclaim the Good News.

A third aspect concerns the baptized whose lives do not reflect the demands of Baptism.  During the Synod, it was emphasized that such people are found in all continents, especially in the most secularized countries.  The Church is particularly concerned that they should encounter Jesus Christ anew, rediscover the joy of faith and return to religious practice in the community of the faithful.  Besides traditional and perennially valid pastoral methods, the Church seeks to adopt new ones, developing new language attuned to the different world cultures, proposing the truth of Christ with an attitude of dialogue and friendship rooted in God who is Love.  In various parts of the world, the Church has already set out on this path of pastoral creativity, so as to bring back those who have drifted away or are seeking the meaning of life, happiness and, ultimately, God.  We may recall some important city missions, the “Courtyard of the Gentiles”, the continental mission, and so on.  There is no doubt that the Lord, the Good Shepherd, will abundantly bless these efforts which proceed from zeal for his Person and his Gospel.

Dear brothers and sisters, Bartimaeus, on regaining his sight from Jesus, joined the crowd of disciples, which must certainly have included others like him, who had been healed by the Master.  New evangelizers are like that: people who have had the experience of being healed by God, through Jesus Christ.  And characteristic of them all is a joyful heart that cries out with the Psalmist: “What marvels the Lord worked for us: indeed we were glad” (Ps 125:3).  Today, we too turn to the Lord Jesus, Redemptor hominis  and lumen gentium, with joyful gratitude, making our own a prayer of Saint Clement of Alexandria: “until now I wandered in the hope of finding God, but since you enlighten me, O Lord, I find God through you and I receive the Father from you, I become your coheir, since you did not shrink from having me for your brother.  Let us put away, then, let us put away all blindness to the truth, all ignorance: and removing the darkness that obscures our vision like fog before the eyes, let us contemplate the true God ...; since a light from heaven shone down upon us who were buried in darkness and imprisoned in the shadow of death, [a light] purer than the sun, sweeter than life on this earth” (Protrepticus, 113: 2 – 114:1).  Amen.

[Pope Benedict, conclusion of the Synod 28 October 2012]

1. Looking at the primary objective of the Jubilee, which is the "strengthening of faith and of the witness of Christians" (Tertio millennio adveniente, n. 42), after outlining in previous catecheses the basic characteristics of the salvation offered by Christ, today we pause to reflect on the faith he expects of us.

"The obedience of faith", Dei Verbum teaches, "must be given to God as he reveals himself" (n. 5). God revealed himself in the Old Covenant, asking of the people he had chosen a fundamental response of faith. In the fullness of time, this faith is called to be renewed and increased, to respond to the revelation of the incarnate Son of God. Jesus expressly asks for it when he speaks to his disciples at the Last Supper: "Believe in God, believe also in me" (Jn 14:1).

2. Jesus had already asked the group of the 12 Apostles to profess their faith in his person. At Caesarea Philippi, after questioning his disciples about the people's opinion of his identity, he asks: "But who do you say that I am?" (Mt 16:15). The reply comes from Simon Peter: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God" (16:16).

Jesus immediately confirms the value of this profession of faith, stressing that it stems not only from human thought idea but from heavenly inspiration: "Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jona! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven" (Mt 16:17). These statements, in strongly Semitic tones, indicate the total, absolute and supreme revelation: the one that concerns the person of Christ, Son of God.

Peter's profession of faith will remain the definitive expression of Christ's identity. Mark uses this same expression to begin his Gospel (cf. Mk 1:1) and John refers to it at the end of his, saying that he has written his Gospel so that you may believe "that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God", and that in believing you may have life in his name (cf. Jn 20:31).

3. In what does faith consist? The Constitution Dei Verbum explains that by faith, "man freely commits his entire self to God, making 'the full submission of his intellect and will to God who reveals'" (n. 5). Thus faith is not only the intellect's adherence to the truth revealed, but also a submission of the will and a gift of self to God revealing himself. It is a stance that involves one's entire existence.

The Council also recalls that this faith requires "the grace of God to move [man] and assist him; he must have the interior helps of the Holy Spirit, who moves the heart and converts it to God, who opens the eyes of the mind and 'makes it easy for all to accept and believe the truth'" (ibid.). In this way we can see how, on the one hand, faith enables us to welcome the truth contained in Revelation and proposed by the Magisterium of those who, as Pastors of God's People, have received a "sure charism of truth" (Dei Verbum, n. 8). On the other hand, faith also spurs us to true and deep consistency, which must be expressed in all aspects of a life modeled on that of Christ.

4. As a fruit of grace, faith exercises an influence on events. This is wonderfully seen in the exemplary case of the Blessed Virgin. Her faith-filled acceptance of the angel's message at the Annunciation is decisive for Jesus' very coming into the world. Mary is the Mother of Christ because she first believed in him.

At the wedding feast in Cana, Mary, obtains the miracle through her faith. Despite Jesus' reply, which does not seem very favourable, she keeps her trustful attitude, thus becoming a model of the bold and constant faith which overcomes obstacles.

The faith of the Caananite woman was also bold and insistent. Jesus countered this woman, who had come to seek the cure of her daughter, with the Father's plan which restricted his mission to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. The Caananite replied with the full force of her faith and obtained the miracle: "O woman! Great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire" (Mt 15:28).

5. In many other cases the Gospel witnesses to the power of faith. Jesus expresses his admiration for the centurion's faith: "Truly, I say to you, not even in Israel have I found such faith" (Mt 8:10). And to Bartimaeus: "Go your way your faith has made you well" (Mk 10:52). He says the same thing to the woman with a haemorrhage (cf. Mk 5:34).

His words to the father of the epileptic who wanted his son to be cured are no less striking: "All things are possible to him who believes" (Mk 9:23).

The role of faith is to co-operate with this omnipotence. Jesus asks for this co-operation to the point that upon returning to Nazareth, he works almost no miracles because the inhabitants of his village did not believe in him (cf. Mk 6:5-6). For Jesus, faith has a decisive importance for the purposes of salvation.

St Paul will develop Christ's teaching when, in conflict with those who wished to base the hope of salvation on observance of the Jewish law, he forcefully affirms that faith in Christ is the only source of salvation: "We hold that a man is justified by faith apart from works of law" (Rom 3:28). However, it must not be forgotten that St Paul was thinking of that authentic and full faith which "works through love" (Gal 5:6). True faith is animated by love of God, which is inseparable from love for our brothers and sisters.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 18 March 1998]

Today we begin a new series of catecheses on the theme of prayer. Prayer is the breath of faith; it is its most proper expression. Like a cry that issues from the heart of those who believe and entrust themselves to God. Let us think about the story of Bartimaeus, a character in the Gospel (cf. Mk 10:46-52), and I confess that for me he is the most likeable of all. He was blind and sat begging for alms by the roadside on the periphery of his city, Jericho. He is not an anonymous character. He has a face and a name: Bartimaeus, that is, “son of Timaeus”. One day he heard that Jesus would be passing through there. In fact, Jericho was a crossroads of people, continually criss-crossed by pilgrims and tradesmen. Thus, Bartimaeus positioned himself: he would have done anything possible to meet Jesus. So many people did the same. Let us recall Zacchaeus who climbed up the tree. Many wanted to see Jesus; he did too. In this way the man enters the Gospels as a voice that loudly cries out. He cannot see. He does not know whether Jesus is near or far away but he hears him. He understands this from the crowd which, at a certain point, grows and comes closer…. But he is completely alone and no one is concerned about him. And what does Bartimaeus do? He cries out. And he cries out and continues to cry out. He uses the only weapon he possesses: his voice. He begins to shout: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (v. 47). And he continues to cry out in this manner. His repeated cries are a nuisance. They do not seem polite and many people scold him, telling him to be quiet: “But be polite; do not do this”. However, Bartimaeus does not keep silent but rather cries out even more loudly: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (v. 47): That beautiful stubbornness of those who seek a grace and knock and knock on the door of God’s heart. He cries out; he knocks. That expression: “Son of David”, is very important. It means “the Messiah” — he professes the Messiah. It is a profession of faith that emerges from the mouth of that man who was despised by all. And Jesus listens to his cry. Bartimaeus’ prayer touches his heart, God’s heart, and the doors of salvation open up for him. Jesus calls for him. He jumps to his feet and those who had first told him to be quiet, now lead him to the Master. Jesus speaks to him. He asks him to express his desire — this is important — and then the cry becomes a request: “that I may see again, Lord!” (cf. v. 51).

Jesus says to him: “Go your way; your faith has made you well” (v. 52). He recognises in that poor, defenceless and despised man, all the power of his faith, which attracts the mercy and the power of God. Faith is having two hands raised up, a voice that cries out to implore the gift of salvation. The Catechism states that “humility is the foundation of prayer” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2559). Prayer is born of the earth, of the humus from which “humble”, “humility” derive. It comes from our precarious state, from our continuous thirst for God (cf. ibid., 2560-2561). Faith, as we have seen with Bartimaeus, is a cry. Lack of faith is the suppression of that cry. That attitude that the people had, in making him keep quiet: they were not people of faith, whereas he was. To suppress that cry is a type of omertà (code of silence). Faith is a protest against a pitiful condition the cause of which we do not understand. Lack of faith is to limit ourselves to endure a situation to which we have become accustomed. Faith is the hope of being saved. Lack of faith is becoming accustomed to the evil that oppresses us and continuing in that way.

Dear brothers and sisters, we begin this series of catecheses with Bartimaeus’ cry because perhaps everything is already written in someone like him. Bartimaeus is a persevering man. He was surrounded by people who explained that imploring was useless, that it was clamouring without receiving a reply, that it was noise that was only bothersome, and thus please stop crying out. But he did not remain in silence. And in the end he obtained what he wanted.

Greater than any discussion to the contrary, there is a voice in mankind’s heart that invokes. We all have this voice within. A voice that comes forth spontaneously without anyone commanding it, a voice that asks itself about the meaning of our journey on earth, especially when we find ourselves in darkness: “Jesus, have mercy on me! Jesus have mercy on me!”. This is a beautiful prayer.

But are these words perhaps not chiselled in all of creation? Everything invokes and implores so that the mystery of mercy may be definitively fulfilled. Not only Christians pray; they share their cry of prayer with all men and women. But the horizon can be further widened: Paul states that all of creation “has been groaning in travail together until now” (Rom 8:22). Artists are often the interpreters of this silent cry of creation that is found in every creature and emerges above all in the heart of men and women, because they are “beggars before God” (ccc, 2559). It is a beautiful definition of mankind: “beggars before God”. Thank you.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 6 May 2020]

Choice of the Chalice

(Mk 10:32-45)

Mark writes his Gospel in the year of the four Caesars (68-69). In simplicity, it reflects emergencies or tensions, even in the community.

Despite the fact that Nero's persecution has been over for a few years, immediately the believers return to fight among themselves to be "big" and in first place.

Within the Roman church the contest of excelling starts again. Here is the cue of the Gospel call.

To be revered, hunger for prominence, better to count than to be counted? Place of honour is the last.

Alternative is: a religion that produces and reiterates distances, or the life of humility-coexistence marked by sympathy for the less entitled.

In this way, the person of Faith is recognised and characterised by human fulfilment, which resembles God.

In the Gospels, the «Son of Man» (vv.33.45) is an icon of transmissible holiness, a living Sanctuary from which divine compassion radiates.

'Son of man' is he who, having reached the peak of human fullness, comes to reflect the divine condition and deploys it widely - not selectively [as expected].

"Successful Son": the Person with the definitive step, who in us aspires to convivial expansion, to an indestructible carat within each one who approaches - and encounters divine marks.

It is growth and humanisation of the people: the quiet, transparent and complete fruit of the divine project on humanity.

In the icon of the «Son of Man» the evangelists wish to reveal and trigger the triumph of the human over the inhuman; the progressive disappearance of everything that blocks the communication of full existence.

Here are the two opposing orientations of life.

On the one hand, the custom of prevailing-enslaving, perpetuating the ancient world; then demanding, getting ahead, demanding with harsh language; so on.

It is a different matter to support people to dilate life and esteem themselves, discovering their Calling, what conforms and is beautiful to them; encouraging them to mature the Dream they cultivate.

In Jesus' proposal, celestial Glory is identified with what is a source of fulfilment for all, not only for the well-introduced [deaf by ambition].

Because if the external papier-mâché castles are ecstatic and still leave us open-mouthed, in history the presumptuous suddenly become chaff in the wind; they have no weight, they do not last.

But the disease of honour places does not heal.

The fever of being revered and seeming first in class does not subside, in fact it becomes madness; and the head still does not change.

Always striving for the climb, the line of regard - and achieving spaces. Measure of a way of conceiving.

«Son of Man» is therefore not a “religious” or selective title, but a possibility for all those who allow themselves to be drawn into the humanity of Christ.

He is not the archetype of a pyramid authority, attentive to balance and strategic points.

In this way, the holders of prestigious roles are only «considered» (v.42) leaders.

Such dynamics do not belong to the community of the Sons - marked by sharing the 'choice of the Chalice' (v.39): the anti-ambition.

In short, Christ reaffirms that God's authentic enemy is not imperfection, nor limitation - or even the apparent ruin of one's prestige - but an entirely internal demon.

The counterpart of the Lord is the desire to get on the board of life and be served by others, out of power intoxication.

In the icon of the «Son of Man» the evangelists wish to reveal and trigger the triumph of the human over the inhuman; the progressive disappearance of everything that blocks the communication of full existence.

Exactly. The Lord disdains the model of satraps.

[Wednesday, 8th wk. in O.T.  May 27, 2026]

The model of the satraps

(Mk 10:35-45)

Unofficially, Pius VII tried to lift the triregnum (neoclassical style, unusual) given to him by Napoleon, but his pages almost couldn't pull it up for the weight.

Let alone carry 8 kilos and 200 grams on his head! He tried, however, also to put it on, while of course someone also supported him from the side (imagine if he had fallen on the red slippers).

But it was also too narrow: impossible to stick your head in!

Out of spite, Bonaparte, the new emperor, had it made up so that no pope could ever wear it; and so it was, the ironic museum piece.

The imposition formula was: 'Receive the Tiara adorned with three crowns, and know that Thou art Father of Princes and Kings, Ruler of the world, Vicar on earth of Our Saviour Jesus Christ, to whom be honour and glory for ever and ever'. Amen.

While amidst symphonies and choirs someone was waiting for the very moment of the tiara to weep a little over the ancient glories, at the celebration of the reopening of the Council - after the coronation - Paul VI finally laid the triregnum on the papal altar.

He took it off with satisfaction, not because it was uncomfortable (he had a good four and a half kilos on his head): later he also made other gestures of unexpected renunciation with demands to be obeyed.

After him, no pope had the courage to adorn himself with it.

It was an opportunity not to be missed for those with vast experience in curial and diplomatic circles.

With the keys of Heaven, the reins of the earth and the command of Purgatory (the three crowns) in his fist, the pontiff decided to bring up several flames from underground - to overheat the strains of some careerist from the sidelines, accustomed to directing souls by standing on top of any trunk.

Mc wrote his Gospel in the year of the four Caesars (68-69).

Despite the fact that Nero's persecution had passed only a few years earlier, immediately the believers returned to squabbling among themselves to be 'big' and in first place.

Within the Roman community, the race to excel began again. Here is the cue for the evangelical call.

To be worshipped, hunger for prominence, better to be counted than to be counted?

The place of honour is last.

The alternative is: a religion that produces and reiterates distances, or the life of humility-communion marked by sympathy for the less entitled.

The person of Faith is recognised and characterised by human fulfilment, which resembles God.

In the Gospels, the "Son of Man" (vv. 33.45) is an icon of transmissible holiness, a living sanctuary from which divine compassion radiates.

Son of man is the one who, having reached the peak of human fullness, comes to reflect the divine condition and radiates it widely - not selectively as expected.

Successful son: the Person with the definitive step, who in us aspires to convivial expansion, to an indestructible carat within each one who approaches - and encounters - divine marks.

It is growth and humanisation of the people: the quiet, transparent and complete development of the divine plan on humanity.

The Son of Man is therefore not a religious, guarded, controlled and reserved title, but an opportunity for all those who adhere to the Lord's life proposal and reinterpret it in a personal creative way.

They transcend the firm, natural boundaries making room for the Gift; welcoming from Grace the fullness of being, in its new, unrepeatable tracks.

Feeling totally and undeservedly loved, we discover other facets... we change the way we are with ourselves, and we can grow, realise ourselves, flourish, radiate the wholeness we have received - with no more closures.

In the Gospels, the Son of Man - the true and full development of the divine plan on humanity - is not hindered by the frequenters of the bad places, but by the habitués of the sacred precincts.

Precisely. The Lord disdains the model of satraps.

Here then are the two opposing orientations of life.

On the one hand, the custom of prevailing-serving, perpetuating the old world; thus demanding, getting one's way, dominating, manipulating, acting with duplicity, demanding with harsh (but also mellifluous - in order to obtain for oneself) language...

Instead, a different humanising track is to support people in expanding their lives and esteeming themselves, discovering their own deepest states, their personal Calling - that which is conformable and beautiful to them - encouraging them to mature the Dream they cultivate.

In Jesus' proposal, heavenly glory is identified with what is a source of fulfilment for all, not with a pyramidal archetype of well-introduced (deaf in ambition).

For if the outer papier-mâché castles are ecstatic and still leave us open-mouthed, in the turn of history the presumptuous suddenly become chaff in the wind; they have no weight, they do not last.

It is the archetype of pyramidal authority and command, attentive to balance and strategic points.Such dynamics do not belong to the community of the Sons - marked by sharing the choice of the Chalice (v.39): anti-ambition.

In short, Jesus reaffirms that God's authentic enemy is not imperfection, nor limitation - or even the apparent ruin of one's prestige - but an internal demon.

The counterpart of the Lord is the desire to climb the board of life and be served by others, for the thrill of power.

On a crusader capital preserved in the Nazareth Museum is a sculpture of an Apostle with a wavering pose and an uncertain gait, who is decisively dragged along by a crowned female figure: Faith.

It is Faith that clasps its hand on the wrist (where life pulses) of the character - awkward but endowed with a halo (from the features he definitely looks like Peter) undermined by the demons of having and power.

The disease of places of honour does not heal. The fever of being revered and seeming to be first in class does not subside, in fact it becomes sheer madness; and the head still does not change.

Always striving for the climb, the line of respect - and achieving space. Measure of a way of conceiving.

Here, then, is the Bishop of Rome still compelled to admonish his princes:

"These people play at being God"! "A successful life does not depend on success or on what others think". "Today there is a culture of subjugation of the other" - and so on.

In this way, the holders of titles of prestige are "deemed" (v.42) to be leaders. 

In the parallel passage, Lk adds that these rulers - also in relation to the churches - moreover claim to be called 'benefactors' (a title of the great Hellenistic rulers).

And unfortunately here and there the malpractice continues.

It is the type of chained, position-conscious sovereignty; which is exercised and 'works' great, but it does not go.

To ape the worldly structures marked by logics of privilege, prevarication, plagiarism, and subjugation is less than noble and more than suspicious: far from being an example or a civil and moral engine of society!

Such dynamics do not belong to the community of the Sons; although they are occasionally evoked, enacted by individuals and factions oppressing the voiceless (even underhandedly) or at least regretted by ill-concealed nostalgics.

The same ones who - not having lost the vice of satisfying themselves by cloaking themselves in false prestige - continue to spoil the climate and drive away the best energies.

The Apostles were already sure that they had taken the Master hostage (v.35).

So in the still vain attempt to stir consciences and diroze them, the Lord continues to address men - as in the Gospel passage - cordially and from below, like a slave with his masters (v.36).

It is God who is the forced labourer at the service of the subordinates' desire for life; reflexively His own - if they manifest Him authentically, Greatly seriously.

To those who do not live a vital relationship with Christ but pretend to sequester him, Pope Francis reiterated the traits of the "disease of those who feel themselves masters. They believe themselves to be superior or indispensable and not of service. Sickness that comes from the pathology of power, narcissism, the complex of the elect'.

The 'designated' often imagine that they have already caged Jesus, so you always find them above and in front, never equal; let alone behind: rather, smeared with imperial dust that produces lacerations and schisms (v.41).

Other than giving themselves and sharing - we repeat - the choice of the Chalice (the anti-ambition)!

Here is the indicative element of the difference between religion and Faith:

The enemy of God is not sin, but power. The intoxication of being crowned with a tiara, that is, of being destined to continually allow oneself to be honoured, to be noticed and to command everywhere... even underground.

Once again the Lord has granted me the joy of carrying out this solemn act by which the College of Cardinals is enriched with new Members chosen from every part of the world. They are Pastors who zealously govern important Diocesan communities and Prelates who head Dicasteries of the Roman Curia or who have served the Church and the Holy See with exemplary faithfulness.

As from today, they are part of that coetus peculiaris which gives the Successor of Peter a more immediate and diligent collaboration, supporting him in the exercise of his universal ministry,

First of all I address my affectionate greeting, renewing the expression of my esteem and my deep appreciation to them for their witness to the Church and to the world. In particular, I greet Archbishop Angelo Amato and thank him for his kind words to me.

I then offer a cordial welcome to the Official Delegations of various countries, to the Representatives of numerous dioceses and to all who have gathered here to take part in this event during which these venerable and dear Brothers receive the sign of cardinalitial dignity by the imposition of the biretta [“red hat”], and the assignment of the Title of a church in Rome.

The special communion and affection that bonds these new Cardinals to the Pope makes them his unique and precious cooperators in the lofty mandate to tend his sheep, which Christ entrusted to Peter (cf. Jn 21:15-17) in order to unite peoples with the solicitude of Christ's love. From this same love the Church was born, called to live and to journey on in accordance with the Lord's commandment which sums up the whole of the law and the prophets.

Being united with Christ in faith and in communion with him means being “rooted and grounded in love” (Eph 3:17), the fabric that unites all the members of Christ's Body.

The word of God proclaimed just now helps us to meditate exactly on this most fundamental aspect. The Gospel passage (Mk 10:32-45) sets before our eyes the icon of Jesus as the Messiah — foretold by Isaiah (cf. Isaiah 53) — who came not to be served but to serve. His lifestyle becomes the basis of new relationships within the Christian community and of a new way of exercising authority.

Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem and for the third time, pointing it out to the disciples, predicts the way on which he intends to bring to fulfillment the work entrusted to him by the Father: the way of giving himself humbly, to the point of sacrificing his life, the way of the Passion, the way of the Cross.

Yet, even after this announcement, as had happened for the previous ones, the disciples revealed their great difficulty in understanding, in bringing about the necessary “exodus” from a worldly mind set to the mentality of God.

Such was the case of James and John, the two sons of Zebedee, who ask Jesus to grant them to sit in the places of honour, beside him in “glory”, thus expressing worldly expectations and projects of grandeur, authority and honour.

Jesus, who knows the human heart, is not upset by this request but immediately turns the limelight on its profound implications: “you do not know what you are asking”. He then guides the two brothers to an understanding of what following him means.

So what is the way that any one who wishes to be a disciple must take? It is the way of the Teacher, it is the way of total obedience to God. For this reason Jesus asks James and John: are you prepared to share my decision to carry out the Father's will to the very end? Are you prepared to take this way that passes through humiliation, suffering and death for love? The two disciples, with their confident answer, “we can”, show that once again they have not understood the real meaning of what the Teacher is outlining for them.

And again Jesus patiently helps them take a further step: not even experiencing the cup of suffering and the baptism of death entitles a person to the first place, because the first place is “for those for whom it has been prepared”, it is in the hands of the Heavenly Father. Human beings must not calculate; they must simply abandon themselves to God without making any claims, conforming themselves to his will.

The indignation of the other disciples became an opportunity to extend the teaching to the entire community. Jesus first “called them to him”: this was the act of the original vocation to which he invited them to return.

His reference to the constitutive moment of the calling of the Twelve, to “being with Jesus” in order to be sent out is very significant, because it clearly recalls that every ministry in the Church is always a response to a call of God, never the result of one's own project or personal ambition but, rather, means conforming one's will to the will of the Father who is in Heaven, as Christ did in Gethsemane (cf. Lk 22:42).

No one is master in the Church but all are called, all are sent out, all are reached and guided by divine grace. And this is also our security! Only by listening anew to the word of Jesus who asks, “come, follow me”, only by returning to our original vocation, is it possible to understand our own presence and mission in the Church as authentic disciples.

The request of James and John and the indignation of the other “ten” Apostles raised a central question to which Jesus chose to answer: who is great, who is “first” for God? First of all Jesus looks at behaviour which “those who are supposed to rule over the Gentiles” risk assuming: to “lord it over them”.

Jesus points out to the disciples a completely different conduct. “But it shall not be so among you”. His community follows another rule, another logic, another model: “Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all”.

The criterion of greatness and primacy according to God is not domination but service; diaconia is the fundamental law of the disciple and of the Christian community, and lets us glimpse something about “the lordship of God”.

And Jesus also indicates the reference point: the Son of man who came to serve. In other words he sums up his mission in the category of service, not meant in a generic sense but in the concrete sense of the Cross, of the total gift of life as a “ransom”, as redemption for many, and he points it out as a condition of the “sequela”.

It is a message that applies for the Apostles, for the whole Church, and especially for those who have leadership roles in the People of God. It is not the logic of domination, of power according to human criteria but rather the logic of bending down to wash feet, the logic of service, the logic of the Cross that is the root of all exercise of authority.

The Church in every period is committed to conforming to this logic and to testifying to it to make the true “lordship of God” shine out, that of love.

Venerable Brothers appointed to the cardinalitial dignity, the mission to which God calls you today and which qualifies you for an even more responsible ecclesial service, requires an ever greater willingness to adopt the style of the Son of God who came among us as one who serves (cf. Lk 22:25-27).

It is a question of following him in his humble and total gift of himself to the Church, his Bride, on the Cross. It is on this wood that the the grain of wheat — which the Father let fall into the earth of the world — dies, in order to become a ripe fruit.

This is why it is necessary to be even more deeply and firmly rooted in Christ. The intimate relationship with him that transforms life increasingly in such a way that it is possible to say with St Paul, “it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Gal 2:20), constitutes the primary requirement if our service is to be serene and joyful and to bear the fruit that the Lord expects of us.

Dear Brothers and Sisters who are gathered round the new Cardinals today: pray for them! Tomorrow, in this Basilica, during the concelebration on the Solemnity of Christ the King, I shall present the ring to them. It will be a further opportunity to “praise the Lord... who keeps faith for ever” (Ps 145[144]), as we said in the Responsorial Psalm.

May his Spirit support the new Cardinals in their commitment of service to the Church, following Christ on the Cross and also, if necessary, usque ad effusionem sanguinis, ever ready to respond to whoever may ask us to account for the hope that is in us, as St Peter said in the Reading (cf. 1 Pt 3:15).

I entrust the new Cardinals and their ecclesial service to Mary, Mother of the Church, so that they may proclaim to all the peoples, with apostolic zeal, the merciful love of God. Amen.

[Pope Benedict, homily at the Consistory 20 November 2010]

1. "Veni, Sancte Spiritus!"

This, dear brothers and sisters, is the invocation that today, the Solemnity of Pentecost, rises insistently and confidently from the whole Church: Come, Holy Spirit, come and "give your faithful, who trust in you alone, your holy gifts" (Sequentia in sollemnitate Pentecostes).

Among these gifts of the Spirit there is one on which I would like to dwell this morning: the gift of fortitude. In our time, many exalt physical strength, even going so far as to approve of extreme manifestations of violence. In reality, man daily experiences his own weakness, especially in the spiritual and moral realms, yielding to the impulses of his inner passions and to the pressures exerted on him by his surroundings.

2. It is precisely in order to resist these multiple impulses that the virtue of fortitude is needed, which is one of the four cardinal virtues on which the entire edifice of the moral life rests: fortitude is the virtue of one who does not compromise in the performance of one's duty.

This virtue has little place in a society in which the practice of both caving in and accommodating, and of bullying and harshness in economic, social and political relations is widespread. Cowardice and aggression are two forms of lack of fortitude that are often found in human behaviour, resulting in the sad spectacle of those who are weak and cowardly with the powerful, and bold and overbearing with the defenceless.

3. Perhaps never before has the moral virtue of fortitude needed to be supported by the gift of the Holy Spirit. The gift of fortitude is a supernatural impulse, which gives vigour to the soul not only in dramatic moments such as martyrdom, but also in the usual conditions of difficulty: in the struggle to remain consistent with one's principles; in enduring offence and unjust attacks; in courageous perseverance, even amidst misunderstanding and hostility, on the path of truth and honesty.

When we experience, as Jesus did in Gethsemane, "the weakness of the flesh" (cf. Mt 26:41; Mk 14:38), that is, of human nature subjected to physical and psychic infirmities, we must invoke from the Spirit the gift of fortitude to remain steadfast and resolute on the path of goodness. Then we can repeat with St Paul: "I rejoice in my infirmities, in my outrages, in my necessities, in my persecutions, in the anguish I suffer for Christ's sake: when I am weak, it is then that I am strong" (2 Cor 12:10).

4. There are many of Christ's followers - pastors and faithful, priests, religious and lay people, engaged in every field of the apostolate and social life - who, in all times and even in our time, have known and know martyrdom of body and soul, in intimate union with the 'Mater dolorosa' at the side of the Cross. They have overcome everything thanks to this gift of the Spirit!

Let us ask Mary, whom we now greet as 'Regina Coeli', to obtain for us the gift of fortitude in every episode of life and at the hour of death.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 14 May 1979]

"Ask Jesus for the grace to follow him closely", so as not to leave him alone, thus overcoming the temptations of looking at ourselves to "share the cake" of personal interests: this is the spiritual advice suggested by Francis in the Mass celebrated on Tuesday 3 October at Santa Marta.

"This passage from the Gospel," the Pontiff immediately pointed out, referring to the liturgical passage from Luke (9:51-56), "tells us of the moment when the Lord's passion draws near: 'While the days were being fulfilled when he would be lifted up on high'". And so, he explained, "Jesus goes on, the moment of the cross, the moment of passion, is approaching, and in front of this Jesus does two things".

First of all, the Lord "made the firm decision to set out - 'I accept the will of the Father' - and go forward". Then, "he announces this to his disciples: Jesus is determined to do the Father's will to the end". And to the Father he says it clearly: 'It is your will, I am here to obey; you do not want sacrifices, but you want obedience and I obey and go ahead'.

Moreover, said the Pope, Jesus "only once allowed himself to ask the Father to remove this cross a little": when in the Garden of Olives he asks the Father: "If possible, remove this cup from me, but not my will, but your will be done". Jesus is 'obedient to what the Father wants: resolute and obedient and nothing more, and like that, until the end'.

"The Lord enters into patience," the Pontiff continued, because "it is an example of walking not just dying by suffering on the cross, but walking in patience". So Jesus, "in the face of this firm decision he made, tells his disciples that the time is drawing near". For their part, "the disciples - so many passages in the Gospels recount their attitude towards this journey to Jerusalem - sometimes they did not understand what it meant or did not want to understand, because they were afraid, they were frightened". So much so that, the Pope pointed out, "when Jesus told them to go to Martha and Mary because Lazarus was dead, they tried to convince him not to go there in Judea because it was dangerous for their lives: they were afraid, they were frightened".

For this reason, therefore, the disciples "did not ask, they did not understand", perhaps telling themselves that it was "better not to ask about this: 'let time go on, perhaps it will change, and no we will not speak of this subject'". In short, it is the attitude of "hiding the truth under the table, there, that it may not be seen". What is more, "others, at other times, spoke of things of their own, things totally detached from what Jesus was saying".

In fact, when the Lord exhorted: 'let us go to Jerusalem, the son of man will be crucified', they did not understand what he was talking about. And "they were ashamed because they had talked about who among them was the greatest: 'No, this is your turn when the kingdom comes; me on the right, you on the left'. And they shared the cake, a piece to each one". While Jesus remained "alone, alone". Instead, "at other times, as in this case, they were trying to do something: 'Lord there is one who casts out demons, but he is not of us, what shall we do?'". Or they did "like the two sons of Zebedee who wanted to be on the right and left of Jesus at the time of the coming of the kingdom". Luke, in his gospel, relates that the Samaritans did not want to receive Jesus in a village. And the reaction of James and John is strong: "Shall we make a fire come down from heaven and consume them?". In short, the Pope explained, 'they were trying to do alienating things' but, the evangelist continued, 'Jesus turned around and rebuked them'.

In essence, said the Pontiff, the disciples "were looking for an alibi so as not to think about what was waiting". And instead "Jesus" was "alone, he was not accompanied in this decision, because no one understood the mystery of Jesus, the loneliness of Jesus on his way to Jerusalem: alone!". All "this to the end": suffice it to think, the Pope relaunched, "of the disciples' abandonment, of Peter's betrayal". Jesus is therefore "alone: the Gospel tells us that only an angel appeared to him from heaven to comfort him in the Garden of Olives. Only that company. Alone!"

"But he, alone, made the decision to go ahead and do the Father's will," Francis noted. And the disciples "did not understand: they did other things, they quarrelled among themselves or sought alternatives so as not to think about it". This "loneliness of Jesus sometimes manifests itself: let us remember the time he realised that he was not understood: 'O unbelieving and perverse generation, how long should I stay among you and bear you?'". The Lord, therefore, 'felt this loneliness'.

With this in mind, the Pope suggested 'that today we all take some time to think: Jesus loved us so much and was not understood by his own'. Even 'the relatives, the Gospel says, when they went to see him said: "He is out of his mind, he is out of his mind". It was not understood'. And so, Francis insisted, it is important 'to think of Jesus alone, towards the cross, decisive, in the midst of the incomprehension of his own: to think this and to see Jesus walking decisively towards the cross and to thank him'. To say, in short: 'Thank you Lord because you were obedient, you were courageous; you loved so much, you loved me so much'.

In this way we can "have a conversation with him today: how often do I try to do so many things and not look at you, who did this for me? You who have entered into patience - the patient man, patient God - and with such patience tolerate my sins, my failures?" And so, Francis went on to say, one can "speak to Jesus like this - he is always determined to go ahead, to put his face forward - and thank him".

Therefore, the Pontiff concluded, "let us take some time today, a few minutes - five, ten, fifteen - in front of the crucifix perhaps, or with our imagination see Jesus walking decisively towards Jerusalem and ask for the grace to have the courage to follow him closely."

[Pope Francis, Osservatore Romano, 4 October 2017; homily at St Martha's]

Pentecost Sunday (year A)  [24 May 2026]

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (2:1–11)

Jerusalem is not only the city where Jesus instituted the Eucharist, but the city where he rose from the dead and where the Spirit was poured out upon humanity. In Christ’s time, the Jewish feast of Pentecost was of the utmost importance because it was the feast of the giving of the Law, one of the three annual feasts for which people made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. The list of all the nationalities gathered in Jerusalem for the occasion is proof of this. Jerusalem was therefore teeming with people from all over, thousands of devout Jews, some of whom had travelled from far away. It was the year of Jesus’ death, but who among them knew this? I have deliberately said ‘the death’ of Jesus, without mentioning his resurrection, because for the time being his resurrection was still confidential news. These were people who had come from all over and who had perhaps never even heard of a certain Jesus of Nazareth. 

They came to Jerusalem in the fervour, faith and enthusiasm of a pilgrimage to renew the Covenant with God. For the disciples, however, this feast of Pentecost, fifty days after his resurrection, is unlike any other, for to them nothing is as it was before; yet this does not mean they expect what is about to happen. To help us understand clearly what is happening, Luke recounts it by carefully evoking three passages from the Old Testament: first, the giving of the Law at Sinai; second, a word from the prophet Joel; third, the episode of the Tower of Babel. First, let us begin with Sinai: the tongues of fire at Pentecost, the sound ‘like a mighty wind’, bring to mind what had happened at Sinai, when God gave the tablets of the Law to Moses, as we read in the Book of Exodus (19:16–19). By drawing a parallel with the event at Sinai, Saint Luke wants us to understand that this Pentecost, that year, is much more than a traditional pilgrimage: it is a new Sinai. Just as God had given his Law to his people to teach them how to live within the Covenant, so now God gives his own Spirit to his people. Now God’s Law, which is the only means of living truly free and happy, is no longer written on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, in the heart of man, to borrow an image from Ezekiel. Secondly, Luke wished to evoke a word of the prophet Joel: “I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh” (3:1–2), says God; “all flesh” meaning every human being. In Luke’s view, these Jews from every nation under heaven, as he calls them, symbolise the whole of humanity for whom Joel’s prophecy is finally fulfilled. This means that the famous, long-awaited “Day of the Lord” has arrived. Thirdly, we can summarise the story of Babel in two acts: Act 1, all people spoke the same language: they had the same speech and the same words, and they decided to undertake a great project that would mobilise all their energies: the construction of an immense tower. Act 2: God intervenes to put a stop to it: He scatters them across the face of the earth and confuses their languages. From then on, people will no longer understand one another. Unless one wishes to judge God’s intentions, it is impossible to imagine that he acted for any reason other than our happiness. Therefore, if God intervenes, it is to spare humanity a false path: the path of a single mindset, of a single project; something like ‘my children, you seek unity, and that is good; but do not go astray: unity does not lie in uniformity. True unity in love can only be found in diversity’. The account of Pentecost in Luke fits well within the narrative of Babel: at Babel, humanity learns diversity; at Pentecost, it learns unity in diversity: now all the nations under heaven hear the one message proclaimed in their various languages: the wonders of God.

Note: The first reading and the psalm are common to the feasts of Pentecost across the three liturgical years. However, the second reading and the Gospel vary each year.

Responsorial Psalm (103/104)

Read in its entirety, this psalm offers thirty-six verses of pure praise, of wonder at the works of God. It is not surprising that it is proposed to us for the feast of Pentecost, given that Luke, in the Acts of the Apostles, recounts that on the morning of Pentecost the Apostles, filled with the Holy Spirit, began to proclaim the wonders of God in every language. One might observe that to marvel at creation there is no need to have faith, and in every civilisation one finds magnificent poems on the beauties of nature. In Egypt, on the tomb of a Pharaoh, a poem written by the famous Pharaoh Akhenaten was discovered: a hymn to the Sun-God. Amenhotep IV lived around 1350 BC, at a time when the Jews were probably in Egypt and would have known this poem. There are similarities in style and vocabulary between the Pharaoh’s poem and Psalm 103/104. The language of wonder is the same across all latitudes, but what is interesting are the differences, which are the hallmark of the Revelation given to the people of the Covenant. The first difference, and it is essential to the faith of Israel, is that God alone is God; there is no other God but him; and therefore the sun is not a god. The Bible puts the sun and the moon in their place: they are not gods but merely luminaries, creatures themselves: one of the verses of the psalm states this clearly: “You, God, have made the moon to mark the seasons and the sun that knows the hour of its setting.” There are verses not chosen for the feast of Pentecost which clearly present God as the sole Lord of Creation, and a wholly regal vocabulary is used: God is presented as a magnificent, majestic and victorious King. A second distinctive feature of the Bible: creation is only good, and one hears an echo of the poem in Genesis which repeats tirelessly, like a refrain, “And God saw that it was good!”. Psalm 103/104 evokes all the elements of creation with the same wonder: I rejoice in the Lord, and the psalmist adds, in a verse we do not hear this Sunday: “I will sing to the Lord as long as I live, I will sing hymns to my God as long as I exist…” Yet evil is not ignored: the end of the psalm clearly evokes it and hopes for its disappearance; but the people of the Old Testament had understood that evil is not God’s doing, for the whole of creation is good. And we know that one day God will remove all evil from the earth: the King who triumphs over the elements will overcome everything that stands in the way of human happiness. A third distinctive feature of the faith of Israel: creation is an enduring relationship between the Creator and his creatures. When we say in the Creed, “I believe in God the Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth”, we are not merely affirming our faith in an initial act of God, but we acknowledge ourselves to be in a relationship of dependence on him, and the psalm expresses this very well: “All wait for you… Hide your face: they fail; take away their breath: they die and return to their dust. Send forth your Spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the earth.” Another distinctive feature of the faith of Israel is that at the summit of creation stands man,  created to be the king of creation, filled with the very breath of God. And this  is what we celebrate at Pentecost: the Spirit of God within us vibrates in his presence, and the psalmist sings, “Let the Lord rejoice in his works… I will rejoice in the Lord.”  Finally, and this is very important, in Israel every reflection on creation is set within the perspective of the Covenant: having experienced God’s work of liberation, they meditated on creation in the light of this experience, and in this psalm we find traces of this: first of all, the name of God used here is the famous four-letter name, YHWH, which we translate as Lord, the revelation of the God of the Covenant.

Furthermore, “Lord, my God, how great you are!” The expression “my God” with the possessive is always a reference to the Covenant, since God’s plan in this Covenant was precisely stated in the formula “You shall be my people and I shall be your God”. This promise is fulfilled in the gift of the Spirit “to every person”, as the prophet Joel says. Now, every person is invited to receive the gift of the Spirit to truly become a child of God.

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Paul to the Corinthians (12:3b-7, 12-13)

Paul defines the Church as the place where “to each is given a manifestation of the Spirit for the common good”, not therefore for our own vanity, but for the good of all. And it is a free gift for all, just as the members of the body are freely at the service of the whole body. The work of the Spirit in the world resembles an immense mosaic with different pieces held together and united by the invisible action of the Spirit. As communities multiply, the mosaic spreads like wildfire and becomes ever more harmonious. In these communities, Jews and Gentiles, slaves and free men, break down the barriers of prejudice and division, recognising one another as brothers and sisters, members of a single body thanks to the one Baptism that incorporates us all into Christ. Paul certainly had good reasons to insist on unity, for the Christians in Corinth were of such diverse origins—Jews or Gentiles with conflicting sensitivities and religious traditions—and at times the early believers found it difficult to accept the newcomers. To place Jews and pagans on the same religious footing, given the weight that the election of Israel must have carried in Paul’s eyes, was nonetheless very bold! These issues and difficulties, present and highlighted by Paul in the Corinthian community, have not been absent over the centuries and persist even today within the Church. The law that animates believers is always the word of Jesus, who urged the apostles: “You know that the rulers of the nations lord it over them, and the great ones exercise authority over them. It shall not be so among you.” (Mt 20:25–26). Paul sees the Church not as a pyramid, but as a crowd gathered around Jesus Christ, the one Master, and, furthermore, as a living body made up of all the baptised, where those in authority do not view it as superiority, but as a mission in the service of all. Diversity becomes a mutual gift for everyone: “There are different charisms,” observes the Apostle, “and to each is given a manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” Our differences thus become riches, and it is precisely through them that unity is built—a unity that is never uniformity, or worse, standardisation. Herein lies one of the great messages of Pentecost, where all the different languages come together to sing the same song, “the wonders of God”. Since then, the Church has sought to overcome differences in sensibility by learning to live through the labour of reconciliation, sustained by the Spirit given to us at Pentecost, the Spirit of love, forgiveness and reconciliation. The capacity for reconciliation and mutual respect is a true sign of the Spirit’s action and a witness that the world awaits: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples: if you have love for one another,” said Jesus at the Last Supper (Jn 13:35). Unity in diversity is a beautiful challenge that we can overcome only because the Spirit has been given to us: the same Spirit, the Spirit of Love that unites the Father and the Son. From the lesson of Babel we understand that unity does not lie in uniformity, and from Pentecost we understand that true unity in love can only be found in diversity and is always a gift of the Spirit and an image on earth of the Trinitarian communion, the perichoresis between the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

From the Gospel according to John (20:19–23)

 To impart the Holy Spirit to his disciples, Jesus breathes on them; this brings to mind the famous phrase from the Book of Genesis, chapter 2: ‘The Lord God breathed into the man’s nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being’. And Psalm 103/104, which we also hear on this feast of Pentecost, comments on the text of Creation by singing: Send forth your Spirit, and all things shall be created. Now, it is the evening of Easter and Jesus takes up this gesture of the Creator. We can understand why Saint John notes: “It was the evening of that day, the first of the week”, a way of saying that it is the first day of the new creation. The Jews often recalled the creation that God had accomplished in seven days, as we read in the first chapter of Genesis, and awaited the eighth day, that of the Messiah. In his own way, John tells us: the eighth day has come and it is a true re-creation of humanity. Let us take up three phrases from the account of Pentecost that John offers us here. The first: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you”; the second: “He breathed on them and said: Receive the Holy Spirit”; and the third: “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them”. The first and third phrases express a mission; the second speaks of the gift, namely the Holy Spirit given to fulfil the mission received. And this mission consists in “forgiving sins”. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you”. Jesus is the one sent by the Father, and we, who are sent by Jesus, have the same mission as him. This speaks to our responsibility, the trust placed in us, and concerns all the baptised, since the Church has always deemed it appropriate to confirm all the baptised. Jesus’ mission, to limit ourselves to the Gospel of John, is to take away the sin of the world, indeed to “eradicate” the sin of the world, being the Lamb of God, the one who takes away the sin of the world, as John the Baptist had prophesied. The Lamb, meek and humble of heart in the face of his executioners according to the prophecy of Isaiah 52–53, is the Paschal Lamb, who seals with his life the liberation of God’s people. Beyond the liberation of the chosen people from slavery in Egypt, the Gospel speaks to us of liberation from sin, hatred and violence. Jesus thus presents his mission: “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.” We must keep these words of the Lord in mind to understand the phrase in today’s text that is not immediately clear: “Whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven; whose sins you do not forgive, they are not forgiven.” Or, according to another version, “Whose sins you remit, they are remitted; whose sins you do not remit, they are not remitted.” The first part of the sentence presents no difficulty, but the second may not be easily understood. It is impossible to think that God, who is Father, could fail to forgive us. The Old Testament had already highlighted that God’s forgiveness even precedes our repentance, for in God forgiveness is not a one-off act but defines his very being. God is gift and forgiveness. The hallmark of mercy is God’s bending down towards the wretched—that is, towards all of us.  The power given to the disciples—indeed, the mission entrusted to them—is to communicate and pass on God’s forgiveness. Consequently, there is the terrible responsibility, expressed in the second part of the sentence, not merely to speak the word of God’s forgiveness, but to do everything possible so that the world does not ignore this forgiveness and thus fall prey to despair. God’s forgiveness, proclaimed through words and concrete actions, makes us ‘living forgiveness’, apostles of Divine Mercy. At Pentecost, God breathes the words of forgiveness, and the Holy Spirit continues to breathe words and gestures of forgiveness into our spirit, making us ‘lambs of God’ with the power to overcome the spiral of hatred and violence. “I am sending you out like lambs among wolves” to respond to violence and hatred with non-violence, meekness and forgiveness, thus hastening the arrival of the day when all humanity will live immersed in love and forgiveness: it will be the triumph of Divine Mercy!

+Giovanni D’Ercole