The Gospel, from the 12th chapter of John which I would like to try to explain, is also a Gospel of hope. At the same time, it is a Gospel of the Cross. These two dimensions always go together. Since the Gospel refers to the Cross it speaks of hope and, since it gives hope, it must speak of the Cross.

John tells us that Jesus was going up to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover and then he says: "Among those who went up to worship... were some Greeks". Without any doubt they were members of the group called phoboumenoi ton Theon, the "God-fearing", who, going beyond the polytheism of their world, were seeking the authentic God who is truly God, the one God to whom the whole world belongs and who is the God of all mankind. And they had found that God, whom they were seeking and asking for, and for whom every human being is silently yearning, in the Bible of Israel, recognizing him as that God who created the world. He is the God of all men and women and, at the same time, he chose a specific people and place in which to be present among us. They were searching for God and they came to Jerusalem to worship the one God, to know something of his mystery. Furthermore, the Evangelist tells us that these people, having heard talk of Jesus, approached Philip the Apostle who came from Bethsaida, in half of which Greek is spoken and said:  "We wish to see Jesus". Their desire to know God impels them to want to see Jesus and through him to become more closely acquainted with God. "We wish to see Jesus":  we are moved by these words since we all long ever more ardently to see and to know him. I think there are two reasons why these Greeks interest us:  on the one hand their situation is the same as ours; we too are pilgrims asking about God, in search of God. And we too would like to know Jesus better and truly to see him. Yet it is also true that, like Philip and Andrew, we should be Jesus' friends, friends who know him and can show others the way that leads to him. I therefore think that at this time we should pray like this:  Lord, help us to be people journeying towards you. Lord, grant that we may see you ever more clearly. Help us to be your friends, who open to others the door to you. Whether or not this effectively led to an encounter between Jesus and those Greeks, St John does not tell us. Jesus' answer, which he does report to us, goes far beyond that chance moment. It is a twofold response. He speaks of the glorification of Jesus that was then beginning:  "The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified" (Jn 12: 23). The Lord explains this concept of glorification with the Parable of the Grain of Wheat:  "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (v. 24). Indeed the grain of wheat must die, it must sink in the ground in order to absorb energy from the earth and thus develop a stem and become an ear of wheat. With regard to the Lord, this is the parable of his own mystery. He himself is the grain of wheat which came from God, the divine grain that lets itself fall to the ground, that lets itself sink, be broken down in death and precisely by so doing germinates and can thus bear fruit in the immensity of the world. It is not merely a fleeting encounter with some person or another. Now, as the Risen One, he is "new" and goes beyond the limits of space and time. Now, he truly reaches the Greeks. Now, he shows himself to them and speaks to them and they speak to him; so it is that faith is born. The Church grows from all peoples, the community of the Risen Jesus Christ which will become his living Body, the ear of the grain of wheat. In this parable we also find a reference to the mystery of the Eucharist. He, who is the grain of wheat, falls to the ground and dies.

In this manner the holy multiplication of the "loaves" [bread] of the Eucharist comes about, in which he becomes Bread for the people of all times and places.

What the Lord says of himself here in this Christological parable is applied to us in two other verses:  "He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life" (v. 25). I think that when we first hear this we do not like it. We would like to say to the Lord:  "But what are you telling us, Lord? Must we even hate our life? Isn't our life a gift of God? Haven't we been created in his image and likeness? Shouldn't we be grateful and glad that he has given us life?". However, Jesus' words have another meaning. Of course the Lord has given us life and we are grateful for this. Gratitude and joy are fundamental attitudes of Christian life. Yes, we can be happy because we know that each of our lives comes from God. It is not a chance without meaning. I am wanted and loved. When Jesus says we must hate our life he means quite the opposite. He is thinking here of two fundamental attitudes. One is the attitude of wanting to keep my life selfishly, which is why I consider my life as my own property; I consider myself as my own property, which is why I want to make the very most of this life so as to live a full life, living for myself. Whoever does this, whoever lives for himself and thinks of and desires only himself, does not find himself but is lost. What the Lord tells us is precisely the opposite:  not seizing life but giving it. And it is not that in seizing life for ourselves that we receive it, but in giving it, in going beyond ourselves not in looking at ourselves but rather in giving ourselves to the other in the humility of love, giving our life to him and to others. Thus we become rich, distancing ourselves from ourselves, freeing ourselves from ourselves. It is by giving, and not by seizing life that we truly receive life.

[Pope Benedict, visit to the Lutheran Church in Rome 14 March 2010]

1. These words were spoken by the Lord Jesus as he thought of his own death. He himself first of all is that “grain of wheat” which “falls on the ground and dies”. The Son of God, of the same substance as the Father, God from God and Light from Light, was made man. He entered into the life of ordinary men and women as the son of the Virgin Mary of Nazareth. And finally he accepted death on the Cross as the sacrifice for the sins of the world. Precisely in this way the grain of wheat dies and yields a rich harvest. It is the harvest of the Redemption of the world, the harvest of the salvation of souls, the power of truth and love as the beginning of eternal life in God.

In this way the parable of the grain of wheat helps us to understand the very mystery of Christ.

2. At the same time, the grain of wheat that “falls on the ground and dies” becomes the pledge of bread. A man harvests from his fields the heads of grain which have grown from the single grain and, transforming the collected grains into flour, he makes bread from it as food for his own body. In this way Christ’s parable about the grain of wheat helps us to understand the mystery of the Eucharist.

In fact, at the Last Supper, Christ took bread in his own hands, blessed it and said these words over it: “Take this, all of you, and eat it: this is my body which will be given up for you”. And the broken Bread which had become in a sacramental way his own Body he distributed to the Apostles.

In a similar way he brought about the transubstantiation of the wine into his own Blood, and distributing it to the Apostles, said: “Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all men so that sins may be forgiven”. And then he added: “Do this in memory of me”.

3. This is how the mystery of Christ remains among us through the Sacrament of the Eucharist. The mystery of the Redeemer of the world who gave himself up for us all, offering his Body and Blood in the Sacrifice of the Cross. Thanks to the Eucharist the words of our Redeemer are fulfilled: “I will not leave you orphans; I will come back to you” (Io. 14, 18).

In this Sacrament he is always coming to us. We are not orphans. He is with us!

In the Eucharist he also brings us his peace, and he helps us to overcome our weaknesses and fears. It is just as he had foretold: “Peace I bequeath to you, my own peace I give you, a peace the world cannot give, this is my gift to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid” (Io. 14, 27).

And hence, from the beginning, the disciples and witnesses of our Crucified and Risen Lord “remained faithful to the teaching of the apostles, to the brotherhood, to the breaking of bread and to the prayers” (Act. 2, 42).

They remained faithful “to the breaking of bread”. In other words, the Eucharist constituted the very centre of their life, the centre of the life of the Christian community, the centre of the life of the Church.

Thus it was at the beginning in Jerusalem. Thus it has been everywhere, wherever faith in the Gospel together with the teaching of the Apostles has been introduced. From generation to generation it has been so among different peoples and nations. Thus it has also been on the African continent since the Gospel first reached these lands through the missionaries, and since it produced its first fruits in a community assembled to celebrate the Eucharist […]

8. To feed and clothe and care for each child requires much sacrifice and hard work. In addition, parents have the duty of educating their children. As the Second Vatican Council says: “Their role as educators is so decisive that scarcely anything can compensate for their failure in it. For it devolves on parents to create a family atmosphere so animated with love and reverence for God and others that a well-rounded personal and social development will be fostered among the children. Hence, the family is the first school of those social virtues which every society needs” (Gravissimum Educationis, 3).

9. Prayer is essential to the life of every Christian, but family prayer has its own special character. Since it is a form of shared prayer, it has to be shaped and adapted according to the size and make-up of each family. Few activities influence a family more deeply than their prayer together. Prayer fosters reverence for God and respect for one another. It places joys and sorrows, hopes and disappointments, every event and circumstance, within the perspective of God’s mercy and providence. Family prayer opens the heart of each member to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and helps the family to be more united in itself, yet more ready to serve the Church and society.

[Pope John Paul II, from homily in Nairobi, 18 August 1985]

Today's Gospel [...] narrates an episode which took place in the last days of Jesus’ life. The scene takes place in Jerusalem where he finds himself for the feast of the Jewish Passover. Several Greeks had also arrived there for this celebration. These men were driven by religious sentiment, attracted by the faith of the Jewish People and, having heard of this great prophet, they approach Philip, one of the 12 Apostles, and say to him: “we wish to see Jesus” (v. 21). John highlights this sentence, that is centred on the verb to see, which in the evangelical lexicon means to go beyond appearances in order to comprehend the mystery of a person. The verb John uses, “to see”, means to reach the depths of the heart, to reach through sight, with understanding, the depths of a person’s soul, within the person.

Jesus’ reaction is surprising. He does not answer with a “yes” or with a “no” but says: “The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified” (v. 23). These words which at first glance appear to ignore the question of those Greeks, in reality provide the true response because those who seek to know Jesus must look within the Cross where his glory is revealed; to look within the Cross. Today’s Gospel invites us to turn our gaze to the Crucifix which is not an ornamental object or a clothing accessory — abused at times! Rather, it is a religious symbol to contemplate and to understand. Within the image of Jesus crucified is revealed the mystery of the death of the Son as a supreme act of love, the source of life and salvation for humanity of all ages. We have been healed in his wounds.

I may think: “How do I look at the Crucifix? As a work of art, to see if it is beautiful or not? Or do I look within; do I penetrate Jesus’ wounds unto the depths of his heart? Do I look at the mystery of God who was humiliated unto death, like a slave, like a criminal?”. Do not forget this: look to the Crucifix, but look within it. There is a beautiful devotional way of praying one “Our Father” for each of the five wounds. When we pray that “Our Father”, we are trying to enter within, through the wounds of Jesus, inside his very heart. And there we will learn the great wisdom of the mystery of Christ, the great wisdom of the Cross.

And in order to explain the meaning of his death and Resurrection, Jesus uses an image and says: “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (v. 24). He wants to explain that his extreme fate — that is the Cross, death and Resurrection — is an act of fruitfulness — his wounds have healed us — a fruitfulness which will bear fruit for many. He thus compares himself to a grain of wheat which, rotting in the earth, generates new life. Jesus came to earth through the Incarnation, but this is not enough. He must also die to redeem man from the slavery of sin and to offer him a new life reconciled in love. I said “to redeem man”: but to redeem me, you, all of us, each of us. He paid that price. This is the mystery of Christ. Go towards his wounds, enter, contemplate, see Jesus — but from within.

And this dynamism of the grain of wheat which was accomplished in Jesus must also take place within us, his disciples. We are called to take on the Paschal law of losing life in order to receive it renewed and eternal. And what does losing life mean? That is, what does it mean to be the grain of wheat? It means to think less about oneself, about personal interests and to know how to “see” and to meet the needs of our neighbours, especially the least of them. To joyfully carry out works of charity towards those who suffer in body and spirit is the most authentic way of living the Gospel. It is the necessary foundation upon which our communities can grow in reciprocal fraternity and welcome. I want to see Jesus, but from within. Penetrate his wounds and contemplate that love in his heart for you, for you, for you, for me, for everyone.

May the Virgin Mary who, from the manger in Bethlehem to the Cross on Calvary, has always kept her heart’s gaze fixed on her Son, help us to meet and know him just as he desires so that we may live enlightened by Him and bring to the world fruits of justice and peace.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 18 March 2018]

The difficult condition of the disciple in the Church and the world

(Mt 14:22-33)

Having reached the ultimate condition (v.23) Jesus does not allow the Apostles to keep the treasures of God for themselves.

He compels his own to the mission to the Gentiles (v.22). But the 'headwinds' were many.

About half a century after the Lord's death, the communities of Galilee and Syria faced a difficult crossing.

The securities of the ancient religion and the sense of rootedness in the customs of the “chosen” people were breaking down. Even small privileges of position were crumbling.

With the increasing entry of pagans into communities, third-generation believers were forced to ask themselves how they could break out of their old cultural isolation and open up to a new way of seeing things.

In addition to the persecutions, internal conflicts intensified: for example, over the position to be taken in relation to the Empire itself.

There was no shortage of heated debates about the figure and history of the Master himself - as well as on the attitude to take towards the tradition of the 'fathers' [which to some seemed a call to turn back].

Even though the situation was fraught with friction, bitterness, and rancour between Judaizers and those from paganism, as well as impetuous dangers, the Glad Tidings of unconditional Salvation could not be kept in an inner circle.

The quotation of the divine Name «I Am» (v.27) refers here to the Exodus story (3:14).

It is a reminder to the disciples. They still seemed to be in the grip of immediate fears about the real power of Life and Deliverance of Christ - so much so that they did not recognize Him (v.26).

Without ceasing, the Risen One still makes himself Present, so that we can open up and move forward; without the burden of opposition or nostalgia. There is a whole new reality waiting.

We are inhabited by the power of God (vv.28-31).

Authentic communities - «flap of his cloak» (v.36) that is of his Person - will still experience the power of the Spirit.

Through evangelization and the new way of living and helping others gratuitously, any storms that may be gathering on the horizon will clear up.

It will be replaced by an ever deeper and more acute experience of the burgeoning diversity of the 'other shore'; of one's neighbour, of oneself, of the life to come, and of God.

But the virtue that dominates the elements cannot be experienced as Peter intended, that is, as an external, immediate, decisive, and final power - but rather as mysterious and inner, animated in time, and of profound relationship.

The “victory” will be the result of Faith alone: trust in the strength that the silent Messiah gives.

Potency far greater than what we already know about ourselves - despite the fact that we often (like Simone) pretend to an easier, quicker, immediately decisive shortcut.

Emotionally relevant situations have their own meaning, they carry a significant appeal; they introduce a different introspection, the decisive change - a new 'genesis'.

Trial in fact activates souls in the most effective way, because it disengages us from the idea of stability, and brings us into contact with dormant energies, initiating the new dialogue with events.

In Him, we are therefore imbued with a different vision of danger.

[19th Sunday in O.T. (year A), August 9, 2026]

Disciple’s difficult plight in the Church and in the world

Mt 14:22–33 (22–36)

Some other providential care, of which you are unaware

‘It is better not to fall, or to fall and get back up again. And if one does happen to fall, it is better not to despair and not to turn away from the love that the Sovereign has for mankind. For if He so wishes, He can indeed show mercy towards our weakness. Let us simply not turn away from Him, let us not feel distressed if we are constrained by the commandments, and let us not lose heart if we achieve nothing […].

We must neither be in a hurry nor give up, but always start afresh […].

Wait for him, and he will show you mercy, whether through conversion, through trials, or through some other act of providence of which you are unaware.’

(Peter of Damascus, Book Two, Eighth Discourse, in *The Philokalia*, Turin 1982, I,94)

Once the final state had been reached (v. 23), Jesus did not allow the Apostles to keep God’s treasures to themselves.

He compelled his followers to undertake the mission to the Gentiles (v. 22). However, there were many ‘headwinds’.

Some half a century after the Lord’s death, the communities of Galilee and Syria found themselves facing a difficult journey.

The certainties of the ancient religion and the sense of being rooted in the customs of the ‘chosen’ people were beginning to crumble. Even the minor privileges of status were crumbling.

With the increasingly marked influx of pagans into the communities, the third-generation believers were forced to ask themselves how to break out of their former cultural isolation and open themselves up to a new way of seeing things.

In addition to persecution, internal conflicts were intensifying: for example, regarding the stance to adopt towards the Empire itself.

There was no shortage of heated debates concerning the very person and history of the Master – as well as the attitude to adopt towards the tradition of the fathers [which to some seemed a call to turn back].

Although the situation was fraught with friction, bitterness and resentment between those of Jewish background and those from pagan origins, as well as with pressing dangers, the Good News of unconditional salvation could not be confined to a narrow circle.

The invocation of the divine Name ‘I Am’ here refers to the account in Exodus 3:14. It is a call to the disciples, who were still in the grip of immediate fears regarding Christ’s true power of life and liberation – so much so that they did not recognise him (v. 26).

Ceaselessly, the Risen One makes himself present once more, so that we may open ourselves up and move forward; free from the burden of divisions or nostalgia.

A whole new reality awaits.

We are filled with God’s vigour (vv. 28–31), and even today, for our rebirth from the global crisis, we are called to a response of love that is personal, cultural, radical and unprecedented: one that involves introspection, but not as intimidated subjects; one that is bold, but not as those who rush to the surface.

Authentic communities – ‘the hem of his garment’ (v. 36), that is, of his Person – will once again experience the power of the Spirit.

Through evangelisation and a new way of living and helping others selflessly, any storm that may be gathering on the horizon will dissipate.

It will be replaced by an ever deeper and more acute experience of the flourishing diversity on the other shore; of one’s neighbour, of oneself, of life itself as it unfolds, and of God.

But the virtue that masters the elements cannot be experienced as Peter intended—that is, as an external, immediate, decisive and final power—but rather as something mysterious and inner, brought to life over time and rooted in deep relationship.

The ‘victory’ will be the fruit of Faith alone: trust in the strength that the silent Messiah bestows.

A power far greater than that which we already know of ourselves – even though we often (like Simon) demand an easier, swifter, instantly decisive shortcut.

(Mt 8:23–27)

    The direction Jesus imposes on his followers seems to go against the grain, and brazenly breaks the rules accepted by all.

Whilst the disciples harboured nationalistic desires, the Master begins to make it clear that he is not the Messiah commonly expected, a restorer of the defunct empire of David or of the Caesars.

The Kingdom of God is open to all humanity, which in those turbulent times was seeking security, welcome and points of reference. Everyone could find a home and shelter there (Mt 13:32c; Mk 4:32b).

But the apostles and the church elders seemed averse to Christ’s proposals; they remained unmoved by such a broad concept of brotherhood – one that threw them off balance. This is a problem that remains very much alive and extremely serious.

The teaching and call imposed on the disciples is to cross to the other side (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22), that is, not to keep things to themselves.

The Apostles have the task of communicating the Father’s riches to the pagans, who were regarded as impure and disreputable.

Yet it was precisely those closest to the Master who wanted nothing to do with risky excesses that would effectively highlight the far-reaching action of the Son of God.

They were content to adhere to the customs of conventional religiosity and an ideology of limited power.

Resistance to the divine commission, as well as the agonising internal debate that had ensued, had already, in the 70s, unleashed a great storm within the assemblies of believers.

‘And behold, a great storm arose on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves’ (Mt 8:24).

The storm affected only the disciples, who were the only ones filled with dread; not Jesus: ‘but he was asleep’ (v. 24c) [this is the Risen One].

What was happening ‘inside’ the little boat of the Church was not merely a reflection of what was happening ‘outside’! This is the error that must be corrected.

For us too, such identification can stifle and make life stagnant, starting precisely with how we handle emotionally significant situations – which have their own meaning.

They always carry a significant appeal, introducing a different perspective, introspection and dialogue.

In short, from the peace of the divine state that reigns over chaos, the Lord draws attention to the situation and rebukes the apostles, accusing them of lacking faith.

Although devout, they lack even a shred of risk-taking. They lack love – like a mustard seed (v. 26) – to bring to humanity in order to renew it.

And are we believers still confused, at a loss? Does the chaos of preconceived notions still rage – not excluding selfishness, which inexorably rears its head?

Paradoxically, we are walking the path of the Exodus, of the experience of the first believers; true ‘knowledge’, because it is direct. One warning: we must not let fear get the better of us.

In Him, we are imbued with a different perspective on danger.

The Tao Te Ching (xxii) says: ‘The sage does not see for himself; therefore he is enlightened.’ Even in the narrowest of passages.

In fact, at all times it seems that Jesus expressly desires for the apostles those dark moments of confrontation and doubt (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22b). First and foremost, it will be certain church leaders who are called to rid themselves of repetitive convictions. Only in this way will their Proclamation remain unhindered.

Indeed, textbook expectations (and the habit of creating conformist harmonies) stifle the blossoming of who we are and what we hope for.

Above all, that which is troublesome or even ‘against’ the grain has something crucial to tell us.

Even in the little boat of the congregations [cf. Mk 4:36], unease must find expression.

‘And they went up to him and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!”’ (v. 25).

Peril is an opportunity to revive the essence of each individual and of the community itself.

Trial brings about change (hidden or repressed) and sets it in motion in the most effective way.

Novelty arises from natural contact with latent, primordial energies.

More than from conflicting forces or external events, anxiety, unease and anguish arise, in fact, from the very fear of facing the normal or decisive questions of existence.

This may stem from a lack of confidence: sensing danger perhaps only because we perceive ourselves, deep down, as not yet fully mature, and incapable of any other form of dialogue; of discovering and re-evaluating, converting, or reshaping ourselves.

The struggle to question oneself and the suffering that the adventure of Faith holds in store will fade even amidst the turbulence of the rough sea – which, precisely, does not want us to return to being ‘who we were before’ .

We simply need to let go of the idea of stability – even religious stability – and listen to life as it is, embracing it.

Even amidst its multitude of setbacks, bitterness, shattered hopes of harmony and sorrows – engaging with this torrent of new challenges, and encountering our own deepest nature.

The best antidote to the anxieties of our journey with Christ across the shifting waves of the unexpected is precisely not to avoid worries in advance – but rather to face them head-on and welcome them; to recognise ourselves in them, and let them run their course.

Even in times of global crisis, the anxieties that seem intent on devastating us come to us as energies preparing the way for other joys that long to burst forth. New cosmic harmonies; for wonder beginning with ourselves – and guidance from beyond.

Our little boat is in a state of inverted stability, turned upside down, impossible to balance; uncertain, unsuitable – yet energetic, sharp, capable of reinventing itself.

And it may even be excessive, but let the upheavals come.

For a proposal of Tenderness (which does not correspond) that is no relaxation zone, because it rhymes with terrible anxiety and… still neglected outskirts!

To internalise and live out the message:

On what occasions have you found easy what previously seemed impossible?

A splendid testimony:

    ‘Once, like the first disciples, we encountered the Lord and heard his word: “Follow me!” Perhaps at first we followed him somewhat hesitantly, looking back and wondering if this was truly our path. And at some point along the way, we may have had the same experience as Peter after the miraculous catch; that is, we were daunted by His greatness, by the magnitude of the task and by the inadequacy of our own humble selves, so much so that we wanted to turn back: ‘Lord, depart from me, for I am a sinner!’ (Lk 5:8) But then He, with great kindness, took us by the hand, drew us to Himself and said: “Do not be afraid! I am with you. I will not leave you; do not leave me!” And more than once, perhaps, the same thing has happened to each of us as it did to Peter when, walking on the water towards the Lord, he suddenly realised that the water was not supporting him and that he was about to sink. And like Peter, we cried out: “Lord, save me!” (Mt 14:30). Faced with the full fury of the elements, how could we possibly cross the roaring, foaming waters of the last century and the last millennium? But then we looked to Him … and He took us by the hand and gave us a new ‘specific gravity’: the lightness that comes from faith and draws us upwards. And then He offers us His hand to support and carry us. He sustains us. Let us fix our gaze on Him again and again and stretch out our hands towards Him. Let us allow His hand to take hold of us, and then we shall not sink, but we shall serve the life that is stronger than death, and the love that is stronger than hatred. Faith in Jesus, the Son of the living God, is the means by which we grasp Jesus’ hand time and again, and through which He takes our hands and guides us. One of my favourite prayers is the petition that the liturgy places on our lips before Communion: ‘…may I never be separated from you’. We ask never to fall out of communion with his Body, with Christ himself, never to fall out of the Eucharistic mystery. We ask that He may never let go of our hand…’.

[Pope Benedict, Chrism Mass homily, 13 April 2006]

Bread and miracles of the ‘phantom’ Christ. And we, the hem of his cloak

(Mk 6:53–56 // Mt 14:34–36)

He who is devoted to the cause of non-violence and non-possession, who is driven by the search for truth and right vision, who is capable of resolving his own emotional and intellectual problems and can show others the way to overcome their emotional and intellectual problems, may wear the Master’s cloak [Acharya Mahaprajna].

Whilst crowds constantly throng around Jesus and prevent others from having a personal relationship with Him, we must find a way; at the very least, catch a glimpse of Him (v. 56).

‘And wherever He entered—whether villages, towns or hamlets—they would lay the sick out in the marketplaces and beg Him to let them touch even the fringe of His cloak. And all who touched Him were healed.’

In fact, the fringe of his cloak is his People – and each one of us, when by Grace we are enabled to perceive and extend his call, his spirit, his care, his action.

A ‘touch’ that is not merely a gesture: it calls for total involvement; personal faith, an inner search.

The crowds gathered around the Lord and the Church, his primary presence, seek bread and healing… but sometimes they forget to connect with the inner Person who gives and heals.

Yet even in these cases, the infallible Guide continues to offer his unbroken life-giving current – not through therapies that impose themselves upon souls like a bolt of lightning, but within real life.

God liberates, saves and creates, starting from tensions and shortcomings (including religious ones), because He wishes to lead us to awareness.

The Father desires to instil the value of the act of love that strengthens the weak; every re-creative, incarnate gesture, open to any sense of emptiness.

Troubles do not arise from misfortune or punishment: they come to allow us to blossom anew, precisely from the pains of the soul.

If they persist, there is no need to fear: they become more explicit messages from our own higher Self.

It means that something in our inner orchestra is out of tune or neglected, and must either fade away or be uncovered and brought into play.

Otherwise, we will not be able to grow towards the destiny that characterises a Calling and every hardship.

Even the symptoms of restlessness belong to our innate essence – which always holds the power of relevance.

The key, therefore, will not be our appearance, nor our health, but rather the very acceptance of bitterness and hardship, which come to clear away the non-essential – and to liberate trapped spiritual impulses.

These are energies of imbalance, yet they seek to be transformed into the ability to cast off ballast; as well as to better embrace and integrate one’s calling into one’s own story, so as to build life anew.

Perhaps quite a few would prefer to await a miraculous arrival of the Master [the archetypal healer] who brings immediate benefit and instant favours.

An external salvation with a magical flavour – fleeting, even if physically palpable or even taking on an ethical guise.

A phenomenal, yet simplistic, Lord.

An Appearance that dies straight away, only for us to start all over again – were it not for the fact that He (within us, in our turning points) embraces the very uncertainties that mark us.

And the long duration of these processes, which gradually take on a more intimate significance.

Total and sacred redemption – truly messianic – is not given to superficial fanfare.

Healing is not a spectacle. It is achieved solely step by step; thus it remains profound and radical.

It becomes capable of new beginnings and acts of giving birth to energy that is still embryonic, precisely starting from individual precariousness.

His People of the inner circle – a presence no longer ineffable and mysterious – work in close proximity to erase the false image of the philosophical or legal God, who is always external. 

A sovereign or imperious driving force, distant and absent – touchy, predatory – who occasionally makes an appearance; he neither transcends nor reaffirms. He never looks upon our present.

Thus the Church rejects the idea of the Eternal One who ratifies, but also that of the mass miracle-worker, who provides immediate solutions – so dear to the merchants of miracles.

A figure who easily takes hold of our imaginations.

We proclaim his true Face through words and deeds, precisely to destroy the idea of the phantom Christ from the previous passage (v. 49), a deplorable and absurd figure.

An evanescent icon, purely apologetic, which, unfortunately, throughout history has given ample scope to those in business with the Most High.

In this way, being healed does not mean escaping transience.

For a life as the saved, a transformation from within is needed; a new beginning. A different foothold in goodness.

Jesus walks through our world like a silent wayfarer, and even accepts a rudimentary faith.

Yet, even with unassuming power, the divine impulse works within every seeker of meaning and every person in need.

It takes up residence there personally, beginning precisely with our interrupted dreams.

The Lord cannot be imprisoned or confined: he draws near to carry out a great cleansing, to shift our gaze, and to renew the stale universe.

Thus He transforms our soul, through the experience of His free-giving communion,

a fellowship that seeks to take up residence within us, to merge with and expand the drive for life – perhaps lying dormant in our inaction. So that each of us may be amazed by ourselves, by unknown passions, and by new relationships.

Believers and the community manifest, in empathetic ways, the incisive healing power of Faith in the Risen One, beginning with their own intimate lives.

We experience him as alive in the monotonous, unfulfilling and precarious day-to-day – yet capable of changing the fabric of existence hidden in humble neighbourhoods [v.56: ‘hamlets’] and its unspoken destiny.

Without disturbing us with special, one-sided or overbearing effects.

The Tao Te Ching (xi) states: ‘Thirty spokes meet at a single hub, and in its non-being lies the usefulness of the cart’.

Far removed from the civilisation of appearances lies the improvement of our condition and security, away from insecurity.

Not merely a superficial, indiscreet and fleeting recovery.

Phenomenal, yet merely fleeting and inconclusive, or one that ultimately fades away.

To internalise and live out the message:

How do you view Jesus? As a miracle-worker or a restorer?

How do you behave towards those who are excluded or seem to have no shepherd?

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni

“Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni” – with these and similar words, the Church’s liturgy prays repeatedly […]

These invocations were probably formulated during the twilight years of the Roman Empire. The collapse of the fundamental legal systems and the underlying moral attitudes that gave them strength led to the breaking of the defences that had hitherto protected peaceful coexistence amongst people. A world was coming to an end. Frequent natural disasters further heightened this sense of insecurity. There was no force in sight that could halt this decline. All the more insistent, then, was the invocation of God’s own power: that He might come and protect humankind from all these threats.

“Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni”. Even today we have many reasons to join in this prayer […] The world, with all its new hopes and possibilities, is at the same time troubled by the impression that the moral consensus is dissolving—a consensus without which legal and political structures cannot function; consequently, the forces mobilised to defend these structures seem destined to fail.

Excita – the prayer recalls the cry addressed to the Lord, who was sleeping in the disciples’ boat as it was tossed about by the storm and on the verge of sinking. When his powerful word had calmed the storm, he rebuked the disciples for their lack of faith (cf. Mt 8:26 and parallels). He meant to say: faith has been sleeping within you. He wishes to say the same thing to us too. In us, too, faith so often sleeps. Let us therefore pray to Him to rouse us from the slumber of a faith that has grown weary, and to restore to faith the power to move mountains – that is, to put the affairs of the world in their proper order.

[Pope Benedict, to the Roman Curia, 20 December 2010]

This Sunday's Gospel brings us back from this place of rest to daily life. It tells how, after the multiplication of the loaves, the Lord withdraws to the mountain to be alone with the Father. In the meantime, the disciples are on the lake and with their poor little boat are endeavouring in vain to stand up to a contrary wind. To the Evangelist this episode may have seemed an image of the Church of his time:  like the small barque which was the Church of that period, he found himself buffeted by the contrary wind of history and it may have seemed that the Lord had forgotten him. We too can see this as an image of the Church of our time which in many parts of the earth finds herself struggling to make headway in spite of the contrary wind, and it seems the Lord is very remote. But the Gospel gives us an answer, consolation and encouragement and at the same time points out a path to us. It tells us, in fact:  yes, it is true, the Lord is with the Father but for this very reason he is not distant but sees everyone, for whoever is with God does not go away but is close to his neighbour. And, in fact, the Lord sees them and at the proper time comes towards them. And when Peter, who was going to meet him, risks drowning, the Lord takes him by the hand and brings him to safety on the boat. The Lord is continuously holding out his hand to us too. He does so through the beauty of a Sunday; he does so through the solemn liturgy; he does so in the prayer with which we address him; he does so in the encounter with the Word of God; he does so in many situations of daily life - he holds his hand out to us. And only if we take the Lord's hand, if we let ourselves be guided by him, will the path we take be right and good. 

For this reason let us pray to him that we may succeed ever anew in finding his hand. And at the same time, this implies an exhortation:  that, in his Name we hold our own hand out to others, to those in need of it, to lead them through the waters of our history.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 10 August 2008]

4. In turn, the calming of the storm on the Sea of Galilee can be reinterpreted as a ‘sign’ of Christ’s constant presence in the ‘boat’ of the Church, which has so often throughout history been exposed to the fury of the winds in times of storm. Jesus, roused by the disciples, commands the winds and the sea, and a great calm ensues. Then he says to them: ‘Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?’ (Mk 4:40). In this, as in other episodes, we see Jesus’ desire to instil in the apostles and disciples faith in his active and protective presence, even during the stormiest hours of history, when doubt about his divine assistance might creep into their hearts. Indeed, in Christian homiletics and spirituality, miracles have often been interpreted as ‘signs’ of Jesus’ presence and as a guarantee of the trust placed in him by Christians and the Church.
5. Jesus, walking on the water towards his disciples, offers another ‘sign’ of his presence and assures them of his constant watchful care over the disciples and the Church. ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid,’ says Jesus to the apostles, who had taken him for a ghost (cf. Mk 6:49–50; cf. Mt 14:26–27; Jn 6:16–21). Mark notes the apostles’ amazement ‘because they had not understood the miracle of the loaves and their hearts were hardened’ (Mk 6:52). Matthew records Peter’s request to step out onto the water to go and meet Jesus, and notes his fear and his cry for help when he felt himself sinking: Jesus saves him, but gently rebukes him: “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” (Mt 14:31). He also adds that “those in the boat fell down before him, exclaiming: ‘Truly, you are the Son of God’” (Mt 14:33).
[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 2 December 1987]

Today the Gospel passage (Mt 14:22-33) describes the episode about Jesus who, after praying all night on the shore of the Lake of Galilee, makes his way towards his disciples’ boat, walking on the water. The boat is in the middle of the lake, halted by a strong wind blowing against it. When they see Jesus come walking on the water, the disciples mistake him for a ghost and they are afraid. But he reassures them: “Take heart, it is I; have no fear!” (v. 27). Peter, with his characteristic impetuousness, says to him: “Lord, if it is you, bid me come to you on the water”; And Jesus calls him: “Come!” (vv. 28-29). Peter gets out of the boat and begins to walk on the water towards Jesus; but because of the wind, he is afraid and begins to sink. So he cries out: “Lord, save me!” And Jesus reaches out his hand and catches him (vv. 30-31).

This Gospel narrative contains rich symbolism and makes us reflect on our faith, both as individuals and as an ecclesial community, also the faith of all of us who are here today in the Square. Does the community, this ecclesial community, have faith? How is the faith in each of us, and the faith of our community? The boat is the life of each one of us, but it is also the life of the Church. The wind against it represents difficulties and trials. Peter’s invocation — “Lord, bid me come to you!” — and his cry — “Lord, save me!” — are very similar to our desire to feel the Lord’s closeness, but also the fear and anguish that accompany the most difficult moments of our life and of our communities, marked by internal fragility and external difficulties.

At that moment, Jesus’ word of reassurance, which was like an outstretched rope to cling to in the face of the hostile and turbulent waters, was not enough for Peter. This is what can happen to us as well. When one does not cling to the Word of the Lord to feel secure, but consults horoscopes and fortune tellers, one begins to sink. This means that the faith is not very strong. Today’s Gospel reminds us that faith in the Lord and in his Word does not open a way for us where everything is easy and calm; it does not rescue us from life’s storms. Faith gives us the assurance of a Presence, the presence of Jesus who encourages us to overcome the existential tempests, the certainty of a hand that grabs hold of us so as to help us face the difficulties, pointing the way for us even when it is dark. Faith, in short, is not an escape route from life’s problems, but it sustains the journey and gives it meaning.

This episode offers a wonderful image of the reality of the Church throughout the ages: a boat that, as she makes the crossing, must also weather contrary winds and storms which threaten to capsize her. What saves her are not the courage and qualities of her men: the guarantee against shipwreck is faith in Christ and in his Word. This is the guarantee: faith in Jesus and in his Word. We are safe on this boat, despite our wretchedness and weaknesses, especially when we are kneeling and worshiping the Lord, like the disciples who, in the end, fell down before him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God!” (v. 33). How beautiful it is to say this to Jesus: “Truly you are the Son of God!”. Shall we say it together, all of us? “Truly you are the Son of God!”.

May the Virgin Mary help us to remain steadfast in the faith, to resist life’s tempests, to remain on the barque of the Church by shunning the temptation to embark on the seductive but insecure boats of ideologies, fashions and slogans.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 13 August 2017]

The «mount» inside, to be moved

(Mt 17:14-20)

The messianicity of Christ and Salvation itself belong both to the characteristic features of Faith and to the stages of Prayer.

Faith and Prayer are domains of the intimate listening, acute perception, spousal [trusting, propulsive, liberating] acceptance.

On this point Jesus rails against the mediocrity of his own (vv.16-17) and is forced to start from scratch (vv.19-20).

Of course, perhaps others also lack Faith, but they very confidentially wish to be helped, well before becoming masters of the crowd (v.14a).

So much so that in his Church still standing at a safe and hesitant distance (v.19), the Lord has to resume introducing the basic catechism - addressed precisely to his intimates.

The passage is structured along the lines of the early catechumenal liturgies: the authentic Messiah wants people enslaved by the ideology of power and false religion to be brought only to Him (v.17; v.19a).

The beginner goes through a life review Face to face with Christ - otherwise he might be plagued by unwise guides; some perhaps dehumanizing.

The young man's own behaviour (v.15) echoes the existential patterns of people subjugated by self-destructive forces - thus in the grip of obsessive, unrelenting lacerations.

It is a harrowing situation: that of one who discovers that he or she has always been deceived [even in the spiritual life] by a whole ideology of unwise mediators, who rather lead us away from the One Saviour.

There are beliefs and forces that induce deep illnesses... like something that has taken hold of us.

Between the convulsive powers and the 'presence' of the Messiah, who brings only life, a no-holds-barred struggle ensues.

Sometimes, even today, it seems that we are not in a position to broaden the existential dimension, give it breath, and solve so many problems.

But evil does not yield suddenly and with clamour, nor by force or insistence of man - but by attunement and Gift [v.21: «But this kind of demons does not come out except by prayer and fasting»].

Prayer makes one step out of the confines and places one in listening; in contact with the deep states of being, with other energies and surprises that one was not aware of: virtues of Grace, which allows one to see the situation with liberated eyes.

For solutions that dissolve upheavals, we do not need conformist rules, but constantly a New Reading (v.21).

Our life is not played out on the initiative of what we are already able to set up and practice - or interpret, design, predict (vv.14-17) - but on Attention (v.21), the first principle of emancipation.

Even rebirth from the current crisis is not so much a matter of “holding” and “resilience”: because the «mountain» (v.20) to be moved is not outside, but within us.

And the rich complexity of our essence demands it.

Thus the obstacles and sour or apparently deadly tones of reality - instead of harming us, making us fall and suffer badly (v.15) - will be nourishing.

Precious opportunities for metamorphosis, regeneration, growth.

[Saturday 18th wk. in O.T.  August 8, 2026]

(ref. Mk 9:14–29)

    How should we respond when we feel powerless in the face of humanity’s tragedies? Even on the journey of faith, at a certain point along the way we feel an irrepressible need to transform ourselves.

We want to realise our full potential and do good, even for others. It is an innate impulse.

The need for life does not arise from reasoning: it springs up spontaneously, so that new situations and other aspects of ourselves may emerge.

Change is a law of nature, inherent in every seed.

This movement ‘calls’ us from the depths of our core, so that we may alter balances, beliefs and ways of engaging with the world that have had their day.

We can respond to this calling by opening ourselves up, so as to discover different points of view – including those from outside – but beginning with the rediscovery of a sort of ‘new self’ that in reality lay in the shadow of our virtues.

Energies to which we had not yet allowed room to breathe.

Conversely, we may instinctively resist this process, driven by various fears, and then every situation becomes a struggle; like an obstacle course.

Finally, on our journey of transformation, we often encounter opposition from others, who may appear more experienced than us…

They seem like experts and veterans, yet they too are ‘frightened’ by the fact that we do not intend to stop at the mark already set for us.

In any case, the drive for change will not let go of its hold on our innermost being.

We will take new actions, express different opinions, reveal contrasting sides of our personality; we will leave more room for the vital force to flow.

Enough with the compromises, even if others may begin to wonder whether we have become ‘devious’.

In short, what power does the arrival of the choice of Faith hold in life, even amidst people’s disbelief?

And – as in the Gospel passage – amidst the helpless scepticism [of the apostles themselves, who would be the first to demonstrate its depth]?

Even today, certain old ‘figures’ and leaders are fading away, caught off guard by the new wave of awareness, or by shifting enigmas, and different units of measurement.

The old ‘form’ no longer satisfies. Indeed, it causes unease. But there is – precisely – a whole system of expectations surrounding it, including ‘spiritual’ ones, or at least rather conformist ‘religious’ ones.

What is the point, if even we priests are no longer reassuring? And what does God think of this?

The messianic nature of Christ and Salvation itself belong to the sphere of Faith and Prayer.

These are the realms of intimate listening, acute perception, trusting spousal acceptance, and the liberating impulse.

The Master himself – fluid and down-to-earth – did not immerse himself in the system of rigid [mutual] social expectations of his time, and decided to step outside the ‘group’.

On this point, Jesus lashes out against the mediocrity and the uninspired – entirely predictable – behaviour of his own people (vv. 18–19) and is forced to start afresh (vv. 28–29).

Admittedly, perhaps the others too lack that creative Faith, free from wavering and turmoil, but at least they recognise this (v. 24) and, with the utmost modesty, wish to be helped, well before setting out to teach others (v. 14).

At times, it is precisely those closest to the true Master—perhaps still lacking experience of God’s great signs—who seek only the acclaim of their roles and approval through spectacle.

So much so that ‘when He entered the house’—that is, His Church (v. 28)—He had to start teaching the basics of the catechism all over again [perhaps even pre-catechism, specifically to His own leaders].

Without wishing to grant the crowds any external spectacle, as the ‘inner circle’ would probably have done.

The passage is structured along the lines of the early catechumenal liturgies.

The Lord wishes that people enslaved by conventional thinking, by the ideology of power and by false religion be brought to Him (v. 19) and demands faith from those who guide them (vv. 23–24).

The novice undergoes a review of their life that ‘twists’ them and ‘brings them to their knees’.

This is because one can indeed remain under the influence of ‘spiritual’ guides who are controlling, unwise and covertly manipulative – despite being ineffective and, deep down, insecure.

Then it is truly agonising to discover that, ever since childhood (v. 21), one has been shaped by a stifling model – one made up of facile classifications which, far from fulfilling, actually dehumanise.

Perhaps we too have been influenced by ill-advised guides.

And only through arduous, heart-wrenching experiences have we discovered that precisely what had been taught to us as sublime – and capable of ensuring our communion with God – was, on the contrary, the primary cause of our separation from Him, as well as from a more harmonious and fulfilling personal and ecclesial existence.

To be set free and rise to new life (v. 27), the candidate on the journey of Faith passes, as it were, through a death – a sort of baptismal immersion that drowns out his former, effectively pagan, upbringing.

In Mark’s time, many spoke of the expulsion of demons.

Through this typology of the new Baptism, the community in Rome sought to express the aim of the Good News of the Gospels: to help people rise up – freeing themselves from the paralysing fears of evil.

That is not true power.

In the passage, the boy’s deafness and muteness signify the absence of the ‘Word’ which becomes an ‘event’ – unceasing, growing life, capable of transforming the predetermined, standard fate of ‘earth’.

This deficiency persists both amongst the disoriented people and – unfortunately – first and foremost amongst the disciples, who are afflicted by a desire for the limelight and one-sidedness.

The young man’s own behaviour (vv. 18, 20, 26) mirrors the existential patterns of people subjugated by forces that are invincible because they are self-destructive – and thus in the grip of obsessive, ceaseless inner turmoil.

This runs counter to the very essence of personal character.

It is indeed a heart-rending situation: that of someone who discovers they have been deceived by a form of religiosity based on all-too-common beliefs – through the superficial, persuasive ruse of herd or mass mentality.

Even back then, the advent of the Kingdom of God signified the arrival of an ‘inner’ power stronger than the Roman army itself, whose legions were used precisely to maintain conditions of civil oppression, and even religious fear.

Even today, a no-holds-barred struggle rages between the forces that give rise to deep-seated afflictions [as if something had taken hold of us] and the presence of the Messiah.

The two opposing poles cannot tolerate one another; they clash fiercely.

But the solution is not to amaze the crowds, nor, conversely, to attempt to recreate things that ultimately serve to sanctify the status quo once more.

Thus, at times it seems we are not in a position to initiate processes of authentic healing (v.18b).

Yet evil does not yield through miracles and fanfare, nor through human force or insistence, but through harmony and the Gift (v.29). Beginning with inner, event-like powers.

Herein lies the space of prayer-listening.

Prayer takes us beyond boundaries and brings us into contact with other energies and surprises we had not noticed: innate virtues and those of Grace, which allow us to see every situation through different, liberated eyes.

For solutions that resolve real problems from within, we have a constant need not for conformist rules, but for a new Interpretation. 

This is the asymmetrical gaze.

The Tao Te Ching (i) states: ‘The Tao [way of being] that can be spoken of is not the Eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the Eternal Name.’ Master Wang Pi comments: ‘A Tao that can be spoken of indicates a practice.’

Our life does not hinge on the initiative of what we are already able to organise and practise – or interpret, design and foresee (vv. 14–19) – but on Attention (v. 29).

The ‘mountain’ to be moved [cf. Mt 17:20 – see also Mt 19:20ff; Mk 10:20ff; Lk 18:21ff] is not outside, but within us.

In this way, the conformist mindset that discourages us, or all obstacles (rather than causing harm), will become precious opportunities for growth.

We will be at the heart of the reality of the Incarnation: like putting the meat on the fire.

To internalise and live out the message:

How do you deal with your conflicts? What is your experience of healing?

Overcoming that ‘sting of unbelief’,

and ‘throwing oneself into the fray’

Miracles still exist today. But to allow the Lord to perform them, we need courageous prayer, capable of overcoming that ‘sting of unbelief’ that dwells in the heart of every person, even those of faith. A prayer above all for those who suffer because of wars, persecutions and every other tragedy that shakes today’s society. But prayer must ‘put our whole selves on the line’, that is, involve our very being and commit our whole lives, in order to overcome unbelief [...]

Returning to the Gospel passage, the Holy Father reiterated the question posed by the disciples who had failed to cast out the evil spirit from the young man: ‘But why could we not cast it out? This sort of demon,’ explains Jesus, ‘cannot be driven out by any means except through prayer.’ And the boy’s father ‘said: “I believe, Lord; help my unbelief.”’ His was “a powerful prayer; and this prayer, both humble and powerful, enables Jesus to perform the miracle. A prayer asking for an extraordinary intervention,” explained the Pontiff, “must be a prayer that involves us all, as if we were committing our whole lives to that end. In prayer, we must put our all into it.”

The Pope then recounted an incident that took place in Argentina: “I remember something that happened three years ago at the shrine of Luján.” A seven-year-old girl had fallen ill, but the doctors could find no cure. She was getting worse and worse, until one evening the doctors said there was nothing more they could do and that she had only a few hours left to live. “Her father, who was an electrician and a man of faith, went completely mad with grief. Driven by that desperation, he took the bus to the shrine of Luján – a two-and-a-half-hour journey, seventy kilometres away. He arrived at nine o’clock in the evening to find everything closed. So he began to pray, his hands clinging to the iron gate. He prayed and wept. He stayed there all night. This man was wrestling with God. He was truly wrestling with God for his little girl’s recovery. Then, at six o’clock in the morning, he went to the bus station and caught the bus. He arrived at the hospital at around nine o’clock. He found his wife crying and feared the worst: ‘What’s happened? I don’t understand. What’s happened?’ ‘The doctors came,’ his wife replied, ‘and they told me that her fever has gone, she’s breathing fine, there’s nothing wrong…’ They’ll keep her there for just two more days. But they don’t understand what’s happened. And this – the Pope remarked – still happens today. Miracles do happen. But prayer is needed! A courageous prayer, one that fights to bring about that miracle, not those perfunctory prayers: ‘Ah, I’ll pray for you!’ Then a Lord’s Prayer, a Hail Mary, and I forget all about it. No! We need courageous prayer, like that of Abraham who wrestled with the Lord to save the city; like that of Moses who prayed with his hands raised and grew weary as he prayed to the Lord; like that of so many people who have faith and, with that faith, pray and pray.”

Prayer works miracles, “but,” concluded Pope Francis, “we must believe it. I think we can offer a beautiful prayer – not a prayer out of politeness, but a prayer from the heart – and say to him today, throughout the whole day: ‘I believe, Lord! Help my unbelief.’ We all have a measure of unbelief in our hearts. Let us say to the Lord: ‘I believe, I believe! You can do it! Help my unbelief.’ And when we are asked to pray for so many people who are suffering in wars, in their plight as refugees, in all these tragedies, let us pray, but from the heart, and say: ‘Lord, do it. I believe, Lord. But help my unbelief.’”

[Pope Francis, Santa Marta, in L’Osservatore Romano, 20–21 May 2013]