It is Jesus in fact that you seek when you dream of happiness; he is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; he is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is he who provokes you with that thirst for fullness that will not let you settle for compromise; it is he who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is he who reads in your hearts your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle. It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives, the will to follow an ideal, the refusal to allow yourselves to be grounded down by mediocrity, the courage to commit yourselves humbly and patiently to improving yourselves and society, making the world more human and more fraternal. 

Dear young people, in these noble undertakings you are not alone. With you there are your families, there are your communities, there are your priests and teachers, there are so many of you who in the depths of your hearts never weary of loving Christ and believing in him. In the struggle against sin you are not alone: so many like you are struggling and through the Lord’s grace are winning! 

6. Dear friends, at the dawn of the Third Millennium I see in you the “morning watchmen” (cf. Is21:11-12). In the course of the century now past young people like you were summoned to huge gatherings to learn the ways of hatred; they were sent to fight against one another. The various godless messianic systems which tried to take the place of Christian hope have shown themselves to be truly horrendous. Today you have come together to declare that in the new century you will not let yourselves be made into tools of violence and destruction; you will defend peace, paying the price in your person if need be. You will not resign yourselves to a world where other human beings die of hunger, remain illiterate and have no work. You will defend life at every moment of its development; you will strive with all your strength to make this earth ever more livable for all people. 

Dear young people of the century now beginning, in saying “yes” to Christ, you say “yes” to all your noblest ideals. I pray that he will reign in your hearts and in all of humanity in the new century and the new millennium. Have no fear of entrusting yourselves to him! He will guide you, he will grant you the strength to follow him every day and in every situation.

[Pope John Paul II, Vigil at Tor Vergata, 19 August 2000]

After the Last Supper, the Lord, “lifted up his eyes to heaven and said, ‘Father, the hour has come; glorify thy Son’” — and then — “glorify thou me in thy own presence with the glory which I had with thee before the world was made” (Jn 17:1-5). Jesus asks for glory, a request which seems a paradox as his Passion is imminent. What glory is he referring to? In the Bible, glory refers to God’s self-revelation. It is the distinctive sign of his saving presence among mankind. Now, Jesus is the One who definitively manifests God’s presence and salvation. And he does this at Easter: lifted up on the Cross, he is glorified (cf. Jn 12:23-33). There, God finally reveals his glory: he removes the last veil and astonishes us as never before. Indeed, we discover that the Glory of God is entirely love: pure, unbridled and inconceivable love, beyond every limit and measure.

Brothers and sisters, let us make Jesus’ prayer our own: let us ask the Father to remove the veil from our eyes, so that in looking at the Crucifix over these days, we may understand that God is love. How often do we imagine him as master and not as Father; how often do we think of him as an austere judge rather than a merciful Saviour! But at Easter, God voids the distances, revealing himself in the humility of a love that seeks our love. Thus, we give him glory when we live whatever we do with love, when we do everything from our heart, as if for him (Col 3:17).

True glory is the glory of love because it is the only kind that gives life to the world. This glory is certainly the opposite of worldly glory, which comes from being admired, praised, acclaimed: when the ‘I’ is at the centre of attention. The Glory of God, on the other hand, is paradoxical: no applause, no audience. At the centre is not the ‘I’, but rather the other. Indeed, at Easter we see that the Father glorifies the Son as the Son glorifies the Father. No one glorifies him- or herself. We can ask ourselves today: “which glory do I live for? Mine or God’s? Do I wish only to receive from others or also to give to others?”.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 17 April 2019]

The misunderstandings echo

(Jn 16:29-33)

In John the Lord's statements always have a resonance of misunderstanding among the hearers.

After the announcement of Jesus 'ascent' to the Father, here it seems instead that the disciples - at least a little - understand him.

They will shortly betray him; but that does not mean not having intuited anything.

The post-Easter church experiences the dialectic of Faith: community clarifies it, deepens it over time, and step by step accepts it.

The Life of the Eternal is made present, becomes more aware. The Vision of Faith grasps and anticipates the future.

The apostles “understand” and “believe”, or at least begin to do so. But they are still so tied to external evidence. Hence the fatigue of the understanding journey, and the distrust of Christ [who knows us].

Ours is always a partial convincing, but abandonments, hesitations, betrayals, do not have the power to weaken the Son's relationship with the Father and his own intimates.

God cannot be overcome. He is the only support: far more reliable than our knowledge, certainty, faint confidence.

Misunderstanding is not an obstacle to the relationship of Faith, on the contrary, if brought to consciousness it allows the Gold to emerge; it arouses a burst, activates intimate acumen, a convinced involvement.

There the «Peace in Him» (v.33) arises - proper to her/him who is troubled. Shalôm that is neither quietism, nor truce.

The victory of life over the germs of death can only be understood in trials, in which what we are [in being and acting] emerges.

The stability of existing in the Spirit of Jesus does not rest on the lack of escapes, but on the authentic Foundation, only divine - hence multifaceted, life-wave-tolerant.

The text allows us to take measure of our misunderstandings, of our own rejections of the resounding appeals that Providence offers.

The many reminders immediately give the fruitful measure of the precarious condition, and hint that not even the eventual «Here I am» commensurate with a progression.

The conspicuous denials make it clear that the «Yes» is constantly in the germination phase.

Well, firm spiritual trust is not presumptuous, but incipient. Nor superficial. It is powerful in its powerlessness.

The verification of belief is not only the acceptance of the Cross - however improbable - but its silent and fruitful condition of Unexpected. Penetration of reality, which overcomes the world (v.33).

Jesus disillusioned the enthusiastic belief of his disciples: he knows that it heralds shameful escapes, or the most degrading stasis.

But in difficulties no one is alone. Every trial is an opportunity for reflection, full of profound energy and mysterious growth.

Faith is not epidermically perky certainty: if authentic, it is questioned step by step.

There is no moment in which problems are overcome.

And only with the Gift of the Spirit can it be accepted that the Father's Plan and the Son's Work be fulfilled in loss.

Velvets are illusory.

One only comes to know the Father of life, Heaven in us, by walking the road of an unceasing Liberation: for the raw and full understanding of the Most High, always a long way off lacks.

[Monday 7th wk. in Easter, May 18, 2026]

The echo of misunderstandings

(Jn 16:29-33)

In John, the Lord's statements always have a resonance of misunderstanding among the hearers.

After the announcement of Jesus' 'ascent' to the Father, here it seems instead that the disciples - at least a little - understand him.

They will soon betray him; but that is not to say that they have not guessed.

The post-Easter church experiences the dialectic of Faith: it clarifies it, deepens it over time, and step by step accepts it.

The Life of the Eternal becomes present, becomes more conscious. The Vision of Faith grasps and anticipates the future.

The apostles 'understand' and 'believe', or at least begin to do so. But they are still so tied to external evidence. Hence the fatigue of the journey of understanding, and the distrust of Christ [who knows us].

Ours is always a partial convincing, but abandonments, hesitations, betrayals, do not have the power to weaken the Son's relationship with the Father and his own.

God cannot be overcome. He is the only support: far more reliable than our knowledge, certainty, faint confidence.

Misunderstanding is not an obstacle to the relationship of Faith, on the contrary, if brought to consciousness it allows the Gold to emerge; it arouses a burst, activates the intimate acumen, a convinced involvement.

There arises the "Peace in Him" (v.33) - proper to him who is troubled.

Shalôm that is not quietism, nor respite; much less the result of letting go - because it is reflected [even in the anger that activates us].

The victory of life over the germs of death can only be understood in trials, in which what we are [in being and acting] emerges.

The stability of existing in the Spirit of Jesus does not rest on the lack of escapism, but on the authentic, only divine foundation - hence multifaceted, life-wave-tolerant.

The text allows us to take measure of our misunderstandings, of our own rejections of the resounding appeals that Providence makes.

The many reminders immediately give the fruitful measure of the precarious condition, and hint that even the eventual "Here I am" does not fit into a progression.

The conspicuous denials make it clear that the 'Yes' is constantly in its germinal phase.

In short, firm spiritual trust is not presumptuous, but incipient. Nor superficial. It is powerful in its impotence.

The verification of belief is not only the acceptance of the Cross - albeit improbable - but its silent and fruitful condition of the unexpected. Penetration of reality, which overcomes the world (v.33).

Jesus disillusioned the enthusiastic belief of his own: he knows that it heralds shameful escapes, or the most degrading stasis.

But in difficulties, no one is alone. Every trial is an opportunity for reflection, full of momentum and mysterious growth.

Faith is not bold certainty: if authentic, it is questioned step by step.

There is no moment in which problems are overcome.

And only with the Gift of the Spirit can one accept that the Father's Plan and the Son's Work be fulfilled in loss.

At the conclusion of a series of question-and-answer catecheses, John encourages his communities saddened by nerve-wracking waits not to fear the apparent power of the pact between official religion and empire, which seemed to ridicule the Faith of the little ones and put out of play the commitment of all brothers and sisters in Christ.

Even today, some 'disciples' think they have it all figured out and pose as doctors and allologists. But when in Jesus we feel correspondence and a light is manifested, it is good to know: the best is yet to be revealed.

Faith grows in the concrete experience of life and in the synergy with the Word of God that gradually illuminates its features.

Sometimes his Voice or events can be a cold shower that extinguishes flattery [which will prove fatal if carried out] and proud "childish" enthusiasm - deceptive.

Initially, believing in the Crucified One is perhaps linked to a spontaneous correspondence. But in time and in real discipleship, the life of Faith becomes better and better delineated, and extinguishes the false outbreaks of acerbic assent: when the presumption of self, of one's own ideas and strength, falls away.

For being in Christ is an engine that leads us, and gradually astounds us with unimaginable discoveries: treasures hidden behind dark sides. This re-creates the soul.

Some try to normalise our personalities and use us for themselves or their clan, but the Eternal One does not enter into any cultural patterns, indeed in time he disarms them all.

In vain is the common attempt of religions to transmit [dated or fashionable] obsessions peppered with hysterical fantasies and fake confidence to the simple.

The habitual devotees - the ones from parties and brackets - become disorientated as soon as they realise that God is not a protector of material blessings or conventional sacred idols.

The devious, deviant structures of sin are referred to in John as the "world" - meaning the seemingly happy union with power and gain: a trap of quietisms, concordisms and illusory velvet.One only comes to know the Father of life, Heaven within us, by walking the road of unceasing Liberation: for the raw and full understanding of the Most High is always a long way off.

Fatigue

“My hand shall ever abide with him, my arms also shall strengthen him” (Ps 89:21).

This is what the Lord means when he says: “I have found David, my servant; with my holy oil I have anointed him” (v. 20). It is also what our Father thinks whenever he “encounters” a priest. And he goes on to say: “My faithfulness and my steadfast love shall be with him… He shall cry to me, ‘You are my Father, my God and the rock of my salvation”’ (vv. 24, 26).

It is good to enter with the Psalmist into this monologue of our God. He is talking about us, his priests, his pastors. But it is not really a monologue, since he is not the only one speaking. The Father says to Jesus: “Your friends, those who love you, can say to me in a particular way: ‘You are my Father’” (cf. Jn 14:21). If the Lord is so concerned about helping us, it is because he knows that the task of anointing his faithful people is not easy, it is demanding; it can tire us. We experience this in so many ways: from the ordinary fatigue brought on by our daily apostolate to the weariness of sickness, death and even martyrdom.

The tiredness of priests! Do you know how often I think about this weariness which all of you experience? I think about it and I pray about it, often, especially when I am tired myself. I pray for you as you labour amid the people of God entrusted to your care, many of you in lonely and dangerous places. Our weariness, dear priests, is like incense which silently rises up to heaven (cf. Ps 141:2; Rev 8:3-4). Our weariness goes straight to the heart of the Father.

Know that the Blessed Virgin Mary is well aware of this tiredness and she brings it straight to the Lord. As our Mother, she knows when her children are weary, and this is her greatest concern. “Welcome! Rest, my child. We will speak afterwards…”. “Whenever we draw near to her, she says to us: “Am I not here with you, I who am your Mother?” (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 286). And to her Son she will say, as she did at Cana, “They have no wine” (Jn 2:3).

It can also happen that, whenever we feel weighed down by pastoral work, we can be tempted to rest however we please, as if rest were not itself a gift of God. We must not fall into this temptation. Our weariness is precious in the eyes of Jesus who embraces us and lifts us up. “Come to me, all who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28). Whenever a priest feels dead tired, yet is able to bow down in adoration and say: “Enough for today Lord”, and entrust himself to the Father, he knows that he will not fall but be renewed. The one who anoints God’s faithful people with oil is also himself anointed by the Lord: “He gives you a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit” (cf. Is 61:3).

Let us never forget that a key to fruitful priestly ministry lies in how we rest and in how we look at the way the Lord deals with our weariness. How difficult it is to learn how to rest! This says much about our trust and our ability to realize that that we too are sheep: we need the help of the Shepherd. A few questions can help us in this regard.

Do I know how to rest by accepting the love, gratitude and affection which I receive from God’s faithful people? Or, once my pastoral work is done, do I seek more refined relaxations, not those of the poor but those provided by a consumerist society? Is the Holy Spirit truly “rest in times of weariness” for me, or is he just someone who keeps me busy? Do I know how to seek help from a wise priest? Do I know how to take a break from myself, from the demands I make on myself, from my self-seeking and from my self-absorption? Do I know how to spend time with Jesus, with the Father, with the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph, with my patron saints, and to find rest in their demands, which are easy and light, and in their pleasures, for they delight to be in my company, and in their concerns and standards, which have only to do with the greater glory of God? Do I know how to rest from my enemies under the Lord’s protection? Am I preoccupied with how I should speak and act, or do I entrust myself to the Holy Spirit, who will teach me what I need to say in every situation? Do I worry needlessly, or, like Paul, do I find repose by saying: “I know him in whom I have placed my trust” (2 Tim 1:12)?

Let us return for a moment to what today’s liturgy describes as the work of the priest: to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim freedom to prisoners and healing to the blind, to offer liberation to the downtrodden and to announce the year of the Lord’s favour. Isaiah also mentions consoling the broken-hearted and comforting the afflicted.

These are not easy or purely mechanical jobs, like running an office, building a parish hall or laying out a soccer field for the young of the parish… The tasks of which Jesus speaks call for the ability to show compassion; our hearts are to be “moved” and fully engaged in carrying them out. We are to rejoice with couples who marry; we are to laugh with the children brought to the baptismal font; we are to accompany young fiancés and families; we are to suffer with those who receive the anointing of the sick in their hospital beds; we are to mourn with those burying a loved one… All these emotions…if we do not have an open heart, can exhaust the heart of a shepherd. For us priests, what happens in the lives of our people is not like a news bulletin: we know our people, we sense what is going on in their hearts. Our own heart, sharing in their suffering, feels “com-passion”, is exhausted, broken into a thousand pieces, moved and even “consumed” by the people. Take this, eat this… These are the words the priest of Jesus whispers repeatedly while caring for his faithful people: Take this, eat this; take this, drink this… In this way our priestly life is given over in service, in closeness to the People of God… and this always leaves us weary.

I wish to share with you some forms of weariness on which I have meditated.

There is what we can call “the weariness of people, the weariness of the crowd”. For the Lord, and for us, this can be exhausting – so the Gospel tells us – yet it is a good weariness, a fruitful and joyful exhaustion. The people who followed Jesus, the families which brought their children to him to be blessed, those who had been cured, those who came with their friends, the young people who were so excited about the Master… they did not even leave him time to eat. But the Lord never tired of being with people. On the contrary, he seemed renewed by their presence (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 11). This weariness in the midst of activity is a grace on which all priests can draw (cf. ibid., 279). And how beautiful it is! People love their priests, they want and need their shepherds! The faithful never leave us without something to do, unless we hide in our offices or go out in our cars wearing sun glasses. There is a good and healthy tiredness. It is the exhaustion of the priest who wears the smell of the sheep… but also smiles the smile of a father rejoicing in his children or grandchildren. It has nothing to do with those who wear expensive cologne and who look at others from afar and from above (cf. ibid., 97). We are the friends of the Bridegroom: this is our joy. If Jesus is shepherding the flock in our midst, we cannot be shepherds who are glum, plaintive or, even worse, bored. The smell of the sheep and the smile of a father…. Weary, yes, but with the joy of those who hear the Lord saying: “Come, O blessed of my Father” (Mt 25:34).

There is also the kind of weariness which we can call “the weariness of enemies”. The devil and his minions never sleep and, since their ears cannot bear to hear the word of God, they work tirelessly to silence that word and to distort it. Confronting them is more wearying. It involves not only doing good, with all the exertion this entails, but also defending the flock and oneself from evil (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 83). The evil one is far more astute than we are, and he is able to demolish in a moment what it took us years of patience to build up. Here we need to implore the grace to learn how to “offset” (and it is an important habit to acquire): to thwart evil without pulling up the good wheat, or presuming to protect like supermen what the Lord alone can protect. All this helps us not to let our guard down before the depths of iniquity, before the mockery of the wicked. In these situations of weariness, the Lord says to us: “Have courage! I have overcome the world!” (Jn 16:33). The word of God gives us strength.

And finally – I say finally lest you be too wearied by this homily itself! – there is also “weariness of ourselves” (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 277). This may be the most dangerous weariness of all. That is because the other two kinds come from being exposed, from going out of ourselves to anoint and to do battle (for our job is to care for others). But this third kind of weariness is more “self-referential”: it is dissatisfaction with oneself, but not the dissatisfaction of someone who directly confronts himself and serenely acknowledges his sinfulness and his need for God’s mercy, his help; such people ask for help and then move forward. Here we are speaking of a weariness associated with “wanting yet not wanting”, having given up everything but continuing to yearn for the fleshpots of Egypt, toying with the illusion of being something different. I like to call this kind of weariness “flirting with spiritual worldliness”. When we are alone, we realize how many areas of our life are steeped in this worldliness, so much so that we may feel that it can never be completely washed away. This can be a dangerous kind of weariness. The Book of Revelation shows us the reason for this weariness: “You have borne up for my sake and you have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first” (Rev 2:3-4). Only love gives true rest. What is not loved becomes tiresome, and in time, brings about a harmful weariness.

The most profound and mysterious image of how the Lord deals with our pastoral tiredness is that, “having loved his own, he loved them to the end” (Jn 13:1): the scene of his washing the feet of his disciples. I like to think of this as the cleansing of discipleship. The Lord purifies the path of discipleship itself. He “gets involved” with us (Evangelii Gaudium, 24), becomes personally responsible for removing every stain, all that grimy, worldly smog which clings to us from the journey we make in his name.

From our feet, we can tell how the rest of our body is doing. The way we follow the Lord reveals how our heart is faring. The wounds on our feet, our sprains and our weariness, are signs of how we have followed him, of the paths we have taken in seeking the lost sheep and in leading the flock to green pastures and still waters (cf. ibid., 270). The Lord washes us and cleanses us of all the dirt our feet have accumulated in following him. This is something holy. Do not let your feet remain dirty. Like battle wounds, the Lord kisses them and washes away the grime of our labours.

Our discipleship itself is cleansed by Jesus, so that we can rightly feel “joyful”, “fulfilled”, “free of fear and guilt”, and impelled to go out “even to the ends of the earth, to every periphery”. In this way we can bring the good news to the most abandoned, knowing that “he is with us always, even to the end of the world”. And please, let us ask for the grace to learn how to be weary, but weary in the best of ways!

[Pope Francis, Chrism homily 2 April 2015]

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Once more in meditation, prayer and song, we have recalled Jesus’s journey along the way of the cross: a journey seemingly hopeless, yet one that changed human life and history, and opened the way to “new heavens and a new earth” (cf. Rev 21:1). Especially today, Good Friday, the Church commemorates with deep spiritual union the death of the Son of God on the cross; in his cross she sees the tree of life, which blossoms in new hope.

The experience of suffering and of the cross touches all mankind; it touches the family too. How often does the journey become wearisome and difficult! Misunderstandings, conflicts, worry for the future of our children, sickness and problems of every kind. These days too, the situation of many families is made worse by the threat of unemployment and other negative effects of the economic crisis. The Way of the Cross which we have spiritually retraced this evening invites all of us, and families in particular, to contemplate Christ crucified in order to have the force to overcome difficulties. The cross of Christ is the supreme sign of God’s love for every man and woman, the superabundant response to every person’s need for love. At times of trouble, when our families have to face pain and adversity, let us look to Christ’s cross. There we can find the courage and strength to press on; there we can repeat with firm hope the words of Saint Paul: “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? … No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us” (Rom 8:35,37).

In times of trial and tribulation, we are not alone; the family is not alone. Jesus is present with his love, he sustains them by his grace and grants the strength needed to carry on, to make sacrifices and to evercome every obstacle. And it is to this love of Christ that we must turn when human turmoil and difficulties threaten the unity of our lives and our families. The mystery of Christ’s suffering, death and resurrection inspires us to go on in hope: times of trouble and testing, when endured with Christ, with faith in him, already contain the light of the resurrection, the new life of a world reborn, the passover of all those who believe in his word.

In that crucified Man who is the Son of God, even death itself takes on new meaning and purpose: it is redeemed and overcome, it becomes a passage to new life. “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it produces much fruit” (Jn 12:24). Let us entrust ourselves to the Mother of Christ. May Mary, who accompanied her Son along his way of sorrows, who stood beneath the cross at the hour of his death, and who inspired the Church at its birth to live in God’s presence, lead our hearts and the hearts of every family through the vast mysterium passionis towards the mysterium paschale, towards that light which breaks forth from Christ’s resurrection and reveals the definitive victory of love, joy and life over evil, suffering and death. Amen.

[Pope Benedict, Way of the Cross at the Colosseum 6 April 2012]

13. The great challenge of our time for believers and for all people of good will is that of maintaining truthful and free communication which will help consolidate integral progress in the world. Everyone should know how to foster an attentive discernment and constant vigilance, developing a healthy critical capacity regarding the persuasive force of the communications media.

Also in this field, believers in Christ know that they can count upon the help of the Holy Spirit. Such help is all the more necessary when one considers how greatly the obstacles intrinsic to communication can be increased by ideologies, by the desire for profit or for power, and by rivalries and conflicts between individuals and groups, and also because of human weakness and social troubles. The modern technologies increase to a remarkable extent the speed, quantity and accessibility of communication, but they above all do not favor that delicate exchange which takes place between mind and mind, between heart and heart, and which should characterize any communication at the service of solidarity and love.

Throughout the history of salvation, Christ presents himself to us as the “communicator” of the Father: “God, in these last days, has spoken to us through his Son” (Heb 1:2). The eternal Word made flesh, in communicating Himself, always shows respect for those who listen, teaches understanding of their situation and needs, is moved to compassion for their suffering and to a resolute determination to say to them only what they need to hear without imposition or compromise, deceit or manipulation. Jesus teaches that communication is a moral act, “A good person brings forth good out of a store of goodness, but an evil person brings forth evil out of a store of evil. I tell you, on the Day of Judgment people will render an account for every careless word they speak. By your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.” (Mt 12: 35-37)

14. The apostle Paul has a clear message for those engaged in communications (politicians, professional communicators, spectators), “Therefore, putting away falsehood, speak the truth, each one to his neighbor, for we are members one of another… No foul language should come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for needed edification, that it may impart grace to those who hear” (Eph 4: 25, 29).

To those working in communication, especially to believers involved in this important field of society, I extend the invitation which, from the beginning of my ministry as Pastor of the Universal Church, I have wished to express to the entire world “Do not be afraid!”

Do not be afraid of new technologies! These rank “among the marvelous things” – inter mirifica – which God has placed at our disposal to discover, to use and to make known the truth, also the truth about our dignity and about our destiny as his children, heirs of his eternal Kingdom.

Do not be afraid of being opposed by the world! Jesus has assured us, “I have conquered the world!” (Jn 16:33)

Do not be afraid even of your own weakness and inadequacy! The Divine Master has said, “I am with you always, until the end of the world” (Mt 28:20). Communicate the message of Christ’s hope, grace and love, keeping always alive, in this passing world, the eternal perspective of heaven, a perspective which no communications medium can ever directly communicate, “What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, and what has not entered the human heart, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1Cor 2:9).

To Mary, who gave us the Word of life, and who kept his unchanging words in her heart, do I entrust the journey of the Church in today’s world. May the Blessed Virgin help us to communicate by every means the beauty and joy of life in Christ our Savior.

[Pope John Paul II, Apostolic Letter to those responsible for social communications, 24 January 2005]

“My hand shall ever abide with him, my arms also shall strengthen him” (Ps 89:21).

This is what the Lord means when he says: “I have found David, my servant; with my holy oil I have anointed him” (v. 20). It is also what our Father thinks whenever he “encounters” a priest. And he goes on to say: “My faithfulness and my steadfast love shall be with him… He shall cry to me, ‘You are my Father, my God and the rock of my salvation”’ (vv. 24, 26).

It is good to enter with the Psalmist into this monologue of our God. He is talking about us, his priests, his pastors. But it is not really a monologue, since he is not the only one speaking. The Father says to Jesus: “Your friends, those who love you, can say to me in a particular way: ‘You are my Father’” (cf. Jn 14:21). If the Lord is so concerned about helping us, it is because he knows that the task of anointing his faithful people is not easy, it is demanding; it can tire us. We experience this in so many ways: from the ordinary fatigue brought on by our daily apostolate to the weariness of sickness, death and even martyrdom.

The tiredness of priests! Do you know how often I think about this weariness which all of you experience? I think about it and I pray about it, often, especially when I am tired myself. I pray for you as you labour amid the people of God entrusted to your care, many of you in lonely and dangerous places. Our weariness, dear priests, is like incense which silently rises up to heaven (cf. Ps 141:2; Rev 8:3-4). Our weariness goes straight to the heart of the Father.

Know that the Blessed Virgin Mary is well aware of this tiredness and she brings it straight to the Lord. As our Mother, she knows when her children are weary, and this is her greatest concern. “Welcome! Rest, my child. We will speak afterwards…”. “Whenever we draw near to her, she says to us: “Am I not here with you, I who am your Mother?” (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 286). And to her Son she will say, as she did at Cana, “They have no wine” (Jn 2:3).

It can also happen that, whenever we feel weighed down by pastoral work, we can be tempted to rest however we please, as if rest were not itself a gift of God. We must not fall into this temptation. Our weariness is precious in the eyes of Jesus who embraces us and lifts us up. “Come to me, all who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28). Whenever a priest feels dead tired, yet is able to bow down in adoration and say: “Enough for today Lord”, and entrust himself to the Father, he knows that he will not fall but be renewed. The one who anoints God’s faithful people with oil is also himself anointed by the Lord: “He gives you a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit” (cf. Is 61:3).

Let us never forget that a key to fruitful priestly ministry lies in how we rest and in how we look at the way the Lord deals with our weariness. How difficult it is to learn how to rest! This says much about our trust and our ability to realize that that we too are sheep: we need the help of the Shepherd. A few questions can help us in this regard.

Do I know how to rest by accepting the love, gratitude and affection which I receive from God’s faithful people? Or, once my pastoral work is done, do I seek more refined relaxations, not those of the poor but those provided by a consumerist society? Is the Holy Spirit truly “rest in times of weariness” for me, or is he just someone who keeps me busy? Do I know how to seek help from a wise priest? Do I know how to take a break from myself, from the demands I make on myself, from my self-seeking and from my self-absorption? Do I know how to spend time with Jesus, with the Father, with the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph, with my patron saints, and to find rest in their demands, which are easy and light, and in their pleasures, for they delight to be in my company, and in their concerns and standards, which have only to do with the greater glory of God? Do I know how to rest from my enemies under the Lord’s protection? Am I preoccupied with how I should speak and act, or do I entrust myself to the Holy Spirit, who will teach me what I need to say in every situation? Do I worry needlessly, or, like Paul, do I find repose by saying: “I know him in whom I have placed my trust” (2 Tim 1:12)?

Let us return for a moment to what today’s liturgy describes as the work of the priest: to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim freedom to prisoners and healing to the blind, to offer liberation to the downtrodden and to announce the year of the Lord’s favour. Isaiah also mentions consoling the broken-hearted and comforting the afflicted.

These are not easy or purely mechanical jobs, like running an office, building a parish hall or laying out a soccer field for the young of the parish… The tasks of which Jesus speaks call for the ability to show compassion; our hearts are to be “moved” and fully engaged in carrying them out. We are to rejoice with couples who marry; we are to laugh with the children brought to the baptismal font; we are to accompany young fiancés and families; we are to suffer with those who receive the anointing of the sick in their hospital beds; we are to mourn with those burying a loved one… All these emotions…if we do not have an open heart, can exhaust the heart of a shepherd. For us priests, what happens in the lives of our people is not like a news bulletin: we know our people, we sense what is going on in their hearts. Our own heart, sharing in their suffering, feels “com-passion”, is exhausted, broken into a thousand pieces, moved and even “consumed” by the people. Take this, eat this… These are the words the priest of Jesus whispers repeatedly while caring for his faithful people: Take this, eat this; take this, drink this… In this way our priestly life is given over in service, in closeness to the People of God… and this always leaves us weary.

I wish to share with you some forms of weariness on which I have meditated.

There is what we can call “the weariness of people, the weariness of the crowd”. For the Lord, and for us, this can be exhausting – so the Gospel tells us – yet it is a good weariness, a fruitful and joyful exhaustion. The people who followed Jesus, the families which brought their children to him to be blessed, those who had been cured, those who came with their friends, the young people who were so excited about the Master… they did not even leave him time to eat. But the Lord never tired of being with people. On the contrary, he seemed renewed by their presence (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 11). This weariness in the midst of activity is a grace on which all priests can draw (cf. ibid., 279). And how beautiful it is! People love their priests, they want and need their shepherds! The faithful never leave us without something to do, unless we hide in our offices or go out in our cars wearing sun glasses. There is a good and healthy tiredness. It is the exhaustion of the priest who wears the smell of the sheep… but also smiles the smile of a father rejoicing in his children or grandchildren. It has nothing to do with those who wear expensive cologne and who look at others from afar and from above (cf. ibid., 97). We are the friends of the Bridegroom: this is our joy. If Jesus is shepherding the flock in our midst, we cannot be shepherds who are glum, plaintive or, even worse, bored. The smell of the sheep and the smile of a father…. Weary, yes, but with the joy of those who hear the Lord saying: “Come, O blessed of my Father” (Mt 25:34).

There is also the kind of weariness which we can call “the weariness of enemies”. The devil and his minions never sleep and, since their ears cannot bear to hear the word of God, they work tirelessly to silence that word and to distort it. Confronting them is more wearying. It involves not only doing good, with all the exertion this entails, but also defending the flock and oneself from evil (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 83). The evil one is far more astute than we are, and he is able to demolish in a moment what it took us years of patience to build up. Here we need to implore the grace to learn how to “offset” (and it is an important habit to acquire): to thwart evil without pulling up the good wheat, or presuming to protect like supermen what the Lord alone can protect. All this helps us not to let our guard down before the depths of iniquity, before the mockery of the wicked. In these situations of weariness, the Lord says to us: “Have courage! I have overcome the world!” (Jn 16:33). The word of God gives us strength.

And finally – I say finally lest you be too wearied by this homily itself! – there is also “weariness of ourselves” (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 277). This may be the most dangerous weariness of all. That is because the other two kinds come from being exposed, from going out of ourselves to anoint and to do battle (for our job is to care for others). But this third kind of weariness is more “self-referential”: it is dissatisfaction with oneself, but not the dissatisfaction of someone who directly confronts himself and serenely acknowledges his sinfulness and his need for God’s mercy, his help; such people ask for help and then move forward. Here we are speaking of a weariness associated with “wanting yet not wanting”, having given up everything but continuing to yearn for the fleshpots of Egypt, toying with the illusion of being something different. I like to call this kind of weariness “flirting with spiritual worldliness”. When we are alone, we realize how many areas of our life are steeped in this worldliness, so much so that we may feel that it can never be completely washed away. This can be a dangerous kind of weariness. The Book of Revelation shows us the reason for this weariness: “You have borne up for my sake and you have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first” (Rev 2:3-4). Only love gives true rest. What is not loved becomes tiresome, and in time, brings about a harmful weariness.

The most profound and mysterious image of how the Lord deals with our pastoral tiredness is that, “having loved his own, he loved them to the end” (Jn 13:1): the scene of his washing the feet of his disciples. I like to think of this as the cleansing of discipleship. The Lord purifies the path of discipleship itself. He “gets involved” with us (Evangelii Gaudium, 24), becomes personally responsible for removing every stain, all that grimy, worldly smog which clings to us from the journey we make in his name.

From our feet, we can tell how the rest of our body is doing. The way we follow the Lord reveals how our heart is faring. The wounds on our feet, our sprains and our weariness, are signs of how we have followed him, of the paths we have taken in seeking the lost sheep and in leading the flock to green pastures and still waters (cf. ibid., 270). The Lord washes us and cleanses us of all the dirt our feet have accumulated in following him. This is something holy. Do not let your feet remain dirty. Like battle wounds, the Lord kisses them and washes away the grime of our labours.

Our discipleship itself is cleansed by Jesus, so that we can rightly feel “joyful”, “fulfilled”, “free of fear and guilt”, and impelled to go out “even to the ends of the earth, to every periphery”. In this way we can bring the good news to the most abandoned, knowing that “he is with us always, even to the end of the world”. And please, let us ask for the grace to learn how to be weary, but weary in the best of ways!

[Pope Francis, Chrism homily 2 April 2015]

Easter, Ascension. (There is evidence that He is Alive)

What is the fate, the trajectory of a life spent in faithfulness to a prophetic calling? The earthly outcome of Jesus - the faithful Son - would seem to be that of the failures of all times.

So is it worth being yourself? Would not it be more constructive to regulate oneself on the basis of personal convenience and group opportunism? 

In short, with the Easter and Ascension of Jesus, what has changed?

People continue as before to travel or stay still, to buy and sell, to work or party, to rejoice or weep...

But as in a landscape characterized by fog, suddenly the sun rises and we see clean profiles, enjoying the brilliance of colors, even shades.

A sharper Vision, in the experience of Faith.

Easter celebrates precisely a joy: it is the feast of those who realize that defeats do not remain dark sides. They hide disproportionate Gems.

A full flowering remains of our passage. And it is not true that a destroyed or harassed existence is wasted or ends badly, leaving us orphans.

Rather, it sharpens listening and all perception. Thus we learn to welcome the reality of others and their-our unrepeatability.

We learn to dialogue with the raw reality and first of all with ourselves; so finally to honor God by respecting us in an integral way.

In Eastern icons, Passover is depicted as Descent to the Underworld: victory of the common woman and man [brought back to life].

Again in the icons, the Mystery of the Ascension is represented with two angels in white robes pointing out to the apostles the glorious nimbus of the Lord, seated on a throne.

As if to say: let’s contemplate where a life wasted according to men, but fulfilled according to the Father, has come.

Obeying our vocation uncompromisingly and wholly may seem imprudent, reckless. Instead, it is full self-respect, and leads us to our Homeland.

The nature of our fibres animated by the Inner Friend appeals not to social goals to be achieved, but to who we really are - and our profound Name unfolded in the path of Faith unfailingly accompanies us to the Cradle.

To allow oneself to be influenced and become external is to miss oneself and lose the Guide, ruining the completeness of being.

In spite of the apparent failure and reproaches that the personal and social unprecedented arouses, by listening to that unquenchable Fire that dwells within us, we realize life in an integral way.

If our attention is not on the scenery of what is happening around us, we can wince at the new awareness of an ongoing genesis of our personality and mission: a prototype and mode of ourselves that is mysteriously blossoming, and has value.

Unless we allow ourselves to be conditioned and overwhelmed by external interferences or calculations and circumstances around us, we sense that there is already a characterising track calling from the inside.

We intuit that we can be with ourselves and grow without foreclosures of unexpected, nor already commonly paradigmatic codes, because God expresses himself by creating renewed heavens within us and on earth.

Heaven: taking off without leaving. We are not alone. And the best is yet to Come.

P.S. Today, more than ever before, we are in the era of social showcases, which expose every aspect of history and news, even private ones.

When we value the aspect of the soul that communicates with the rinds of the achievements, we cut our heart off, or unbalance the mind with dominant thoughts, letting they be plagiarised by manipulators - even spiritual ones.

But the person who misplaces the Whole no longer follows the path that his Seed sings. It claims to express itself. Otherwise, we would proceed haphazardly or resort to clichés.

In short, we are not a judgement, an opinion, a crisis, a memory, but rather inventors of roads that tap into an ever springing Water.

Not to a well, nor to a swamp, where everything has already happened, but to a Source.

[Ascension of the Lord]

(Mt 28:16–20)

    Matthew does not describe the Ascension, but conveys the same message as Acts 1:1–11 (using different imagery): the passing on of the mission.

Unlike Luke and John, Matthew places the encounter with the Risen Lord in Galilee – not in Jerusalem, the sacred centre. The setting carries theological significance.

He does not make himself present and visible in the holy city, but rather on the ‘periphery’, and the apostles are invited to follow in the Master’s footsteps, starting from where his mission began.

The members of the communities in Galilee and Syria to whom Matthew addresses himself came from Judaism, but were looked down upon by observant Jews, who considered them double traitors to their culture.

Due to invasions from the north and east, the population of those lands was diverse, and the orthodox viewed such a mix with suspicion.

Moreover, by adhering to Christ, they had called into question the customs and authority of traditional teachings.

It is precisely to these lowly esteemed people that the Gospel of the Lord addresses itself, beginning with the experience of ‘the Mount’ (v. 16).

In biblical and Semitic culture in general, the Mount is the place of the special experience of the Eternal One, of his manifestations.

In Matthew, the term alludes to the setting of the Beatitudes: the place of God’s new work of salvation that transcends the Law.

Jerusalem was no longer to be the centre of worship and religiosity. The veil of the Temple is torn (Mt 27:51): access to the Father is no longer confined to a single place.

Every believer in Christ, of whatever background, who chose to replace the principles of the ‘plain’ [a competitive and conventional way of thinking and acting] with those of ‘the Mountain’, was empowered to become a living sanctuary.

The evangelist places Jesus precisely on ‘the Mountain’ when he wishes to emphasise a call or a fundamental gesture – an alternative to the fideist imagination.

It is a ‘place’ in the sense of the powerful moments of the Spirit, of the convergence between the divine and human natures: where we experience Christ manifesting his existential ‘authority’ throughout the whole span of life.

A summit that makes the criteria of the Mission clear – through the symbolism of divine Revelation and alluding to his own post-Easter condition [a lofty, ‘heavenly’ state].

And only those who have assimilated the teaching of ‘the Mountain’ – solely those who have experienced the Risen One – can carry out this Mission.

Indeed, the commissioning and sending of the disciples is made decisive. It introduces a radical change in the relationship with the disciples, who discover the divine in Him (v.17a) whilst at the same time retaining their doubts (v.17b).

Matthew is aware of the doubts that are creeping in. Despite this, it is precisely the uncertainty and the scandalous behaviour of the first direct followers that allows him to encourage the brothers of the community [even if his account shows a tendency to present the apostles as rather upright models].

The “churches” are not made up of perfect children. Indeed, it recalls (in this way) an unprecedented aspect that Jesus had introduced into the criteria of discernment and real life: the coexistence of different faces.

Whilst religious existence was conceived in terms of procedures, the refinement of feelings, ‘evidence’ and upward progress, the Master had taught the integration of ethnicities, affections, emotional mixtures and even opposing sides.

According to the new Rabbi, life in the Spirit brings Joy because it uncovers hidden treasures precisely in the shadowed sides of faltering people and precarious situations.

Joseph’s own doubt proved more than fruitful (cf. Mt 1:18ff).

It is good to believe in Jesus and – at the same time – to have questions: this is the difference between Faith and common religiosity.

Only to Christ is every ‘Ex-ousìa’ (v.18) given: authority that is not imposed, which emanates from the Mystery without coercion, and is therefore freely accepted [that is, a sort of authority arising from being itself].

This is a decisive moment for outlining the criteria of ecclesial action that makes Jesus present.

He entrusts us with a task, confers his own ‘powers’, and brings us into the communion of life.

It seems paradoxical, but it is on a platform of mixtures [a solid yet fluctuating foundation] that the Church becomes capable of inexplicable recoveries – and that the apostles are sent forth (vv.19-20).

It is this backdrop of competitive and malleable energies, taken on and assimilated, that changes life and prepares God’s future – not mass castration or sterilisation.

Faith and religious evidence now clash, creating sparks.

For this reason – on uncertain ground – there is an openness to the whole world (v. 19), whereas in a previous passage Matthew had limited the mission to the lost sheep of the house of Israel (Mt 10:5–6).

The lived experience of coexistence and conviviality amidst differences has allowed us to grasp the vitality of chaos, which shifts our gaze and broadens it; it compels us to overcome one-sidedness.

Confusion and upheaval which – as missionaries well know – resolve the real problems, opening up unforeseen horizons of incalculable value.

Imperfection has borne fruit in unexpected ways and has ushered in a new era: the novelty of an expanded ecclesiology.

Now the Light kindled upon the people immersed in darkness when Jesus had settled from Nazareth in Capernaum (Mt 4:13-) must unfold everywhere, through a discipleship extended to the peoples [pagans: v.19 Greek text] ‘every day and until the end of the age’ (v.20).

The particularism previously recognised [perhaps out of respect for the communal dimension and spatial-temporal limits] gives way to the new Inauguration.

Now boundaries fall away, giving way to total universalism – without any borders.

Immersion [v.19: the Greek meaning of the term ‘Baptism’] in the wonder that envelops the Person of the Lord permeates the disciple of Christ to the very core – with no further need for binding procedures and rules, established yet external.

Light animated by the promise of the Risen One who, recalling Emmanuel, God-with-us, concludes the Gospel of Matthew just as it began and was announced by the Prophets (cf. Mt 1:22–23).

The Ascension is not a break, a separation or a departure, but rather Communion. Prophecy has become a permanent reality.

To internalise and live the message:

How do you enter into the New Covenant? Are you mindful of the dialectic between Faith and doubt?

Do you regard it as a driving force or not, both for a new contemplation and for the blossoming of new energies?

How does the self-revelation of Jesus unfold within you? What strength has it imparted to you? What significance do the experience and vigour of ‘the Mount’ hold for you?

Easter, Ascension. Taking flight without drifting away

There is proof that He Lives

    What is the fate of a life spent in fidelity to a prophetic vocation?

The earthly outcome of Jesus – the faithful Son – would seem to be that of the failures of every age and of any culture, philosophy or religion.

So is it worth being oneself?

Would it not be more constructive to act on the basis of personal convenience and group opportunism?

Easter celebrates a joy: it is the feast of those who realise that defeats do not remain dark sides. They conceal disproportionate gems.

A full blossoming remains of our passage. And it is not true that a destroyed life is wasted or ends badly.

In Eastern icons, Easter is depicted as the Descent into Hell: the victory of ordinary men and women.

Again in the icons, the Mystery of the Ascension is generally depicted with two angels in white robes pointing out to the Apostles the glorious halo of the Lord, seated on his throne.

As if to say: behold where a life wasted in the eyes of men but fulfilled in the eyes of the Father has arrived.

Obeying our Calling without compromise and in its entirety may seem imprudent and reckless. Instead, it is full self-respect, and it leads us to our Homeland.

The nature of our being, animated by the inner Friend, appeals not to social goals to be achieved, but to who we truly are.

And our deepest identity, unfolding on the path of Faith, leads infallibly to the Cradle of being.

To allow oneself to be influenced and become external is to lose one’s way, ruining the wholeness of one’s innate capacities.

Despite the apparent failure and the reproaches that personal and social novelty provokes, by listening to our Call by Name and that unquenchable Fire that dwells within us, we realise life.

Today more than ever we are in the age of social showcases, which reveal every aspect of history and current affairs, even personal ones.

But the trunk, the branches, the flowers, the shoots and the fruits spring from the roots. They live well hidden.

Our Heaven is intertwined with our earth and our dust: it lies within and below, not behind the clouds.

If there is no time for careful perception and intimate reflection, there is no way to be reborn into the Newness of God.

At every turn of our journey, even the spiritual one, we become increasingly sensitive to the comments and judgements that arrive in real time.

Having become full members of the ‘skin-deep’ society, we lose our moral compass, and often the ability to evolve and help others grow.

By failing to rediscover the secret side that dwells within us, we become disheartened.

By losing sight of ourselves in the maze of widespread and entirely external judgement, we lose the capacity to nurture our personal Jesus, and we no longer give birth to him.

At best, we will make him resemble a paradigmatic semblance of himself; perhaps convincing ourselves that he is indeed that, entirely external.

In this way, the Lord becomes a Jesus shaped by the opinions of others around us; of the group, of patronal banners; or that of the ‘live broadcast’ [the opinion of those who draw an audience].

If we emphasise the aspect of the soul that communicates with the superficial layers of our targets, we sever or unbalance it with dominant thoughts, allowing it to be swayed by manipulators – even spiritual ones.

But the heart that loses its wholeness no longer guides the soul in what characterises the Vocation and our Seed.

The inner self demands to express itself. Otherwise, we proceed haphazardly, or with clichés.

We are not a judgement, an opinion, a crisis, a memory, but rather inventors of paths that draw from ever-flowing water.

Not from a well, nor from a swamp, where everything has already happened – but from a Spring.

If our attention is not on the conformist backdrop of what once was or what is happening around us, we are startled by the new awareness of a genesis in progress.

A rebirth of our personality and mission: a prototype and mode of being that are mysteriously blossoming and hold value.

Unless we allow ourselves to be conditioned and overwhelmed by cultural interference or the calculation of circumstances, we sense that there is a defining path calling to us.

We realise that we can be at one with ourselves and grow without precluding the unexpected, or codes that are already commonly accepted paradigms.

For God does not express Himself by issuing all-encompassing regulations, but by creating renewed heavens within us and already upon the earth.

In short, with the Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus, what has changed?

Apparently nothing, because people carry on as before: travelling or staying put, buying and selling, working or celebrating, rejoicing or weeping...

And yet, as in a landscape shrouded in mist, suddenly the sun rises and we see clear outlines; we enjoy the brilliance of colours, even the nuances.

Our listening and our entire perception are heightened.

We learn to accept the objectivity of others and their—our—uniqueness.

We learn to engage with reality and, above all, with ourselves; thus, at last, to honour the Eternal One, respecting ourselves in every way.

Heaven: taking flight without moving away. We are not alone. And the best is yet to come.

Ascension of the Lord: We are not orphans

(Acts 1:1-11)

At the end of his Gospel, Lk places the Ascension of Jesus on the same day as Easter, in Bethany and in the perennial act of blessing (Lk 24:50-51) - with a form of presentation understandable according to the cosmological knowledge of the time.

The same is said in Acts 1, where the same editor situates the event after forty days [symbolising continuity with the teaching of Jesus: v.3] and on the Mount of Olives (cf. v.12).

Certainly, on Calvary Jesus had promised the unfortunate man who calls him by name: "Today with me you will be in Paradise" (Lk 23:43).

The evangelist and author of the Acts of the Apostles does not want to convey information, but rather a teaching in favour of the missionary fortunes of his churches - physically deprived of the Master.

Luke wishes to shake up and dissolve the doubts that had arisen in the communities, first of all about the meaning of the handover to the disciples, then about his Presence operating in the Spirit (vv.8.16).

He enlightens the third-generation followers about the mystery of the Lord's Passover, using images and a literary genre understandable to his contemporaries, mostly from the pagan world.

In a climate of living expectation, the apocalyptic writers announced the imminent coming of the Kingdom of God. And in the common mindset, the outpouring of the Spirit brought with it the inauguration of the last time.

From this conviction arose the hope of an immediate Manifestation (limited to Israel).

The Coming One and his new order of things would come amid cosmic upheavals: floods, earthquakes, purifying fire from heaven, the resurrection of the just and the beginning of a finally fulfilling world.

A climate of exaltation was also being created among some of the faithful, which, however, conflicted with the death of the Master and the delay of his expected glorious appearance.

Any speculation on the proximity of the end of the ancient world resulted in a fiasco.

This went so far as to expose itself to easy ironies [2 Peter 3:4: "They will say: Where is his coming, which he promised? From the day our fathers closed their eyes, all things remain as at the beginning of creation"].

But in the meantime, "Come Lord!" (Marana tha) was repeated in all the communities. But the years passed and events flowed on as before.

Daily life - like that of the empire - did not seem to change much.

In this disappointing situation, which questioned the members of the community about the depth of the Faith, Lk realised the misunderstanding: the Resurrection marked the beginning of the Kingdom, not the conclusion of history.

The new world is not built through shortcuts, sudden events, immediate situations, or by proxy - nor does it arise by imagining particularisms, which on the contrary had to be crumbled.

The times were and are always long, and the endeavour starts from scratch every day: no easy golden age; no definitively resolving character, guarantor of order and well-being - like the expected Messiah.

To correct false expectations (the colourful accounts of the apocrypha are decidedly fanciful) At describes the event of royal enthronement [Eph 1:20-22; Eph 4:8-10; Heb 9:24-28.10:19-21; cf. Ps 110, messianic par excellence] in a sober manner, and introduces it with the dialogue between the Risen Jesus and the Apostles.

Their question was the one that resounded on the lips of the disciples at the turn of the first century: "When?" (v.6).

The meaning of the text: this is not important, we just need not lose sight of the divine condition of the one judged by men but taken up to himself by the Father.

God is not interested in debates and curiosities: all that matters is the universal mission entrusted (vv.7-8).

The exact opposite of what was happening in some Christian realities, where some had even begun to neglect their daily duties.

Note that the Risen One addresses His own during the breaking of the Bread (cf. v.4) - while the Ascension scene moves to the Mount of Olives (vv.9-11.12).

Luke uses the biblical icon of Elijah's rapture (2 Kings 2:9-15) as a narrative backdrop to indicate that Christ pours out his Spirit and empowers his brethren to continue his mission in the world.

In fact, the book of Kings narrates of the works of the pupil Elisha: they were modelled on those of the master, Elijah.

The grandiose scenography used by the author of Acts should not be confusing: it is to clarify the meaning of the handover and the sending forth.

The victory of the Risen One is his people coming forth: such remains the access to the glory of the Father.

In the First Testament, the Cloud (v.9) indicated the divine presence in a certain place.

Luke employs such an image to indicate that Jesus' life was not a failure, but was accepted by God.

God's world [the two in white robes, the same ones at the tomb on Easter Day: Lk 24:4-6] proclaims him in truth Lord - although condemned by the authorities as an evildoer, a sinner, a curse.The "two men" (Lk 24:4) are probably Moses and Elijah - as in the Transfiguration (Lk 9:30) - i.e. the Law and the Prophets, fundamental witnesses that Christ is the Messenger from God.

The gaze turned towards heaven (vv.10-11) is instead that of the disciples who are still perhaps hoping for a "return" [a term never used in the Gospels] of Jesus, so that he may resume his work violently interrupted.

But the message "from heaven" (v.11) makes it clear that it will not be He who will bring His own Dream to fulfilment.

After the forty days [v.3: in the language of Judaism, a symbolic time necessary for the disciple's preparation] the followers have received the Spirit, the inner strength enriched by discernment.

This is on one condition, well understood by the Eastern icons, which in the mystery of the Ascension depict precisely two white-clothed angels pointing to the apostles the glorious nimbus of the Lord.

As in the story of Elijah's rapture, it is necessary for the disciples to "see" where a life given - even despised by men, yet blessed by the Father - has ended.

So it is worth it.

In this way, it is necessary for everyone to stop turning their little nose upwards, alienating themselves from the world: whatever it takes.

Indeed, possible only... "If you see me" (2 Kings 2:10).

In the Spirit, Vision-Faith fills our eyes with Heaven: it detaches us from the judgments of banal religiosity; it gives the intelligence of the folds of history, the impulse to face life face to face, the understanding of the astonishing fruitfulness of the Cross; the ability to grasp, activate and anticipate the future.

Hence the "great joy" (Lk 24:52) of the apostles, otherwise incomprehensible after a farewell.

«Dear brothers and sisters, the Lord, by opening the way to Heaven, gives us a foretaste of divine life already on this earth. A 20th century Russian author wrote in his spiritual testament: 'Look at the stars more often. When you have a burden on your soul, look at the stars or the blue of the sky. When you feel sad, when you are offended, ... entertain yourself ... with the sky. Then your soul will find stillness' (N. Valentini - L. Žák [ed.], Pavel A. Florensky. Do not forget me. Le lettere dal gulag del grande matematico, filosofo e sacerdote russo, Milano 2000, p. 418)».

[Pope Benedict, Regina Coeli 16 May 2010]