XXX Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [26 October 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. Another lesson on prayer from Jesus in the Gospel, and what a lesson! 

   First Reading from the Book of Sirach (35:15b-17, 20-22a)

 'God does not judge by appearances' (Sir 35) The book of Sirach, written by Ben Sira around 180 BC in Jerusalem, was born in a time of peace and cultural openness under Greek rule. However, this apparent serenity hides a risk: contact between Jewish and Greek culture threatens the purity of the faith, and Ben Sira intends to transmit the religious heritage of Israel in its integrity. The Jewish faith, in fact, is not a theory, but an experience of covenant with the living God, discovered progressively through his works. God is not a human idea, but a surprising revelation, because 'God is God and not a man' (Hos 11:9). The central text affirms that God does not judge according to appearances: while men look at the outside, God looks at the heart. He hears the prayer of the poor, the oppressed, the orphan and the widow, and – in a wonderful image – 'the widow's tears run down God's cheeks', a sign of his mercy that vibrates with compassion. Ben Sira teaches that true prayer arises from precariousness: when man discovers himself to be poor and without support, his heart truly opens to God. Precarity and prayer are of the same family: only those who recognise their weakness pray sincerely. Finally, the sage warns that it is not outward sacrifices that please God, but a pure heart disposed to do good: What pleases the Lord above all is that we keep away from evil. The Lord is a just judge, who does not show partiality, but looks at the truth of the heart. In summary, Ben Sira reminds us that God does not judge by appearances but by the heart, that authentic prayer arises from poverty, and that divine mercy is manifested in his compassionate closeness to the little ones and the humble.

Responsorial Psalm (33/34:2-3, 16, 18, 19, 23)

 Here is another alphabetical psalm, i.e., each verse follows the order of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. This indicates that true wisdom consists in trusting in God in everything, from A to Z. The text echoes the first reading from Sirach, which encouraged the Jews of the second century to maintain the purity of their faith in the face of the seductions of Greek culture. The central theme is the discovery of a God who is close to human beings, especially those who suffer: "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted." This is one of the greatest revelations of the Bible: God is not a distant or jealous being, but a Father who loves and shares in human suffering. Ben Sira poetically said that "our tears flow down God's cheeks": an image of his tender and compassionate mercy. This revelation is rooted in the journey of Israel. In the time of Moses, pagan peoples imagined rival and envious gods. Genesis corrects this view, showing that suspicion of God is a poison, symbolised by the serpent. Through the prophets, Israel gradually came to understand that God is a Father who accompanies, liberates and consoles, the 'God-with-us' (Emmanuel). The burning bush (Ex 3) is the foundation of this faith: 'I have seen the misery of my people, I have heard their cry, I know their sufferings'. Here God reveals himself as the One who sees, listens and acts. He does not remain a spectator, but inspires Moses and his children with the strength to liberate, transforming suffering into hope and commitment. The psalm reflects this experience: after undergoing trials, the people proclaim their praise: "I will bless the Lord at all times" because they have experienced a God who listens, liberates, watches over, saves and redeems. The name "YHWH," the "Lord," indicates precisely the constant presence of God alongside his people. Finally, the text teaches that in times of trial it is not only permissible but necessary to cry out to God: He is attentive to our cry and responds, not always by eliminating suffering, but by making himself present, reawakening trust, and giving us the strength to face evil. In summary, the psalm and the reflection that accompanies it give us three certainties: God is close to those who suffer and hears the cry of the poor. His presence does not take away the pain, but illuminates it and transforms it into hope. True faith comes from trust in this God who sees, hears, frees and accompanies man at all times.

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to Timothy (4:6-8, 16-18)

 "The good fight" (2 Tim 4:6-18). The text presents St Paul's last spiritual testament, written while he was in prison in Rome, aware that he would soon be executed. The letters to Timothy, although perhaps composed or completed by a disciple, contain his authentic words of farewell, imbued with faith and serenity. Paul describes his imminent death with the Greek verb analuein, which means 'to untie the ropes', 'to weigh anchor', 'to dismantle the tent': images that evoke the departure for a new journey, the one towards eternity. Looking back, the apostle takes stock of his life using the sporting metaphor of running and fighting: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." Like an athlete who never gives up, Paul has reached the finish line and knows that he will receive the "crown of righteousness," the reward promised to all the faithful. He does not boast about himself, because this crown is not a personal privilege, but a gift offered to all those who have lovingly desired the manifestation of Christ. The 'just judge', God, does not look at appearances but at the heart — as Sirach taught — and will give glory not only to Paul, but to all those who live in the hope of the Lord's coming. The apostle's life was a constant race towards the glorious manifestation of Christ, the horizon of his faith and his service. He recognises that the strength to persevere does not come from him, but from God himself: 'The Lord gave me strength, so that I might fulfil the proclamation of the gospel and all nations might hear it'. This divine strength sustained his mission, enabling him to proclaim Christ until the end. Paul explains that Christian life is not a competition, but a shared race, in which each person is called to run at their own pace, with the same ardent desire for the coming of Christ. In his letter to Titus, he defined Christians as those who “wait for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Saviour Jesus Christ” — words that the liturgy repeats every day at Mass. In his hour of trial, Paul also confesses the loneliness of the apostle: The first time I made my defence, no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be held against them (v. 16) . Like Jesus on the cross and Stephen at the moment of his stoning, he forgives and transforms abandonment into an experience of intimate communion with the Lord, who becomes his only strength and consolation. Paul is the poor man of whom Ben Sira speaks, the one whom God listens to and consoles, the one whose tears flow down God's cheeks. His final words reveal the hope that overcomes death: "So I was delivered from the lion's mouth. The Lord will deliver me from all evil and bring me safely into heaven, and save me in his kingdom" (vv. 17-18). He does not speak of physical deliverance - he knows that death is imminent - but of spiritual deliverance from the greatest danger: losing faith, ceasing to fight. The Lord has kept him faithful and given him perseverance until the end. For Paul, death is not defeat, but a passage to glory. It is the birth into true life, the entrance into the Kingdom where he will sing forever: 'To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.'

In summary: The text presents Paul as a model of the believer who is faithful to the end. He experiences death as a departure towards God, not as an end. He looks at life as a race sustained by grace. He recognises that strength and perseverance come from the Lord. He understands that the reward is promised to all who desire the coming of Christ. He forgives those who abandon him and finds God's presence in solitude and weakness. He sees death as a passage into the glory of the Kingdom. Paul's "good fight" thus becomes the struggle of every Christian: to remain faithful in trials, to the point of running the last stretch with our gaze fixed on Christ, the source of strength, peace and hope.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (18:9-14)

A small preliminary observation before entering into the text: Luke clearly tells us that this is a parable... so we must not imagine that all the Pharisees or all the tax collectors of Jesus' time were like those described here. No Pharisee or tax collector perfectly matched this portrait: Jesus actually presents us with two very typical and simplified inner attitudes to highlight the moral of the story. He wants us to reflect on our own attitude, because we will probably recognise ourselves now in one, now in the other, depending on the day. Let us move on to the parable: last Sunday, Luke already offered us a teaching on prayer; the parable of the widow and the unjust judge taught us to pray without ever becoming discouraged. Today, however, it is a tax collector who is offered as an example. What relationship, one might ask, can there be between a poor widow and a rich tax collector? It is certainly not the bank account that is at issue, but the disposition of the heart. The widow is poor and forced to humble herself before a judge who ignores her; the tax collector, perhaps wealthy, bears the burden of a bad reputation, which is another form of poverty. Tax collectors were unpopular, and often not without reason: they lived in a period of Roman occupation and worked in the service of the occupiers. They were considered 'collaborators'. In addition, they dealt with a sensitive issue in every age: taxes. Rome set the amount due, and the tax collectors advanced it, then received full powers to recover it from their fellow citizens... often with a large profit margin. When Zacchaeus promises Jesus to repay four times as much to those he has defrauded, the suspicion is confirmed. Therefore, when the tax collector in the parable does not dare to raise his eyes to heaven and beats his breast saying, 'O God, have mercy on me, a sinner', perhaps he is only telling the plain truth. Being true before God, recognising one's own fragility: this is true prayer. It is this sincerity that makes him 'righteous' on his return home, says Jesus. The Pharisees, on the other hand, enjoyed an excellent reputation: their scrupulous fidelity to the Law, fasting twice a week (more than the Law required!), regular almsgiving, all expressed their desire to please God. And everything the Pharisee says in his prayer is true: he invents nothing. But, in reality, he does not pray. He contemplates himself. He looks at himself with complacency: he needs nothing, asks for nothing. He takes stock of his merits — and he has many! — but God does not think in terms of merit: his love is free, and all he asks is that we trust him. Let us imagine a journalist at the exit of the Temple interviewing the two men: Sir, what did you expect from God when you entered the Temple? Yes, I expected something. And did you receive it? Yes, and even more. And you, Mr Pharisee? No, I received nothing... A moment of silence, then he adds: But I didn't expect anything, after all. The concluding sentence of the parable sums it all up: "Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted." Jesus does not want to present God as a moral accountant who distributes rewards and punishments. He states a profound truth: those who exalt themselves, that is, those who believe themselves to be greater than they are, like the Pharisee, close their hearts and look down on others. But those who believe themselves to be superior lose the richness of others and isolate themselves from God, who never forces the door of the heart. We remain as we were, with our human 'righteousness', so different from the divine. On the contrary, those who humble themselves, who recognise themselves as small and poor, see superiority in others and can draw on their wealth. As St Paul says: 'Consider others superior to yourselves.' And this is true: every person we meet has something we do not have. This perspective opens the heart and allows God to fill us with his gift. It is not a question of an inferiority complex, but of the truth of the heart. It is precisely when we recognise that we are not 'brilliant' that the great adventure with God can begin. Ultimately, this parable is a magnificent illustration of the first beatitude: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven'.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

The room of Happiness, in the decisive horizon

(Lk 12:54-59)

«Now, why don’t you judge also for yourselves what is right?» (v.57).

From nature and events we must know how to draw lessons - even for the horizon of Mystery.

In Christ we have the capacity for thought and everyone is made autonomous: from the externality of things we are brought back to the Origin of what happens.

Jesus' appeal on the Signs of Time was the inspirational text of Pope John for the convocation of the Second Vatican Council, so that the Church might question herself, paying greater attention to God’s Calls  in history and to the hopes of humanity.

Predictability did not change spiritual pace; in each, its foreseeability did not allow the soul to see far.

In fact, Love is never according to chained, normal expectations or convictions, without new astonishing satisfactions.

Mass ideas are distracted, harnessed, by conformist thoughts. The never tested convictions wither the gaze, place the character impulses on dead tracks.

They generate paths that revolve around and suspend the realization, the ability to perceive the possibilities of the inner world; as well as opportunities for communion.

It’s the heart that sees the slightest possibilities. It grasps them on perennial questions, in a relationship of reciprocity with the meaning of present life.

And Jesus wants our plant to throw new leaves again. Because what we believe belongs to us, is already lost.

Then the invitation to Conversion - instead of stranding the soul and thought on models - makes attentive to the polyhedron of Friendship with ourselves, with our brothers and sisters even distant, and all things, now.

World of relationship that nothing considers irrelevant - and can make us enrich [if unlocked] with adventurous, fresh, lively discrepancies, which appear from free energies that do not want standard life; together.

Radical change is... not just thinking about fast consent, about immediate (even banal) interests that you don’t really want - and we know doesn’t work: it wouldn’t upset anything.

The Moment to discover the contents and not leave us be dazed, the present chance, the spirit of the pilgrim, the recognition of cultures... have a decisive character for the evolution of life in the Spirit.

It does not rest on the coded, enlisted protagonism, which already knows where it is going - and so it runs aground, adapts, loses sight of us, makes us interdicted. It reaps victims of illusions, of external friction; poisoning the road with muscular approaches and too much thoughts.

Compliments outside do not bring the I and the you back to the Roots, nor do they explode for the true future, the one to be lived intensely, which will make us vibrate.

Here is the «Present Moment»: the door to be opened to enter the room of happy energy, which remains magmatic - unceasing gift, ‘anointing’ and Vision that we do not know.

Astonishment that invites and leads far beyond the homologising, conformist, one-sided aspect - of din, cliché, tacticism, or other people's age to be reproduced.

To internalize and live the message:

How do you live the tension between the vision of the genius of time and the present moment?

What relationship do you see between God’s Promise and our hopes?

[Friday 29th wk. in O.T.  October 24, 2025]

The room of Happiness, in the decisive horizon

(Lk 12:54-59)

"Now why do you not also judge for yourselves what is right?" (v.57).

From nature and happenings we need to know how to draw lessons-even for the horizon of Mystery.

In Christ we have capacity for thought and are made autonomous: from the externality of things we are brought back to the Origin of what happens.

Jesus' call on the Signs of Time was Pope John's inspirational text for the convocation of the Second Vatican Council, so that the Church would finally be the one to question itself, paying more attention to God's Callings in history and the hopes of humanity.

Self-celebratory security and the pomp of grand forms had dampened the ardent feeling and liberating enthusiasm of the Risen One.

Predictability did not change spiritual pace; in each, its predictability did not allow the soul to see far ahead.

The certainties of the codes extinguished the charge and caused the faithful to be overwhelmed only by routine and problems.

Even today, the certainties of structure and circumstance-all established-weaken the blossoming into the present; they do not allow one to perceive and experience what is made Event.

Commonplaces are capable of displacing Vocation from the magical territory where it arises (and knocks within), turning it to a sacramental everydayness all predicted-approved by the established social or ecclesial contour on the ground.

Instead, our foundational Eros must be spent now and outgoing, for it lives on passions, not staleness; it rests on desire and complicity with the Spirit, who with his Fire renews the face of the earth.

But it is extinguished if we allow ourselves to be carried away by thoughtful assessments about the forces in the field: give-and-take calculations, opportunistic situationalism ... even other people's intentions, or purist, and circumstantial.

Convincing and personal momentum pales in the forcing, scheduling, control obsessions and verifications, without decisive breakthroughs-as if we were in kindergarten.

For Love is never according to concatenated, normal expectations or convictions, without new, jaw-dropping satisfactions - nor does it retrace mass ideas distracted by usual conformist, gaze-drying thoughts.

Beliefs never screened nor tested place character impulses on dead tracks.

Inculcated certainties generate ways that go around, suspend noticing, dim any ability to perceive possibilities of the inner world; as well as opportunities for communion.

It is the heart that sees the least possibilities. It grasps them on perennial questions in reciprocal relationship with the meaning of present life.

And Jesus wants our plant to sprout new leaves again, all green (unseasoned). 

Not mold: what we think belongs to us is already lost.

Then the invitation to Conversion - instead of stranding the soul and thought on ancient models or abstract, one-sided utopias - makes us attentive to the polyhedron of Friendship with ourselves, with our brothers and sisters even far away, and all things, now.

World of relationship that nothing deems irrelevant - and can make us enriched (unblocked) with adventurous, fresh, lively dissimilarities, which emerge from free energies that do not want standard life, nor too much the binding of memories, but radical change, together.

As the encyclical Brothers All points out, "this implies the habitual capacity to recognize the other's right to be himself and to be different" (no. 218).

Radical change is ... not to think only of the quick consensus, of one's own near (even trivial) gain, which after all we do not really desire - and we know does not work: it would not change anything.

Such intimate and social Appeal must be grasped immediately, here and now, while the human time of grace lasts-God's moment on our behalf.

The Moment to discover the contents and not leave us dazed, the present chance, the spirit of the pilgrim, the recognition of cultures... have a decisive character for the evolution of life in the Spirit.

It does not rest on codified, enlisted protagonism, which already knows where to arrive -- and thus strands, adapts, loses sight of us, makes us interdicted; reaps victims of illusions, of external friction; intoxicating the road of muscular approaches and thoughts.

Fallacious things, e.g., the fixed and unglamorous idol that often stalks souls: the "what we've achieved"-with its conformist goals, ripped promotions, others watching us...

Compliments outside do not bring the "I" and the "you" back to the Roots, nor do they explode for the real future, the one to be lived intensely, that will vibrate.

The "Present Moment" is simply the door to open to usher in the room of happy energy, which lingers magmatically -- unceasing gift, "anointing" and Vision we do not know.Awe that invites and leads far beyond the homogenizing, one-sided, pigtailed aspect -- of phrasing, cliché, tacticism, or other people's age to reproduce.

"Theatricals! The appearance of earth and heaven you know how to discern, but this time how do you not know how to discern?" (Luke 12:56).

To internalize and live the message:

How do you live the tension between the vision of the genius of time and the present moment?

What relationship do you grasp between God's Promise and our hopes?

Faith and the sign of the times

Faith is not a kind of object nor an ideology (which one may or may not have), but a Relationship.

It proceeds from a God who reveals himself, challenges us and calls us by name.

His varied and rich Face does not collide with common thought, but intercepts our desire for fullness of life, and in this way corresponds and conquers us.

It is not a punctual affair, but one that gushes and proceeds from wave to wave in the course of existence -- with all the load of its surprises over time [they from time to time challenge, sabotage, or astound us].

In said relationship, the Faith that precisely arises from listening is kindled when the Father's initiative, which is manifested and revealed in a proposal that comes to us, is accepted and not rejected.

In evolution, such a dynamic establishes an invisible Presence in the concealed Self, unquenchable fire of our foundational Eros; Echo perceptible-even in the genius of time, in the furrows of personal history, in the folds of events and relationships, advice, opposing evaluations and even ruptures.

The Relationship of Faith has several approaches. A first stage is that of Faith Assent: the person recognizes himself in a world of knowledge that corresponds to him. This is a very dignified level, but common to all religions and philosophies.

Scrutinizing the Word, one understands that the specificity of biblical Faith is much more about concrete existence than about thought or discipline: it has a different character from the codes, it is Sponsal.

Faith already in the First Testament is typically that reliance of the Bride [in Hebrew Israèl is a feminine gender term] who has full confidence in the Bridegroom.

She knows that resting on the God-Con she will flourish authentically and enjoy fullness of life, even passing through unpleasant events.

Faith lived in the Spirit of the Risen One enjoys other facets, which are decisive in giving color to our going in the world and our full maturation and joy in life.

[Crucial in all is both listening to Sacred Scripture and moving from the jumble of thoughts that fragment our inner eye to perception, that is, to a contemplative gaze that knows how to rest on ourselves and things].

The third step of Christological faith is precisely a kind of Appropriation: the subject identifies himself and-sure of the friendly reciprocity experienced in the Gifts-takes possession of the Lord's meek and strong heart with a stroke of the hand and without any prescribed merit.

Quoting St. Bernard, Alphonsus Maria de' Liguori states, "That merit which I lack to enter Paradise, I usurp from the merits of Jesus Christ." No rigmarole or discipline of the arcane.

Mind you, these are not "trials" of vicarious substitution, as if Jesus had to make good a debt of sins because the Father needed blood and at least one to pay dearly for it.

The person becomes intimate with Christ not simply by communal belief, but by personal inner action.

God recovers us by educating us.

It is true that by sending a lamb among wolves its end is marked. But it is also the only way to teach men -- still in a prehuman condition -- that that of competition is not the life of people, but of ferocious beasts.

The lamb is the tame being that gives even wolves pause: only by fully appropriating it do the beasts realize that they are such.

Thus we can begin to say, "I" as men instead of beasts. 

Of course, only people reconciled with their own affairs do good. But the authentic and full best is beyond our reach; not one's own production. We are not omnipotent.

A further stage in the journey of life in Christ and the Spirit is that of Faith-Calamite.

It too takes the form of an Action, for the soul-bride reads the sign of the times, interprets the surrounding reality and her own inclinations. And grasping the scope of the Future, she anticipates and actualizes it.

Thus we avoid wasting life in support of dead branches.

But the ultimate and perhaps even more perfect stage (I would say the pinnacle) of such Faith-Enchantment is that of Faith-Wonderfulness.

It is the specific belief of the Incarnation, for it recognizes precisely the Treasures that lie behind our dark sides.

Such Pearls will descend in the course of existence [they will do what they must when necessary] and it will be a wonder to discover them.

The pierced cocoon will generate our Butterfly, which is not construction approved to prototypes, but Astonishment.

Dear friends, never desist from this educational task, even when the road becomes difficult and your efforts seem to be unproductive. Carry it out in fidelity to the Church and with respect for the identity of your institutions, using the means that history has consigned to you and that “‘creativity’ in charity” will suggest to you for the future, as Blessed John Paul II said. 

In the past four decades, you have been able to deepen, experience and put into practice a working method based on three interrelated and synergetic forms of attention: listening, observing and discerning, employing them in your mission service through the charitable animation of the communities on your respective territories. This is a style that makes possible not only pastoral action but also to follow up a profound and fruitful dialogue with the various milieus of ecclesial life, with associations and movements and with the variegated world of organized volunteer service.

This means listening in order to know, of course, but at the same time to become close, to support Christian communities in caring for those who need to feel God’s warmth through the open and willing hands of Jesus’ disciples. It is important that suffering people be able to feel God’s warmth and that they feel it through our hands and our open-heartedness. In this way Caritas branches must be like “watchmen” (cf. Is 21:11-12) who can become aware and make others aware, who can predict and forestall, who can provide support and suggest solutions in the sure wake of the Gospel and of the Church’s social teaching. 

The individualism of our time, the presumed sufficiency of technology, and the relativism that influences everyone are all seeking to invite people and communities to higher forms of listening, to a capacity for a broader vision and more open heart concerning needs and resources, to community forms of discernment on how to be and act in a world that is profoundly changing. 

In scanning the pages of the Gospel, we are struck by Jesus’ actions: actions that communicate grace, teach faith and the “sequela”; actions of healing and acceptance, of mercy and hope, of a future and of compassion; actions that begin or perfect a call to follow him and that flow into recognition of the Lord as a single reason for the present and for the future.

Gestures and signs are connatural to Caritas’ pedagogical function. It is in fact through concrete signs that you speak, evangelize and educate. A charitable work speaks of God, proclaims hope, induces people to question themselves. I hope you will be able to foster in the best possible way the quality of the institutions you have been able to create. Make them, as it were, “eloquent”, concerned above all with the inner inspiration that motivates them and the quality of the witness they radiate. They are institutions born of faith. They are Church institutions, an expression of attention to those whose life is more of a struggle. They are pedagogical actions because they help the poorest people grow in dignity, Christian communities walk in the footsteps of Christ and civil society consciously assume its obligations.

Let us remember what the Second Vatican Council taught: “The demands of justice must first of all be satisfied; that which is already due in justice is not to be offered as a gift of charity” (Decree on the Apostolate of Lay People, Apostolicam Actuositatem, n. 8).

The humble, material service that the Church offers is not intended to replace or even less to dull the collective and civil conscience. It is backed by a spirit of sincere collaboration, within the proper autonomy and in the full awareness of subsidiariety.

From the very beginning of your pastoral journey you were given as a priority commitment the faculty to create a far-reaching presence in Italy, especially through the Diocesan and Parish branches of Caritas. Today too this is a goal to aim for. I am sure that your Pastors will be able to support and guide you, especially by helping the communities to understand the proprium of the pastoral animation that Caritas brings to the life of every particular Church. Moreover, I am certain that you will listen to your Pastors and follow their instructions.

Attention to the country and to its animation then gives rise to the ability to interpret the evolution of the life of its inhabitants, their difficulties and their worries, as well as their opportunities and prospects. Charity requires open-mindedness, a broad outlook, intuition and foresight, “a heart that sees” (cf. Encyclical Deus Caritas Est, n. 25).

Responding to needs not only means giving bread to the hungry; it also means letting oneself be challenged by the reasons causing their hunger, with the gaze of Jesus who could see the deep reality of the people who came to him. It is in this perspective that the present day calls into question your method of being animators and agents of charity. One cannot but also think of the vast world of migration. Natural disasters and wars often create emergency situations. The global economic crisis is a further sign of the times that demands the courage of brotherhood.

The gap between the north and the south of the world and the damaged human dignity of so many people, appeal for a charity that can spread out gradually from the small to the great economic systems. The increasing hardship and weakening of families and the uncertainty of the condition of youth, point to the risk of a loss of hope. Humanity does not only need benefactors but also humble, practical people who, like Jesus, are able to stand beside their brethren, sharing a little of their struggle. In a word, humanity seeks signs of hope. The source of our hope is the Lord. This is the reason why Caritas is necessary; not in order to delegate the service of charity to it, but so that it may be a sign of Christ’s Charity, a sign that brings hope. Dear friends, help the whole Church to make God’s love visible. Give freely and encourage others to do so. Recall everyone to the essentiality of love that becomes a service. Accompany our weaker brothers and sisters. Inspire Christian communities. Tell the world of the word of love that comes from God. Seek love as a synthesis of all the gifts of the Spirit (cf. 1 Cor 14:1).

May the Blessed Virgin Mary who on her visit to Elizabeth brought the sublime gift of Jesus in the humility of her service (cf. Lk 1:39-43) be your guide. I accompany you with my prayers and I gladly impart to you the Apostolic Blessing, extending it to all those whom you meet every day in your many activities. Many thanks.

[Pope Benedict, Address to Caritas Italiana on the 40th anniversary of its foundation, Nov. 24, 2011]

12.It is not difficult to see that in the modern world the sense of justice has been reawakening on a vast scale; and without doubt this emphasizes that which goes against justice in relationships between individuals, social groups and "classes," between individual peoples and states, and finally between whole political systems, indeed between what are called "worlds." This deep and varied trend, at the basis of which the contemporary human conscience has placed justice, gives proof of the ethical character of the tensions and struggles pervading the world. 

The Church shares with the people of our time this profound and ardent desire for a life which is just in every aspect, nor does she fail to examine the various aspects of the sort of justice that the life of people and society demands. This is confirmed by the field of Catholic social doctrine, greatly developed in the course of the last century. On the lines of this teaching proceed the education and formation of human consciences in the spirit of justice, and also individual undertakings, especially in the sphere of the apostolate of the laity, which are developing in precisely this spirit. 

And yet, it would be difficult not to notice that very often programs which start from the idea of justice and which ought to assist its fulfillment among individuals, groups and human societies, in practice suffer from distortions. Although they continue to appeal to the idea of justice, nevertheless experience shows that other negative forces have gained the upper hand over justice, such as spite, hatred and even cruelty. In such cases, the desire to annihilate the enemy, limit his freedom, or even force him into total dependence, becomes the fundamental motive for action; and this contrasts with the essence of justice, which by its nature tends to establish equality and harmony between the parties in conflict. This kind of abuse of the idea of justice and the practical distortion of it show how far human action can deviate from justice itself, even when it is being undertaken in the name of justice. Not in vain did Christ challenge His listeners, faithful to the doctrine of the Old Testament, for their attitude which was manifested in the words: An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth."111 This was the form of distortion of justice at that time; and today's forms continue to be modeled on it. It is obvious, in fact, that in the name of an alleged justice (for example, historical justice or class justice) the neighbor is sometimes destroyed, killed, deprived of liberty or stripped of fundamental human rights. The experience of the past and of our own time demonstrates that justice alone is not enough, that it can even lead to the negation and destruction of itself, if that deeper power, which is love, is not allowed to shape human life in its various dimensions. It has been precisely historical experience that, among other things, has led to the formulation of the saying: summum ius, summa iniuria. This statement does not detract from the value of justice and does not minimize the significance of the order that is based upon it; it only indicates, under another aspect, the need to draw from the powers of the spirit which condition the very order of justice, powers which are still more profound. 

The Church, having before her eyes the picture of the generation to which we belong, shares the uneasiness of so many of the people of our time. Moreover, one cannot fail to be worried by the decline of many fundamental values, which constitute an unquestionable good not only for Christian morality but simply for human morality, for moral culture: these values include respect for human life from the moment of conception, respect for marriage in its indissoluble unity, and respect for the stability of the family. Moral permissiveness strikes especially at this most sensitive sphere of life and society. Hand in hand with this go the crisis of truth in human relationships, lack of responsibility for what one says, the purely utilitarian relationship between individual and individual, the loss of a sense of the authentic common good and the ease with which this good is alienated. Finally, there is the "desacralization" that often turns into "dehumanization": the individual and the society for whom nothing is "sacred" suffer moral decay, in spite of appearances.

14.Jesus Christ taught that man not only receives and experiences the mercy of God, but that he is also called "to practice mercy" towards others: "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."120 The Church sees in these words a call to action, and she tries to practice mercy. All the beatitudes of the Sermon on the Mount indicate the way of conversion and of reform of life, but the one referring to those who are merciful is particularly eloquent in this regard. Man attains to the merciful love of God, His mercy, to the extent that he himself is interiorly transformed in the spirit of that love towards his neighbor. 

This authentically evangelical process is not just a spiritual transformation realized once and for all: it is a whole lifestyle, an essential and continuous characteristic of the Christian vocation. It consists in the constant discovery and persevering practice of love as a unifying and also elevating power despite all difficulties of a psychological or social nature: it is a question, in fact, of a merciful love which, by its essence, is a creative love. In reciprocal relationships between persons merciful love is never a unilateral act or process. Even in the cases in which everything would seem to indicate that only one party is giving and offering, and the other only receiving and taking (for example, in the case of a physician giving treatment, a teacher teaching, parents supporting and bringing up their children, a benefactor helping the needy), in reality the one who gives is always also a beneficiary. In any case, he too can easily find himself in the position of the one who receives, who obtains a benefit, who experiences merciful love; he too can find himself the object of mercy. 

In this sense Christ crucified is for us the loftiest model, inspiration and encouragement. When we base ourselves on this disquieting model, we are able with all humility to show mercy to others, knowing that Christ accepts it as if it were shown to Himself.121 On the basis of this model, we must also continually purify all our actions and all our intentions in which mercy is understood and practiced in a unilateral way, as a good done to others. An act of merciful love is only really such when we are deeply convinced at the moment that we perform it that we are at the same time receiving mercy from the people who are accepting it from us. If this bilateral and reciprocal quality is absent, our actions are not yet true acts of mercy, nor has there yet been fully completed in us that conversion to which Christ has shown us the way by His words and example, even to the cross, nor are we yet sharing fully in the magnificent source of merciful love that has been revealed to us by Him. 

Thus, the way which Christ showed to us in the Sermon on the Mount with the beatitude regarding those who are merciful is much richer than what we sometimes find in ordinary human opinions about mercy. These opinions see mercy as a unilateral act or process, presupposing and maintaining a certain distance between the one practicing mercy and the one benefitting from it, between the one who does good and the one who receives it. Hence the attempt to free interpersonal and social relationships from mercy and to base them solely on justice. However, such opinions about mercy fail to see the fundamental link between mercy and justice spoken of by the whole biblical tradition, and above all by the messianic mission of Jesus Christ. True mercy is, so to speak, the most profound source of justice. If justice is in itself suitable for "arbitration" between people concerning the reciprocal distribution of objective goods in an equitable manner, love and only love (including that kindly love that we call "mercy") is capable of restoring man to Himself. 

Mercy that is truly Christian is also, in a certain sense, the most perfect incarnation of "equality" between people, and therefore also the most perfect incarnation of justice as well, insofar as justice aims at the same result in its own sphere. However, the equality brought by justice is limited to the realm of objective and extrinsic goods, while love and mercy bring it about that people meet one another in that value which is man himself, with the dignity that is proper to him. At the same time, "equality" of people through "patient and kind" love122 does not take away differences: the person who gives becomes more generous when he feels at the same time benefitted by the person accepting his gift; and vice versa, the person who accepts the gift with the awareness that, in accepting it, he too is doing good is in his own way serving the great cause of the dignity of the person; and this contributes to uniting people in a more profound manner. 

Thus, mercy becomes an indispensable element for shaping mutual relationships between people, in a spirit of deepest respect for what is human, and in a spirit of mutual brotherhood. It is impossible to establish this bond between people, if they wish to regulate their mutual relationships solely according to the measure of justice. In every sphere of interpersonal relationships justice must, so to speak, be "corrected " to a considerable extent by that love which, as St. Paul proclaims, "is patient and kind" or, in other words, possesses the characteristics of that merciful love which is so much of the essence of the Gospel and Christianity. Let us remember, furthermore, that merciful love also means the cordial tenderness and sensitivity so eloquently spoken of in the parable of the prodigal son,123 and also in the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin.124 Consequently, merciful love is supremely indispensable between those who are closest to one another: between husbands and wives, between parents and children, between friends; and it is indispensable in education and in pastoral work. 

Its sphere of action, however, is not limited to this. If Paul VI more than once indicated the civilization of love"125 as the goal towards which all efforts in the cultural and social fields as well as in the economic and political fields should tend. it must be added that this good will never be reached if in our thinking and acting concerning the vast and complex spheres of human society we stop at the criterion of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth"126 and do not try to transform it in its essence, by complementing it with another spirit. Certainly, the Second Vatican Council also leads us in this direction, when it speaks repeatedly of the need to make the world more human,127 and says that the realization of this task is precisely the mission of the Church in the modern world. Society can become ever more human only if we introduce into the many-sided setting of interpersonal and social relationships, not merely justice, but also that "merciful love" which constitutes the messianic message of the Gospel. 

Society can become "ever more human" only when we introduce into all the mutual relationships which form its moral aspect the moment of forgiveness, which is so much of the essence of the Gospel. Forgiveness demonstrates the presence in the world of the love which is more powerful than sin. Forgiveness is also the fundamental condition for reconciliation, not only in the relationship of God with man, but also in relationships between people. A world from which forgiveness was eliminated would be nothing but a world of cold and unfeeling justice, in the name of which each person would claim his or her own rights vis-a- vis others; the various kinds of selfishness latent in man would transform life and human society into a system of oppression of the weak by the strong, or into an arena of permanent strife between one group and another. 

For this reason, the Church must consider it one of her principal duties-at every stage of history and especially in our modern age-to proclaim and to introduce into life the mystery of mercy, supremely revealed in Jesus Christ. Not only for the Church herself as the community of believers but also in a certain sense for all humanity, this mystery is the source of a life different from the life which can be built by man, who is exposed to the oppressive forces of the threefold concupiscence active within him.128 It is precisely in the name of this mystery that Christ teaches us to forgive always. How often we repeat the words of the prayer which He Himself taught us, asking "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us," which means those who are guilty of something in our regard129 It is indeed difficult to express the profound value of the attitude which these words describe and inculcate. How many things these words say to every individual about others and also about himself. The consciousness of being trespassers against each other goes hand in hand with the call to fraternal solidarity, which St. Paul expressed in his concise exhortation to "forbear one another in love."130 What a lesson of humility is to be found here with regard to man, with regard both to one's neighbor and to oneself What a school of good will for daily living, in the various conditions of our existence If we were to ignore this lesson, what would remain of any "humanist" program of life and education? 

Christ emphasizes so insistently the need to forgive others that when Peter asked Him how many times he should forgive his neighbor He answered with the symbolic number of "seventy times seven,"131 meaning that he must be able to forgive everyone every time. It is obvious that such a generous requirement of forgiveness does not cancel out the objective requirements of justice. Properly understood, justice constitutes, so to speak, the goal of forgiveness. In no passage of the Gospel message does forgiveness, or mercy as its source, mean indulgence towards evil, towards scandals, towards injury or insult. In any case, reparation for evil and scandal, compensation for injury, and satisfaction for insult are conditions for forgiveness. 

Thus the fundamental structure of justice always enters into the sphere of mercy. Mercy, however, has the power to confer on justice a new content, which is expressed most simply and fully in forgiveness. Forgiveness, in fact, shows that, over and above the process of "compensation" and "truce" which is specific to justice, love is necessary, so that man may affirm himself as man. Fulfillment of the conditions of justice is especially indispensable in order that love may reveal its own nature. In analyzing the parable of the prodigal son, we have already called attention to the fact that he who forgives and he who is forgiven encounter one another at an essential point, namely the dignity or essential value of the person, a point which cannot be lost and the affirmation of which, or its rediscovery, is a source of the greatest joy.132

The Church rightly considers it her duty and the purpose of her mission to guard the authenticity of forgiveness, both in life and behavior and in educational and pastoral work. She protects it simply by guarding its source, which is the mystery of the mercy of God Himself as revealed in Jesus Christ. 

The basis of the Church's mission, in all the spheres spoken of in the numerous pronouncements of the most recent Council and in the centuries-old experience of the apostolate, is none other than "drawing from the wells of the Savior"133 this is what provides many guidelines for the mission of the Church in the lives of individual Christians, of individual communities, and also of the whole People of God. This "drawing from the wells of the Savior" can be done only in the spirit of that poverty to which we are called by the words and example of the Lord: "You received without pay, give without pay."134 Thus, in all the ways of the Church's life and ministry-through the evangelical poverty of her-ministers and stewards and of the whole people which bears witness to "the mighty works" of its Lord-the God who is "rich in mercy" has been made still more clearly manifest.

[Pope John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia]

"Times change, and we Christians must continually change." Pope Francis repeated this invitation to change several times during the Mass celebrated Friday morning, Oct. 23, in the chapel of Casa Santa Marta. An invitation to act "without fear" and "with freedom," keeping away from tranquilizing conformisms and remaining "firm in faith in Jesus" and "in the truth of the Gospel," but moving "continually according to the signs of the times."

The cue for reflection was offered to the Pontiff by the readings of this last part of the liturgical year, which offer in particular the letter to the Romans. "We emphasized," he recalled in this regard, "how Paul preaches so powerfully, the freedom that we have in Christ. It is, the Pope explained, "a gift, the gift of freedom, that freedom that saved us from sin, that made us free, children of God like Jesus; that freedom that leads us to call God Father." So Francis added that "to have this freedom we must open ourselves to the power of the Spirit and understand well what is happening within us and outside of us." And if in "the past few days, last week," there had been a focus on "how to distinguish what happens within us: what comes from the good Spirit or what does not come from him," that is, on discerning what "happens within us," in the day's liturgy the Gospel passage from Luke (12:54-59) exhorts us to "look outside," making us "reflect on how we evaluate the things that happen outside of us."

Here then is the need to question "how we judge: are we capable of judging?" For the Pope, "we have the capacity" and Paul himself "tells us that we will judge the world: we Christians will judge the world." The apostle Peter also says something similar when he "calls us a chosen race, a holy priesthood, a nation chosen precisely for holiness."

In short, the pontiff clarified, we Christians "have this freedom to judge what happens outside of us." But, he warned, "in order to judge we must know well what is happening outside of us." And so, Francis wondered, "how can we do this, which the Church calls 'knowing the signs of the times'?"

In this regard, the Pope noted that "times change. It is proper Christian wisdom to know these changes, to know the different times and to know the signs of the times. What means one thing and what another." Of course, the Pope is aware that this "is not easy. Because we hear so many comments, 'I heard that what happened there is this or what happens there is the other; I read this, I was told this...'" However, he quickly added, "I am free, I have to make my own judgment and understand what it all means." Whereas "this is a job that we don't usually do: we conform, we reassure ourselves with 'I've been told; I've heard; people say; I've read...'. And so we are quiet." When instead we should ask ourselves, "What is the truth? What is the message the Lord wants to give me with that sign of the times?"

As usual, the Pope also offered practical suggestions "for understanding the signs of the times." First of all, he said, "silence is necessary: be silent and watch, observe. And afterwards to reflect within ourselves. An example: why are there so many wars now? Why did something happen? And to pray." So "silence, reflection and prayer. Only in this way can we understand the signs of the times, what Jesus wants to tell us."

And in this sense there are no alibis. Although in fact each of us may be tempted to say, "But, I didn't study that much.... I didn't go to college or even middle school...," Jesus' words leave no room for doubt. For he does not say, "Look at how university students do it, look at how doctors do it, look at how intellectuals do it...." On the contrary, he says, "Look to the peasants, to the simple: they, in their simplicity, know when the rain comes, how the grass grows; they know how to distinguish the wheat from the weeds." Consequently, "that simplicity - if it is accompanied by silence, reflection and prayer - will make us understand the signs of the times." Because, he reiterated, "times change and we Christians must change continually. We must change steadfast in our faith in Jesus Christ, steadfast in the truth of the Gospel, but our attitude must continually move according to the signs of the times."

At the end of his reflection, the pontiff returned to his initial thoughts. "We are free," he said, "because of the gift of freedom that Jesus Christ has given us. But our work is to examine what happens within us, to discern our feelings, our thoughts; and to analyze what happens outside of us, to discern the signs of the times." How? "With silence, with reflection and with prayer," he repeated at the conclusion of his homily.

[Pope Francis, s. Marta, in L'Osservatore Romano 24/10/2015]

Flame and Peace, Diving and Division. Not tactical quietism

(Lk 12:49-53)

Difference “religiosity vs Faith” becomes evident in the comparison between mentality that identifies biblical Fire with punishment, and that of a sacred Flame poured out with passion of love (v.49) that evokes the Gift in our favor.

St Francis proclaimed: «Laudato sie, mi Signore, per frate focu,/ per lo quale ennalumini la notte:/ et ello è bello e iocundo/ et robustoso et forte».

[«Praise be to you, my Lord, for brother fire, / through whom you light the night: / and he is beautiful and playful / and strong and powerful»].

For the little poor man of Assisi, fire was a «noble and useful element among the creatures of the Most High» [Legenda antiqua].

He had with «friar fire» a disconcerting relationship of courtesy. Certainly it didn’t drive out the night in the same way as the Sun, but brought light.

On the contrary, the disciples’ blaze was not very wise: James and John wanted it to incinerate opponents (Lk 9:54).

Before Jesus, John the baptizer awaited a Messiah who still would immerse everyone in a devouring and executioning bonfire (Lk 3:17).

The «fire» of Faith announced by the Person and activity of the Son does not consume, does not corrode.

On the contrary, it is like a ‘Bread’: fullness of energy for a «complete life», not a destructive or separating element.

All this revives people, relationships and surrounding realities. It changes our Relationship with God, with ourselves and our neighbour.

Such is the ‘division’ proclaimed (v.51): discrimination of our Call.

In common devotion the error of evaluation or the condition of weakness is considered an infirmity, to be pointed out, corrected, punished.

"Impurities" should not be ‘melted’ into divine and providential Fire: they should only be normalised according to atavistic prescriptions or more recent sophisticated ideas [à la page].

For life in the Spirit, on the other hand, attention is elsewhere: personal oscillations become possibilities; the fellings, a new Force.

Sense of incapacity, failure and impediments arouse intensity, exchange, dialogue, new elaborations, search for other processes.

Faith is kindled wave upon wave, in welcoming and responding to God who reveals himself, calls and continues to propose – even cross-cultural mixtures that entangle purisms.

Food and Flame are also… our unsatisfactory situations: boulders that seemed to crush and make us negative are taken on board, hired, becoming gasoline that animates and propels us forward.

«Incarnation» is the recovery of opposing sides.

On this path, imperfection becomes a driving force, with its Treasures that we cannot see, hidden behind dark sides.

They are those slopes that will then dominate our Desire.

In this way, Baptism is not a procedure or a coat of grey colour and common opinion.

It is not even a device that labels, immediately cornering personalities and tensions - but rather an «Immersion» (see v. 50 Greek text).

By taking care of the neglected parts and merging the "extraneous" or different sides, from the exteriority of things we are brought back to the Origin of what happens.

[Thursday 29th wk. in O.T.  October 23, 2025]

Flame and Peace, Immersion and Division. Not tactical quietism

(Lk 12:49-53)

"I have come to cast a fire on the earth, and how I wish it had already blazed!" (Lk 12:49).

The difference between religiosity and Faith is made evident in the comparison between the mentality that identifies the biblical Fire with punishment, and that of a sacred Flame poured out with a passion of love (v.49) that evokes the Gift on our behalf.

Francis proclaimed: "Laudato sie, mi Signore, per frate focu,/ per lo quale ennalumini la notte:/ et ello è bello e iocundo/ et robustoso et forte".

For the Poverello of Assisi, fire was a "noble and useful element among the creatures of the Most High" [Legenda antiqua].

He had with "frate focu" a disconcerting relationship of courtesy. Certainly it did not drive out the night in the same way as the Sun, but it brought light into it.

By contrast, the disciples' blaze was not much: James and John wanted it to incinerate adversaries or unfortunates (Lk 9:54).

Before Jesus, John the Baptizer was still waiting for a Messiah who would immerse everyone in a devouring and executing bonfire (Lk 3:17).

In the passage of e.g. Mt 19:13-15, the same theme is mixed up with the purist and fundamentalist ardour of the apostles, who at all costs wanted to detach Jesus from his beloved ones, who had not the slightest intention of being submissive.

The fire of Faith announced by the Person and activity of the Son does not consume, it does not corrode; on the contrary, it is like food: fullness of energy for a complete life, not a destructive or separating element.

It revives people, relationships and the surrounding reality. It changes our relationship with God, with ourselves and our neighbour. Such is the division proclaimed (v.51): the dividing line of our Calling.

In common devotion the error of judgement or weak condition is considered an infirmity, to be pointed out, corrected, punished.

Doctrine and discipline constitute the outer armour of consciences, and worship celebrates and inculcates them [not infrequently, in a conformist and shoddy, albeit pretentious, manner].

The "impurities" should not be "merged" into the divine and providential Fire: only normalised according to atavistic prescriptions, or sophisticated ideas à la page.

For life in the Spirit, on the other hand, the focus is elsewhere: personal fluctuations become possibilities; break-downs a new Force.

Sense of incapacity, failure and hindrances arouse intensity, exchange, dialogue, new elaborations, the search for other processes; even rages of indignation that flare up and stimulate redemption.

Faith ignites wave after wave, in welcoming and corresponding God who reveals himself, calls and still proposes - even cross-mixing, entangling abstract purisms.

"We dream as one humanity" - underlines the encyclical Fratelli Tutti (n.8), rejoicing "in the diversity" that inhabits us (cf. n.10).

In the imperfection of critical situations, the Father does not throw stones at us, but Bread [not stale - as in ancient ideologies].

Our unsatisfactory situations are also Food and Flame: the boulders that seemed to crush us and made us negative are taken up, they become petrol that projects; jubilation, which - instead of 'settling' us - makes us grow again.

Called to collaborate, we participate in the same creative, free and cheering action of the Lord.

He directs us to the unprecedented Peace of becoming wholeness, of all-round humanisation yet to be acquired.

The Plan of Love evolves and strengthens through concrete events, not excluding the enthralling dynamics that arise from the awareness of one's own boundary - of which one should not be rid of.

Faith does not create disintegrating idols, equating eccentricity and sin, it only rests its gaze on them to understand, allowing them to melt and blossom from that mouldable energetic magma, transfiguring us.

For old beliefs it was unimaginable that the Most High did not feel repugnance for our condition - and precisely on the folds of carnal precariousness wanted to build a story of salvation.

Instead, the Son is our accomplice. He even winks at those aspects that the conformist gaze dismisses as imbalances, disorders, illnesses.

He wants to make of each one of us not a censor or a do-gooder, but an unrepeatable masterpiece - not built in a test-tube, but which you do not expect.

The Lord does not standardise or sterilise, demanding acting or climbing out of nature. It is He who humanises Himself - even in our quirks.

He recognises Himself in that which is steeped in expectation and sweat, even though it is deemed unbecoming of the [even devout, or conversely, sophisticated] man who yearns to elevate himself.

Do we feel settled and 'arrived'? Only here there is no 'fire', no passion, no discovery, no genesis, no therapy - and we are not even at the threshold of Faith.

"Incarnation" is the recovery of opposite sides: imperfection becomes a spring, with its treasures we cannot see, hidden behind dark sides.It is those sides that will then dominate our Desire.

That's the whole game: we start from where we are, and attention to the occasions of the imperfect present - which we must not rush to disinfect - will make us wince at the unexpected life that re-emerges there.

The Flame of the Spirit that is building the Newness of God lurks in the embers and sides deemed inconclusive or opposing - it does not place itself in the shop window to stifle instinct at once.

Thus the Church: not 'functional', but life-giving. Kingdom and territory not marked by tactical pacifism, which anaesthetises.

In this way, Baptism is not a rubric or a hand of grey and common opinion, nor a device that brands, immediately cornering personalities and tensions - but an Immersion (v.50 Greek text).

"Now why do you not also judge for yourselves what is right?" (v.57).

In Christ we are empowered to think and are made autonomous, for a solid fraternity with ourselves, which has 'stopped' - and which unfolds by revitalising Oneness.

By tending the neglected parts and merging the extraneous or dissimilar sides, from the exteriority of things we are brought back to the Origin of what happens.