23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time  (year A)  [6 September 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel (33:7–9)

The prophet Ezekiel, a priest in Jerusalem in the 6th century BC, was exiled to Babylon in 597 BC during the first exile ordered by Nebuchadnezzar. He lived by the River Chebar, in the village of Tel Aviv, where he learnt the tragic news of the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple in 587 BC. Despite these catastrophes, Ezekiel did not lose hope. During the approximately twenty years of his ministry whilst in exile, he dedicated his life to supporting the people and keeping alive the hope of return. The name of the modern city of Tel Aviv refers precisely to the village where he lived, as a tribute to the prophet who contributed to the spiritual survival of Israel. His mission unfolded on two fronts: helping the exiles to settle and survive; and keeping alive the hope of returning to the Promised Land. God entrusted him with the task of being a watchman for Israel (Ezekiel 3:17). Like a watchman who warns the city of danger, Ezekiel was to convey God’s warnings and call the people to repentance. Had he remained silent, he would have been responsible for their downfall. However, the people often listened without putting God’s Word into practice. People appreciated the beauty of his preaching, but did not change their ways (Ezekiel 33:31–32). For this reason, the prophet experienced discouragement, feeling as though he were ‘preaching in the wilderness’. Despite this, he remained faithful to his mission. Ezekiel was a watchman in two senses: attentive to the Word of God and vigilant in awaiting the dawn of salvation. With powerful imagery and great courage, he proclaimed the hope of rebirth, declaring God’s promise: ‘I will bring you out of your graves, O my people, and bring you back to the land of Israel’ (Ezekiel 37:12). Even when it seemed that all was lost, following the fall of Jerusalem, Ezekiel continued to proclaim that restoration was possible if the people returned to God. For God does not desire the death of the sinner, but his conversion: ‘Why should you die, O house of Israel? Turn back, and you will live’ (Ezek 33:11). This text ties in with today’s Gospel reading, in which Jesus entrusts the disciples with a similar mission: to watch over one another with brotherly love, correcting those who err because, as Leviticus (19:17–18) also teaches, correcting with charity is a genuine act of love, for it helps one’s brother to avoid evil and to find the path of life once more. Just as a watchman keeps watch over the city, so the prophet and every disciple must watch over the welfare of others.

Responsorial Psalm (94/95) 

The final verse of Psalm 95/94 recalls the episode of Massah and Meribah (Ex 17:1–7), when the people of Israel, in the wilderness, ran out of water and doubted God. After accusing Moses, thinking that God wanted to let them die of thirst, the Lord caused abundant water to gush forth from the rock. Since then, Massah and Meribah have symbolised a lack of trust in God. The Psalm urges: ‘Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts’. This is the life of faith, and the real question is: ‘Can we trust God, who is present in our lives?’ Faith is trust, and to believe means to trust. The Hebrew word for faith means to lean on God, and ‘Amen’ derives from the same root, meaning ‘firm’ or ‘stable’: it is like saying, ‘I entrust myself completely to God.’ This is why the prophet Isaiah declares: ‘Unless you believe, you will not stand firm’ (Isaiah 7:9). To listen is to trust. The invitation in the Psalm: ‘Will you listen to his Word today?’, asks not merely to hear, but to receive it with trust. Those who trust truly listen. This is why the Shema Israel prayer (Deut 6:4) begins with: ‘Hear, O Israel’, and to love God with all one’s heart means to entrust oneself entirely to Him. Even the verb ‘to obey’ derives from the idea of listening: biblical obedience is not blind submission, but trusting listening to the Word. Trust arises from experience. Israel bases its faith on the concrete experience of deliverance from Egypt. If God has delivered his people from slavery, he cannot abandon them in the wilderness. This is why the Psalm proclaims: ‘Let us acclaim the Rock of our salvation.’ The rock is not merely a poetic image: it recalls the rock from which God brought forth water at Massah and Meribah. God is a secure rock upon which to rely, and this choice must be renewed every day. The word ‘today’ is fundamental: every day is a new beginning; every day we can return to listening to God and trusting in Him. It is the same message proclaimed by Ezekiel to the discouraged exiles: do not lose hope and continue to trust in the Lord. Faith is not an individual matter, but belongs to a people walking together towards God, and this is why the Psalm is always in the plural: ‘We are the people whom God leads’. This communal dimension is a fundamental characteristic of the Bible and also represents a challenge for the Church today. The text concludes by reminding us that the very question of trust runs through the entire Bible: when Saint Paul calls on us to be reconciled with God, he asks us to stop doubting His intentions; when Jesus calls on us to be converted and to believe in the Gospel, He asks us to believe in the Good News – that is, that God loves us and wants what is best for us. Even the story of Adam and Eve can be read in this light: the fundamental test is not outward obedience, but the trust that God always desires our freedom, our life and our happiness. Faith consists in believing that, even in trials, limitations and defeats, God can bring forth new life, freedom and resurrection.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (13:8–10)

If we are to find a central theme in this text, it is ‘dual loyalty: as a good citizen and as a disciple’. In other words, how to live as Christians in a non-Christian world. To understand this, we must place the text in its context. From chapter 12 of the Letter to the Romans, Paul offers advice to Christians on how to live as Christians in a world that is not our own. To live as a Christian is to make one’s life a ‘holy sacrifice’ (Paul’s text from last Sunday, in which he adds: ‘Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may discern what is the will of God’ (Rom 12:2)). Today we are in Chapter 13, and Paul delves into the practicalities of social life: our relationship with the authorities. When one reads the whole chapter, one is struck by the specific details he gives regarding the obligations of citizens: respect for the courts, the payment of taxes and duties, and submission to all authorities. In short: a good Christian must be a good citizen: ‘Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities’ (Romans 13:1). Let us be frank: this instruction must have surprised more than a few, because the Jews and the Romans held two very different conceptions of power. In the Jewish world of the Old Testament, such words would not have surprised anyone, because political power lay in the hands of the religious authorities; civil law was not distinguished from the Law of God. From this perspective, Jesus had been able to say to the crowd and his disciples: ‘The scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. Do and observe whatever they tell you’ (Mt 23:1–2). But the same could not be said of the Roman world; the authorities in question were the Roman emperors and the entire hierarchy of their governors, magistrates and soldiers, for whom God’s will was obviously the very last thing on their minds! And if Paul writes about not conforming to this world, it is because the ideal of Roman society was often diametrically opposed to the Christian ideal. So, is it possible to obey an authority steeped in paganism? This question lies at the heart of our text. Paul responds in two points:

First point: do not use faith as an excuse to shirk civil responsibilities, and he reasons as follows:  ‘There is no authority except that which God has established; the authorities that exist have been established by God’ (Romans 13:1), and here we hear an echo of Jesus’ words to Pilate: ‘You would have no power over me at all unless it had been given to you from above’ (John 19:11). Another argument: since in all countries the law is normally at the service of justice and the defence of the weak, Paul says: ‘The authorities are God’s servants for your good… for they are God’s agents of retribution, administering punishment to those who do wrong’ (Rom 13:4). The Jews, like the early Christians – the Romans made no distinction between them – were exempt from Roman laws that offended their conscience: for example, burning incense before the emperor’s statue, or performing military service. Therefore, says Saint Paul, obey the Roman laws, for one is not exempt from laws that are contrary to religion.

Second point: simply being in compliance is not enough; what is needed is the ‘debt of love’. One is not a good Jew or a good Christian merely by being in compliance with civil authority, for this does not take charity to its fullest extent. This is what the first sentence of today’s reading says: ‘Owe no one anything, except to love one another’ (Rom 13:8). ‘Owe no one anything’ – that is to say, it is not enough simply to be in good standing with everyone; one must go further. The ultimate meaning of the Torah is to love one’s brothers and sisters; in other words, it is not enough merely to refrain from murder, theft or adultery, because, as St Paul observes, all this is summed up in this: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ (Rom 13:9), and this means being in accordance with the Law of Moses. Paul adds that a profound conversion is required, which he describes in these words: “Be transformed by the renewal of your mind, so that you may discern the will of God—what is good, pleasing and perfect” (Romans 12:2). The true novelty is revealed when Christ asks the rich young man, an observer of the Torah, to give up everything and follow him: ‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you possess, give it to the poor… then come and follow me’ (Mt 19:21). A choice that can take one a long way!

From the Gospel according to Matthew (18:15–20)

Jesus teaches that fraternal correction is about saving the person, not condemning them. In the second reading, Saint Paul reminds us not to be in debt to anyone, except for the debt of mutual love, since love is the perfect fulfilment of the Law (Rom 13:8, 10). The whole of chapter 18 of the Gospel of Matthew deals, from various angles, with the fulfilment of this love in relationships within the Christian community. In particular, it addresses two themes: the priority given to the little ones and the weak, and mutual forgiveness. To introduce these recommendations, Jesus tells the parable of the lost sheep – an image well known to his listeners – and compares the leaders of the community to shepherds appointed by the supreme Shepherd, who is God; the heavenly Father does not want any of these little ones to be lost (Mt 18:14). This concerns the duty of mutual watchfulness, following the model already set out by Ezekiel: ‘Woe to the shepherds of Israel…’ (Ezek 34:2). Jesus entrusts the disciples with the task of watching over one another, ensuring that their brothers and sisters do not go astray; and this duty falls first and foremost to those in charge of the community—the shepherds. But the duty of mutual care also exists within the flock; not only do the shepherds bear responsibility for the well-being of the flock, but the sheep too are responsible for one another, as Ezekiel further writes: ‘Thus says the Lord God: I myself will judge between the fat sheep and the lean… (Ezek 34:20–22). Ezekiel thus proclaimed that God himself would take charge of his flock once more through his Messiah: ‘I will raise up for them a single shepherd, who will tend them—my servant David. He will tend them; he will be their shepherd’ (Ezek 34:23). Jesus is the Good Shepherd who knows his sheep and by whom the sheep are known (cf. Jn 10), and he gives guidance for the life of the flock, particularly regarding fraternal support and help so that no one ‘is lost’. To bring back those who have gone astray requires a demanding love, for if you truly love someone, you are willing to do anything to rescue them if they are in danger. God is Love, and we are called to be like him, which is an incredibly demanding task. And if any Christian goes astray, Jesus shows the way forward: first, seek dialogue personally and do everything possible to help them rejoin the flock; and if, in the end, you are unable to do so, regard them as a pagan or a tax collector – which does not imply permanent exclusion. How, then, are we to interpret the phrase: ‘If they will not even listen to the community, let them be to you as a pagan and a tax collector’? In the light of all we know about Jesus and his constant welcome of tax collectors and sinners, this cannot be a definitive rejection but rather a respect for each person’s freedom… whilst waiting for Zacchaeus or the tax collector Matthew to be converted. What emerges from the approach recommended by Christ is the absolute necessity of respect for everyone, and in particular for those who call themselves sinners; and every step taken to restore communion must be marked by delicate discretion. These are the basic rules of life in the Church, and respecting them is the seed of eternal life: “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven” (Mt 18:18). Let us consider the final sentence: “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them” (Mt 18:20). In the sayings of the Jewish Fathers (the Pirkei Avot), we read: “When two sit together and engage in the words of the Torah, the Shekinah—that is, the presence of God—is amongst them” (Avot 3:2).

+Giovanni D’Ercole

I read in the newspaper that some peacocks have invaded a small town.

The news was published some time ago – except that a few days ago the newspaper reported that a man had run some of them over in his car. 

And so here is a starting point for reflection.

The peacock is one of the most fascinating animals; it has long been a symbol of beauty. 

It generally represents self-indulgence. And everything centres on outward appearance.

The female peacock is less showy than the male; she is smaller, and unlike the male, when she displays her tail in a fan-shaped spread, she does not have the colourful feathers. 

There is also the well-known Aesop’s fable in which a crow adorns itself with a peacock’s feathers to look beautiful.

In Greek mythology, the peacock was the symbol of the goddess Juno: the plumage of its tail is said to derive from the giant Argus Panoptes, who had a hundred eyes.

Upon his death, the goddess placed his eyes on the peacock’s tail.

According to more ancient traditions, the peacock, with its eyes and the splendid colours of its tail, evokes the starry sky, and was often associated with the idea of immortality.

Peacock-like behaviour also exists amongst human beings.

Men, too, spread their ‘tail’.

And here, too, it is all a question of degree.

It is one thing to show one’s ‘tail’ now and then or when asked; it is quite another to go through life with one’s tail constantly spread, perpetually on display.

I think it must also be tiring – first of all for oneself, and then for others as well.

Just as the peacock spreads its tail to be noticed and to attract female peacocks, the ‘peacock-like’ individual flaunts all their ‘talents’ to attract admiration and win public approval.

Here too, I should clarify: the normal desire to show one’s best side is not the same as the psychopathological condition characterised by a lack of empathy and an incessant, destructive sense of grandeur. 

Such attitudes do not concern only individuals: often, such behaviours also affect people when they become parents.

They prioritise their own image above all else, even before the child’s needs and emotional requirements, seeking the admiration of their children and craving the approval of those around them.

With parents like this, children do not thrive; they must constantly seek the affection of adults, which should instead be given freely. 

These parents want to appear perfect and expect their children to mirror them: their children, too, must be better than others, through academic success, physical fitness or stylish clothing. 

But this façade, this beautiful ‘peacock’s tail’, conceals some serious issues.

Such parents rarely take responsibility for their own behaviour. When they do something inappropriate, they almost never apologise.

They put on an air of superiority to conceal their own weaknesses.

We sometimes behave inappropriately towards our children – but we must not always give the impression that we have acted correctly.

The child’s reaction may well be justified.

If we insist on always being right, we risk confusing our children about how to perceive reality.

The ‘peacock’ parent then perceives every request from their child for personal growth and autonomy as an offence.

And in adulthood, establishing healthy boundaries or emotional distance becomes a difficult struggle.

Often, this type of parent also demands their children’s constant attention, and every relationship their children form becomes a source of suspicion or jealousy.

These parents become manipulative and often undermine the foundations of independence and autonomy.

Growing up with such individuals or parents can give rise to insecure behaviour, with a likelihood of developing anxious, doubtful attitudes, as the child unconsciously feels compelled to satisfy the demands of others.

I have touched upon the subject of ‘peacock parents’ because, having worked in the field of child development, I have frequently observed such attitudes more prominently in parental figures and only secondarily in children.

I would like to mention or recall a concept from Jung: the child’s unconscious stems from the parental unconscious.

I have also noticed that showing off was more common amongst professional parents – people with a high level of education.

In these cases, due to their behaviour, resolving the situation became complicated.

Very often, these parents decided for themselves when to end psychotherapy, either because they grew tired of accompanying their child to sessions, or because they felt personally implicated – and so they distanced themselves from the process.

Looking back at the last short article – entitled «the histrionic» [«l’istrione»] – it occurs to me that it rhymes with «peacock» [«pavone»].

As always, these reflections are drawn from my specialist training and from my practical experience in my professional work – primarily in the field of child and adolescent psychology. 

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi – psychologist – psychotherapist

Power of the Word

(Lk 4:38-44)

«To the other cities, too, I must proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God, for I was sent for this» (Lk 4:43).

Leaving the place of worship, authentic disciples put themselves at the service of life, recovering people.

They want to put them back on their feet not out of almsgiving paternalism, but with dignity and respecting their inclinations; thus they become eager to transmit joy to others.

It is the new experience that we are called to offer also to women and men of cultural backgrounds and mentality different from ours.

Peter’s mother-in-law is probably the emblem of a community coordinator - of the House of Peter [perhaps drawn from an ancient heritage of customs] - who, thanks to the decisive Meeting, experienced healing and full rebirth, even at the service of others.

In Semitic culture, at sunset and with the rise of the first star in the sky, a new day is born: here there is a new Creation.

Marginalised humanity is regenerated - first forced only to lower itself, inert - and resumes raising its head, and doing well.

All those considered impure, unworthy and inadequate, who did not know who to resort to and at the mercy of public benevolence, are now touched by God. 

He does not stop in the face of the hopes of redemption of the weightlesses.

A touch, that of the Lord and of those in the Church (or outside) who brings it - that absorbs the supposed unworthiness and shortcomings.

A caress that makes feel welcomed and adequate, and reintegrates into social coexistence even people considered repellent.

In the course of a first approach to the Way in the Spirit it may happen that the Son of God [who resembles God] is confused with «the» Christ (v.41) expected: «that» Messiah that everyone knew; glorious avenger, who would bring victory, health, immediate opulence.

The leader who would skillfully put things right with peremptory acts of force - and subdued the peoples, suddenly guaranteeing to the elect lineage an easy golden age at the expense of others.

Not bad: it would be one to be held without doubt (v.42). In the Master, instead, insistence on the Proclamation task prevails, without which stereotyped ideas become fixed, humiliating the life.

God cares for everyone, even those who are far away and unrelated to the Home interests - He is not someone that we can be taken possession of.

Personally caring for the brothers is tiring; and constantly moving beyond the borders of one’s own partnership or environment, too.

But this reveals the wonderful presence of the Friend: situations are created, and everyone discovers unexpressed Pearls that recreate the existence of the world.

Instead, when we think and stop at the results at hand, and do not keep alive the sense of Evangelization, reality becomes swampy; the Spirit is not unleashe - we choose the limit, and everything is dragged into indolence.

One would be satisfied (flattering) with great normalized and confined gestures: lights, exaltations, reassuring formulas... but there would no longer be a new grain that could be born every day.

To internalize and live the message:

Do you feel eclipsed in the Announcement and in the itinerance, or vice versa enhanced?

What gives you strength and puts you back on your feet, or seduces, bewitches, and blocks you?

[Wednesday 22th wk. in O.T.  September 2, 2026]

(Female Creativity)

(Lk 4:38-44)

"The essential thing is to listen to what is rising from within. Our actions are often nothing more than imitation, hypothetical duty or misrepresentation of what a human being should be. But the only true certainty that touches our lives and our actions can only come from the springs that gush deep within ourselves. One is at home under heaven one is at home anywhere on this earth if one carries everything within oneself. I have often felt, and still feel, like a ship that has taken on board a precious cargo: the ropes are cut and now the ship goes, free to sail everywhere".

(Etty Hillesum, Diary)

"To the other cities also I must proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God, for I was sent for this" (Lk 4:43).

Having left the place of worship, authentic disciples put themselves at the service of life, recovering people.

They put them back on their feet not out of paternalism of charity, but with dignity and respecting their inclinations; thus they become eager to transmit joy to others.

This is the new experience that we are called to offer also to women and men of a different cultural background and mentality from our own.

Peter's mother-in-law is probably emblematic of a community co-ordinator - of the House of Peter [perhaps drawn from an ancient heritage] - who, thanks to the decisive encounter, experienced healing and full rebirth, even to the service of others.

In the Semitic culture, at sunset and with the rising of the first star in the sky, a new day is born: here is a new Creation.

The marginalised humanity - previously forced only to lower itself, inert - is regenerated and starts to raise its head again and do good.

All those considered impure, unworthy and inadequate, who knew no recourse and at the mercy of public benevolence, are now touched by God. 

He does not stop at the hopes for redemption of the weightless.

A touch, that of the Lord and of those in the Church (or outside) who bear it - that absorbs presumed unworthiness and shortcomings.

A caress that makes one feel welcome and adequate, and reintegrates into social coexistence even those considered repulsive.

In the course of an initial approach to the Way in the Spirit it may happen that one confuses the Son of God [he who resembles God] with "the" Christ (v.41) expected: "that" Messiah whom everyone knew; the glorious avenger, who would bring victory, health, immediate opulence.

The leader who would skilfully set things right with peremptory acts of force - and subdue the peoples, abruptly granting the chosen race an easy golden age at the expense of others.

Not bad: he would be one to be held back without fail (v.42). Instead, the Master's insistence on the Mission of Announcement prevails, without which stereotypical ideas become fixed, humbling life.

God cares for everyone, even those who are distant and unconnected with Household interests - he is not someone one can take possession of.

Taking care of one's brothers personally is tiring; constantly moving beyond the borders of one's own sodality or environment, too.

But this reveals the wonderful presence of the Friend: situations are created, and everyone discovers unexpressed Pearls that recreate the existence of the world.

When, on the other hand, we think and stop at the results at hand, and do not keep the sense of Evangelisation alive, reality becomes swampy; the Spirit is not unleashed - the limit is chosen, and everything is dragged into indolence.

We would be content (flattering) with great normalised and confined gestures: lights, exaltations, reassuring formulas... but there would no longer be a new grain to be born each day.

To internalise and live the message:

Do you feel eclipsed in the proclamation and itinerancy, or vice versa empowered?

What gives you strength and puts you back on your feet, or seduces, bewitches, and blocks you?

The liberated mother-in-law and her (female) journey

A final note on Matthew's brushstroke on the story of Peter's mother-in-law, a 'woman' who rediscovers her unexpressed capacities through contact with the person of the Lord.

An icon of a mental model that is still narrow, that stifles the youth of being and doing.

Ancient figure, of a tradition (of inherited religiosity) that holds back the intimate resources of the people [in Hebrew Israèl is female].

A world of restraints that make one uncomfortable, because of stifled, compressed energies - before Christ disappeared. To the point of not realising they are still inside.

I imagine precisely that such an old woman who literally 'resurrects' can be reinterpreted with spiritual fruit, for the journey of us all.

The Lord frees; he heals "inflammations". He gives greater joy of life.

He imparts an elixir of youth - especially when we feel held as dependents or slaves, without space.

Stuck and rendered dumb by the transmitted culture or situation, not only of health."Now he rose from the synagogue and entered the house of Simon. Now Simon's mother-in-law was oppressed with a great fever, and they prayed to him for her, and bowing down over her he threatened the fever and left her. Now rising on the instant he served them" (vv.38-39).

There are revealing symptoms of discomfort: e.g. a life - even a spiritual one - that does not fit... because it denies abilities, constrains them, keeps them in a corner, does not allow them to be used.

To the point of no longer knowing what they are.

Here come symptoms that lie us down: anxious, mortifying, and feelings of constriction and dependence.

One would perhaps like to do something different, but then there are fears, tightness in the chest that close the horizon and make one tense, (even at that time) uncomfortable, stressed, blocked.

In the soul of the ancient people, talents disregarded, denied, unused had become hardships.

Now in Christ Present, the return to a fluid life, as well as care for oneself and others, becomes easy, even with minimal gestures.

Capacities that had made intimate appeal, surface, dilate even in favour of others.

Relieved, the 'mother-in-law' breathes and overcomes ageing.

Before, sadness perhaps appeared, because the desire for a new birth was stifled by the many chores to be done or other cravings (fevers) that plant us there and do not restart feelings.

We know, however, that life restarts the moment someone helps to heal the sharp actions ["hand" constricted: Mt 8:15; Mk 1:31] and widen our gaze towards what is conversely blossoming in us.

By shifting perception from what nags us (torments and hinders) to what arises more spontaneously and is finally and unexpectedly valued, the blocks of tender, fresh energy disappear.

Then the garb of the ancient role is laid aside and we no longer give up expressing ourselves.

Also - for us - without closing ourselves off in the usual environment and way of doing things, which intimately do not belong to us.

Whoever gives the other a proper space draws on the virtues of our inner, evergreen primordial states - and opens up those of all.

All for a growth that does not only correspond to a precipitous elevation, but rather to a better grounding in the being of people.

By hibernating the burden of duties or models that do not correspond to us, life is renewed.

We realise that we are as if inhabited by divine Gold that wants to surface and express itself with breadth, instead of remaining tense and controlled.

This is the healing action of Jesus, all at everyone's doorstep.

Power of the Word and healing creativity of Jesus, in the feminine 

(Lk 4:38-39)

In the communities of pagan extraction in Lk, one wondered: do the "Beatitudes" and "Alas for you" of the "plain"... create exclusions (cf. Lk 6:17, 20-26)?

Or do they correspond to the hopes and deep feelings of the human heart, of every place and time (e.g. Lk 7.9.13.28-29)?

Those far from religious Judaism possessed a keen intuition for the novelties of the Spirit, and discovered the experience of Faith from other positions [not installed, less tied to conformist concatenations; perhaps uncomfortable].

Those who possessed the freshness of substantive intuition saw clearly. They proposed healthy jolts of outspoken Trust, wedded to the Newness of God.

Unlike those from habitual or markedly ethnic religiosity (even of Israel) the newcomers sensed that it was not necessary to explicitly ask for Christ's intervention - as was the case with the ancient gods, according to customary thinking. 

It was enough to communicate face-to-face with the Lord, in a sense of secure friendship (Mt 8:2-7) - not to urge Him to perform miracles: a fundamental acquisition, in order to be able to activate a new course even today, and finally emerge from the idea of a well-chiselled, organic culture.

It is the Risen One who authentically does the opportune good... and all the rest: as in Jesus - strengthened by the intimate experience of the Father in the Spirit - all we need is Faith, that is to say, nuptial and fertile confidence in the Word, effective (Lk 4:39) and inventive.

There is no need for any additions to this secret, in order to be born again.

God is immediate Action already in his Voice that "threatens" evil (v.39): he does not like to be "prayed to and reprimanded" - as if he were any kind of sovereign, who delights in forcing his subjects into deference [with a view to a consequent paternalism of relationships].

The relationship between the common man-woman and the Father in Christ is sober and instantaneous, without any mediating means: the work of Grace is in no way conditioned by acknowledgements and formulas, or 'internal' titles, veteran rank; nor targeted bowing, prior 'bribes', or rigmarole.

Starting from his simple experience, the centurion of the parallel passage in Mt (8:5-17) understands the "distant" value of the Word and the calamitous effect of true Faith [which does not claim "contacts" or material and local elements: Mt 8:8-9].It is not like magic: the intimate sensitivity of the direct personal relationship communicates to the eye of the soul a Vision of new genesis. Not doctrine, discipline, morals, ritual appointments (Lk 4:38) and so on.

It is a strongly existential picture; engaging not for a selfish result: it is for the promotion of life, everywhere. This corresponds to the deepest yearning of our hearts.

In fact, another great novelty of the new Rabbi's proposal - which was spreading - was the acceptance of women as we would say today "deaconesses" [v.39 Greek verb] of the Church [here in the figure of the "House of Simon": v.38].

This was what had been happening since the middle of the first century (cf. Rom 16:1) and still has much to teach us. With God, one cannot get used to (multi)secular formalities emptied of life.

But religious traditions resisted the onslaught of the Faith-Love experience: even in the mid-1980s, even the communities of Lk did not feel free to gather those in need of care until the evening had come (v.40).    

According to the parallel passage in Mk 1.21.29-34 [source of the passage in Mt and Lk] it was in fact the Sabbath day (v.38) - and after leaving the synagogue. The same impediment and delay is described in the Magdalene's episode at the tomb on Easter morning.

The cultural heritage and sacred religious conformity remained a great burden for the experience of the personal Saviour Christ, and the complete discovery of the power of full Life contained in the new total and creative proposal of Happiness "on a plain place" [cf. Lk 6:17] for "a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of the people from all Judea and Jerusalem": the observant centre.

The Tao writes (xxviii):

"He who knows that he is male, and keeps himself female, is the strength of the world; being the strength of the world, virtue never separates itself from him, and he returns to being a child. He who knows himself to be white, and keeps himself dark, is the model of the world; being the model of the world, virtue never departs from him; and he returns to infinity. He who knows himself to be glorious, and maintains himself in ignominy, is the valley of the world; being the valley of the world, virtue always abides in him; and he returns to being crude [genuine, not artificial]. When that which is crude is cut off, then they make instruments of it; when the holy man uses it, then he makes them the first among ministers. For this the great government does no harm'.

Master Wang Pi comments thus:

"That of the male is here the category of those who precede, that of the female is the category of those who follow. He who knows that he is first in the world must put himself last: that is why the saint postpones his person and his person is premised. A gorge among the mountains does not seek out creatures, but these of themselves turn to it. The child does not avail itself of wisdom, but adapts itself to the wisdom of spontaneity'.

In the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas we read in Nos. 22-23:

"Jesus saw little ones taking milk.

And he said to his disciples:

"These little sucklings resemble those

Who are entering the Kingdom.

They asked him:

"If we are like those babies, will we enter the Kingdom?"

Jesus answered them:

"When you make two things one and make

The inner equal to the outer and the outer equal to the inner

And the superior equal to the inferior,

When you reduce the male and the female to one being

So that the male is not only male

And the female does not remain only female,

When you consider two eyes as a unit of eye

But one hand as a unit of hand

And one foot as a unit of foot,

A vital function in place of a vital function

Then you will find the entrance to the Kingdom'".

"Jesus said:

"I will choose you one from a thousand and two from ten thousand.

And these shall be found to be one individual'".

The Gospel [passage] we have just listened to begins with a very nice, beautiful episode but is also full of meaning. The Lord went to the house of Simon Peter and Andrew and found Peter's mother-in-law sick with a fever. He took her by the hand and raised her, the fever left her, and she served them.

Jesus' entire mission is symbolically portrayed in this episode. Jesus, coming from the Father, visited peoples' homes on our earth and found a humanity that was sick, sick with fever, the fever of ideologies, idolatry, forgetfulness of God. The Lord gives us his hand, lifts us up and heals us.

And he does so in all ages; he takes us by the hand with his Word, thereby dispelling the fog of ideologies and forms of idolatry. He takes us by the hand in the sacraments, he heals us from the fever of our passions and sins through absolution in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. He gives us the possibility to raise ourselves, to stand before God and before men and women. And precisely with this content of the Sunday liturgy, the Lord comes to meet us, he takes us by the hand, raises us and heals us ever anew with the gift of his words, the gift of himself.

But the second part of this episode is also important. This woman who has just been healed, the Gospel says, begins to serve them. She sets to work immediately to be available to others, and thus becomes a representative of so many good women, mothers, grandmothers, women in various professions, who are available, who get up and serve and are the soul of the family, the soul of the parish.

And here, on looking at the painting above the altar, we see that they do not only perform external services; St Anne is introducing her great daughter, Our Lady, to the Sacred Scriptures, to the hope of Israel, for which she was precisely to be the place of its fulfilment.

Moreover, women were the first messengers of the word of God in the Gospel, they were true evangelists. And it seems to me that this Gospel, with this apparently very modest episode, is offering us in this very Church of St Anne an opportunity to say a heartfelt "thank you" to all the women who care for the parish, the women who serve in all its dimensions, who help us to know the Word of God ever anew, not only with our minds but also with our hearts.

Let us return to the Gospel:  Jesus slept at Peter's house, but he rose before dawn while it was still dark and went out to find a deserted place to pray. And here the true centre of the mystery of Jesus appears.

Jesus was conversing with the Father and raised his human spirit in communion with the Person of the Son, so that the humanity of the Son, united to him, might speak in the Trinitarian dialogue with the Father; and thus, he also made true prayer possible for us. In the liturgy Jesus prays with us, we pray with Jesus, and so we enter into real contact with God, we enter into the mystery of eternal love of the Most Holy Trinity.

Jesus speaks to the Father:  this is the source and centre of all Jesus' activities; we see his preaching, his cures, his miracles and lastly the Passion, and they spring from this centre of his being with the Father.

And in this way this Gospel teaches us that the centre of our faith and our lives is indeed the primacy of God. Whenever God is not there, the human being is no longer respected either. Only if God's splendour shines on the human face, is the human image of God protected by a dignity which subsequently no one must violate.

The primacy of God. Let us see how the first three requests in the "Our Father" refer precisely to this primacy of God:  that God's Name be sanctified, that respect for the divine mystery be alive and enliven the whole of our lives; that "may God's Kingdom come" and "may [his] will be done" are two sides of the same coin; where God's will is done Heaven already exists, a little bit of Heaven also begins on earth, and where God's will is done the Kingdom of God is present.

Since the Kingdom of God is not a series of things, the Kingdom of God is the presence of God, the person's union with God. It is to this destination that Jesus wants to guide us.

The centre of his proclamation is the Kingdom of God, that is, God as the source and centre of our lives, and he tells us:  God alone is the redemption of man. And we can see in the history of the last century that in the States where God was abolished, not only was the economy destroyed, but above all the souls.

Moral destruction and the destruction of human dignity are fundamental forms of destruction, and renewal can only come from God's return, that is, from recognition of God's centrality.

A Bishop from the Congo on an ad limina visit in these days said to me:  Europeans generously give us many things for development, but there is a hesitation in helping us in pastoral ministry; it seems as though they considered pastoral ministry useless, that only technological and material development were important. But the contrary is true, he said; where the Word of God does not exist, development fails to function and has no positive results. Only if God's Word is put first, only if man is reconciled with God, can material things also go smoothly.

The continuation of the Gospel itself powerfully confirms this. The Apostles said to Jesus:  come back, everyone is looking for you. And he said no, I must go on to the next towns that I may proclaim God and cast out demons, the forces of evil; for that is why I came.

Jesus came - the Greek text says, "I came out from the Father" - not to bring us the comforts of life but to bring the fundamental condition of our dignity, to bring us the proclamation of God, the presence of God, and thus to overcome the forces of evil. He indicated this priority with great clarity:  I did not come to heal - I also do this, but as a sign -, I came to reconcile you with God. God is our Creator, God has given us life, our dignity:  and it is above all to him that we must turn.

[Pope Benedict, St Anne 5 February 2006]

2. Paul VI's apostolic exhortation Evangelii Nuntiandi reminds us that the first evangeliser is Christ himself.

Let us look in the light of today's liturgical pericope at what a day (and night) of Christ's evangelising activity looks like.

We find ourselves in Capernaum.

Christ leaves the synagogue and, together with James and John, goes to the house of Simon and Andrew. There he heals Simon's mother-in-law (Peter), so that she can immediately get up and serve them.

After the setting of the sun, "all the sick and the possessed are brought to Christ. The whole city was gathered before the gate" (Mk 1:32-33). Jesus does not speak, but performs the healing: "He healed many who were afflicted with various diseases and cast out many demons". At the same time, a significant remark: "he did not allow the demons to speak, because they knew him" (Mk 1:34).

Perhaps all this went on until late in the evening.

Early in the morning Jesus is already in prayer.

Simon comes with his companions, to tell him: "Everyone is looking for you" (Mk 1:37).

But Jesus replies: "Let us go elsewhere to the neighbouring villages so that I may preach there also; for this is why I have come" (Mk 1:38).

We read later: "And he went throughout all Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and casting out demons" (Mk 1:39).

3. In summary, based on that day, spent in Capernaum, it can be said that the evangelisation conducted by Christ himself consists of teaching about the kingdom of God and serving the suffering.

Jesus performed signs, and all of these formed the whole of a Sign. In this Sign, the sons and daughters of the people, who had come to know the image of the Messiah, described by the prophets and especially by Isaiah, can discover without difficulty that "the kingdom of God is at hand": he is the one who "has taken upon himself our sufferings, he has borne our sorrows" (Is 53:4).

Jesus does not only preach the Gospel as they all did after him, e.g. the wonderful Paul, whose words we meditated on just now. Jesus is the Gospel!

A great chapter in his messianic service is addressed to all categories of human suffering: spiritual and physical.

7. We read in today's Gospel that early in the morning Jesus persevered in prayer and Simon Peter came to him and said: "Everyone is looking for you".

As the distant successor of this Peter in the Roman See, I wish to repeat these words to Christ in the midst of your parish community: Lord, all seek you!

In these words you find confirmation, dear brothers and sisters, that you do "everything for the sake of the Gospel, in order to become sharers in it".

So be it!

[Pope John Paul II, homily 7 February 1982]

Gospel reading continues the narrative of Jesus’ day in Capernaum, on a Saturday, the Jewish weekly holy day (cf. Mk 1:21-39). This time the Evangelist Mark highlights the relationship between Jesus’ thaumaturgical work and the awakening of faith in the people he meets. Indeed, with the healing signs that he performs on all types of sick people, the Lord wants to arouse faith as a response.

Jesus’ day in Capernaum begins with the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law and ends with the scene of a crowd of townspeople who gathered outside the house where he was staying, to bring all the sick people to him. Marked by physical suffering and by spiritual wretchedness, the crowd comprises, so to speak, “the living environment” in which Jesus’ mission, made up of healing and comforting words and actions, takes place. Jesus did not come to bring salvation in a laboratory; he does not preach from a laboratory, detached from people. He is in the midst of the crowd! In the midst of the people! Just think that most of Jesus’ public ministry took place on the streets, among the people; to preach the Gospel, to heal physical and spiritual wounds. This crowd of which the Gospel often speaks is a humanity marked by suffering. It is a humanity marked by suffering, toil and problems. It is to this poor humanity that Jesus’ powerful, liberating and renewing action is directed. That Saturday ends in this way, in the midst of the crowd until late in the evening. And what does Jesus do after that?

Before dawn the next day, he goes out of the town’s gates unseen and withdraws to a secluded place to pray. Jesus prays. In this way, he removes even himself and his mission from a “triumphalist” view which misunderstands the meaning of miracles and of his charismatic power. Miracles, in fact, are “signs” which encourage faith as a response; signs which are always accompanied by words that enlighten; and, taken together, the signs and words arouse faith and conversion through the divine power of Christ’s grace.

The conclusion of today’s passage (vv. 35-39) indicates that Jesus’ proclamation of the Kingdom of God finds its most rightful place on the streets. To the disciples who look for him in order to bring him back to the town — the disciples went to find him where he was praying and they wanted to bring him back to the town — what does Jesus answer? “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also” (v. 38). This was the journey of the Son of God and this will be the journey of his disciples. And it must be the journey of each Christian. The street, as the place for the Good News of the Gospel, places the mission of the Church under the sign of “going forth”, of journeying, under the sign of “movement”, and never of idleness.

May the Virgin Mary help us to be open to the voice of the Holy Spirit which propels the Church to increasingly “pitch her tent” among the people, in order to bring to everyone the healing word of Jesus, the physician of souls and bodies.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 4 February 2018].

Preach and Heal

Preaching and healing: this is the main activity of Jesus in his public life. By preaching He announces the Kingdom of God and by his healings He shows that it is near, that the Kingdom of God is in our midst. Having come to earth to announce and realise the salvation of the whole man and all men, Jesus shows a special predilection for those who are wounded in body and spirit: the poor, sinners, the possessed, the sick, the marginalised. He is the true Saviour: Jesus saves, Jesus heals. Christ's saving work does not end with his person and during his earthly life; it continues through the Church, the sacrament of God's love and tenderness for mankind. Caring for a sick person, welcoming him, serving him, is serving Christ: the sick person is the flesh of Christ. Therefore, each of us is called to bring the light of the Word of God and the strength of grace to those who suffer and to those who care for them. family members, doctors, nurses, so that the service to the sick is carried out more and more with humanity, with generous dedication, with evangelical love, with tenderness. (Angelus, 8 February 2015)

[https://www.vaticannews.va/it/vangelo-del-giorno-e-parola-del-giorno/2019/09/04.html]

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [30 August 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah (20:7–9).

The central theme here is Jeremiah’s inner struggle: the fire of the Word.  His is an experience of persecution and inner turmoil that he endured throughout his life. And he is not alone: many other prophets and, later, Jesus himself faced similar situations. Jeremiah carried out his ministry during the 40 years leading up to the disaster in Jerusalem in 587 BC and the deportation to Babylon. Forty years of spiritual decline. His task was to foretell the catastrophe, not to be a harbinger of doom, but on the contrary in the hope of securing, at the very last moment, the conversion of the king and the people. He spared no effort to warn his contemporaries, whilst there was still time, but they, in turn, spared no effort to silence this spoilsport. It is in this contentious and distressing context that the private reflections from which we have read an excerpt arise: his ‘confessions’. Unfortunately, the word ‘lamentations’, which derives from this, has taken on a pejorative connotation, and this is unjust: Jeremiah’s confessions are magnificent, full of sorrow, yes, but even more so full of faith and passion for the cause of his God. In today’s text, he reveals to us the inner struggle taking place deep within him: torn between God’s call, which urges him to speak, and human wisdom, which urges him to remain silent: ‘I said, “I will think no more of him; I will speak no more in his name!” But in my heart there was like a burning fire, shut up in my bones; I tried to hold it back, but I could not’ (Jer 20:9). To give up would mean abandoning his fellow citizens to their sad fate and betraying God’s trust. It is clear why this text is set before us on the Sunday when we hear the Gospel following Peter’s confession at Caesarea. When Jesus asked the disciples, ‘Who do you say that I am?’, Peter replied that Jesus was the expected Messiah. But immediately afterwards, Jesus reveals to the disciples the fate that awaits him: Passion, the cross, death and resurrection (Mt 16:21). Peter protests: ‘God forbid, Lord; this shall never happen to you.’ But Jesus calls him ‘Satan’ and warns the disciples that they will not be treated any better than their Master: ‘If anyone wishes to come after me… (Mt 16:24–25). This proves that every true prophet is inevitably a thorn in the side of the prevailing ideas of the moment. The consuming fire of the Word of God, which calls for conversion, is not meant to please: ‘I have become a byword all day long; everyone mocks me,’ confesses Jeremiah, and he does not hide the fact that at times he is afraid. He hears people talking behind his back and plotting to get rid of him: ‘I hear the slander of many’ (Jer 20:10). The prophet is all the more troublesome because, as the Lord’s messenger, the Lord gives him the strength to carry on despite all the persecution, so that there is no way to silence him. It is clear why persecution is inevitable. The verses preceding today’s reading describe a particularly harrowing episode: Jeremiah had so exasperated everyone in the Temple with his rebukes that the priest Pashur had him tied to a pillory, hanging upside down in the public square. The next day, when Pashur himself came to untie him, thinking that such punishment had calmed him down, Jeremiah spoke out even more forcefully and took his anger out on Pashur himself. Yet these confessions of Jeremiah’s, steeped in sorrow, are at the same time an admission of the all-consuming passion that burns within him and, ultimately, illuminates his life: ‘You have seduced me, Lord, and I let myself be seduced’ (Jer 20:7). He complains, yes, but he would not give his place to anyone else. The Word was a burning fire in my heart, a consuming fire that brings to mind Psalm 68/69: ‘Zelo for your house has consumed me’, which aptly expresses the persecution suffered by all the prophets. To begin with, this was the case with the people of Israel, entrusted with a prophetic mission in the service of the nations. Throughout their history, they sought to remain faithful to that mission, and this earned them terrible persecution at times. Then it was the case for all the prophets, one after another, and subsequently for the early Christians, who imitated Jesus, who was ultimately silenced. But nothing can silence the Word of God: Christ is risen; and now we know that a day will come when people will hear the Word and finally find their light in it. 

Responsorial Psalm (62/63) 

This psalm echoes the experience of Jeremiah, whom we encounter in the first reading, who endured inner turmoil and constant attacks, even though his passion for God—stronger than anything else—helped him to endure every threat and humiliation. However, this psalm was not composed to speak of Jeremiah; rather, it is like a prayer that King David might have composed whilst being hunted down by his enemies. The Old Testament recounts at least three episodes in which David had to take refuge in the Judean desert: the first two times to escape the murderous rage of King Saul, who had become so jealous of David that he wanted to kill him. The third time was even more dramatic: the one pursuing and seeking to kill David was his own son Absalom, who was too eager to seize the throne and hasten his father’s death, and who had already eliminated his elder brother. David did not immediately realise the danger, and by the time he did, it was too late: Absalom was on the verge of conquering Jerusalem; there was only one solution left: flight. And all of Jerusalem saw their king, humiliated, fleeing on foot from the holy city and climbing the Mount of Olives in tears (cf. 2 Sam 15:23–28). The words of this psalm are attributed to David: ‘Your love is better than life’ (v. 4). As is well known, the title of the psalms does not designate the author—in this case, King David. This psalm in particular contains several clear allusions to the Temple in Jerusalem, which David certainly did not know, as the Temple was only built by his son Solomon. ‘A psalm of David’ here means ‘in the manner of David, the one who thirsts for God’. The prayer ‘O God, you are my God; at dawn I seek you; my soul thirsts for you’ may have been David’s, but it is also that of all generations of the chosen people, from Abraham right up to the Day of Salvation. In the most dramatic periods, this prayer took on even greater force, as during the Exile in Babylon. Upon their return from the Exile, the people give thanks: ‘Yes, you have been my help; I rejoice in the shelter of your wings.’ These are the wings of the cherubim that cover the Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies; but they also recall the wings of the great desert eagle that protects its brood whilst teaching them to fly: and Moses had taken up this image to express the care with which God had surrounded his people: ‘I carried you on eagle’s wings,’ God had said (cf. Ex 19:4; Dt 32:10–11). Then came the even more terrible periods of persecution in the 2nd century BC under the Greek king Antiochus Epiphanes, when many Jews died for their faith, proclaiming: ‘Your love, Lord, is worth more than life.’ This verse resonates particularly on this Sunday, when we shall hear Jesus say to his disciples: ‘Whoever loses their life for my sake will save it’ (Mt 16:25). This is the struggle of all the prophets.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (12:1–2)

‘I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the tenderness of God’: this is the theme of the Letter to the Romans. The first eleven chapters deal with the major themes of Paul’s theology, which are set out at length and in depth: the universality of sin, justification by faith, the Paschal Mystery, the work of the Holy Spirit, and the salvation promised and granted to all. But all of this always returns to a single subject: the tenderness of God. Now, as in all his letters, Paul draws out for his readers the implications of his teaching: the discovery of God’s immense tenderness cannot fail to shake us to the core, or rather, to permeate our whole life from now on. ‘I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the tenderness of God…’. What he is about to say is closely linked to everything he has written so far, particularly in the final lines of the previous chapter: ‘God wishes to show mercy to all’, which are followed by the hymn of thanksgiving we read last Sunday: ‘Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgements, and his ways beyond our understanding!’ (Rom 11:32–33).  The logical response is to offer ourselves as a ‘living, holy sacrifice’. Therefore, says Saint Paul, there is no room for hesitation: to this God, so astonishing in his tenderness and his desire to save all humanity, there is but one possible response: that of trusting surrender, offering ourselves to him as a sacrifice so that he may accomplish his work within us. The verb ‘to sacrifice’ means ‘to make sacred’, and St Paul invites us to make our lives sacred—that is, divine. Paul devotes the remainder of his Letter to the Romans to setting out the nature of the Christian commitment: each person, according to their gifts and qualities, is invited to take their place in the Church’s mission, which is the service of all people. This commitment is an active participation in ‘God’s will’. This undoubtedly requires us to accept, day by day, to be transformed—that is, to ‘renew our minds’—which for us is, at times, a true conversion because, all too often, our thoughts are not God’s thoughts but those of men, as Jesus rebuked Peter at Caesarea Philippi, as we read in this Sunday’s Gospel. But the Spirit has been given to us to bring about this renewal within us, which requires us to refuse to conform to the mindset of this age (Rom 12:2). True freedom lies in charting our own course, whatever the siren calls of fashion may be; in loving the world without being enslaved by the world’s ways; and in remaining constantly immersed in God’s tenderness, even though we know full well that it is not easy.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (16:21–27)

From ‘You are the Christ’ to the rejection of the cross. This account follows Peter’s memorable profession of faith which we heard last Sunday: ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God’, a statement which earned him this reply from Jesus: ‘Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah: it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you (that is, you did not guess it on your own), but my Father in heaven. Like any blessing, this ‘Blessed are you’ sounds like a compliment – and what a compliment! – but also like encouragement. And indeed, it will take a great deal of courage for Peter to remain faithful to this first profession of faith. For he does not yet fully grasp its significance, and Jesus has not finished surprising him. In fact, Jesus accepts, at least implicitly, Peter’s recognition of his title as the Messiah: ‘My Father has revealed this to you’. And immediately afterwards, he sets out his plan, which does not fit at all with the common idea people had of the Messiah: ‘From that time on, Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer greatly…’ (Mt 16:21). It was a world turned upside down: a king without weapons or privileges… Worse still, a king who was mistreated and seemingly consenting… . He speaks of suffering greatly and even of being put to death! Peter has some reason to protest because, like many of his contemporaries, he was expecting a triumphant, glorious, powerful Messiah-King who would drive the Roman occupiers out of Jerusalem. What Jesus announces is therefore unacceptable: the almighty God cannot allow such things to happen! One might almost entitle this text: ‘Peter’s first denial’, his first refusal to follow the Messiah in his suffering. Jesus faces this spontaneous refusal on Peter’s part as a real temptation for himself and tells him so vehemently: ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me’ (Mt 16:23). We must allow the Spirit to transform—and at times completely overturn—our plans and ideas if we are to remain faithful to God’s plan. As Paul says in the second reading, we must allow the Spirit of God to transform our ways of seeing (cf. Rom 12:2) and we will experience wonderful surprises, for God’s ways are entirely different from our own. We must never lose sight of Isaiah’s famous words: ‘God says: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord’ (Isaiah 55:8–9). ‘If I understood God, he would not be God,’ said Saint Augustine. We must therefore accept being taken by surprise: the apostles and all the Jews of their time were, Peter foremost among them. With rare exceptions, they had anticipated a powerful, triumphant Messiah; instead, Jesus is the very antithesis of these grand expectations. God’s plan is nothing other than the salvation of the world, that is, the birth of a new humanity, one that will live solely by tenderness and mercy, in the image of God Himself. The logic of the cross is required to save humankind, and the salvation of humankind—that is, our total and definitive conversion to love and forgiveness, to brotherhood and peace, to sharing and justice—cannot happen with a wave of a magic wand. The salvation of humankind inevitably involves a slow transformation of humankind, but how can we transform humankind without showing them the way? Therefore, it was absolutely necessary for Jesus to walk the path of gentleness, goodness and forgiveness to the very end, in order to give us some chance of walking it ourselves. This is why Jesus, when explaining his passion and death to the disciples on the road to Emmaus, said ‘it had to be’, in the sense of ‘unfortunately, it had to be’. God’s plan of salvation is not compatible with a triumphant Messiah. For people to come to a full knowledge of the truth (1 Tim 2:4), they must discover the God of tenderness and forgiveness, of mercy and compassion, and this is not achieved through power but through the supreme gift of the Son’s life. We can then better understand this saying of Jesus: ‘No one has greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends’ (John 15:13). Only this supreme proof of love can lead us, too, to walk the path of love.

NOTE. ‘You are a stumbling block to me’ – the Greek word skandalon means ‘stumbling block’ – and our frailties and doubts can become stumbling blocks for ourselves or for others.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Jesus in the synagogue: Deliverance from quietism

(Lk 4:31-37)

In third Gospel, first ‘signs’ of the Lord are the quiet escape from death threats [agitated by his people!] and the healing of the possessed.

In this way of narrating the Jesus story, Lk indicates the priorities that his communities lived: first of all, it was necessary to suspend the intimate struggles, inculcated by the Judaizing tradition and by his "knowing how to stay in the world".

In the stubborn and conformist village of Nazareth, the Master is unable to communicate his novelty, and is forced to change residence.

He does not resign himself, on the contrary: Capernaum was at the intersection of important roads, which facilitated contacts and dissemination.

Among people of all walks of life, the Son of God wished to create a consciousness strongly critical towards the approved doctrines of religious leaders.

He did not mechanically mention the teachings - modest - of the authorities, but started from his life experience and from the living relationship with the Father.

Thus he created clear minds and in each one an unusual, non-reductive shudder; which aimed to make reach a higher level to souls harassed by the automatic mentality of quiet living.

The Master still faces the power that reduces people to a condition without originality, allergic to differences.

In the Gospel, the person who suddenly makes sparks has always been a quiet visitor to the assembly, who tirelessly dragged his spiritual life into small areas without color, lacking in breath and rhythm.

But the Word of the Lord has in itself a real charge: the power of the bliss of living, of creating, of loving in truth - which does not hate eccentric characteristics.

Where this Appeal comes, all the demons you do not expect are exposed and jump out of the burrows.

Whoever meets Christ is overthrown; he sees his certainties thrown into the air.

Upheaval that allows the hidden or repressed facets to do their part - even if they are not "as they should be".

In short, the Gospel invites us to welcome all that is in us, as it is, not attenuated; by multiplying our energies - because inside lurks the best of our Call to the personal Mission.

In Christ, our multifaceted faces [albeit contradictory] can take to the field together, without repressing the precious territories of the soul, of the essence, of the character; of another persuasion - even distant or unrepeatablely singular.

The habitué of the assemblies is indeed troubled and questioned, but he does not remain abulic; on the contrary, he makes a showy progress from the dormant and ritual existence - bent, repetitive, off, and fake.

He is freed face to face from all the clichés that used to keep him good, subjugated and on a leash.

Even through a protest that breaks apathy, the divine Call forces us to a life as saved sons, of new witness that seemed impossible.

Now no longer on the sidelines, but in the midst of the people (v.35), in the wonder of a deep, personal and unexpected Happiness.

Difference between common religiosity and living Faith.

[Tuesday 22th wk. in O.T.  September 1st, 2026]