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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pentecost Sunday (year A)  [24 May 2026]

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

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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (103/104)

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

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

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

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

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

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

+Giovanni D’Ercole

(Mk 10:28-31)

According to the correct mentality - typical of Judaism - to receive the divine inheritance it was enough to keep the commandments (vv.17-20).

But it is not with security upstream that one can make an exodus to meet the One (v.21) in the heart; nor can the Church stay safe with the material contribution of the rich (v.26).

The path of love and educational risk assume the journey of adventurous sobriety, without which it is not possible to affect the watertight compartments of thought and society.

In contrast to devotions, the life of Faith does not require the offering to God of a modest or resigned sacrifice, but abandonment to future that is to Come.

In this way - by making the disciples abide in the energy of undertaking - the believing experience will no longer leave anyone with their heads bowed. For here the cards are exchanged (v.31).

The Presence of the fraternal and concrete Kingdom - «in the midst» - overturns roles and perspectives, such as habitual positions between women and men, young and old, or new and veterans (v.31).

Inserted in the Church that hears the call to "go out", we stir our Core from the tortuousness of self-folding.

And here is the Father's Hundredfold in all (vv.28-30). Except for one thing: because we are called to be on the same level.

There will be no “hundred for one” of «fathers» [in the ancient sense] that is, of conditioning controllers (vv.29-30) who dictate their track and pace, as if to subordinates.

A life of obligations or attachments blocks creativity. To cling to an idol, to allow oneself to be plagued or intimidated, to anchor oneself in fear of problems or worries, is to create a dark chamber.

To feel programmable, already designed without an extra... to be subjected to ordinary or conformist opinions... excludes the vector of the unknown and all-personal Novelty.

He who allows himself to be inhibited by exclusive ethics, by having to be with himself and others according to clichés of established prestige and so on, builds an artificial dwelling, which is neither his ‘home’ nor the ‘tent of the world’.

And although in the step of the mission, even speculating that we can foresee fruitful eccentricities or global adventures, we shrivel our souls, we are frightened of possible conflicts.

But in fear we do not grasp what is truly ‘ours and others': what is only revealed during a process, which becomes holy in the exodus from self and in the quality of creative relationships.

After all, behind the reluctance ‘to be’ in Christ and in relationships that go beyond what is due and already thought, lies nothing more than the fear of losing the attention of others or one's reputation.

But along the Way, one has an intimate experience of a different Switch within, which helps us express ourselves and deal with events where not everything is already 'in place'.

Thus, by laying aside step by step the fears of being shouted at, and that life might collapse [precisely because of our ideal choices].

Away with the behind-the-scenes.

It is the new Genesis under a new and unknown stimulus that allows attention to be shifted from calculation to the brightness of the heart, from the brain to the eye, from reasoning to perception.

Once the artificial ties of wanting to come to head of situations [prematurely and necessarily] are removed, we will learn to embrace all sides, and life will go its own way, expanding from wave to wave.

We are no longer minors: we have full Hope - not moderate.

[Tuesday 8th wk. in O.T.  May 26, 2026]

(Mk 10:28-31)

According to correct mentality - typical in Judaism - to receive the divine inheritance it was enough to keep the commandments (vv.17-20).

Jesus' proposal does not focus on the exchange of "favours" (Pharisaic automatism): it has breath, and rests on gratuitousness; it helps freedom - it is broader, without ballast.

Therefore, lean towards ecclesial poverty. Both the affluent and the apostles' conviction must be freed from the idol of opulence - an even more swampy force than guilt.

The Gospel passage itself is a sign that the "internal" mentality of the communities had to be straightened out, even back then.

It is not with security upstream that one can exodus - to meet the One (v.21) in the heart. Nor can the Church stay safe with the material contribution of the rich (v.26).

The path of love and the educational risk presuppose the path of adventurous sobriety, without which it is not possible to impact the watertight compartments of thought and society.

In contrast to devotions, the life of Faith does not require the offering of a modest or resigned sacrifice to God, but abandonment to the coming future.

Even as a matter of crude substance, it will force us to shift our gaze - and reactivate it incessantly.

Thus making the disciples abide in the energy of undertaking will finally leave no one with bowed heads. For here the cards are exchanged (v.31).

He does not want to rob us of anything: his friendly Presence is a consistent ferment, which wants to realise the absolute in each of us.

Detachment from things to expand and rejoice in the quality of the journey is the seed of a new sacredness, of another face of humanity and the world.

The concrete existence that flows from the proposal of Faith surpasses every religious model. He even extends the community, creating Family without boundaries - all brothers and sisters, no leaders for life.

We are no longer minors: we have full Hope - not moderate.

Only the sharing of goods will stand: fruit of providence and systematic gift - and there will be no needy, rather it will advance for others (an ideal already of Deut 15 - with no more cultural fences).

And no calculations of reciprocation: because there is no starting point for selfishness or for the profit of clubs with nice manners (and greedy possession).

Of course, Christ will be the choice of the poor, who have always dreamed of a reversal of the pyramid (v.31).

At the time of Jesus, people's lives were in fact marked - trait by trait - by dual subjugation: Herod's politics and religious slavery.

The system of exploitation and repression was widespread and well organised.

Even the religious authorities had cunningly found a remunerative modus vivendi well established in the ganglia of the empire.

All this at the cost of the disintegration of community and family life (facets of the ancient clan communion, now harassed by problems of material survival and increased individualism).

In a context of social collapse, many were forced to get by in a discarded and excluded condition.

But in the assemblies of Jesus, the attitude of inclusion towards the marginalised, weak and shaky characterised them and made them stand out (gradually preferred) against all other groups.

At that time, there was no lack of various sects - even well-motivated ones - that wished to show an alternative model of life to the ruthlessness of the current reality.

However, e.g. the Essenes were legalists and purists, and lived apart; so did the Pharisees - observant people bound even to oral tradition - who abhorred 'defiled' people.

The Zealots also resented the weak and indecisive, voiceless crowd.

Those considered ignorant and cursed (for not being able to fulfil the prescriptions of the law) and valued in sin, were conversely welcome in Christian communities.

Precisely the weightless - endowed with little energy and relationships - forcibly excluded from the clan because of economic necessity, found there at last refuge, warmth, listening, understanding, help.

The Master himself had explicitly ordered anti-ambition and personal dispossession in favour of the sick and weak; of all those who were left behind.

Simplicity in life went hand in hand with sobriety in mission.

In fact, the Lord advised the envoys to witness radical confidence in hospitality (offered by so many new 'family members').

Sense of adaptation and measure, ability to live in the essentials and be content, were the indispensable character of evangelisation.

True witnesses of Christ, even today and as time passes, feel content in the temporary - typical of pilgrims. They did not covet better future accommodations, passing from house to house (Mk 6:10).

In all this, and in being able to adapt to the situations and normal rewards of local work, believers demonstrate the Presence of the fraternal Kingdom.It is a concrete reality and "in between": in fact, it makes itself equidistant; it overturns roles - and optics, such as habitual positions between women and men, young and old, or new and old (v.31).

Of course, change can be frightening, but inserted in the fraternity that hears the call to "go out", we take the leash off situations and stir souls from the tortuousness of retreats.

And here is the Father's hundredfold in everything (vv.28-30). Except for one thing: because we are called to be on an equal footing.

There will be no hundred to one of "fathers" (in the ancient sense), i.e., of conditioning controllers (vv.29-30) who dictate their track and pace, as to subordinates.

Then we sit in our Centre, not because we are identified in the standard habitual role, but chiselled in an amazing way by the facets of the Mystery it touches, starting from within.

And turn everything upside down.

A life of attachments blocks creativity. To cling to an idol, to allow oneself to be plagued or intimidated, to anchor oneself in fear of problems or worries is like creating a dark room.

Feeling programmable, already designed without a more... subjugating ordinary or conformist views... excludes the vector of the unknown and all-personal Novelty.

Those who allow themselves to be inhibited by exclusive ethics, by having to be with themselves and others according to clichés of established prestige and so on, build an artificial dwelling, which is neither their home nor the tent of the world.

And while in the pass of the mission, even conjuring up fruitful eccentricities or global adventures, we shrink back, afraid of possible conflicts.

But in fear we do not grasp what is truly ours and others': what is only revealed during a process, which becomes holy in the exodus from self and in the quality of creative relationships.

As Pope Francis said in Dublin: "Docile to the Spirit and not based on tactical plans" that block life.

After all, behind the reluctance to be in Christ and in relationships that go beyond what is due and already thought, lies nothing more than the fear of losing the attention of others or reputation.

But for Via, it is an intimate experience of a different 'switch' inside, which helps us express ourselves and face events where not everything is already in place. 

We lay step by step the fears of being scolded, and that life (precisely because of our ideal choices) might collapse.

Away with the behind-the-scenes.

It is the new genesis under a new and unknown stimulus that allows us to shift attention from calculation to the brightness of the soul, from the brain to the eye, from reasoning to perception.

Once we have removed the artificial ties of wanting to come to the head of situations prematurely and by force, we learn to welcome all sides, and life will go its own way, expanding from wave to wave.

At this point, my mind goes back to 22 October 1978, when Pope John Paul II began his ministry here in Saint Peter’s Square. His words on that occasion constantly echo in my ears: “Do not be afraid! Open wide the doors for Christ!” The Pope was addressing the mighty, the powerful of this world, who feared that Christ might take away something of their power if they were to let him in, if they were to allow the faith to be free. Yes, he would certainly have taken something away from them: the dominion of corruption, the manipulation of law and the freedom to do as they pleased. But he would not have taken away anything that pertains to human freedom or dignity, or to the building of a just society. The Pope was also speaking to everyone, especially the young. Are we not perhaps all afraid in some way? If we let Christ enter fully into our lives, if we open ourselves totally to him, are we not afraid that He might take something away from us? Are we not perhaps afraid to give up something significant, something unique, something that makes life so beautiful? Do we not then risk ending up diminished and deprived of our freedom? And once again the Pope said: No! If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful and great. No! Only in this friendship are the doors of life opened wide. Only in this friendship is the great potential of human existence truly revealed. Only in this friendship do we experience beauty and liberation. And so, today, with great strength and great conviction, on the basis of long personal experience of life, I say to you, dear young people: Do not be afraid of Christ! He takes nothing away, and he gives you everything. When we give ourselves to him, we receive a hundredfold in return. Yes, open, open wide the doors to Christ – and you will find true life. Amen.

[Pope Benedict, homily for the beginning of the ministry, 24 April 2005]

1. In the Gospels, when Jesus called his first Apostles to make them “fishers of men” (Mt 4:19; Mk 1:17; cf. Lk 5:10), they “left everything and followed him” (Lk 5:11; cf. Mt 4:20, 22; Mk 1:18, 20). One day, Peter himself recalled this aspect of the apostolic vocation, saying to Jesus: “Behold, we have left everything and followed you” (Mt 19:27; Mk 10:28; cf. Lk 18:28). Jesus then listed all the renunciations necessary “for my sake,” he said, “and for the sake of the Gospel” (Mk 10:29). It was not merely a matter of renouncing material possessions, such as one’s “house” or “fields”, but also of parting from one’s dearest ones: “brothers or sisters or father or mother or children”, – as Matthew and Mark put it – “wife or brothers or parents or children”, – as Luke puts it (18:29).
Let us note here the diversity of vocations. Jesus did not demand a radical renunciation of family life from all his disciples, although he did demand that he take first place in their hearts when he said: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me” (Mt 10:37). The requirement for effective renunciation is proper to the apostolic life or to the life of special consecration. Called by Jesus, “James son of Zebedee and his brother John” left not only the boat in which they were “mending their nets”, but also their father, with whom they were (Mt 4:22; cf. Mk 1:20).
These observations help us to understand the rationale behind the Church’s legislation regarding priestly celibacy. The Church, in fact, has held and continues to hold that it is part of the logic of priestly consecration and the consequent total belonging to Christ, with a view to the conscious fulfilment of his mandate of spiritual life and evangelisation.
2. Indeed, in the Gospel according to Matthew, shortly before the passage on separation from loved ones that we have just cited, Jesus expresses in strong Semitic language another renunciation required ‘for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven’, namely, the renunciation of marriage. “There are,” he says, “eunuchs who have made themselves such for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven” (Mt 19:12). That is to say, they have committed themselves to celibacy in order to place themselves entirely at the service of the “Gospel of the Kingdom” (cf. Mt 4:23; 9:35; 24:34).
In his First Letter to the Corinthians, the Apostle Paul states that he has resolutely taken this path and demonstrates the consistency of his decision by declaring: “The unmarried man is concerned with the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord. The married man, however, is concerned with the things of the world, how he may please his wife, and is divided!” (1 Cor 7:32–34). Certainly, it is not fitting that one who has been called to attend to the things of the Lord as a priest should “be divided”. As the Council states, the commitment to celibacy, deriving from a tradition linked to Christ, is “particularly suited to the priestly life. It is in fact both a sign and a stimulus of pastoral charity, and a source of spiritual fruitfulness in the world” (Presbyterorum Ordinis, 16).
It is true that in the Eastern Churches many priests are lawfully married according to the canon law applicable to them. Even in those Churches, however, the bishops live in celibacy, as do a certain number of priests. The difference in discipline, linked to conditions of time and place assessed by the Church, is explained by the fact that perfect continence, as the Council states, “is not required by the very nature of the priesthood” (ibid.). It does not belong to the essence of the priesthood as an Order, and therefore is not imposed absolutely in all Churches. There is, however, no doubt as to its appropriateness and indeed its consistency with the demands of the sacred Order. It falls, as has been said, within the logic of consecration.
3. The concrete ideal of this state of consecrated life is Jesus, the model for all, but especially for priests. He lived as a celibate, and for this reason was able to devote all his energies to preaching the Kingdom of God and to the service of mankind, with a heart open to the whole of humanity, as the progenitor of a new spiritual generation. His choice was truly ‘for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven’ (cf. Mt 19:12).
By his example, Jesus pointed the way, and this path has been followed. According to the Gospels, it seems that the Twelve, destined to be the first to share in his priesthood, renounced family life in order to follow him. The Gospels never speak of wives or children in connection with the Twelve, even though they do tell us that Peter, before being called by Jesus, was a married man (cf. Mt 8:14; Mk 1:30; Lk 4:38).
4. Jesus did not enact a law, but proposed an ideal of celibacy for the new priesthood he was establishing. This ideal became increasingly established within the Church. It is understandable that, in the early phase of the spread and development of Christianity, a large number of priests were married men, chosen and ordained in the wake of Jewish tradition. We know that in the Letters to Timothy (1 Tim 3:2–33) and to Titus (Titus 1:6) it is required that, among the qualities of men chosen as presbyters, there be that of being good heads of households, married to one wife (that is, faithful to their wives). This was a phase in the Church’s development, and one might say, of experimentation to determine which form of discipline regarding states of life best corresponded to the ideal and the ‘counsels’ proposed by the Lord. On the basis of experience and reflection, the discipline of celibacy gradually became established until it became the norm in the Western Church by virtue of canon law. It was not merely the consequence of a legal and disciplinary fact: it was the maturing of an ecclesial awareness regarding the appropriateness of priestly celibacy for reasons not only historical and practical, but also stemming from the ever-better-discovered congruence between celibacy and the demands of the priesthood.
5. The Second Vatican Council sets out the reasons for this ‘intimate harmony’ between celibacy and the priesthood: ‘Through virginity or celibacy observed for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven, priests consecrate themselves to Christ in a new and sublime way; they adhere more easily to Him with undivided love; they devote themselves more freely in Him and for Him to the service of God and mankind; they serve His Kingdom and His work of divine regeneration more effectively; and in this way they prepare themselves better to receive a fuller fatherhood in Christ”. They “thus evoke that mystical marriage instituted by God, which will be fully revealed in the future, whereby the Church has Christ as her sole Spouse... and become a living sign of that future world, already present through faith and charity, in which the children of the resurrection do not enter into marriage” (PO 16; cf. Pastores dabo vobis, 29; 50; CCC 1579).
These are reasons of noble spiritual elevation, which we may summarise in the following essential elements: the fullest adherence to Christ, loved and served with an undivided heart (cf. 1 Cor 7:32–33); the widest possible availability for the service of Christ’s Kingdom and for the fulfilment of one’s duties in the Church; the more exclusive choice of spiritual fruitfulness (cf. 1 Cor 4:15); the practice of a life akin to that which is definitive in the hereafter, and therefore more exemplary for life in this world. This applies to all ages, including our own, as the supreme reason and criterion for every judgement and every choice in harmony with the invitation to ‘leave everything behind’, addressed by Jesus to his disciples and especially to the Apostles. For this reason, the 1971 Synod of Bishops confirmed: “The law of priestly celibacy, in force in the Latin Church, must be fully preserved” (Ench. Vat., IV, 1219).
6. It is true that today the practice of celibacy encounters obstacles, sometimes even serious ones, in the subjective and objective circumstances in which priests find themselves. The Synod of Bishops has considered these, but has held that even today’s difficulties can be overcome if “the appropriate conditions are fostered, namely: the deepening of the interior life through prayer, self-denial, ardent charity towards God and neighbour, and the other aids of the spiritual life; human balance through an orderly integration into the fabric of social relations; fraternal relationships and contact with other priests and with the Bishop, by better implementing pastoral structures for this purpose, and also with the help of the community of the faithful” (Ibid., IV, 1216).
It is a kind of challenge that the Church issues to the mindset, the trends, the allurements of the world, with an ever-renewed commitment to consistency and fidelity to the Gospel ideal. For this reason, whilst acknowledging that the Supreme Pontiff may assess and determine what is to be done in certain cases, the Synod reaffirmed that in the Latin Church “the ordination of married men to the priesthood is not permitted even in particular cases” (Ibid., IV, 1220). The Church holds that the awareness of total consecration, which has matured over the centuries, still has reason to exist and to be perfected ever more.
The Church also knows, and reminds the priests and all the faithful through the Council, that “the gift of celibacy, so fitting to the priesthood of the New Law, is granted in great measure by the Father, on condition that all those who share in the Priesthood of Christ through the sacrament of Holy Orders—indeed, the whole Church—request it with humility and insistence” (PO 16).
But perhaps, even before that, it is necessary to ask for the grace to understand priestly celibacy, which undoubtedly involves a certain mystery: that of the call for boldness and trust in absolute attachment to the person and redemptive work of Christ, with a radicalism of renunciation that may appear shocking to human eyes. Jesus himself, in suggesting this, warns that not everyone can understand it (cf. Mt 19:10-12). Blessed are those who receive the grace to understand it, and remain faithful on this path!
[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 17 July 1993]

Today’s Gospel, taken from Mark, Chapter 10, is divided into three scenes, punctuated by three gazes of Jesus.

The first scene presents the encounter between the Teacher and a fellow who — according to the parallel passage of Matthew — is identified as a “young man”. The encounter of Jesus with a young man. This man runs up to Jesus, kneels and calls him “Good Teacher”. Then he asks: “what must I do to inherit eternal life”, in other words, happiness (v. 17). “Eternal life” is not only the afterlife, but is a full life, fulfilled, without limitations. What must we do to achieve it? Jesus’ answer restates the commandments that refer to loving one’s neighbours. In this regard the young man has nothing to reproach; but clearly, observing the precepts is not enough. It does not satisfy his desire for fulfillment. Jesus perceives this desire that the young man bears in his heart; for this reason his response is expressed in an intense gaze filled with tenderness and love. The Gospel thus says: “[Jesus] looking upon him loved him” (v. 21). He realized he was a good young man.... But Jesus also understood his interlocutor’s weakness, and offers him a practical proposal: to give all his possessions to the poor and follow Him. That young man’s heart, however, was divided between two masters: God and money, and he went away sorrowful. This shows that faith and attachment to riches cannot coexist. Thus, in the end, the young man’s initial enthusiasm is dampened in the unhappiness of a sunken sequela.

In the second scene the Evangelist frames the eyes of Jesus, and this time it is a pensive gaze, one of caution: “[Jesus] looked around and said to his disciples: ‘How hard it will be for those who have riches to enter the kingdom of God!’” (v. 23). To the astonishment of the disciples, who ask him: “Then who can be saved?” (v. 26), Jesus responds with a encouraging gaze — it is the third gaze — and says: salvation, yes, “with men it is impossible, but not with God!” (v. 27). If we trust in the Lord, we can overcome all obstacles that impede us from following him on the path of faith. Trust in the Lord. He will give us strength, he gives us salvation, he accompanies us on the way.

And thus we arrive at the third scene, that of Jesus’ solemn declaration: Truly, I say to you those who leave all to follow me shall have eternal life in the age to come and a hundredfold now in this time (cf. vv. 29-30). This “hundredfold” is comprised of things first possessed and then left, but which shall be restored and multiplied ad infinitum. In divesting oneself of possessions, one receives in exchange the comfort of true good; freed from the slavery of things, one earns the freedom of serving out of love; in renouncing possessions, one acquires the joy of giving. As Jesus said: “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (cf. Acts 20:35).

The young man did not allow himself to be conquered by Jesus’ loving gaze, and thus was not able to change. Only by accepting with humble gratitude the love of the Lord do we free ourselves from the seduction of idols and the blindness of our illusions. Money, pleasure, success dazzle but then disappoint: they promise life but procure death. The Lord asks us to detach ourselves from these false riches in order to enter into true life, the full, authentic, luminous life. I ask you, young people, young men and young women, who are here now in the Square: “Have you felt Jesus’ gaze upon you? Do you prefer to leave this Square with the joy that Jesus gives us or with the sadness of heart that worldliness offers us?”.

May the Virgin Mary help us to open our heart to Jesus’ love, to Jesus’ gaze, the only One who can satiate our thirst for happiness.

[Pope Francis, Angelus of 11 October 2015]

Mary in the Church, begetting sons

(Jn 19:25-34)

The short Gospel passage in vv.25-27 is perhaps the artistic apex of the Passion narrative.

In the fourth Gospel the Mother appears twice, at the wedding feast of Cana and at the foot of the Cross - both episodes present only in Jn.

Both at Cana and at the foot of the Cross, the Mother is a figure of the genuinely sensitive and faithful remnant of Israel.

The people-bride of the First Testament is as if waiting for the real Revelation: they perceive all the limitation of the ancient idea of God, which has reduced and extinguished the joy of the wedding feast between the Father and his sons.

Authentically worshipping Israel prompted the shift from religiosity to working Faith, from the old law to the New Testament.

An alternative Kingdom is generated at the foot of the Cross.

Mothers and fathers of a different humanity are being formed, proclaiming the Good News of God - this time for the exclusive benefit of every man, in whatever condition he may find himself.

In the theological intent of John, the Words of Jesus «Woman, behold your son» and «Behold, the Mother of yours» were intended to help settle and harmonise the strong tensions that at the end of the first century were already pitting different currents of thought about Christ against each other.

Among them: Judaizers; advocates of the primacy of faith over works; Laxists, who now considered Jesus anathema, intending to supplant Him with a generic freedom of spirit without history.

At the beginning of second century, Marcion rejected the entire First Testament and appreciated only a part of the New.

To those who now wanted to disregard the teaching of the 'fathers', Jesus proposed to make the past and novelty walk together.

The beloved disciple, icon of the authentic son of God [widespread Word-event (of New Testament)] must receive the Mother, the culture of the Covenant people, at Home - that is, in the nascent Church.

Yet, even if it is in the Christian community that the full meaning of the whole of Scripture is discovered… the Person, the story and the Word of Christ Himself cannot be understood nor will it bear concrete fruit without the ancient root that generated Him.

Projections alone are not enough, even if they shake the mental prisons, often edifices of false certainties: the Seed is not an enemy to be fought, but a virtue that comes from deep within.

The Alliance is precious, it gives the real jolt to life. Thus new family relationships flourish: then the Church is born.

And the Church raised up by its Lord will reveal something portentous: fruitfulness from nullity, life from the outpouring of it, birth from apparent sterility.

In Mary and the faithful icons generated from the breast of Christ - inseparable in the Mission - the intimate cooperation is intensified by moments of humble and silent community existence.

In perfect worshipping the identity-character of the Crucified One and in the movement of self-giving, the freedom of abasing oneself gaits and arises.

If anyone gets down, the new will advance.

And the old can also re-emerge, this time for good. For there are other Heights. For what makes one intimate with God is nothing external.

A river of unimagined attunements will reconnect the human spirit of believers to the motherly work of the Spirit without barriers.

Thus, in silence we will not oppose discomfort. The offended body will speak, manifesting the soul and filling the life, in a crescendo.

To internalize and live the message:

How do you get into the rhythm of this Gospel passage? In which character do you recognise yourself, or why do you see yourself in all of them? What is in each one your measure, which you give to the world?

[B.V. Mary Mother of the Church (Monday after Pentecost)]

The Cross of Christ is the instrument of our salvation, which reveals the mercy of our God in all its fullness. The Cross is truly the place where God’s compassion for our world is perfectly manifested. Today, as we celebrate the memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows, we contemplate Mary sharing her Son’s compassion for sinners. As Saint Bernard declares, the Mother of Christ entered into the Passion of her Son through her compassion (cf. Homily for Sunday in the Octave of the Assumption). At the foot of the Cross, the prophecy of Simeon is fulfilled: her mother’s heart is pierced through (cf. Lk 2:35) by the torment inflicted on the Innocent One born of her flesh. Just as Jesus cried (cf. Jn 11:35), so too Mary certainly cried over the tortured body of her Son. Her self-restraint, however, prevents us from plumbing the depths of her grief; the full extent of her suffering is merely suggested by the traditional symbol of the seven swords. As in the case of her Son Jesus, one might say that she too was led to perfection through this suffering (cf. Heb 2:10), so as to make her capable of receiving the new spiritual mission that her Son entrusts to her immediately before “giving up his spirit” (cf. Jn 19:30): that of becoming the mother of Christ in his members. In that hour, through the figure of the beloved disciple, Jesus presents each of his disciples to his Mother when he says to her: Behold your Son (cf. Jn 19:26-27).

Today Mary dwells in the joy and the glory of the Resurrection. The tears shed at the foot of the Cross have been transformed into a smile which nothing can wipe away, even as her maternal compassion towards us remains unchanged. The intervention of the Virgin Mary in offering succour throughout history testifies to this, and does not cease to call forth, in the people of God, an unshakable confidence in her: the Memorare prayer expresses this sentiment very well. Mary loves each of her children, giving particular attention to those who, like her Son at the hour of his Passion, are prey to suffering; she loves them quite simply because they are her children, according to the will of Christ on the Cross.

The psalmist, seeing from afar this maternal bond which unites the Mother of Christ with the people of faith, prophesies regarding the Virgin Mary that “the richest of the people … will seek your smile” (Ps 44:13). In this way, prompted by the inspired word of Scripture, Christians have always sought the smile of Our Lady, this smile which medieval artists were able to represent with such marvellous skill and to show to advantage. This smile of Mary is for all; but it is directed quite particularly to those who suffer, so that they can find comfort and solace therein. To seek Mary’s smile is not an act of devotional or outmoded sentimentality, but rather the proper expression of the living and profoundly human relationship which binds us to her whom Christ gave us as our Mother.

To wish to contemplate this smile of the Virgin, does not mean letting oneself be led by an uncontrolled imagination. Scripture itself discloses it to us through the lips of Mary when she sings the Magnificat: “My soul glorifies the Lord, my spirit exults in God my Saviour” (Lk 1:46-47). When the Virgin Mary gives thanks to the Lord, she calls us to witness. Mary shares, as if by anticipation, with us, her future children, the joy that dwells in her heart, so that it can become ours. Every time we recite the Magnificat, we become witnesses of her smile. Here in Lourdes, in the course of the apparition of Wednesday 3 March 1858, Bernadette contemplated this smile of Mary in a most particular way. It was the first response that the Beautiful Lady gave to the young visionary who wanted to know who she was. Before introducing herself, some days later, as “the Immaculate Conception”, Mary first taught Bernadette to know her smile, this being the most appropriate point of entry into the revelation of her mystery.

In the smile of the most eminent of all creatures, looking down on us, is reflected our dignity as children of God, that dignity which never abandons the sick person. This smile, a true reflection of God’s tenderness, is the source of an invincible hope. Unfortunately we know only too well: the endurance of suffering can upset life’s most stable equilibrium; it can shake the firmest foundations of confidence, and sometimes even leads people to despair of the meaning and value of life. There are struggles that we cannot sustain alone, without the help of divine grace. When speech can no longer find the right words, the need arises for a loving presence: we seek then the closeness not only of those who share the same blood or are linked to us by friendship, but also the closeness of those who are intimately bound to us by faith. Who could be more intimate to us than Christ and his holy Mother, the Immaculate One? More than any others, they are capable of understanding us and grasping how hard we have to fight against evil and suffering. The Letter to the Hebrews says of Christ that he “is not unable to sympathize with our weaknesses; for in every respect he has been tempted as we are” (cf. Heb 4:15). I would like to say, humbly, to those who suffer and to those who struggle and are tempted to turn their backs on life: turn towards Mary! Within the smile of the Virgin lies mysteriously hidden the strength to fight against sickness and for life. With her, equally, is found the grace to accept without fear or bitterness to leave this world at the hour chosen by God.

How true was the insight of that great French spiritual writer, Dom Jean-Baptiste Chautard, who in L’ âme de tout apostolat, proposed to the devout Christian to gaze frequently “into the eyes of the Virgin Mary”! Yes, to seek the smile of the Virgin Mary is not a pious infantilism, it is the aspiration, as Psalm 44 says, of those who are “the richest of the people” (verse 13). “The richest”, that is to say, in the order of faith, those who have attained the highest degree of spiritual maturity and know precisely how to acknowledge their weakness and their poverty before God. In the very simple manifestation of tenderness that we call a smile, we grasp that our sole wealth is the love God bears us, which passes through the heart of her who became our Mother. To seek this smile, is first of all to have grasped the gratuitousness of love; it is also to be able to elicit this smile through our efforts to live according to the word of her Beloved Son, just as a child seeks to elicit its mother’s smile by doing what pleases her. And we know what pleases Mary, thanks to the words she spoke to the servants at Cana: “Do whatever he tells you” (cf. Jn 2:5).

Mary’s smile is a spring of living water. “He who believes in me”, says Jesus, “out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water” (Jn 7:38). Mary is the one who believed and, from her womb, rivers of living water have flowed forth to irrigate human history. The spring that Mary pointed out to Bernadette here in Lourdes is the humble sign of this spiritual reality. From her believing heart, from her maternal heart, flows living water which purifies and heals. By immersing themselves in the baths at Lourdes, so many people have discovered and experienced the gentle maternal love of the Virgin Mary, becoming attached to her in order to bind themselves more closely to the Lord! In the liturgical sequence of this feast of Our Lady of Sorrows, Mary is honoured with the title of Fons amoris, “fount of love”. From Mary’s heart, there springs up a gratuitous love which calls forth a response of filial love, called to ever greater refinement. Like every mother, and better than every mother, Mary is the teacher of love. That is why so many sick people come here to Lourdes, to quench their thirst at the “spring of love” and to let themselves be led to the sole source of salvation, her son Jesus the Saviour.

Christ imparts his salvation by means of the sacraments, and especially in the case of those suffering from sickness or disability, by means of the grace of the sacrament of the sick. For each individual, suffering is always something alien. It can never be tamed. That is why it is hard to bear, and harder still – as certain great witnesses of Christ’s holiness have done – to welcome it as a significant element in our vocation, or to accept, as Bernadette expressed it, to “suffer everything in silence in order to please Jesus”. To be able to say that, it is necessary to have travelled a long way already in union with Jesus. Here and now, though, it is possible to entrust oneself to God’s mercy, as manifested through the grace of the sacrament of the sick. Bernadette herself, in the course of a life that was often marked by sickness, received this sacrament four times. The grace of this sacrament consists in welcoming Christ the healer into ourselves. However, Christ is not a healer in the manner of the world. In order to heal us, he does not remain outside the suffering that is experienced; he eases it by coming to dwell within the one stricken by illness, to bear it and live it with him. Christ’s presence comes to break the isolation which pain induces. Man no longer bears his burden alone: as a suffering member of Christ, he is conformed to Christ in his self-offering to the Father, and he participates, in him, in the coming to birth of the new creation.

Without the Lord’s help, the yoke of sickness and suffering weighs down on us cruelly. By receiving the sacrament of the sick, we seek to carry no other yoke that that of Christ, strengthened through his promise to us that his yoke will be easy to carry and his burden light (cf. Mt 11:30). I invite those who are to receive the sacrament of the sick during this Mass to enter into a hope of this kind.

The Second Vatican Council presented Mary as the figure in whom the entire mystery of the Church is typified (cf. Lumen Gentium, 63-65). Her personal journey outlines the profile of the Church, which is called to be just as attentive to those who suffer as she herself was. I extend an affectionate greeting to those working in the areas of public health and nursing, as well as those who, in different ways, in hospitals and other institutions, are contributing to the care of the sick with competence and generosity. Equally, I should like to say to all the hospitaliers, the brancardiers and the carers who come from every diocese in France and from further afield, and who throughout the year attend the sick who come on pilgrimage to Lourdes, how much their service is appreciated. They are the arms of the servant Church. Finally, I wish to encourage those who, in the name of their faith, receive and visit the sick, especially in hospital infirmaries, in parishes or, as here, at shrines. May you always sense in this important and delicate mission the effective and fraternal support of your communities! In this regard, I particularly greet and thank my brothers in the Episcopate, the French Bishops, Bishops and priests from afar, and all who serve the sick and suffering throughout the world. Thank you for your ministry close to our suffering Lord.

The service of charity that you offer is a Marian service. Mary entrusts her smile to you, so that you yourselves may become, in faithfulness to her son, springs of living water. Whatever you do, you do in the name of the Church, of which Mary is the purest image. May you carry her smile to everyone!

To conclude, I wish to join in the prayer of the pilgrims and the sick, and to pray with you a passage from the prayer to Mary that has been proposed for this Jubilee celebration:

“Because you are the smile of God, the reflection of the light of Christ, the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit,

Because you chose Bernadette in her lowliness, because you are the morning star, the gate of heaven and the first creature to experience the resurrection,

Our Lady of Lourdes”, with our brothers and sisters whose hearts and bodies are in pain, we pray to you!

[Pope Benedict, Lourdes 15 September 2008]